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fushitoru · 4 months ago

Text

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away.

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake.

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt.

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo.

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board.

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that.

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool.

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps.

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves.

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense.

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching.

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all.

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want, he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly.

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago

Text

Out of my league || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: Fans have always speculated that Drew was dating someone until he confirmed it in an interview. After digging through Drew's socials, fans stumble upon you, a Yale law student.

Warnings: age gap (r is 23)

Word count: 515

A/n: my absolute dream to study law at Yale, Oxford or Edinburgh 😔😔

MASTERLIST

"Omg!" Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the message from your sister, her excitement practically radiating through the screen. Without hesitation, you tap on the link she attached. It directs you to a fresh, two-minute interview of your boyfriend, Drew, from the red carpet premiere of Queer. The video had been posted mere minutes ago, and your curiosity piqued as you hit play.

The clip begins with Drew stepping confidently into the spotlight, his tailored black suit fitting him perfectly, exuding effortless charm. His neatly styled hair and sharp features gleamed under the intense glow of the camera flashes. Seeing him like this—a star in every sense of the word—made you pause, a proud smile spreading across your lips.

The interviewer, a charismatic host with a warm smile and infectious energy, introduces Drew before diving straight into the conversation. Her tone is laced with both admiration and curiosity. “Drew, you’ve been receiving such incredible praise for your performance in Queer. Tell us, how was the filming process? What was it like working on such a powerful project?”

Drew’s face lights up, his passion evident as he responds. “Oh, it was an amazing experience,” he begins, his deep, smooth voice carrying a sincerity that draws you in. “Getting the chance to work under Luca’s direction and alongside Daniel was an absolute honour. The cast and crew brought so much energy to the set—it really felt like a family by the end of it.”

He pauses briefly, a soft smile gracing his lips, before adding something that makes your breath catch. “What made it even more special was having my family visit during filming. And my girlfriend…” His eyes momentarily shift, a small but noticeable fondness in his expression. “She took some time off from university to spend a couple of months with me on set in Italy. That support meant the world to me.”

Your heart swells with warmth, a mix of pride and affection bubbling to the surface. Drew rarely spoke about his personal life publicly, but when he did, it was always with the kind of sincerity that made you feel like the luckiest person alive. Those two months in Italy had been unforgettable, the perfect escape from the stress of your law studies at Yale.

The interviewer lets out an audible gasp, clearly surprised by Drew’s candid revelation. “Wait, you have a girlfriend? This is definitely news to us.” Drew chuckles softly, nodding. “I do. She’s brilliant. Balancing law school while putting up with me can’t be easy and honestly, I think she's out of my league.” Drew chuckles. Who is this mystery woman? How could someone possibly be out of Drew’s league?

The mystery only fuels the frenzy, and it doesn’t take long for determined fans to track down your Instagram account. Your page, once a space where you documented your life, was now flooded with notifications. Followers pour in by the thousands, combing through your posts for any clue about your connection to Drew. Fans are both shocked and delighted. You’re not what they expected, but in the best way.

y/n_y/l/n just posted a story!

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by drewstarkey and 2,937 others

this months dump!

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yourfriendsusername: 😍😍

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: ily!!

yourfriendsusername: uh oh, ur getting famous…. remember me pls!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: sorry, who are you 😂

user1: omg so this is Drew’s gf? SHES GORGEOUS

user2: damn she’s hella smart huh?

↘️ user3: DUH SHES IN YALE STUDYING LAW

user4: eh she’s mid

↘️ user5: studying law at one of the ivy league’s is far from being mid lol 😭

user6: she’s been posting him for so long now, how have we only just found this out 😂

user7: so she’s pretty, she’s smart, and she’s bagged Drew Starkey? Damn girl.

user8: now how has she done that

drewstarkey

Liked by y/n_y/l/n, madelyncline, jonathandavissofficial and 9,208,102 others

yeah my gf is cooler than me.

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y/n_y/l/n: Alexa, play Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey 😄

↘️ drewstarkey: volume up, Alexa!

madelyncline: she’s such a smart cookie 😝

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: come see me again gf 😔

↘️ madelyncline: yes ma’am!

jonathandavissofficial: ya’ll cute

↘️ drewstarkey: ur cute

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: what’s going on here?

user1: HE FINALLY POSTED HER!

user2: can’t wait for more gf appreciation posts 😆

user3: how has a uni student bagged Drew Starkey

user4: first pic. sleeping on the road tn.

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: pls don’t 🙏

↘️ user5: AHH SHE REPLIED TO U

↘️ user6: ur so lucky to call Drew ur man

↘️user7: nah, he’s acc my man

user8: as if we acc thought this majestic man was single 😭

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reiderwriter · 8 months ago

Text

I Won't Let You Forget

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When you wake up in a familiar yet unfamiliar bed with no memory of begging your long-time work crush to sleep with you, you have even less recollection of him actually agreeing. Small memories of pleasure haunt you as he tries to figure out why you're suddenly so distant.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!! Alcohol use (whole BAU team, and as a precursor to sex), implied smut, on page (?) smut, dom-ish!Spencer, male masturbation, marking, nipple play/torture, edging, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex/ make out, creampie, reader is very into male moans. That should be it.

A/N: I forgot about this fic TWICE, but it's here!!! Posting again for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB challenge, and I feel like this one slightly misses the mark but it works anyway. Gif inspiration is at the end for anyone familiar with Business Proposal lol

Masterlist

Being an FBI Agent means you'd slept in - and woken up in - some sketchy places on jobs. A number or motel and hotel rooms across the backroads of America, planes, cars, and office desks. You could usually orient yourself pretty well upon waking, and remember how you'd gotten yourself there quickly.

There was something strange about that morning in particular, though. The bed was comfier and warmer than any motel you'd ever seen, and the fact that there was one meant no jet or desk. It was pitch black outside, though, so visually, you were out of luck. The sheets smelt fresh and familiar, and if weren't for a small warning bell in the back of your head, you'd have shut your eyes again and huddled against the large body pressed against your back.

‘Ah,’ you thought, inwardly cringing. ‘That would be it then.’

Slowly, you pulled what you assumed to be a man's arm from around your midsection, trying to extricate yourself quietly from the bed without any notice.

Whoever was asleep behind you, though, was a lot stronger than you had bargained for, and he quickly pulled you back into him.

Your back hit his chest as he nuzzled into your neck, and you heard his groan out a greeting before stilling and returning to the land of rest. If anything, for your troubles you just came to an understanding that whoever was behind you was just as naked as you were, and based on the way your body seemed over stretched, and well-rested, you had no doubt about the events leading upto your discovery.

You just had no memory of it either.

You wracked your brain, trying desperately to recall where you were, who you were with, and what you were going to do to get out. Unluckily for you, your brain was at about half capacity as his hands worked their way between your legs, even as he slept.

His hands were soft, his touch light on your skin, as if he were tracing words along a page. You twitched under him, stomach flipping as your hips bucked backwards, and your eyes dropped closed again.

You hadn't a clue who you'd climbed into bed with, you simply had the greatest regret that you'd likely never see him again, and would not remember what was likely a deeply, deeply satisfying night.

In abject mortification, you tried once more to free yourself from the very pleasurable prison you'd found yourself in.

Thankfully, his hands chose that moment to fall limp, and you took your chance, hopping up and searching the floor for at the very least your underwear before chancing a glance around you.

Like an arrow through the heart, you realised the room was familiar because you had slept here before. You'd slept over at Spencer's house many times, after work ran late and you needed a place to crash.

Never naked, though. Until now.

You pulled on your clothes as fast as you physically could and tried not to squeak out your disbelief. You almost wondered if you hit your head hard enough against the bookshelf, some braincells would knock together and produce the memory you'd been desperate to make for half a year.

You had finally succeeded in bedding Spencer Reid. And you didn't remember a moment of it.

It was grief that drove you out of his house at 5 am. on a Saturday morning, and definitely, absolutely no regret.

Stepping outside the dark building and being greeted by the first hints of a sunrise, one single, trifling memory slipped back into your brain.

“Something casual,” you giggled, every 's' sound slurring together with each letter touching them. “Something casual and naughty, and fun.”

You didn't remember his exact reply, but though a flicker of arousal ran through you at the memory of the deep rumble of his voice. He had been close, his mouth next to your ear.

You supposed now that his reply hardly mattered when you knew the outcome anyway. It'd been the man himself wrapped around you in bed that morning, his fingers grazing your skin, his cock hard against your ass, his dreams obviously clearer than your own memories.

“It's not like we have the time to see other people,” you'd said to him the night before, hand pushing up his thigh to signal your intent. “We can have some fun. Share a motel room now and then.”

Four sentences.

Four sentences were the extent of your memories, and each one of them had been said by you. Not even a single reply flittered through your brain anymore, a single reaction.

You'd have thought it all a dream but for the fact that you were hunched outside the main entrance to Spencer's building, sans pair of panties you couldn't locate, thanking the gods that your very expensive bra was still around and that you'd worn pants the night before.

To say that Spencer was similarly disorientated when he woke hours later was an understatement. Of course, with the caveat that he remembered every word, every breath, every touch and movement. Instead, he was surprised to find you gone, without a word.

You'd promised as much last night, though.

Casual sex. That's what you'd asked for, and what he'd spent the better half of an evening trying to talk you out of, first with words and then with actions.

It didn't take a night together with you for Spencer Reid to realise that what he wanted quickly bypassed casual. Even now, alone in bed with the memory of you, your scent buried deep in his sheets, the history of your lips branded into his skin, he felt an overwhelming longing.

His body protested against his interrupted plans. He'd hoped to wake you up much the same way he'd put you to sleep the night before, limbs tangled, his cock buried deep inside of you. Instead, he swung his legs out of bed and looked for any trace of you.

It didn't take him long to find your accidental gift. He'd been the one to remove them from you the night before, and he had a good grasp of what the room was supposed to look like, so spotting a pair of fire truck red panties tucked by the door wasn't hard.

It was less spotting them and more staring at them until he convinced his body to calm down, which in and of itself was like fighting a losing battle.

He'd woken up hard, which he didn't doubt was due to dreams of you. He tried his best to ignore it, but before he knew it, he was laid back down with your discarded panties in his hand, pressed up to his mouth and nose as he worked out his frustrations.

Usually, he tried to get himself off as quickly as possible. Time was a commodity, and he always had to be somewhere doing something. That morning, though, he gladly sat back and indulged.

His brain queued up the memories of the night before, playing them chronologically so he could enjoy the feeling of your lips on his, your legs gripping around him, your tongue flicking at the tip of his dick. When he finally came, it was with the disappointment that he hadn't gotten to the best bit yet, finally pushing inside of you.

But after a night of activity and a lonely morning, he let himself rest again and turned his mind to other objectives.

1. Get your panties back to you without being put in handcuffs for indecency.

2. Have enough casual sex with you that you realise you no longer want casual, but something more.

3. Change the bedsheets.

The following week at the BAU was - thankfully - a blur of cases, consultations, and computer files. You were swept off on another case by Sunday evening, back in two days and off again by Thursday morning. Before you knew it, an entire week had passed, and you hadn't had to discuss anything with anyone.

Every morning walking into the bullpen was like walking on shards of broken glass. Willingly.

You'd said less than four sentences to Spencer since you'd accidentally on purpose thrown yourself into his lap, and you found yourself suddenly lacking the vocabulary to actually bring it up.

Instead, you'd simply chosen to sigh after him as he did anything at all in the office, with a single thought in your head: ‘Did he keep the glasses on while we fucked?’

He'd been wearing them all week, and you always thought they made him look hotter than he already was. A little nerdy, but in a Superman way. You couldn't for the life of you get the memory to pop back into your head, though, despite prompting it with many out of pocket daydreams.

“What's got you all introspective?” Derek asked, striding up beside you in the office kitchenette.

“Nothing in particular, what makes you ask?”

“Well, Princess, you just poured salt in your coffee, and from memory, you don't take it that way, so maybe there's something going on with you.”

You cursed and emptied your cup quickly as the man laughed.

“Take it what way?” A voice called out from the doorway, and every hair on your body stood on high alert. There was something about Spencer saying ‘take it’ that should've been so casual, but sent shudders across your body as you heard the words whispered into your ear.

“Take it like a good girl, that's right. So good for me.”

Your cup almost went crashing to the floor as your ears pricked, but you refused to turn around for fear he'd read the truth on your face.

“Nothing kid,” Morgan said, chuckling as you rinsed your cup and kept rinsing it until you felt yourself cool down a bit.

“What's up with the glasses? You've been wearing them a lot this week.” Derek asked, and you cursed his sudden onset curiosity, knowing there was no way to dismiss yourself from the room without garnering an entirely new set of questions.

“I just ran out of contacts,” Spencer replied, but you heard the grin in his tone without even having to look at him.

“You should just throw out all of your contacts,” you'd said, as you nipped at his throat. “I swear I'd jump you every day if you looked at me like that down your glasses.”

You tried to remain composed as the memory of straddling him and grinding down against his hard member hit you like a freight train. You felt you managed it well until you looked down to see another ruined, salty coffee.

“If you ever want to fuck me, just, like, come in wearing the glasses. I'll know,” you'd moaned as his hands gripped your hips controlling your rhythm and pressing you harder into him. “Fuck, I’ll know.”

“I give up,” you mumbled and took off, avoiding all eye contact as you left the small space.

A small part of you had wished that Spencer had your memory of the night. The smallest, teeniest part of you that didn't want a do-over that was. Getting possible confirmation that he remembered everything you'd said while drunk on dick (and tequila) was a lot to take on at 2 pm. on a Friday.

As you walked away, you sent up a prayer to every deity you could think that the memories came back whole and intact, and quickly, and preferably while you were alone and not in company.

Because you wanted nothing more than to relive that brief bite of pleasure you'd been granted.

The weekend came and went fairly obstruction free, even if your dreams, waking and not, were filled with the image of Spencer's head tipped back as you raked your teeth and tongue over sensitive areas.

It took you all the way until Monday morning, when you'd returned to work and seen Spencer in the glasses once again, to remember the meaning of the words you'd thrown at him.

Spencer wanted to fuck you again. Still. Continuously?

The thought made you a little apprehensive - he already knew your body, from the sounds of it, he'd definitely been competent enough, and you was left stranded on the desert island of short term memory loss. He wanted to fuck him you again. Was there a reason? Was there something you did that he enjoyed? What were his boundaries? His kinks? What positions did he like?

Half your days now, it seemed, were filled with questions about sex with Spencer. So it wasn't a surprise you'd kept up your staring. You couldn't fault him for having his eyes trained on you more times than not as well.

You were so glad that your emotions on the subject were so tangled and crossed that no one else could read them there.

BAU 0-1 EMOTIONAL TURMOIL

It was lucky, though, that you were watching him near constantly and were the first to notice the flash of purple against his neck as he loosened his tie.

You stood with a startling bang, hitting your knee against the table as you sprinted over to his desk.

Leaning over him, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and, tugging him around so he was facing you, began buttoning it for him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, looking up at you and trying to play this off as a daily occurrence, to not alert the room full of human lie detectors to suspicious behaviour.

“What are you doing?”

“Your tie is loose. Strauss is always visiting these days. Let's not give her petty reasons to penalise us.”

He relaxed more into your touch and let you work, tilting his head so your hands could get where they needed to be.

“So you're being a good friend?” he asked, and despite the obvious bait, you answered.

“Yes.”

“Good friends help each other out.”

“We can still be friends, Spencer,” you'd begged as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get it off so you had more skin to taste. “Good friends who help each other out from time to time. Like this.”

“Your neck is still purple,” you whispered, changing the subject and moving on to his tie as you untied it and levelled it again, ready to twist back up.

“Is yours?”

“You can see my neck, it's fine.”

“That's not what I meant.”

You met his eyes finally, completing the last loop of the knot as you challenged him.

Or rather, challenged yourself to not drop your eyes to his lips.

“Say what you mean,” you glared, straightening his shoulders and brushing off non-existent dust as you attempted to slip away.

“The purple marks on you. I didn't leave them on your neck. Are they still… bright?”

You looked around you. Emily and Derek seemed to be giving you slightly weird looks, but both seemed trapped on business phone calls that wouldn't end anytime soon.

You'd noticed the marks straight away, of course, across the tops of your breasts and surrounding them, as if that area had been the coordinates for a targeted assault. Now, though, with his eyes burning a path down from your eyes to your chest as loudly as a person could ever look, you knew just how true that was.

“Spencer, fuck YES!” You had moaned the second your back hit the mattress of his bed. You'd been drinking together on his sofa, but were ecstatic to graduate to the bedroom and lose half your clothes in the process.

With greedy hands, he'd ripped away your bra, and immediately he'd latched on with his mouth, sucking, biting, licking, fondling. He bruised one spot with his mouth while his hand tortured a nipple, first ignoring it, circling it but not touching it directly, and then pulling it to the border of pain and pleasure before switching hand and mouth and repeating the process.

Back in the present, you looked down at Spencer in his seat, breathed deeply, and replied.

“You know as well as I do that you made them to last.”

“So we match, then?” he asked, and you gave a quick nod before escaping back to the relative sanity of your desk. His eyes didn't leave your chest though, and for the whole afternoon, you wondered if he'd invented a way to look so hard that you bruised further.

If you had to give one reason why you loved your job, you'd probably say because you spent your day solving riddles and puzzles and getting to the bottom of situations. You liked clear-cut explanations for things and couldn't stand the roundabout ways people in other professions had to talk to each other. You'd listen to Hotch walk laps around other lawyers in legalese enough times to know you were no fan of espionage or double talk.

So there was only one downside of the job, and that was having to be covert. If you'd wanted to spy, you'd have joined the CIA instead.

Your most recent case, unfortunately, had landed you doing exactly that. It had also landed you in a closet, chest to chest with Spencer Reid, as you listened into a conversation between two likely suspects.

In the first five minutes, you gained the important information you needed, and the next forty-five was a waiting game to see when they'd finally get out so you could escape.

If you'd been alone, you wouldn't have minded. But with Spencer's 6 foot something frame practically wrapped around your own, your spine was ramrod straight, your thoughts turning back to frustration as you urged your brain to give back the night of memories you'd lost.

Because if he felt this good just stood next to you, you would go crazy imagining how good he felt inside you.

The most you managed to squeak out, after nearly an hour wrapped around each other, though, was “Do you get a sense of Deja Vu here?”

It was the first time you'd turned your head to look at him, having been looking to the door the entire time. But your gaze returned to him, and even the shadows of the closet couldn't hide the obvious list dripping from his eyes as he covertly stared down your shirt. Your breasts had popped up a bit more with him squished up against you, and your hands were pinned to the wall beside your waist should you need to draw your gun quickly if found.

Your companion, instead, was in a world of his own, and you were suddenly grateful that he'd kept at least an inch of space between your hips, knowing that you, too, would be a goner if you had to stand against the hard line of his cock for this long.

“Hmm?” He whispered, still staring at the little speckles of faded yellow and purple that popped out of your suddenly too low shirt.

“Deja vu?” You asked again, slightly breathless and dizzy, a side effect of his lusty gaze.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a slow nod, his hands gripping your waist and pinning you more firmly to the wall as he debated giving into temptation. “We've definitely been here before.”

A snippet of a memory caught you unaware, and you gasped in response.

He pinned your hands above your head against the wall as you crashed your way into the bedroom, his fingers too impatient to undress you to start pleasuring you. Without a warning, he slipped a hand up your dress and down your panties, keeping you in place with one impossibly large hand as the other skilfully drew out moan after moan with soft caresses.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned against your lips, as your memory melted away to reality.

You were being edged by your goddamn frontal cortex, and you had absolutely had enough. As soon as the suspects left, you raced out of the closet as fast as your feet could carry you away from the torment.

A week of solid case work, avoiding Spencer and hitting your head against a brick wall in your spare time later, and you found yourself attending a hasty work celebration with the team.

A murderer had been caught job well done, or whatever excuse you needed to unwind after work over a few large pizzas.

“All I'm saying is, a deep dish every now and again would be appreciated. We're never that far from Chicago.”

“We're 613 miles away from Chicago.”

You laughed at the tired face Derek flashed the team before biting into his slice, your other coworkers similarly tucking into the late night meal.

You'd landed at 11pm, and starving, had come to your last resort.

“Is anyone else's pizza wet?” Emily asked, picking up her slice and letting it drip onto her cardboard plate.

You shrugged at the comment, just happy to finally be filling your stomach with something other than coffee for the first time in what felt like forever.

But there seemed to be no rest for the wicked, and you caught Spencer's eye as you tugged the cheese into your mouth.

“Mhmm. So wet.”

There was no reality in which you stopped yourself from choking on your food then, as he kept a quiet smile on his face as the others offered you drinks and tissues.

Perched next to him, you shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye and were about to turn back to your meal when he moved again.

Bringing a tissue to your lips, he wiped away the grease from the corners, quietly berating you as he cleaned you like a child.

“So messy. Don't choke on it next time.”

The double entendre didn't go unnoticed, as Derek piled on quickly, not noticing the unsettling mix of deep, bitter embarrassment and utter arousal warring on your features.

“Kid, you don't have to tell the woman to swallow. I'm sure she's perfectly capable.”

Each memory that hit you came with a wave of matching mortification, as you tried to keep every reaction to yourself.

But remembering the feeling of Spencer Reid's cum shooting across your face was something you'd much rather have experienced privately. You stayed trapped into much too intimate eye contact with him anyway as he kept tending to your small spills. He wiped away the drops of grease on your legs, gripping your thigh much tighter than you could ever have possibly needed.

Evidently, your coworkers had found some satisfaction with the pizza, as they all seemed to not notice the tension a simple touch had snapped between the two of you. Using their hunger as a shield, you quickly excused yourself from the table to clean yourself up.

The door to the bathroom was only a step away from the door to the alley, and you quickly let yourself out into the crisp night air. Not even two minutes later, Spencer was with you.

“Y/N?”

“Oh god, it's happening again. I can hear his voice!”

“Y/N, please, come back inside.”

“Sure, if you stop trying to eye fuck me in front of my boss!”

With the words finally out in the open between you, you stood still for a best or two, letting Spencer pick up the slack in the conversation.

“The… The others were talking about going to get some drinks,” he started carefully, afraid you'd spook at any moment. “After pizza?”

“Drinks?”

“Alcohol.”

You gave a short bitter laugh and brushed a hand through your hair as you turned your face away from him.

“I seem to make a lot of mistakes when I'm drunk.”

“Mistakes?” He said. The word was so quietly hurt that you instantly winced, realising your mistake.

“No. No. That's not how I meant it, Spencer, I just…” you grabbed your hair in frustration again, trying desperately to find the words to explain the gaping void where pleasing memories should've been.

“Everyone… everyone is still inside, right? No chance of a surprise visit from anyone.”

“They're debating Hawaiian pizza, I think we have time. Why?”

Another minute passed as you thought through your next actions, leg shaking as you processed every possible emotion.

Lunging toward him, you grabbed a hold of his shirt and pressed up to meet him in a kiss. Responding quickly, his hands gladly claimed a hold of your body as he walked you back against the wall, his mouth furiously engaged with your own in a battle of lust.

“I don't-” you gasped between kisses, unable to get more than a word in as his tongue works his way into your mouth. He pulled away eventually, but only to distract you further with a wandering tongue exploring the plains of skin already on show. Neck, lips, cheeks, collar, nothing is safe from the hear of his tongue tracing up and down the length of you..

“Don't what?” He said, finally finding the willpower to pull back for more than a millisecond.

“I don't remember. Any of it, I can't remember. God, I'm so stupid. Why don't I remember?”

For a second, his tongue kept up its journey, and you moaned as he nipped at the edge of your ear. That was until your words hit his ears and his hands flew up faster than you could've ever pushed them off.

“What?”

“I don't-” panic surged in your voice as you felt it tremble and shake, gulping it down to continue.

“I don't remember anything. And I woke up in your bed, and it felt so good and nice, but I couldn't remember it until you started doing things, and then I remembered… small parts?"

He raked a hand through his hair and took a deep breath as you continued, desperate to get every word out as fast as possible.

“I-I-I, shit Spencer, I woke up feeling so good, and then I saw you there, and I couldn't remember a thing. Do you know how long I was waiting for something to happen? I couldn't even remember one stupid fucking kiss, let alone anything else we did-”

“You seriously don't remember anything.”

“That's what I've been saying.”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath as you stepped closer to him, desperate to explain your predicament.

“You don't… you didn't just regret It and decide to leave?”

“I can't regret something I don't remember.”

Worrying his lip, he looked away for a minute and looked back, and you found yourself creeping closer again until his hands were gripping your hips again as he looked back to you.

“If you could remember, would you regret it?”

In a heartbeat, you had your answer.

“No.”

His lips crashed into yours again, and you gladly moaned into this one. With one hand buried in curls and the other pulling him closer by his loose tie, your hands stayed fastened to his body, clutching him like there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

His hands followed suit, falling down to your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, holding you against the wall and lifting you just slightly, angling your hips together in a way that numbed your senses.

Everywhere you touched left you craving further exploration, to be closer to him, and you whined in his mouth as if to let him know what you so dearly craved.

He listened and gave in, his fingers pushing to the centre of you, mere centimetres away from where you wanted him.

It was as if God was laughing down at your struggle, though, as just as he was about to make contact, a shout of your names rang out around the corner. Just as Penelope rounded into the alleyway, you shoved Spencer away, accidentally flinging him to the ground as you desperately righted yourself again.

“There you two are. What are you doing out here?”

“Earring,” you gasped, praying it was just dark enough for Penelope to not notice that your lipstick and Spencer's lipstick were the same shade.

“I dropped an earring, and Spencer is helping me look for it.”

Slightly confused, Spencer quickly went along with your lie, patting the ground where he'd fallen to look for the imaginary jewellery.

“Okay. Well, we're hopping over to the bar next door, and no! This is not optional, Emily already ordered the first round.”

Without another word or explanation, or anything to really help you figure out what was going on with you and Spencer, the two of you awkwardly followed Penelope into the bar and to your seats.

You stuffed yourself into the seat beside Penelope, and were not at all upset when Spencer climbed into the booth right beside you, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you knees bumping every now and then from the movements.

And just like that, you found yourself drinking for another two hours, unable to process any of the emotions you'd been through in the alley.

Elation. Desperation. Sadness. Arousal. All stuck in your tiny, tiny brain as you tried still to remember any small detail you could about your last encounter.

Your look of concentration didn't go unnoticed.

“Y/N, what's with the pensive look?” Derek shot at you across the table as he finished the last dregs of his beer. “Is it perhaps the melancholy of singleness?”

“That's not a word,” Spencer mumbled into his own drink.

When Penelope joined in, you knew you'd been backed into a corner.

“Are you not seeing someone?” She asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“There was that guy you mentioned last week, right?” The sound of betrayal came directly from the other side of you, and your head whipped from Penelope to Spencer so fast, you were sure you'd be feeling it in the morning.

“What? What guy, Y/N? You never mentioned a guy to me! Spencer knows, but I don't know. How is that fair?”

“No, Penelope, he's-”

“Spencer, what do you know? What's this guys name? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? When you say she mentioned him last week, was it a mention mention, or just a mention?”

“Penelope, slow down.”

“Well-”

“Spencer! Do NOT answer her.”

“You don't want me to tell her about the guy you wanted something casual with. You said you were around him a lot, so you might as well try it at some point.”

Your face burnt in shame as you narrowed your eyes at him. Had you really said that? Had that honestly been your opener for hitting on the man you'd wanted for the longest time?

“Mhmm, really? And what else did I say?”

“I don't think you'll want me to say-”

“No, please, jog my memory.”

“You said, and I quote, that he had a ‘very rideable face.’ You followed up with, ‘it would look very pretty buried between your legs.’”

The chorus of laughter that rang out only set you more on edge after the flush of memories that hit you once more. He had looked very pretty sat between your legs licking your cunt, lapping up your cum as your legs shook and you fucked yourself against his face. He had simply pressed a hand to your stomach, held you still and kept up the good work. His eyes sparkled with passion and his lips glistened with cum. It was quite the picture, now that you remembered it.

You were just annoyedeniugh, so you had to shoot back a retort. You were just too slow to realise “yes, well, I can recall that I was, in fact correct,” wasn't the right retort.

Another half hour of questioning later, and you'd finally been allowed passage out of the bar, into a taxi, and back to your apartment, alone but for the shame.

Spencer, perpetually sober-ish, had been put on designated driver duty to get others home, and it wasn't as if you could protest.

You threw yourself down onto your bed as soon as you got into your apartment and stayed there until you were about to fall asleep. A knock at your door pulled you back into the world of the woken, and you dragged yourself to the door.

You weren't surprised to see Spencer back at your side an hour after you'd left him. You knew it was a possibility, though you thought you'd be waiting another 12 hours or so.

It took less than 12 seconds for his searching eyes to find whatever silent consent he was looking for before he stretched out and claimed you. He softly cradled you as his lips met you, his gentle touch delicate where his soft lips were hard and insistent. He closed the door. He pushed you back a step at a time until you were out of the doorway. Pausing, he pulled away and took off his glasses, putting them down on the side table, before cupping your cheek and stealing your breath. Again.

You moaned into his kiss, and he slipped his hand down to your neck, gently squeezing as he moved you back towards the bed.

“Spencer…” you begged wordlessly.

“Remember now?”

“N-No.”

He nodded and continued, his other hand loosening his tie once more, as you clung to him like glue, hands not daring to move from the holds you had on his shirt, afraid you'd trip and lose sight of him all over again.

You reached the bed, and he sat you down, tearing his lips away at last, but still choosing to keep hold of your neck, standing above you.

“Are you sober?” He asked, as though he hadn't watched you drink only virgin cocktails all night. You shook your head, yes.

“Good.”

��Are you going to fuck me?” You blurted out, unable to help yourself, even without the liquid courage.

“You wanted the experience, right? And then you forgot all about it, so it's only polite…” His hands began massaging your neck, shoulders, pushing down into your shirt to get the top of your chest, too.

“I don't want the experience,” you said quickly. “Not- not a casual experience, Spencer, I want… I want…” His hands distracted you as your shirt stretched to allow his hands to grope your breasts. He slipped into your bra and began his assault of your chest, still looming above you as he listened to your explanation.

“I… don't want a casual thing, Spencer, I want- I want…” you moaned as he pinched your nipple hard, seething as you attempted to not shout out.

“What do you want, Y/N? Be specific.”

“I want you!” You moaned, chest pushing into his touch, trying to avoid the mixture of pain and pleasure pulsing through you with each flick of his finger.

“For how long?” He asked, and your brain short circuited as you whined and pouted up at him, his fingers still tugging at your nipples, still kneading your skin, and pretending his touch was nothing.

“D-don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't make me give this an expiration date.”

Spencer's eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself on your back swiftly after, his lips pressed to yours as he held himself over you. Instead of assaulting your chest again, he was slower, more delicate as he gently removed your shirt, encouraging you to move further up the bed as he planted himself firmly between your two legs.

Everywhere he kissed and licked and sucked was a distraction from his attempts to uncloth you, to make you forget that he was still fully dressed and you were about to be laid out plain as day before him.

You covered your chest when he stole your bra, but you couldn't push your thighs together quick enough when he got your panties, and his hand slipped between your folds before you could even catch a breath.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his fingers found your clit, dipping into your wet spot before tracing along your bundle of nerves and rocking his fingers back and forth, eyes always on yours.

He dropped his forehead to yours and watched silently as your mouth widened to an ‘O’ as you grew wetter, more desperate, more aroused, until you hit your peak and came apart on his fingertips. He hadn't even put a finger inside you, and your whole body was awash with satisfaction.

Another kiss stolen ended all thoughts of contentment as he slid in a finger into you while slipping his tongue back into your mouth.

If his fingers on your clit had been gentle, probing, curious about your release, the fingers stretching you out were the opposite. He knew your limits, had taken pleasure in your pleasure and now he was testing it, seeing how far he could push you until you did everything once again.

His free hand reached up to your face, and before you knew it, two fingers had been inserted into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, desperate to please him as your hips jumped upwards, trying to ride his hand. But every time you so much as moved, he withdrew slightly, pulling that pleasure you so desperately sought from your grasp.

“Spencer- please-” you said as he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“I'm not going faster. I want you to remember every second, I want this to last as long as possible, okay? Can you do that?”

You pouted as he stroked your cheek with his wet fingers, gathering the spit from your chin before pushing it right back into your mouth. You kept sucking.

Every time he felt you tighten around him, his fingers withdrew, or they stilled, or he moved in a slightly different way, and you were set adrift again on the tide of arousal. He edged you for what felt like days to your pleasure addled mind, and you kept up your task, too.

“Good girl. No more cumming. Not yet.”

Finally, he withdrew his fingers, your legs shaking from the tension of holding off your pleasure.

He stood and removed his shirt, unbuttoning his pants just enough to free his swollen cock, but not removing it entirely.

The sight of him almost made you weep in relief, so sure that now you were going to be able to cum, that he'd enter you and your get to release around his cock, to suck him in deeper.

Instead, he got on his knees in front of you and gave another sharp order.

“No cumming, remember Princess.” Without waiting for a response, his tongue dragged across your folds, before reaching your clit. His lips wrapped around your nub and your whole body reacted, convulsing inwards as you shouted your pleasure.

“Spencer! Spencer, no, please - please!!” You clawed at the bed as you fucked his face, hips pleading with his tongue to finish the job he'd begun an age ago with his scant fingers.

You desperately wanted your release, but he was equally desperate to frustrate you, pinning your hips and pulling back to just spit on your cunt when your thrusts became erratic, close to the edge.

He touched everywhere except the part where you needed him, content for a moment to listen to the moans turn to tears, turn to anger and frustration and longing as you clawed a hand in his hair and humped his tongue like a beast.

Finally, you came, more than happy to use his tongue like the pillow you'd stuffed between your legs in your horny adolescence.

He wasted no more time entering you, rigid and hot, and more than welcomed by your aching cunt.

He pushed in inch by inch, and the eternity that passed before that point was nothing in comparison to the millenia caught between one breath and the next, between him readying himself, and him thrusting into you in his entirety.

He filled you perfectly, as if you were born to let him take you, to despoil your cunt again and again, until the scent of him never left you.

He moved, pushing your knees up as you welcomed somehow more of him, as he hunched over you and began.

It was animalistic, and noisy, and messy, and fuck, was it hot. The bedsheets were wet already from your water show foreplay session, but with his cock locked inside of you, you couldn't hold back, and you came with a spurt.

You screamed, not expecting your pleasure to squirt out of you, as he fucked you harder, your breaths mingling with the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt being used again and again and again.

“Spencer, fuck, I'm-”

“You're what? Use your words.”

“I'm… safe, just- Fuck, just fill me up.”

He groaned into your ear as he made his thrusts more and more shallow, slowing down just enough to pull back from you and let you watch him claim you again and again.

He swiped his hair out of his face, biting his lip as his hips rolled into yours, and you swear if you had it left in you, you'd have came on his cock once more watching him do that.

You committed to memory every line of his body, every bruise, every scratch, every line, every hair, everywhere a bullet had nicked him, everywhere on his body that held pain, every gesture on his body that was registering pleasure. You cared less for your own now and more for his as you bucked up into him, meeting him silently as he sucked in a deep breath.

You watched him forget himself inside of you as he tipped his head back in pleasure and, with a small moan, emptied himself inside of you.

His breath crashed back into his body, and you felt every heartbeat resonate through him and into you.

“If you forget this again,” he panted, wrapping his arms around you again. “I'm not waiting another 20 days for a reminder.”

You smiled as his hair tickled Your neck, nuzzling into his neck as you enjoyed his warmth. You tried your best to memorise his scent, too.

“Wake me up bright and early, then,” you smiled, letting your brain settle as you replayed the day back in your head over and over again.

XXX

The inspo:

(Kim Mingue one fucking chance... one chance Kim Mingue...)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dom spencer reid

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rainylana · 1 year ago

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“Somebody else.”

Modern!bully!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: your bully realizes he’s in love with you.

warnings: god i love this so much and i’m so pleased with how it turned out. it’s short, but i’m in love with it! bully!eddie, mentions of drinking and getting high, drunk and high sex but it’s consensual, enemies to lovers, some brief smut and groping, heavy making out, this is based of my last relationship lol i basically lived this whole fic lmao. reader and eddie are over 18! based on my favorite song somebody else by the 1975!

He hates you. At lease he thought he did. It had been that way since he could remember. So why, all of a sudden, was he looking at you like that?

Eddie never looked at you like another human being. He treated you like a toy, something to play with and keep him busy, but when he got bored, he tossed you to the side like you meant nothing.

He got off on being mean to you, that should have been his first clue. Pulling your hair in class, tripping you in the hallway, copying your homework, taking most of your food at lunch.

He seemed to thrive off making you miserable, gaining pleasure on those days where he could see his antics were getting to you more than they usually did.

The only one who saw through this was Steve, who dared not to say anything, because he knew how Eddie would react, and you’d pay for it in the end. He kept his mouth shut, but he knew the truth.

And apparently, so did Eddie tonight.

You looked so carefree. So..peaceful and without a single care in the world. You looked beautiful, he came to realize, staring at you from across the room, back to the wall and cigarette hanging from his lips.

It was the annual end of the year party at Steve’s house, one where almost everyone in town would show up at. Even Eddie. He only did because he knew you’d be there. His second clue.

The dance floor was crowded, yet Eddie could only seem to focus on you. Your face glowed in shades of flashing colors, purple, red’s and blue’s as you danced, hands in the air as you twirled and spun in circles, legs kicking out and hips swinging side to side.

“I don’t want your body but I hate to think about you with somebody else”

The speakers screamed the lyrics of Somebody Else by The 1975, a song you had requested. Eddie had never heard of it before, but after tonight, he’d never be able to get it out of his head, not with the scene you displayed for him.

“Our love has gone cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else”

He was high, that’s what it was. He was stoned out of his mind and drunk. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, blinking as quickly as he could around the room, clearing his throat. He was hidden in the corner of the room, his face glowing red from the disco ball at his side, red solo cup in hand with some sort of mysterious liquid that burned on the way down.

But his eyes found you again. He couldn’t help it.

“I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone and then leaving with somebody else”

Steve was watching Eddie. He was watching both of you, but especially Eddie. The way his eyes wouldn’t leave you, the way his fingers clenched around the plastic cup when you moved your hips a certain way. He smirked, making his way across the room. Eddie barely noticed his presence.

“Make your move, Munson.” Steve clapped his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze of encouragement before returning to the spiked punch bowl.

Eddie didn’t have words to speak, giving Harrington a glance before his eyes were back on your body.

“No, I don’t want your body but I’m picturing your body with somebody else”

Images flashed in his eyes, recalling the days he spent bullying you in school, the days you cried and broke down when he’d said one too many things. He gulped, suddenly feeling very foolish of himself. Make your move, Munson. He had no move to make, did he?

The chorus repeated and you let your head lull back, eyes closed as if the lyrics were speaking to you like they were to him. He wasn’t the only one who thought you looked beautiful. His attention flickered to the strange man, a man he did not recognize, making his way through the crowd to dance with you.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. You were his and his alone. You always had been. It seemed tonight was the night he needed to tell you that.

The song turned to the instrumental beat as he shoved everyone out of the way, heavy boots tapping against the hardwood floor. “Excuse me.” He very much rudely shoved your fellow dance partner to the side, ignoring his exclamation, including yours.

“I Don’t want your body but I hate to think about you with somebody else”

“Eddie!” Your eyes widened, voice barely audible over the loud music.

“Our love has gone cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else”

His thick, large hands grabbed at your face, pulling you into his mouth with a hot, desperate kiss that screamed I love you, I always have. The song continued to play and he continued to kiss you, the beat dropped and you kissed back, the initial shock wearing off and realizing just exactly who it was that was kissing you.

You pushed him back, but only briefly, the look of fear across his face before you jumped back into his arms.

“I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone and then leaving with somebody else”

Your lips molded together like a piece of sculpted clay, tongues dancing like everyone else in the room, noses fitting together lockets.

His hand was dropping from your face to grab your hand, dragging you through the crowd and upstairs. Neither of you said a word, heart in your throat as you practically ran to keep up with him. He slammed the door to a spare room, a room he’d drunkenly slept in many nights, and pushed you against the wall.

The music vibrated underneath you, and you could hear the lyrics continue your favorite song. His mouth was on you again, lifting up your thighs to wrap around his torso.

“You dance with me,” He husked between deep, sloppy kisses. “and only me. Got it?”

You whimpered into the kiss, pressing your hips where your clothed heat met his groin. “Yes.” You nodded furiously. “Only you.”

“Only me.” He barely whispered, repeating you quickly as his hands slipped down to your ass, carrying you to the bed behind him. He dropped you, roughly yanking down your panties with a quick movement that had your head feeling fuzzy.

His full hand cupped your pussy, feeling you briefly before he was pulling out his cock. He couldn’t wait. The song was still playing, and he could see the way your lips twitched the lyrics as he thrusted into you sharply, dragging a long moan from you as you pushed up the bed.

“Somebody else.” You barely choked out the words, drunk yourself, as you both fucked each other.

#eddie munson #enemies to lovers #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie smut #eddie x y/n

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probablysimpledreams · 3 months ago

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Let Me Take Care of Ya, Yeah? (Hawks x reader: NSFW)

a/n: holy shit I meant to finish this like 2 months ago but then it just sat in my drafts until today loll BUT here's a lil hawks smut for yall<33 been thinking about how much of a #freak he secretly is and how he'd enjoy period sex (a lil too much lol) so here's a pic on it!

cw: period sex (and Hawks is v into it), afab reader, possessive Hawks

wc: 1747

Despite only dating for a few months, you have already crossed off many of Hawks' "firsts." First date, first kiss, first blow job, etc. And after he woke up to you loudly cursing a new one was added to the list: first period he was home for.

Due to his insanely busy work schedule, he had actually never been home when you've started your cycle before. So between that and the fact you are the first person he ever dated, Hawks had no clue what to do. He stayed frozen in bed, watching as you scramble to get up and examine the mess you had unknowingly made in your sleep.

"Shit I'm sorry Kei," you apologize. He stays quiet as he thinks about and processes the situation, making you frown. All you can think about is how disgusted he must be.

"What? No don't apologize baby," he confidently reassures you. A handful of his wings detach from his back smoothly before quickly attaching to you and pulling you into the bathroom. "You just do what you need to feel good, I'll handle the rest ya?" He calls out from the bedroom as he begins changing out the sheets. His feathers move around the bathroom, drawing you a warm bath and rubbing against your face affectionately before returning to Hawks.

Now that you were out of the room, Hawks let his confident demeanor fall as he scrambled to grab his phone. He began going down a Reddit rabbit hole to learn about periods and, most importantly, what he as your boyfriend should be doing when that time of the month comes. He wasted no time flying off to store so that when you got out of the bath you'd be greeted with your favorite take out order, chocolates, and a sweet note before heading out to work.

As he patrolled the quiet city streets, Hawks couldn't stop worrying about you. He wanted to do more for you, the need to take care of you stronger than usual. He decides to fall back down the Reddit rabbit hole, hoping to find more he can do for you. His eyes widen, smirk tugging at his lips as he begins reading the benefits of period sex. After a quick read, he sends you a sweet text before sliding his phone back into his pocket, thinking long and hard on what the night will bring

---------

The sun setting marked the end of his patrol shift and thankfully the Commission had no other tasks for him. Hawks basically teleported home, happily entering the apartment as he headed towards the bedroom. The exhaustion in his body began washing away the moment he laid eyes on you laying in bed, wearing one of his old t-shirts and pair of boxers as pajamas while you scroll on your phone. The scent of your body wash and lotion becomes stronger as he moves further into the room, causing his wings to twitch in anticipation. Your attention moves from your phone screen up to your boyfriend, smiling as he climbs onto the bed. Before a word could leave your mouth, his begins kissing you rough and eagerly.

"Missed me huh?" you teased, giggling as you try to catch your breath. You start start playing with his hair, thinking he needs some gentle affection before heading to bed. However as his lips began trailing down your neck, lightly nipping at the exposed flesh, you realized his true needs. "Mmm K-Keigo....but I'm on my period," you weakly protested, trying to push him away.

"Yeah I know," he responds quickly before returning to kissing your skin.

"And you still want to have sex? You don't just want a blow job or something?"

He laughed at your question, making your eyebrows furrow. One of his hands goes to cup the side of your face, thumb rubbing your cheek gently as his other hand moves to your waist, fingers teasing the elastic of your underwear. He smirks as your expression relaxes, body reacting to his touches. "Let me take care of ya, yeah?" he whispers in your ear before kissing your forehead. "Gonna make you feel so good baby," his hand slides in your underwear, fingers rubbing between your folds causing you to squirm. The way your body reacts plus the wetness of your arousal and blood coating his fingers makes him moan. After a few more teasing touches, Hawks pulls his hand out and examines his fingers. The shine and hint of red on his skin made his cock and feathers twitch.

"Stay here, Imma grab a towel for you to lay on. I have a feeling you're gonna be messy~" he teases as he gets off the bed, heading into the bathroom. He returns quickly, allowing his feathers to place the towel over the sheets as he holds you in his arms before placing you onto the towel. Once back in bed he wastes no time getting both of you fully undressed, roughly kissing your lips before moving to your chest.

"Mmm ffffuck K-Kei!!" you cry as he kisses around your collarbone and slides two fingers inside you.

"God you're so wet baby," he groans as he fingers you. The sound of him fingering you echoes throughout the apartment and it drives him crazy. He loves pleasing you, so every sound from your body and mouth has him chasing more and more. He feels you clench around his fingers, a loud moan leaving his lips as you suck him deeper into you. He takes it as his sign to go faster, thumb rubbing your clit before the fingers inside you curl upward. The intensity of the pleasure and heightened sensitivity from your hormones cause your orgasm to wash over you without much warning. Hawks praises you as he fingers you through your high, cooing sweetly in your ear. But you can't focus on anything other than the overwhelming pleasure taking over your body as you grip onto his shoulders, crying and shaking before your body sinks into the bed. You feel sweaty, your mind cloudy, and body still trembling as you lay out on the towel. Once you regain some form of composure your gaze moves to your boyfriend whose expression was once you had never seen on his face before. You watched as he stayed above you, his gaze sharp on his fingers coated in your cum and blood. His expression was animalistic, hungry even. Hawks was no stranger to blood on his hands, but this was different. This was a piece of you. A new way to mark you as his, a new way to provide you pleasure. He had never seen you cum so hard and fast before, it was driving him wild. He takes his stained fingers and begins tracing circles on your inner thighs, chuckling as you whine and as the blood sticks to your skin like it does his. He felt closer to you than ever before, and was not ready to let that high go away. His wings puffed out as he grabbed his dick, whining as he pumps it slowly. Your cum and blood left on his fingers began mixing with the precum leaking from his dick, and the sight made him shudder.

"Ready for more baby? Gotta make sure ya feel real good," his voice is dripping with lust and it makes you want to rub your thighs together. You had never expected to see him like this, but you sure weren't;t complaining. You were so use to men not caring about your pleasure or needs, but here was your gorgeous boyfriend almost cumming from the site of pleasuring you during the time of the month you loathed.

"P-please Kei," you whine, all those needy and horny feelings washing over your body again.

"Anything for you ______," he leans down to kiss you gently before sliding his dick inside you. You both moan into the kiss as you feel him stretch you out and he feels you squeeze around him. "Fuck this pussy is so good...too damn good," he babbles as he begins fucking you. He starts out gentle, worried he may hurt you if you're still feeling overstimulated from earlier. The knot in your stomach is already forming but you're too overwhelmed by pleasure to speak, so instead you tug harshly at Hawks' hair to communicate your needs. He picks up instantly on the message, moving from slow thrusts to rough, quick ones. You whine and cry out his name, back arching off the bed as tears fall from your eyes. Your hands don't leave his hair, tugging at the messy golden strands as he pulls you closer and closer to that sweet release.

"Y-you like that huh? Like how-fuck-good I fuck you huh baby?"

"Y-yes yes ahhhh," you somehow manage to choke out the words. Your praise only makes him needier, pulling himself fully out of you before slamming right back in. It only takes a couple more rough, deep thrusts until you're cumming around him again. He fucks you through it, once again praising you as you come undone around him. You cry and whine as it takes him a couple thrusts more until he cums hard and heavy inside you, pushing it as deep inside you as possible. You watch as his wings spread out behind him, shaking as he fills you up.

The room now is quiet aside from you both panting, and the scent of sex lingers like a thick fog. He pulls out of you before collapsing against your chest, a stupid cheesy grin painted across his sweaty face. You couldn't help but smile back at him, pushing strands of hair out of his face.

"Cramps feeling better?" he asks, gently rubbing your lower stomach.

"Mmhmm," you nod, melting into his sweet touches. "However now I'm sore for a whole different reason," you laugh. His cheek flush before he laughs with you. The two of you stay cuddled up in bed, not caring about the sweat or blood sticking on your skin. He peppers a few more gentle kisses, nuzzling into your neck as he lets out a few soft coos. The vibrations from the sound against your skin tickles, causing you to squirm and laugh.

"I love you Keigo," you sigh happily, rubbing his back and smiling at the way his wing flutter when your finger tips grace over them.

"I love you too ________," he hums, eyes beginning to fall close. "So damn much."

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fuckmycrane · 2 years ago

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Moon — Thomas Shelby.

— CW: 18+!, smut. breeding kink, (slight) housewife kink, mentions of kidnaping. Age gap. | word count: 1.7k. (not proofread!)

— a/n: I have no clue from where this came from. I'm not in the best mindset and this happened. This is also my first time writing for Tommy so don't hate me lol. This isn't canon compliant ig because I don't want it to be. I just want him so bad it's not even funny.

Vulnerability.

It was a word he never thought he’d truly understand the meaning of.

It was always meant to be a secret. Why? Because good things don’t last long— not for him. Never for him.

And every time he is away from you, it is a constant heartache that not even the strongest alcohol or an insane amount of tobacco could ease. He wishes he could steal the moon from the dark skies of Birmingham and hand it to you, he knows how much you love the moon. Night after night, he raises his head to stare at it for hours, wondering where are you, if you are thinking about him as much as he is thinking of you.

Wondering if you love him as much as he loves you.

Love. Such a funny word. A meaning both so full and so empty.

He wishes he could steal you.

He knows how much he loves you.

It is always better to be safe than sorry— that’s why he secluded you, and you understood. Perhaps it was the naivety granted by your young age, or maybe it was your blind love for a man who was doomed since the day he was born. Whatever it was, it kept both of your hearts attached, beating as one; watching the same moon.

He counts the days, the hours, and sometimes even the minutes; he is a smart man, he knows where you are and with whom, he knows what dress you wore and who you talked to. And he does it for love. Or even obsession. A strange urge that creeps into him every night when he thinks of you after a long day of work— an urge to be loved. He counts the days, the hours, and sometimes even the minutes until he is able to see you again. To hide under that perfect, warm blanket that is your arms, your kisses, your body.

In front of your front door, he knocks even though he knows the door is open. He has guards on every corner, eyes on every window. He already lost too many precious things in his life. He can’t afford to lose you. He built you a house, a paradise for you to enjoy, cherish and take care of. He gave you everything you could ask for, even more. Growing up, you never experienced the same deficiencies and struggles he did, you never had to lift a single finger and that’s alright for him. Because on those days when he feels powerless and exhausted, he knows he can always ride back home, and regain that power by standing next to you.

Home. Home. Home.

“Tommy!” The squeak of excitement makes the long trip worth it. Everything is worth it if it comes to you.

He hugs you, keeping you tight against his chest wishing he could stay that way forever, basking in your delicate soul, your selfless heart. Thomas calls your name in an affectionate way that no one could evoke in such a genuine way. He kisses you with such passion that makes your blood boil and your heart flutter.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, ignoring how his mind scolds him for the hint of vulnerability that laces his voice.

Placing your hands over your stomach, his body tenses at the small bump underneath your expensive, tailored dress. “We feel good, we missed you— I missed you” You reply with adoration. He is finally here.

“I’m here,” He says as if you needed confirmation that he is in fact in front of you.

“How is everyone?”

“Good” He places a large hand over your stomach, rubbing it with his palm. “Ada keeps asking me when I will bring you back to Small Heath”

“And when will that be?” Your question gives him a pang of guilt. He wishes he could have an answer, his face says it all. “It’s alright, love. I understand things are… difficult”

“Enough about that” He breathes, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He wants the distraction, he wants the warmth, he wants you. “I’m here to see my wife, not to talk about work”

With a giggle, you kiss him. “Fine. Whatever you want”

And he loves that. He loves how willing to please you are. He loves how you let him guide you upstairs, undress you, and adore you. Thomas’ hands caress the small bump in your stomach as he carefully lifts his hips to thrust deeper, enjoying every small moan and gasp. Normally he isn’t this gentle, but he will never harm you or your baby. With his occasional grunts and pants, he grabs your thighs, increasing his pace. Watching you bounce on top of him is a heavenly sight and is in these moments when he is sure you are an angel sent from heaven from him. He might not believe in God but whatever exists in this cruel world granted him with a Goddess.

“I m–missed you” You moan digging your nails into the pale skin of his shoulders. “I missed you s–so much”

That damn wave of vulnerability washes over him, the bed creaks with your combined weight, creating a delicious, sinful melody that he evokes on those nights when he is too desperate for your body and has to find relief in his own hands.

His large hands cup your breasts, paying attention to your swollen, sensitive nipples. Thomas pinches them gently watching you tremble. He can already imagine them full and heavy, ready to take care of the baby that you are expecting— his baby. A louder groan falls down his lips at the thought. Such a wonderful mother you will be. Such a perfect, precious housewife.

Such an angel sent from heaven.

“I love how you look” He confesses in a husky fashion, bouncing your tits in his calloused palms. “I can’t wait to see you— to see you all round and heavy with my baby”

His words send a shiver down your spine, clenching around him and making Thomas hiss from the raw pleasure of your tight pussy. “Please— don’t stop”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on, doll”

Thomas dares to increase the pace, using one hand to grope your ass to keep balance. Your moans also increase in volume, igniting the primal desire to claim you inside of him. “You are so fucking tight— I will fucking pump another baby into you as soon as you have this one”

You nod fervently, closing your eyes and scratching his chest. “Yes! I’ll have as many as you want Tommy— anything you want! Anything”

The loyalty he so loves.

His lust wins over his composure for a moment, landing a sharp slap over your asscheek that makes you whine and clench again causing him to grit his teeth. He is aware of how much you adore it when he is rough with you, he thrives on the submission you gave him since day one. Unable to help himself, your husband slaps your ass repeatedly, relishing the cries of pleasure that call him like a siren to a poor, lost sailor.

“Say you are mine” He grunts after another hard slap. He isn’t going to last any longer. Not with such a breathtaking view.

“I belong to you!” You comply instantly. “I am y–yours! I’ve always been” He knows you are telling the truth. That’s why he had to take you away from your home, to manipulate you in order to give up your last name, to cast you under his spell— that’s why he had to have you since he first landed eyes on you.

But at the end of the day, he was the one wrapped around your finger.

He is the one wrapped around the velvety, soft walls of your cunt, squeezing him for dear life and silently begging him to breed you, use you, claim you…

Love you.

With a strained cry, you come around him. He could watch you unravel on top of him for hours— in fact, he has. Your movements were slow, deliberate, and intense. He could feel his breath hitch as you moved, and his heart raced as you arrived at your climax. His gaze was unwavering as he watched you ride out the waves of your pleasure. Thomas followed you seconds after, moaning your name under his breath; he fills you up just the way you both adore, it’s evident that when the hours pass, time is the only thing left to waste. Panting above him, he carefully settles you next to him, spooning you and keeping his softening cock inside of you. This is how he wants to end every day, to wake up every morning.

Kissing your sweaty neck, he breathes you in, memorizing your scent once again. He knows his time with you is limited before someone notices his absence and begins to track him. Thomas needs to be two steps ahead of anyone. Your soft giggles make him smile, a genuine smile that feels so foreign to him. Under the darkness of your bedroom, his hands caress your hot skin, providing you with the heat and care he knows you crave.

“I love you” You whisper, closing your eyes and falling asleep rather quickly. He listens to your heavy breathing, peaceful and unbothered; and that’s how he wishes it could stay forever. Away from worries, stress, fear.

“I love you, more than you can imagine” He musters, hiding his face on the crook of your neck.

It’s true. Because love is such a funny word that gives him such a funny feeling.

A warm, fuzzy feeling.

He opens his eyes, raising his head to look at the windows. The curtains are wide open, the weak glow of the full moon casting a divine glow over your naked body. His lips land on your shoulder, allowing the sensation to wash over him. It's a moment of peace and serenity, a moment in time that will never be forgotten. A moment he doesn’t want to end.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will bring you back where you belong. It doesn’t matter the consequences, it doesn’t matter if the whole world finds out Thomas Shelby was the one who kidnaped Jack Nelson’s younger sister. As long as he has you, he is alive.

And he swears it to the moon.

#— ✏️ anya writes!#— 🚬 thomas shelby!#thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x you #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

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wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

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solar4seekstron · 7 months ago

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Tf1! Orian Pax one day seeing this normally quiet miner! Reader sneaking off. And gotten curious he decided to follow. Leading to a very hidden place that he had no clue existed yet, forgotten and high up, he finally climbed up and he was in awe. As the reader found a rare glimpse of the starry night of the surface... you cook with the rest of it my dear.

That’s really good!!! I shall do my best.

Special Spot

Orion Pax x Cybertronian!Reader Oneshot

(I didn’t know if you meant actually on the surface or not but a few guys ago I went to the mountains with my family. Some people lived in really nice houses in the mountains so that gave me an idea! I hope you still enjoyed! Or just DM to yell at me if I got it wrong lol)

I decided this would be cute of Orion Pax finally gaining the strength to tell his crush his feelings and after finding their little special spot close to the surface. He’s so fixated, he forgets his nervousness and finally has a chance to get a spark mate.

Content: SFW

Introduction Movie Oneshot Masterlist

TW/Tags: Wholesomeness and fluff, Orion is precious, reader is quiet, this is so sweet you might get sick lol

Orion pax has always noticed you. Although you were always quiet and didn’t speak much. Until a superior or- Elita spoke to you. You always seemed in a good mood and when he tried talking to you. Your words are always sweet and soft. Hell to the others it seems like you don’t even know the concept of sarcasm. Since everyone else does it with him but when he’s with you. He actually feels no attacked.

Over time. He grew a bit of a crush on you. Although not with much to say. And would never threaten him with beating him with a shovel. Your actions always spoke louder. He knew that tonight is going to be the night.

So once everyone else has fallen asleep. He makes his way towards you and once at your sleeping spot. He noticed when pointing his helm out of the corner, you were- AWAKE?!?! He watched you

You were walking away and made your way out of the mining quarters. He followed behind you to where you don’t notice him

———————————————————————————

After some time you continue to make your way to a certain spot. Right between two buildings that are higher up a sort of mountain. A steep hill the buildings were set on

Once you made it there you leaned your back against the wall. There was an amazing view once you looked up. An opened window to the stars of the surface. Although it wasn’t that big. It was just enough for you to see. You continued to stare up. Not noticing Orion snuck up next to you. He then leaned down a bit close to your audio sensors and whispered as gently as he can “what are we looking at?”

This startled you. You were quick to back up your arms in front of you to protect yourself. Orion had his hands up and looked at you.

“Woah. Easy. I ain’t here to hurt ya or anything.” You just looked at him. Looking back at the ground and back at him a few times. He realized you were worried and thought fast.

“Hey,..I won’t snitch if that’s what you’re worried about…I have my secrets too around this city..” he chuckled. You stayed still for a moment looking at him. But then you’d slowly give him that usually warm smile and looked back up at the stars. Orion looked up too. Took him a moment but he was able to finally see them. He was amazed. So enchanted he was actually quiet for a moment.

You let out a sigh as you close your eyes “one day I’m going to fly under those stars. Only closer to them then…” Orion glanced at you and gently smiles. His optics soft

You two stand there looking up for a few more Nano Kliks until Orion finally spoke. His fight gently touching yours.

“So um….you wanna…goooo”

“Yeah Orion. I’ll let you court me”

Orion turned to the opposite side of you raising his arm and first as he closed his optics and whispered “yes!!!!”

You chuckled your helmet resting on his shoulders as you closed your optics. Your hand holding his until they interlocked. Orion continued to look at the stars. He was so happy.

Hope y’all enjoyed!

#transformers one #transformers one x reader #orion pax x reader #x reader

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year ago

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Hi!! Can i request a hurt/comfort hotch x reader?

Reader is starting to feel lonely in the relationship cause for the past 2 months hotch has only been home for a week total and she really misses him. They haven’t had time to themselves cause even when hotch is in virginia he’s in the office and him getting called out on a case during his day off happens more often than the both of them want to. and even when they text and call it’s not the same.

anyway hotch comes home in the middle of the night after a case and he just finds reader on the sofa crying cause she just really misses her boyfriend and the two of them finally talk about it.

You have permission to break my heart with the angst and put it back together. I know its long and i have no clue if it made sense so im sorry😭😭 enjoy your day💕

ೇ night shift ― aaron hotchner .ᐟ

pairing .ᐟ aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

summary | you knew that being with aaron meant that his job came first, you just hadn't realized how badly it would actually affect you. now, your life and love is on the line.

warnings | ANGST ANGST ANGST!!! you have been warned!, thoughts of breaking up, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, hints of depression.

wordcount | 905

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | my first long fic back being angst LMAOOOO. i'm not going to lie, writing this kind of bummed me out a bit but that's how i knew it was going to be good LOL. but never fear, i got a few smutty things in the works, so keep a silly little eye out for that!! i love you guys so so much and thank you for your request!

— links .ᐟ masterlist | ao3

The room felt melancholic.

Empty.

The sounds of laughter that had once bounced off of the walls of your home now rang silently, one of the only people that knew of the joy that once made your house a home was long gone on a case right now.

You don’t know what to do. How could you last like this? How could your relationship? How could Jack?

Jack, the precious little boy that you had taken under your wing even before you and Aaron had ever made it official.

You knew he missed his father dearly, but with every large life milestone the boy had completed, Aaron had missed out on.

It had gotten to the point where Jack doesn’t bother to ask you if he could call his dad to tell him about it, because nine times out of ten, he knew that Aaron wouldn’t answer.

So now as you sit here on the couch in the dark with your head in your hands, you can’t help but think that maybe this was it, that it was time to consider the very dreaded other option.

You tried your best to make your relationship with Aaron work, God did you try, but having to sit there and endure weeks of radio silence, of not knowing whether or not he was alive was excruciating. When he did have time to text or call you, every conversation was more and more distant.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and your bottom lip trembled. You crossed your arms and placed them on your knees where you leaned on them, staring out into the abyss of your dimly lit living room. You had just put Jack to sleep, and you didn’t want to risk waking him up.

Your eyes solemnly scaled the walls where the pictures of your little family hung, frames upon frames of happy smiling faces.

What happened?

It was the fact you were absolutely drowning in your thoughts that you didn’t hear your front door unlock – something that your boyfriend would deeply frown upon.

Aaron wasn’t surprised to find the apartment quiet, what he was surprised to find was your silhouette illuminated by a single lamp. What really set off the alarms in his brain was your shivering shoulders, which could only mean one thing.

“Sweetheart?” His deep voice pierced the thin air hovering above you. You just shook your head, any happiness that would have left your mouth died in your throat, the words leaving you was, “We have to talk.”

You hated doing this, but who’s to say he won’t get called in tomorrow? No, you had to do this now.

Aaron felt his heart fall into his stomach as he made his way over towards you, gently sitting down on the cushion next to yours, almost as if he was afraid to scare you.

“Of course. Are you okay?” He inquired in concern. You just shook your head again. “This isn’t working, Aaron.” The pain lacing your voice was unmissable. “What?” He’s completely caught off guard, because this was the last thing he’d expected to come home to.

“I can’t do this anymore… unless – unless we can figure something out but even then I-” He rushes to grab your hand, and it lays limp and cold in his warm and calloused one. “Honey please, what’s wrong? Tell me what I can do.” Holy shit, he’s panicking.

“You’re never here anymore! I - I can’t remember the last time in the past two months that we’ve been able to have any alone time together! Most of the time you’re either gone in a whole different state or stuck in the office!” You couldn’t stop the word vomit from leaving, all kinds of emotions that had been kept dormant finally coming up to the surface.

You heaved out a deep breath, your body slumping in defeat. “Did you know that Jack learned how to ride a bike today?” You asked quietly.

“No.” Aaron gulped, “I didn’t.”

A heavy silence settled between the two of you.

“What do you need me to do?” Finally, you looked at him.

There were unshed tears in your eyes, “What I want you to do, you can’t make it happen.” His eyebrows furrowed. “You want me to quit my job?”

“No,” You said with a disbelieving laugh. “I just want you to be there.”

“Who says I can’t do that?” His head tilts, his eyes boring into yours, desperately trying to read you. It was like his profiler skills didn’t exist. “Every time you’ve had a day off you’ve been called into the office one way or another.” Your tone is hopeless, like your situation can’t be helped.

With a harsh squeeze of your eyelids, the tears began to fall, but Aaron was quick to swipe them away.

“Honey, look at me,” He cups the side of your cheek, his thumb brushing away the liquid. Hesitantly you did, and you instantly fell victim to the warmness of his irises. “I will fix this, because I am not losing you. My behavior has been completely unacceptable, and I swear that I will be here for you and Jack more consistently, I promise.”

“How do I know if this won’t happen again?

“I’ll make sure of it.”

It was the finality in his voice that fizzled out the anxiety in your gut, setting your nerves at ease.

“Don’t make me regret this, Hotchner.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

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totallynottinsel · 2 months ago

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Hello!

I saw a post where you were asking for prompts about bagginshield, if you're still looking you could try something like,

Thorin desperately trying to get information about hobbit courting. Him sending ravens to go all the way to the shire to meet Darrow from the blue mountains to figure out what the hell Bilbo means by the words " flower language". Or "ancient family recipes" Or even "a garden gift proposal"

Have Thorin with the entire company trying to figure out how to get the king hitched with the legendary burglar. Ori suddenly wants all the information on hobbits. Nori is sending ravens frantically back and forth from the shire and one of his spy ring buddies. Bombur is cooking with bilbo and memorizing certain hobbit food techniques. Gloin is asking bilbo about his family and friends and what his parents did for courting.

Bilbo has either no clue what is happening, Or is just fucking with all of them. Dealers choice lol.

AAAAWGE this is so cute. I'm obsessed. Thorin pov this time huzzah!

Thorin was at a complete loss for words.

It had been a year since the reclaiming of Erebor and the Battle of the Five Armies, and after a steady recovery he'd begun his first works as king----starting with the removal of all the hoarded gold and it's trade with the men of Dale who sought to rebuild. Afterward came a reconstruction of the dwarven halls itself, as Smaug had done quite decent damage to the structure. It had all gone well, and Thorin fell into a comfortable sureness that he would steer his people well in the right direction; but one thing he did not prepare himself for was a certain hobbit.

He had enough in him to admit to himself he'd gone and fallen utterly in love with Bilbo Baggins, but lacked the confidence to say it to him directly. Or anyone. Ever. A horrible idea really; he did not want to risk the friendship he and Bilbo had grown over their journey if he shared his true feelings and only got rejected for it. He would rather have him as a friend instead of nothing all together. He had tried to make a few moves here and there, just to test the waters, but perhaps his attempts at flirting were too subtle? (He would soon learn from the company he was the exact opposite of subtleness)

He wasn't even certain Bilbo felt the same, especially after he had threatened his very life while under a fierce sickness; why would he take Thorin then? Even if Bilbo did not hold it against him for a second, he himself still felt pained by the incident.

It was only till Bilbo had begun making him breakfast every morning, the same time, just how he liked it---his suspicion was peaked that perhaps there could be something. It also offered him a smile each day, taking a weight off the stressful nights he spent working late, which was another thing Bilbo had done for him. He'd come to Thorin's room often to remind him to rest, or more of pushing him straight into bed whether he liked it or not. He kept himself from asking Bilbo to stay.

But one morning Thorin had been simply baffled.

"Thorin! Wait!" Bilbo came rushing for him from behind, trying to catch him before he left for a meeting. "I've---I've got something, before you go. For you." He had something he fiddled around with in his hands, looking a bit pink in the face.

Thorin's interest was immediately taken. "For me?" He quirked a brow, and watched as Bilbo scrunched his nose, seemingly considering what to do, then finally unveiled what lay in his palm; it was a neatly woven bracelet of sorts, made out of tree vines and fresh greenery, and a few small flowers. That took him by surprise, as he was half expecting him to have another acorn or something of the sort.

"You're meant to wear it on your wrist. Well---you probably already knew that, but... it's made out of plants from my garden. Er, a garden gift..." Bilbo rethought his last choice of words suddenly. "Proposal. In the Shire we---"

"Thorin!" Fili called from down the hall. "Bard and his men have arrived. They're getting a bit snappy..."

"Coming!" Thorin said back, and took the bracelet with a warm smile. "Thank you. I'll be gone for most the day, but if you'd like, we could meet after dinner?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, that sounds good." Bilbo nodded, though still had a bit of an awkward gleam to him for a reason Thorin couldn't quite place, that was until halfway into the council where he eyed the gift sat in his hand curiously, repeating Bilbo's words in the back of his head. 'A garden gift proposal.' Wait, proposal? Thorin seemed to have skipped over that crucial part. He gently fondled the bracelet in a deeper examination of it; what sort of proposal did it hold exactly? Was it a diplomatic one? An offer for celebration of the company's good health, perhaps? Or maybe it was rooted deeper than that. Maybe---

"Thorin? You alright lad?" Balin's voice cut through his thoughts abruptly, making him turn his head upward to see everyone staring at him strangely.

"Hm? Yes, fine." He recovered quick to spare himself any further prodding. Though he could not stop thinking of the gift from then on, and it rattled his mind in an endless parade of questions. Hobbit's were still a mystery to him, especially that of Bilbo Baggins. It wasn't long after the council ended that Balin, the ever kind soul he was, sat Thorin down for a talk as if he were a boy again.

"I know that look on your face," Balin said. "Something's troubling you."

Thorin only sighed, then revealed the bracelet from his pocket. "Bilbo gave this to me, he... said it was a 'garden gift proposal.'" Blain's eyes widened at that. "I'm not entirely sure what he means by it."

The older dwarf grinned. "He's been making your meals, hasn't he? And watching over you?"

"Yes?"

"Well, if my ears don't deceive me, it sounds like he's trying to court you lad."

Thorin stared back at him, then to the bracelet, unsure of his next step; he knew absolutely nothing about how hobbit's went about courting, hence why it took him so long to take notice to any of the signs---so that left him with few options. If he was to reciprocate Bilbo's attempts, he wanted to do it properly. "I need your help."

"Alright! Listen up," Kili shouted across the room full of the whole company, gathered in secret. "We're here to help my poor uncle, and your favorite king, finally get with Mr. Boggins."

"Baggins." Ori said.

"Oh, yeah." Kili continued his survey of the room. "When was the last time you were eyeing someone, anyways?"

"Not since the candle incident with Rudan Wyverntank." Thorin said, and half the company shuddered at the mention. Poor Rudan still hasn't recovered.

"Right, well, we'll need all the help we can get then! C'mon, let's hear some ideas."

Nori raised a hand. "I can send a raven or two to my good pals in the Blue Mountains. Few of'em have had flings with some hobbit ladies. Oof, one said he couldn't walk straight for days after she---"

"Keep that to yourself!" Dori scrambled to cover Ori's ears, though the younger dwarf swatted him away.

"I---I wrote down quite a bit of things when we were first in the Shire," Ori raised the journal he had in his lap. "I could ask Bilbo about some of them, if that would help?"

"Perfect!" Kili clapped his hands together.

"If anyone knows about pleasing a lover, it would be me!" Glóin stood himself up proudly. "Let me speak with our hobbit, find out what he's playin' at. You know, my wife---"

"Yes, thank you, we know." Kili decided to give someone else a go.

"E'cooks for you, right Thorin?" Bombur asked. "Well, I could get a read on those scrumptious recipes o'his! Wouldn't mind getting some me-self..."

"Like you need more of those." Bifur grumbled, still surprising a lot of them with his now cohesive sentences as if that axe never even got near him.

"This is nice and all, but why don't you just ask Bilbo yourself?" Bofur, the ever open mouthed, spoke an obvious that many of them didn't think of trying.

"We've seen how that's played out." Fili choked back a keen laugh after Thorin gave him a less than pleased glare.

"He can't just ask!" Kili said in refusal.

"Why...?" Bofur was absolutely lost.

"Because---he... uh, that's too forward. They love it when you're mysterious!" Kili seemed to think after winning the heart of a Elven warrior, that he was automatically a romance expert. He did have his charms, but he ranked just above Ori in the socially inexperienced youngsters box, by dwarven standards. Fili laughed again.

Thorin only wished for a smidge of advice to guide him in the right direction, not a full blown battle worthy scheme. But, there he was---taking it regardless.

So, there it began with Glóin, who retrieved some interesting information; he learned that Bilbo found his parents relationship very aspirational, as they loved and understood each other well, but when bickers struck---they always worked through it. Bilbo admitted he wished they were there to help him, but with what in particular, he flushed and laughed it off. Glóin also, being a big family man, asked if A, he had close kin, (which was a no, besides a cousin or two that didn't hate him) and B, if he wanted to have children in the future.

Thorin had his first and hopefully only heart attack learning the answer to the latter was "with the right person, I suppose."

Kili's immediate: "You better get to work then." Did not help either.

Next came Bombur, who learned the delicate breakfasts, mid-day snacks, and lavish dinners Bilbo had been making were indeed a traditional hobbit form of early stage courting. It was meant to show your heart and dedication and how much you knew about the person's taste. And as consistently as Bilbo had been doing it, they should've been on the honeymoon already. It never crossed Thorin's mind that food could be an affectionate thing, but Bombur was quick to criticize him on that. "It's much more than sustenance, y'know!"

Ori had quite a great insight as well; he showered Thorin with piles of books about hobbit culture, though where the young dwarf found them was a mystery to him entirely. Among them was also some 'educational' dwarven literature on all things romantic and, well, coital. Ori insisted he absolutely did not mean for that to get inside the pile. "Sorry, really! I'll take that. Not that I need it! Uh, sorry!" Thorin didn't see him again for days, fairly certain he scared him off completely.

Nori had gotten valuable intel from his mates not long after, and he could confirm the whole bracelet 'garden gift proposal' thing was exactly what it sounded like. You make said gift out of plants and vines from your garden, and offer it to whomever you wish to deepen your relationship with---a sort of next big step from casual flings and early courting. If the person accepts the gift, they agree, and bring a bracelet back of their own making in return. Well, there comes the second heart attack unfortunately.

With the bracelet in mind, Thorin wanted to do his part and give Bilbo one back to show he wanted this. But that required plants and vines and flowers, which were fairly non-existent on and in the mountain, nor did he know how to make one with the right materials. So that meant...

"You've come for my help, over matters of the heart? How amusing is that." A sly smirk ran across Thranduil's lips as he sat splayed over his throne, watching Thorin like a cat pawing at a helpless mouse. "Tell me, Thorin Oakenshield," There he goes. "King Under the Mountain, what can I offer you?"

After the Battle, he and the Elven King had amended their feud, and Thorin made right to return the white gems of Thranduil's kin. Though they may have become allies as rulers, they were not past petty talk and silent glares. Thorin held down his pride and carried, even if he wanted to wipe that smug stare off his face. "I wish to return Bilbo a gift he has given me, but I lack the supplies to forage it properly." In his hand he held the bracelet out, and Thranduil leaned forward, interested. "It is made out of plants. As you can imagine, I cannot find what I need on the mountain. So.."

"You want to weave your gift out of my leaves?" Thranduil's brow perked upward.

"Yes."

The Elf thought quietly, tapping a finger to his chin, as if to just prolong Thorin's suffering. "Alright." He finally said.

"What?" Thorin wasn't expecting that, based off their previous encounters in deal making.

"I'll help you," Thranduil descended his throne, the train of his luxury gown following behind. He approached the dwarf, eyeing the gift, but not with malice. "But there's a cost."

Of course there is.

"I'll be the first to be invited to your matrimony."

"Matrimo--?"

"Come!" Thranduil clapped his hands, and servants came to his aid out of thin air. "Gather the finest vines from our trees; the purest leaves, and the most blooming flowers. Go, now." Thorin had been happily surprised by Thranduil's assistance, and what the elves brought to him that day was almost identical to the one Bilbo had crafted, but had a far more elegant work to it instead of the rustic charm of the Shire. The vines were darker rather than a lighter brown, the leaves bright oranges and reds instead of bright green, and tiny, almost colorless flowers were spotted over it. It was just as unique as the first. He could only hope Bilbo would like it.

When the night came, the company watched with wide eyes and cheeky grins outside the library door, waiting in anticipation for the moment they'd all been working towards. Even if Thorin strictly said he wanted it to be private, they deserved to see their efforts paid off!

"I wish to give you something, as a thank you for your gift, and..." Thorin held out the Elvish bracelet in his palm, and felt his heart give at the sight of Bilbo's smile. Surely his knees would go next if this was to keep going well. "It was made out of Mirkwood. I... hope it is to your liking." He heard some of the company laughing off somewhere. So much for kingly respect.

"Oh, Thorin, it's beautiful---really." Bilbo took it eagerly, holding it between his fingers, reminded of the memories of the wood and the Elven kings halls, both the good and the mostly bad. "Nori's ravens worked well then?"

Suddenly the laughter came to a fast halt.

Thorin blinked silently. "You knew--?"

"Of course I did! You all aren't very good at keeping things secret." Bilbo planted his hands on his hips. "I was interested to see how it would end. Though I'll be honest, I thought you wouldn't catch on to what I was doing. Suppose I could've been a bit more on the nose..."

"That may have helped." Thorin chuckled, guiding the Mirkwood bracelet to Bilbo's wrist, and Bilbo did the same to him with the Shire one. They laughed at the absurdity of the whole ordeal, then fell into a tender hug, and when they parted---Thorin placed a kiss on Bilbo's forehead. Bilbo stood there in his arms for a moment, taking in the action, before standing up on his toes to meet his lips with the dwarf's. Behind them a crowd of whistles and cheers and cat-calls came to celebrate, which soon enough ended in the whole company charging in to make a large group hug that swallowed them whole.

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #bagginshield #thorin x bilbo #fic request #thorin is STRUGGLING but he manages #idk if any of these are actual hobbity courting stuff so i just made it up based on the names LOL #thranduil for the win #he loves gay people #thorin povs are so fun definitely leave some more down below

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 9 months ago

Text

Cupid doesn’t gamble

Summary: Leon, a mafia boss whose empire dominates all casinos on the west coast, meets a young girl amidst a game of poker. What would happen if he threw all his chips and gambled his love for you?

Warning: Mafia!Boss!Leon x Female!Reader. Eventual smut (I know y’all want this so bad). Slow burn. Romantic. Leon is a gentleman. Characters are 21+ (makes sense for casinos). Researched topics. Mentions of violence. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 6,620

A/N: So, I’d like to start off with saying that being in the Mafia is not okay. Al Capone was NOT a good guy. But, this is fiction. None of this is real so before I get myself canceled (pls don’t) trust that I did my research. I thought of Salvatore by LDR writing this lol.

[II] [III]

“The summer's wild and I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me. Summer's hot but I've been cold without you, I was so wrong not to doubt your Medellin, tangerine dreams,” - Salvatore, Lana Del Rey

Poker isn’t just a game of gambling and betting your money away. It’s intimate and personal, in order to win you must read your opponent. Strip each other bare until the other shows a sign of vulnerability, only then will you find a loophole and win.

But nobody seems to understand the arts of chips and card decks. To be given an awful hand and turning the game to your favor is powerful and uplifting. There is great danger with gambling but there are also great rewards.

Leon was a famous man, known for establishing the most successful casinos of, dare I say, the nation. He’s a businessman, driven by the need to make a statement of himself. To hold power over people’s head with a flick of the wrist. He’s ambitious, cunning, but also respectful.

Coming from nothing but rags and the slum, he swore to his parents that he will earn everything he ever wanted in life. To provide for his family, to become one of the richest and notorious men of America. And he did.

He easily became a member of the mafia after being taken under the care of a kind man. When his parents died and he was shunned away by society, he never expected a man from a dangerous world to take him as a child and teach him to become the man that he is today.

And now here he was, engaging himself in a long hour of poker with a rookie player. You’ve never been keen on gambling your savings away, you deterred yourself from gaining the addiction. But, you did like to play every once in a while, especially since the casino you were in was quite lavish, courtesy of the man who built the casino in the first place.

You didn’t know anything about it, you didn’t even know that the man in front of you was the very own man who built his life step by step.

"You're good with your hands," he said in a rich and low tone as he stared at you from across the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you moved on forward with the game. You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to guess what he was going to move with tonight.

A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as he continued to watch you analyze him. He knew damn well you had no clue how to play, yet you were trying your best. It's what drew him to you.

He noticed you stealing glances his way as you thought of a plan. *Adorable.* He leaned back into his seat, eyeing you closely as he waited for you to make your next move.

"You're a bad bluffer," he pointed out with a smirk.

“And you’re a talker,” you quipped back with sass. You were silent for a moment before you decided to either go big or go home, “Raise,” you said to him.

Your eyes were glued to him, watching for his reaction. Was he going to fold or call? Either way, you believed you had a better hand than him.

"And you're cocky, too," he returned with a hint of humor in his voice. He raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by your bold move. Even if you didn't know how to play, you had some guts.

He studies you for a moment, his eyes lingering on you before returning to his cards. After a moment of contemplating, he pushes a stack of chips forward, adding to the pot.

"Call. Let's see what you've got," he challenges you with a sly smile.

You turned your cards over, revealing a Diamond Queen and Clover King. You put them down and crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at him with a smirk.

The bet was a high number of money. Probably worth more than your limbs being sold in the black market. But you were here for a reason, to earn some quick money. The man in front of you looked quite wealthy, wealthy and rich men weren’t uncommon in this place but it still made you feel a bit inferior with everyone wanting to show off.

Leon leaned forward, inspecting your cards closely. The smirk on your face said it all. You thought you had a good hand, and he wouldn't deny that you had a decent one. But, it wasn't enough to beat him. He leaned back into his seat once more, his expression unchanging, as he revealed his own cards. A Spade Queen and a Diamond Ace. A straight flush. His eyes met yours, his smirk turning into a cocky grin.

"I'm afraid you've lost this round, darling," he said in a teasing tone.

Your smirk immediately fell as you saw his straight flush. Wow, you lost again. You didn’t even notice him calling you by a pet name. Did you owe this man money now? How did you not see it coming? That bastard was cocky and confident as hell! You should’ve known he had a good hand.

Leon chuckled once again. The look on your face was priceless—a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He loved it.

"Looks like I win again," he said teasingly, gathering up the chips on the table, "And don't worry, darling, you don't owe me anything. Just better luck next time."

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you as he smirked. He found your reaction absolutely adorable.

You furrowed your brows confused, you didn’t owe him anything? “Wait, are you serious?” You asked confusedly. He was different from other guys around here. Was he really willing to forget about your loss and even wished you better luck?

Who was this guy? There was something about him, though, that seemed dangerous and suspicious, “Why?”

Leon tilted his head to the side as he observed you, noticing the confusion on your face. You were clearly surprised by his words. It seems like you’re *not* used to men like him.

He chuckled softly at your question. "Why? Because I'm a gentleman," he responds with a smirk.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving your face, "And I'm not in the business of taking money from pretty young girls like yourself. I'm not that heartless."

Your cheeks flared, did he just say you were pretty? You’ve never met a man so… straightforward. You cleared your throat and nibbled on your bottom lip, “Thank you,” you muttered quietly. Leon's gaze softened as he watched your cheeks flush and saw you bite your bottom lip. *Adorable.*

He’s a gentleman, he’s not *that* heartless? You didn’t understand him. He wore expensive clothes and his aura was confident.

“Is there anything else you’d like in return?” You asked as you looked at him, your arms on the table, “I’d feel guilty if you went back home empty handed.”

He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. "There is... one thing," he replied, his voice low and smooth.

He paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your name," he said simply, his smile widening, "I'd like to know your name."

You stared at him for a few moments before you nodded slightly, “Okay,” you muttered. You extended your hand towards him, “My name is Y/n,” you said softly. He was truly a gentleman, wasn’t he? He doesn’t take money from girls and he was respectful. He’s one of a kind.

Leon looked at your hand for a moment before taking it gently in his own. His rough, calloused fingers wrapped around your small, soft hand. He loved the contrast between your skin and his. The way your slender fingers fit perfectly in his grasp.

"Y/n," he repeated quietly, as if he was testing the way the name felt on his tongue. He let out a soft chuckle before bringing your hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks flushed even more red when he kissed your knuckles. Did he come out of a book or something?! You’ve never met a man that screamed rich and respectful man. It was attractive. You were a bit speechless. Most guys met wouldn’t even be bothered to know your name and yet, here he was, treating you like a lady. Did he time travel or something?

You didn’t even try to move your hand away, it was like you got stuck in a trance. He was an enigma, who knew your poker opponent was so… you didn’t even know how to describe it. He chuckled softly at your reaction. He wasn't surprised, after all, most men don't have manners these days. Not men like him.

He slowly released your hand, though he couldn't bring himself to completely let go just yet. He continued to hold onto it, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

“Can I know your name too?” You asked a bit hesitantly, you wanted to know but you didn’t want to seem disrespectful. He felt so fancy, like a true gentleman. The kind of man you read in romance books where you could only dream of being treated with such care.

"Of course, darling," he replied in a low tone, his gaze still fixated on your face. He could tell that you were completely taken by him, though he couldn't blame you, most girls were. He could tell that you were captivated by his mannerisms and demeanor. It seemed like you appreciated his old-fashioned actions and chivalry, not that he was surprised. But something told him that you were different than the others. You weren't just after his wealth or status, he could see it in your eyes.

In the game of poker, it was easy to fall and lose. But for some reason, you like playing with him even if it means losing most of the rounds.

You didn’t even notice the two bodyguards approaching him from behind since you didn’t know what his occupation was like. You were strangers. The two bodyguards were ready to jump into action if you tried anything suspicious. But what could you do? You were completely harmless.

As his bodyguards approached from behind, Leon glanced over his shoulder at them. He held up a hand, silently signaling for them to hold off. The bodyguards stood a few feet away, far enough to not listen to your conversation but close enough to jump to him if he got into a dangerous situation. Leon's lips curled into an amused smile as he watched you realize the presence of his bodyguards. They were there to protect him, after all.

"My name is Leon," he finally replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Leon Kennedy."

“Leon,” you repeated, tasting the way it rolled off your tongue. It was a fancy name, suiting him very well.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Kennedy,” you said politely. Leon suppressed a chuckle as you repeated his name, the sound of it on your lips was like music to his ears. It was as if you were singing his name, rather than simply saying it.

He smirked when you called him 'Mister Kennedy,' finding your use of a formal title both amusing and endearing. "Please, call me Leon. 'Mister Kennedy' makes me feel old," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t help the small smile from reaching your lips, just minutes ago he beat you in a game of poker and yet, he didn’t make you feel bad for losing. You nodded at him, “Alright, I won’t.”

Then, one of the two bodyguards approached Leon, leaning down to his ear to whisper, “Sir, your presence is being requested on the tenth floor,” he whispered. Leon's expression, although unchanging, darkened at the bodyguard's words. He knew exactly what it meant for his presence to be "requested" on the tenth floor. But he didn't want to leave just yet. He was enjoying the time he had with you, he was enjoying your company and your sweet demeanor. If only he could stay a little bit longer.

He nodded at the bodyguard, silently signaling that he understood. He looked back at you, his expression softening once again.

"I have business to attend to," he said quietly, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Oh, right, yeah,” you muttered quickly under your breath as you stood up, fixing your outfit that you were wearing, “I shouldn’t take more of your time,” you said softly and politely, “It was nice meeting you, Leon. I hope to play with you in the future.”

Leon looked up at you as you stood up, his gaze following every movement. He could feel his heart skip a beat, he found you truly adorable. He felt a pang of disappointment when you mentioned not taking up more of his time. But he understood, he had responsibilities to take care of.

"The pleasure was all mine, darling," he said quietly, his voice slightly strained. He didn't want you to leave, but he had no choice.

“Sir,” one bodyguard spoke up from behind him, “Should we keep an eye on her?” He asked as the bodyguard’s gaze remained on your form, you were already standing by the bar drinking a damn fountain drink.

It was clear that the bodyguards were good at their job, they wanted to keep Leon safe since he was a mafia boss and enemies could be everywhere. Leon's gaze shifted from yours as he focused on his bodyguard's question. He could sense the slight tension in the air, the bodyguards were always cautious. But that was their job, to protect him at all costs.

He shook his head slightly, "No, that won't be necessary," he replied coldly, "She's harmless," he added, his eyes fixated on you once more.

“Yes sir,” the bodyguard said before the two bodyguards began to escort Leon to the elevator to get to the tenth floor. As Leon walked towards the elevator, escorted by his bodyguards, he couldn't help but glance back one last time, his eyes settling on your form at the bar.

He felt a twinge of something, was it concern? He wasn't sure. The thought of you being approached by someone else made him uneasy. But he had to remind himself that you weren't his responsibility.

He stepped into the elevator, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you.

"Watch her," he muttered to his bodyguards, "make sure no one goes near her."

The bodyguard nodded before stepping out of the elevator and went over to watch from a distance to not scare me off.

He was left with the other bodyguard and as they reached the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a very expensive suite, “Ah, Leon,” the voice of a man rang as he approached Leon.

The man was no other than a guy that went by an alias, “Kyle”, for safety reasons, “Glad you could make it,” he was dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, the belt tight around his waist to keep him from flashing anyone. Kyle was a character, that much was clear. Greeting Leon as if they were old friends.

"Cut the pleasantries," Leon replied coolly as he strode past Kyle, into the extravagant suite. Despite his cold exterior, his mind was still occupied by thoughts of you.

Kyle laughed and followed after Leon, “Always cutting to the chase, huh, amigo?” He said the Spanish word in a terrible accent, he didn’t even know Spanish.

Kyle was truly one of a kind but he was an ally to Leon’s mafia. Matter of fact, he provided Leon with the newest weapons from an Italian manufacturer. Illegal weapon trafficking.

“Got some new ladies you might want to see,” he said as he walked in front of Leon, guiding him to his room. As he entered his room, the sheets were messy and two naked women laid on the bed. With a flick of his wrist, the ladies stepped out of the room, giving Leon a wink.

As they entered the room, Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of the naked women on the bed. Was this really necessary?

"I'm not interested," he said bluntly, his cold tone sending a clear message. Despite his outwardly tough demeanor, Leon disliked the lifestyle that Kyle embodied.

Kyle definitely had a typical lifestyle of a play boy, always finding girls to sleep with as he spends money on expensive champagne and clothes. But he was a good provider for the mafia. Kyle was needed; a necessary evil.

But Leon wasn’t a womanizer like that, especially with the way he treated you. Kyle chuckled and shook his head, “Oh, I think you will,” he muttered before I retrieved a box and opened it. Leon's expression changed. The sight of the new weapons in the box piqued his interest.

“Got these new ladies fresh from Rome,” he said, revealing new manufactured guns, “These are in beta testing but their purpose isn’t like regular guns—no. These babies hold up to thrice the ammunition and can fire double bullets at the same time.”

He could already see the potential these guns held. The extra ammunition and the ability to fire double bullets at once could give his men an advantage in a dangerous situation.

"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the guns. Despite his dislike for Kyle's lifestyle, Leon had to admit he knew how to source the best weapons.

"How did you get your hands on these?" he asked, his voice now lacking any hostility.

Kyle shrugged and leaned back, “I sent a blueprint last month over to my manufacturer in Italy. Said he’d give it a try. He experimented here and there right before he sent me these prototypes.”

“But I don’t recommend using them yet,” he said as he walked over to stand next to Leon, draping an arm around Leon’s shoulders as if they were best friends.

“Something about them probably not working and backfiring. Blah, blah, blah. You know the nerd stuff,” he said.

Leon's brow furrowed as he heard Kyle's words. Using untested weapons could be risky, especially if they had the potential for a devastating recoil. He pushed Kyle's arm off his shoulders, his expression turning cold again. He wasn't fond of being touched, especially by someone like Kyle.

"Then why show them to me if they might not work?" he asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. He preferred to focus on proven weapons, not experimental ones.

As his arm was pushed off his shoulders, Kyle wasn’t a bit ashamed, “Well, before we proceed with the testing, we needed your approval.”

Then, Kyle grew a bit serious, which only ever happened once a fortnight. He leaned closer to Leon to whisper in his ear, “I’ve heard that there’s been recent suspicious activity up north where the colony is. This is just a precaution because I don’t want anyone stealing my guns.”

Ever since Leon became the new mafia boss, which was years ago, many other bosses have tried to take him down. Even if it meant stealing his resources. Despite his disdain for Kyle, Leon couldn't ignore the serious look on his face. He knew that when Kyle spoke like this, he wasn't messing around.

"Suspicious activity, you say?" he replied, his voice low and calculating. He didn't appreciate being targeted, especially by other mafia bosses, "Any idea who might be behind it?"

He shrugged and shook his head, “No, there’s no idea who it might be but I’ve heard rumors that it’s someone who’s after your territory.”

Kyle sighed and stored the guns away once more, “In any case. Call me up if you change your plan, I’ll send word to Italy to keep producing and testing. Until then,” he said before he patted Leon on the shoulder and walked out of his room saying, “Alright, ladies, who’s ready for some sexy time on the jacuzzi?”

Leon watched as Kyle left the room, rolling his eyes at the man's behavior. Despite Kyle's eccentricities and playboy lifestyle, he couldn't deny that he was an asset to the mafia. As the sound of laughter and splashing water came from the jacuzzi, Leon turned his attention back to the matter at hand. The possibility of someone targeting his territory unsettled him.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts once again drifting to you. He couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

“Do you want to go back to the main floor, Sir?” His bodyguard asked. Leon's eyes went to his bodyguard, and he nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. He had to go back to the main floor. He knew that his bodyguards had been instructed to keep an eye on you, and he was curious to see if you were still there.

As he stepped out of the room, he couldn't help but glance over at the bar. He could see you sitting there, sipping on a Dr. Pepper. Despite the presence of his bodyguard, he took a subtle step closer, watching you from a distance.

Now the three men were watching you, Leon with his two bodyguards behind him. They were no longer on the tenth floor and instead were on the main floor where you were.

“Who is she, boss?” One bodyguard asked. They had seen Leon play with you for a few rounds but they didn’t hear your conversation. Of how he forgave your debt and asked for your name, but they did see him kiss your hand. Leon's gaze never left you, his eyes watching your every move. He could feel the curiosity of his bodyguards, they had clearly noticed his interaction with you.

“Do you know her?” The other bodyguard asked. They still kept professional but their curiosity was high. They’ve never seen Leon talk to a woman before, he’d usually brush them off because he knew they were after his money.

"She's nobody," Leon replied, his voice cold and distant. Even though he had shown you a rare moment of humanity, he didn’t want his bodyguards to think he had a “soft spot”, especially towards a stranger.

"She's just a poker player, that's all," he added, dismissing their curiosity. But his eyes told a different story, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you.

“A terrible one,” one commented, “A Diamond queen and clover king against your straight flush… she’s got confidence.”

“Or maybe she didn’t know. Our boss holds a really good poker face,” the other replied. Which was true, Leon was a damn good poker player but you also didn’t play like a professional. You barely knew what you were doing.

You turned around to get your bag from the stool next to your standing form, seemingly finished with your drink and getting ready to pay for it.

Leon's eyes followed your every movement, his mind racing, "She was a challenge,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. Despite your lack of skill, he had enjoyed playing with you, it had been surprisingly fun.

As he saw you turn to retrieve your bag, he felt a strange pang in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave yet. He took a step forward, his bodyguards following closely behind him.

You were too busy looking through your bag, pulling out your wallet and counting the bills you had to pay your tab. Would it even be considered a tab if you got non-alcoholic drinks? You didn’t notice Leon returning at all, his bodyguards didn’t say anything. They knew better than to prod at his life choices. If anything, they’d just keep a more careful eye on you to make sure nothing bad happened.

“Hold on—“ you said to the bartender as you counted your coins to give him the exact number of your total.

As you began counting your coins to pay the bartender, he couldn't help but step forward and reach into his pocket, "I'll cover it," he said, his voice firm and commanding. He felt strangely compelled to take care of you, even in this small gesture.

You straightened up at the sound of his voice, your heart jumped and beat quickly as you whipped your head to look at none other than Leon. Always a true gentleman.

“I—“ you said as yoi looked at him and the bartender before you looked back at his blue eyes, “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this,” you said quietly. He’d already forgiven your debt and now he wants to pay for your drinks?

Leon's expression remained stoic as he heard your protest. He didn't expect you to be so modest and determined to pay for your own drinks. But he found it endearing.

"It's not a problem," he replied, his voice firm. He could sense your guilt, but he didn’t want you to feel like a charity case. He genuinely wanted to take care of you, even if it was in small ways. He slid a few bills to the bartender, paying for your drinks and closing the tab before you could argue further.

Your cheeks blushed again as you looked away, you’ve never had anyone take care of you like he has, “You’re too kind,” you muttered in a flustered tone.

He was already breaking his own rules because the bodyguards seemed to have picked up on some details. It wasn’t common for them to see Leon be so… interested in a woman. Much less someone like you but they found it oddly endearing. Secretly cheering for their boss.

Leon was taller than you so you had to look up at him, “Did everything go well with your business?” You asked genuinely. Leon's expression softened slightly as he saw your flushed cheeks and your sincere question. He was unused to caring about someone’s well being, but he found himself wanting to share a bit with you.

"Yes, business went well," he confirmed, his voice remaining cool and collected. But there was a hint of tiredness in his eyes, the stresses of being a mafia boss often taking a toll on him.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calculating but not unkind. "And how have you been?" he asked, surprising himself with his own question.

“Oh, you know,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders as you pointed towards the bar, “I stayed there the whole time. I don’t like wandering on my own. Lots of… creeps out here, y’know?”

But he wasn’t a creep. He was far from it. Leon was a gentleman, a man who knew how to treat women right.

Leon chuckled, a rare sound coming from him, at your straightforward answer. He found it refreshing how honest you were, unlike the fake smiles and flattery he usually received from people.

His eyes swept the casino floor, full of various people, men, and women. He knew you were right about the creeps that roamed around, especially with a pretty face like yours.

"You're right about the creeps," he agreed, his voice low and protective. "A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone."

Your cheeks blushed again when he said you were pretty, why was he so casual with the compliments?! But nevertheless, you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your lips, “Yeah… I was about to leave since it was getting late, actually,” you said as you quickly remembered what you were doing.

“I was going to get an Uber and go back home. I should probably practice my poker skills too,” you said with a small smile. Leon's gaze darkened slightly at the mention of you leaving. He didn't want this night to end, not when he'd enjoyed your company more than he thought he would.

He took a step closer, shortening the distance between you. "An Uber?" he repeated, his voice taking on a hint of disapproval. "With all the creepers out there?"

He paused, seeming to consider something before speaking again. "Let me give you a ride home," he offered, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes widened a bit and your breath hitched when he stepped closer to you and offered you a ride home. You should’ve said no but for some reason, you felt safe in his presence. You slowly nodded your head, feeling like you shouldn’t reject his offer. He’s been kind to you and you wanted to be kind as well, “Only if it’s not a burden.”

“I’d hate to shift your plans for the night. I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” you said with a nervous laugh as you played with your hands.

Leon couldn't help but chuckle at your words and the nervousness in your laugh. You were clearly unused to being cared for like this, but it was almost endearing to see you flustered. He shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not a burden," he reassured you. "And you're not an inconvenience. I wouldn't offer unless I meant it."

He motioned for his bodyguards to follow as he put a hand gently on your lower back, beginning to guide you towards the exit. You gathered your things, which was just your purse, and let him guide you towards the exit. His bodyguards were shocked to say the least. They knew Leon didn’t like to be touched or touch other people but here he was, gently putting his hand on you to guide you out of the building. They were in for a fun ride.

As you made it out and stepped outside, you were met with wind. The wind blew over your form, goosebumps on your skin as you wrapped your arms over your chest to give yourself some heat. Leon noticed your body shiver, the cool night air obviously getting to you. He was so used to suppressing his own physical needs that he had briefly forgotten that you weren’t built for the harsher elements like he was.

"Here," he said gruffly. He removed his black jacket and gently placed it around your shoulders, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric.

The black suit jacket was big on you but it was so warm, it even smelled like his cologne and you felt your cheeks flare up. He smelled good, “Thank you,” you said as you looked up at him.

A black car pulled in front of you, it was fancy and the black was matte. No doubt, the latest car. Just how rich was he? One of the bodyguards moved towards the door and opened it for the two of you. Leon nodded in acknowledgement of your thanks, his eyes never leaving yours, "After you," he said, gesturing for you to get into the car first. His voice was gruff, but there was a warm undertone in it.

He waited, standing by the car door, until you climbed in, before he slid into the seat beside you, closing the door behind him. The bodyguards climbed into the front seat, the engine purring softly to life.

No one would’ve believed them if they said that Leon was warm and kind. They’ve seen the type of ruthless man he could be, he was a mafia boss! Hence why the bodyguards were shocked. They’ve never seen him act this way with anyone.

You sat next to Leon, your thighs pressed together and your form still wearing his black suit jacket, “Thank you,” you said before you climbed to sit next to him. You were new to the whole taken care of thing. Leon felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you thanked him again. It was as if you weren’t used to being treated like this, but he found himself wanting to give you more. He felt the strange urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you close and away from the world.

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "You don’t need to keep thanking me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough.

You softy laughed at his words despite his low and rough voice, “Sorry, force of habit. I’m not used to people being so kind to me. Especially after playing Poker with me,” you replied with a small but genuine smile.

“Most guys would either just get mad at me for beating them or they would humiliate me further for beating me,” you said quietly, your hands laying on your lap as you looked down at them.

Then you glanced back at him, “But you’re different. I think… I like to have you as my opponent… if you’d let me,” but it was more than just Poker, right? It was about connecting, about seeing him again. His expression softened as you spoke again, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "You like having me as your opponent, huh?" he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

He reached out, his hand gently resting on top of yours, his touch calloused but surprisingly gentle, "You don’t even know what you’re asking for."

Your breath hitched and you looked down at his hand on top of yours. Even though he’d held your hand and kissed it, you still got flustered.

But he was right. Essentially, you didn’t even know him. You met him today and lost a poker game. But something in you wanted to keep seeing him, you didn’t want to let such a kind man go.

“I can learn,” you whispered. This went beyond poker, even though you spoke about it, hidden words were conveyed. You didn’t know what you were asking for, not knowing he was in the mafia. Leon's smirk grew at your words, a hint of something more behind it. He could hear the double meaning in your words, and it sent a thrill through him. Here you were, this timid, pretty thing, wanting to get to know him better.

His fingers gently squeezed your hand as he spoke, his voice low. "You’re a fast learner, I bet," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

But then his expression darkened slightly, the reality of his world intruding on the moment. He was a mafia boss, and you… you were innocent and pure.

You nodded, “I like learning things. Knowledge is power, is what George Orwell said once,” you muttered. Leon's smirk turned into a half-smile at your mention of George Orwell. This girl was full of surprises. It seemed to him that you were more than just a pretty face working as a pit boss.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if reflexively trying to keep a grip on you. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, he should let you go before you get swept into the dangerous world he lived in.

But something about you was making him greedy. The Mafia Boss never had to worry about letting go before, now, he didn’t want to.

You felt his hand tighten around yours and you didn’t want to let go yet. Once you reached your apartment, you looked at him and leaned towards his face to whisper, “Think it over,” you whispered, your brows furrowing a bit before you let go of his hand and got out of the car.

Leon's eyes widened slightly at your whisper, your unexpected boldness sending a jolt of surprise, and something else through him. You'd just told him to think things over, as if it was a date that you were asking him on. But before he could open his mouth to reply, you had already slipped out of the car, leaving him a bit taken aback.

He stayed sitting in his seat for a beat, his fingers clenching the leather, his eyes fixed on your figure. You were playing with fire, and you didn’t even realize it.

You were about to walk into your apartment when you realized you were still wearing his suit jacket. You quickly ran back towards the car and slipped it the jacket off, giving him an awkward smile, “I, uh…”

“Almost forgot this,” you muttered softly, the pink hue on your cheeks not leaving any time soon. Leon took the jacket in his hands, his gaze lingering on you as you handed it to him. He took in your flushed cheeks, your awkward smile, and it sent a pang through his chest.

He wanted to reach out, to touch your cheek, to do something to keep you from leaving. But instead, he simply folded the jacket over his arm, his fingers tracing the fabric.

"Keep it," he said, his voice rough. "It looks better on you."

Your eyes widened a bit and your lips parted into a small ‘Oh’ when he gave you the jacket once more. To which you slowly took, you didn’t want to be greedy but you loved the way it smelled.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely, “For tonight.”

The offer still stood. You were willing to throw yourself down into a fire if it meant getting to know him better. Isn’t that what Poker is about? To understand your opponent? But this wasn’t about Poker anymore.

Leon clenched his jaw as he watched your expression, your sincere thanks only making it harder for him to let you go. Your naivete was like a double-edged sword - it drew him in but also made him hesitant.

But he wasn’t some saint. No, far from it. He was a Mafia Boss, and he wasn’t used to denying himself.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with yours, his voice a rough, quiet murmur. “When can I see you again?”

You stared at him through the window, a bit surprised that he wanted to see you again. You were just some idiot poker player and yet… was he actually considering seeing you again?

You stood there in shock for a few seconds like an absolute idiot before you realized you hadn’t said anything. Your cheeks flushed and you quickly cleared your throat, “Uh—“

He paused, his eyes roaming over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uncertainty. It was a new sight for him, having a woman so clearly out of his world be so... vulnerable.

“You want to see me again?” You asked unsure. Leon’s lips quirked up into a small smirk at your reaction, your surprise and confusion only endearing you to him more. You were just so damn endearing. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze sharp, “Yes, I want to see you again.”

“Well, I’m free this Saturday… if you want to—I dunno—go out…?”

“Saturday it is, then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

This time, you couldn’t help the smile that reached your lips. Was he truly taking you out on a date? You nodded your head at him, your lips curling up into a genuine smile, “Alright…” you muttered quietly, “I’ll see you then. You know where I live anyway.”

He offered you a ride and now knows where you lived, but somehow, you felt comfortable with him knowing, “Goodnight, Leon.”

You walked backwards, looking at him for as long as possible before eventually turning around to get into your apartment. Leon watched as you retreated back into your apartment, his gaze following your every move. There was a strange flutter in his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that he thought he had lost.

When you disappeared from sight, he let out a low, rough exhale, running his hand through his short hair. This was dangerous, getting close to you, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care.

“Goodnight, doll,” he murmured, watching your door close behind you.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon #re leon #leon #resident evil leon #re4r leon

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penvisions · 1 year ago

Text

gone to the dogs {chapter 2}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader, brief mention of Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: You set off to scout for a meeting with the man Tess has been in contact with over the radio. Only to find out it’s two men and you know one of them.

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), dark fic, dark joel miller, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv (mentioned), sexual acts, choking, oral (m and f receiving), dom/sub dynamics if you squint, joel is bossy, some 69 action (idk don't look at me), anal play, reader is snarky, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

*we have a nickname reveal, in reference to one of the most known guard dog breeds (cause i think i'm funny lol)

A/N: something possessed me and the next thing i know this chapter was on the word document. don't look at me, i have no clue what i'm doing 🫣okay, bye

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

It was dark, curfew for the zone only an hour off. The sparse streetlights illuminating the rather humiliating display of the street, outlined with bodies hidden in the shadows of stoops, of power lines chaotically spread out above, of the dirt and grime that seemed to coat every fucking inch of what the world had become. Despite the strict regulations of cleanliness, trash and debris from the ravage of bombs dropped on the larger cities lingered about. The roads barely maintained and only for the vehicles controlled by FEDRA.

It wasn’t the most sanitary of places to live, but you made it work for you. Clinging to life, even if it was a shadow of what that once meant. You tried not to dwell on that line of thinking for too long.

But you hummed a little as you felt the weight of a thick stack of ration cards tucked into your back pocket. This particular part of the zone was known for its more…salacious activity and trade. A place you knew would be ripe with rewards for very little work on your part. The feeling of drying spend wasn’t a comfortable one, as it stuck and hardened on the skin of your stomach and back. But it was a small price to pay for a months’ worth of food and the small smirk from Joel and Tess once you handed over some of the cards.

Earn your keep, that had been the only rule barked at you when first hashing out understands for your partnership with them both. Joel had seemed to stare into your very soul to get the point across, while Tess had been far more cordial, seeking you out after finding you to be one of the best scouts whose services were fought after. Before they had shown up in the dingy zone, you had been a free agent. A rather successful one on your own. Hopping from one smuggler to the next if their offers were good enough, but with those two it had all stopped. You were loyal to them now. Circumstance and mild comfortability in favor of constantly watching out for deals gone bad or men who thought you were a part of them.

And you agreed to an even split if it meant they would watch your back. They had come to you after all, you needed a little more from the deal if you were willingly work with only two people as opposed to those who sought you out and who you knew would trade what you asked for. The timing of their arrival one of the few good things you believed to be whatever higher power existed smiling down on you with pity. The loss of your brother had been harsh, hung in front of a crowd and practically announcing to the zone you no longer had protection.

You could hold your own as well as needed, but the world was cruel. You had been offered less than satisfactory terms since his death, cajoled into doing jobs under threat of report and even the barrel of a gun or two. It had been a tough two years of trying to maintain your reputation, a few lives lost in the endeavor when you had been challenged in ways you refused to put up with.

The first had been a man who had taken it upon himself to be your new ‘alpha’, to watch over you and ensure you were safe under his vigilant eye. But his name hadn’t carried the same weight at your own, the nickname ascribed to you accurate for a once well-known breed of guard dog. When he had tried to force you to submit to him, you had torn into his neck with nothing but your teeth, hands tied behind your back as you woke to the man in your apartment once news of your brother’s passing had spread to every corner of the zone.

Another had been a woman who attempted to sell you out to the very soldiers who relied on you for narcotics. She had found herself thrown into a cell and once released she had come at you with a knife while you worked a job around the city under the guise of falling in line with every other citizen. The exchange had ended with her clutching to the knife imbedded in thigh and you with a long red marks from her nails as she had screamed at your resistance to be taken out.

People had been willing to work with you, knowing the knowledge you had was abundant and the things you offered for trade were scarce. But as with everything, things had begun to dry up. The longer time went on, the harder it was to maintain the abundance of items deemed contraband or frivolous. But the stash you had hidden held on for quite a while. Posing as another version of yourself, you had stolen entire collections from people who were new to the zone and decided to try and work around you or shoulder you out of the scene. Not knowing it was you people were referring to when the name Cane was spoken until they took their last breath or mysteriously disappeared as soon as they had arrived.

Until Joel and Tess.

They had staked you out, gone into your apartment to get a feel for who you were but when faced with the consequences of their actions, they had been willing to talk it out. Someone must’ve warned them that newcomers who weren’t willing to play along with how things operated here disappeared or were found dead, a warning in and of itself for them. They had expected to just do recon, to see what you had going on with the aid of Tommy Miller down the hall as a lookout. A scout.

But they hadn’t known that’s what you were above all. Aware of your surroundings at all times, never caught without your guard down. Tommy had been taken out long before you had entered your apartment that night. The first signal that something was different. The younger Miller brother had gotten flustered at your approach, offering the man a night of pleasure since he was new and deserved to see what the zone had to offer. He had been knocked out cold before he could even answer your feigned advance. He often stayed behind, letting his two companions work alongside you while he tried to keep his head down and do as FEDRA asked. Something Joel said he was a fool to do, but didn’t dissuade him from.

He had revealed that his longer absences from the apartment they had been assigned, right beside yours, were because of his work with the group known as the Fireflies. Some members of which you used to do work with. Warning him of their willingness to cause chaos in ways they though were liberating but ended up being destructive and damning. But he hadn’t heeded your genuine words born of concern. Not wanting him to face the same fate as your bother. Joel had been even more difficult to work with when Tommy had disappeared one day with nothing but a note saying he was with a group of them assigned for relocation. He had been even more brutal since then not even a year after they had arrived, the sting of betrayal and abandonment needing to be let out somehow. And Joel Miller was capable of great brutality.

He also happened to be stepping out from a shadowed awning just across the street. An ununiformed officer slinking away with a tight grip on something in his hand.

The satisfaction of having just duped some poor suckers out of their cards shifted to something else, something akin to shame at being caught with muzzle in something that wasn’t yours to be had. You had hidden the…visits you made here from your brother, something you had done with you both first arrived in the desolate excuse of a zone. Lectured and pleaded with once he had found out, begging you to stop because it wasn’t what he wanted for you, what he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do. But you did and that was the stark truth. It was always something you could fall back on.

“What the hell are you doing?” Joel’s words were sharp, his chocolate curls tousled in the wind you had to shake the urge to reach up and tangle your hands in them.

“Conducting business. Same as you.” The words are spit from your twisted mouth, not liking the tone he approached you with or the hard glare that molded his features. What you were doing was none of his concern, you didn’t belong to him. You didn’t like how your body was responding to him lately, and you idly wondered if your finicky cycle was about to make a rare resurgence.

“The only business here is…” His eyes flick to the crumbling building behind you, a well-known house of pleasure. The man who had just been inside you exited and jaunted down the steps, pausing as he noticed the two of you staring each other down. When Joel’s eyes focused on him, he took off at a brisk pace.

“Yup.” You turned and started walking back toward the center of the zone.

“Didn’t take you for a whore.” Steps not faltering as he falls in line beside you, it’s easy to shrug off his slight judgement. It had only been a year of working with him, but you knew him well enough to know that if he really didn’t like something he would just silently brood over it. Whatever he was trying to do now, was simply get a rise out of you just for the sake of doing it. He was cheeky in his own way, even if it was always at your expense. But the same could be said of you, you always berated him for not listening completely to things you and Tess discussed.

“Well, this whore just earned all three of us a month’s worth of cards. Each.”

“And you’re proud of that, aren’t ya? Whorin’ yourself out for a little food.” He digs his claws in deeper, when he doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting. But it was late and you truly weren’t bothered by his words. He was right, you had just sold your body. It was your right as a woman to do with your body as you pleased and if it earned you something then, what? Shame wasn’t something you let yourself feel, not for this. The only negative thing about spending your time at the pleasure house was that you never left with the same satisfaction of your clients. The men weren’t there for that, they went for themselves and themselves alone.

“You took all the pills for your trades. Didn’t leave me much to trade with.” You throw back at him with only a slight uptick of volume, but your words held the truth. Tess had given him all of the pills from yesterdays’ foray into what remained of the city around the zone. You had been given the firearms, opting to keep them as part of your stash for the time being instead of trading them.

“You could’ve asked for some.” He’s looking straight ahead when you turn to see him a little more clearly in your periphery. His profile is strong, the hook of his nose and the fullness of his lips obvious against the streetlights.

“I don’t ask for things I can’t afford. Not from anyone and certainly not from you.” You can’t help the bite in your words, as if the idea of him willingly giving you a part of what he intended to trade was even fathomable. He may be the muscle of the group, the attack dog people kept their eyes on and ears on alert for. But even so, he also did nearly as much legwork as you did, if not more at this point. You and Tess working together to orchestrate the trades and caches of contraband to steal or loot.

“Fine.” He grunts, hands shoved in his front pockets.

“Fine.” You parrot, not willing to let him have the last word.

When you turned at the entrance of an alley, he didn’t see the shadow of the person lying in wait until they shifted. But you seemed to have known they were going to be there, because you were suddenly ducking beneath the person’s reaching arms and slamming their front to into the brick. The woman shouted out as her forehead thudded harshly against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back and tight in your grip.

“I told you last time, no payment no pills.” Your voice is threateningly low as you crowd against the woman who had tried to ambush you. Joel only watches, his gaze heavy on your back as you hold your own. Showing no mercy to the woman whose position you easily could’ve fallen into yourself. But you had stopped the excessive use, opting to trade nearly everything you could and only keeping a minor stash for yourself should you need to make a run for it.

“He-he told me to!”

“Don’t care, you come at me again, either of you and I’ll cut you in your sleep.”

“You would-wouldn’t!”

“Wanna try me?” You pull her away from the wall, the dull streetlights illuminating her bloodied and tear-stained face. “Go home. Find me when you have what I want.”

“Y-yes, I’m so sorry, Cane.”

When you turn your back on the alley, the woman running through the narrow space and out the other side, Joel is merely standing there with his arms crossed. Denim pulled taut over his broad shoulders and biceps at the stance. His lips are upturned a bit, his eyes dark in the fallen night, but it isn’t until you glance down at his waist are you sure of what he was really thinking.

The hard outline of him through the denim of his jeans is obvious. He had gotten turned on, aroused, and it sends a thrill of proud excitement through your own body. Whether it was from either seeing you walk out of a well-known pleasure house, beat up an empty-handed solicitor, or both you weren’t sure.

But you tilted your head back as you sauntered up to him as close as you could. Apparently, that was more than okay with him because you pushed your chest against his crossed arms, the soft give of them pressed to his forearms while you trailed a finger lightly over his zipper. The hinge of his jaw jumped, the muscle there twitching from the barely there touch, his brow furrowing as he looked down to catch your glittering eyes.

“Wanna take up that offer for relief?”

“Thought you didn’t ask for things you couldn’t afford.” His words are hard, though you see through them, through him. He wasn’t going to outright ask you, he never would.

“I could certainly afford to lose an evening spent prying open a can of too-old green beans if it means you’d calm the hell down a bit.”

“What makes you think I need you for that?” He cocks his head to the side slightly, mirth dancing behind his eyes as he notices he one upped you. Because damn if he hadn’t. You knew him and Tess were…whatever it was they were. The way he listened to her and made sure she had what she needed was first on his priorities from day one, it was obvious. A man like him seemed to need someone to look after, his purpose was her livelihood. And she was his. Even if they weren’t obvious about it, the signs were there.

The every so often thuds of their bed against the wall, the moans and panting breath that sounded as if it was in your own apartment and not theirs next door, the way Joel walked a little straighter the next day and Tess was a little more willing to go along with plans that didn’t have great payoffs with the argument that it was at least something.

It was something that was unspoken between all three of you, something Tommy had only brought up twice with you when you were both alone. He hadn’t been jealous, at least not in the way that made you feel sorry for him. It was because he didn’t see a point to it if it wasn’t genuine and if he had learned anything in the collapse of the world, it was that his older brother was all the things he never thought he would be. That he knew it was a way for Joel to feel wanted and useful, something he was jealous of only because he had once been someone who relied on his brother. Still had until the second he left, unable to handle the decline of the person he had grown up with and cared for.

You couldn’t fault him for that. Sibling relationships and dynamics were hard even when the world was good. The demise of someone wasn’t always of bloodshed, infection, or the quieting of their heart. It was sometimes the inability to recognize and the horror of realization that it had been a long time since you had been able to see them as they were. It had been too much for Tommy, you didn’t fault him for running. But it left you with the obviously bonded pair he had left behind and for that you cursed him.

Your own loneliness apparent when the only person you could call a ‘friend’ had left you behind too.

“Didn’t wanna fuckin’ touch you anyway.” Voice level, you realize you weren’t in the mood to play with him now his harsh denial floats in the thick air between you.

The combination of your melancholy thoughts and Joel’s words stings and you turn away from him, boots barely guiding you away before your arm is in the man’s grip and he’s turning you back to face him with a harsh jerk.

“Hey, that wasn’t a no.”

“Sure as hell sounded like it to me.” You try to yank your arm back from him, to put as much distance between you as possible, only he tightens his grip.

“Don’t offer shit if you’re not gonna follow up.” He reprimands, voice low with the edge of a threat.

“Go find Tess.” You feel your lips curl around the woman’s name.

“Don’t want Tess.” His words shouldn’t have the effect on you that they do. But the dissatisfaction of not finding your own release hits you like a weight. The visits you made to that part of the zone always disappointing in that department. Your pleasure was never the goal. Your body begins to hum at the implication of them, at the implication of him wanting you.

“Too bad, you picked the wrong moment to feign disinterest and I don’t wanna play with you anymore.”

“That all it is, playin’?”

“Only thing it could be, you don’t seriously think I want you, do you?”

“I think you’re afraid to admit you do, yeah.”

“I could go straight back to that pleasure house and get what I need.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t what you want. ‘Cause I’m standing right here.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Turning your back on him, you ascend the few steps into the main floor of the apartment building. He’s right behind you, the heat of his body only a few steps of distance away. He manages to keep up as you quickly scale the stairs up to the floor your apartments are on. The sensation of being chased prickles your skin into goosebumps, it raises the hairs on the back of your neck and makes your cunt throb in anticipation of being caught.

“Think you wanna be full a’me, otherwise you wouldn’t offer so damn much.” The thought sends a spark of arousal straight down your spine, igniting the smoldering kindling of your earlier activities as you finally step onto the flattened floor of your hall.

“Just tired of being around you when your dick is doing all the thinking. Makes it so I have to do twice as much work to keep things going smoothly.”

“Then clear my head, be a good little lap dog for me.”

“No. Told you I don’t wanna play with you anymore.”

“Too bad, cause I ain’t done with you.”

“Joel, I swear to fucking god-“

“You gotta learn to shut that god damn mouth when you’re ahead, darlin’.” Before you could blink, your back is being pressed up against his door. One of his thighs are between your legs and pressing up into your aching core, one of his hands is tight around your neck, pinning you between the hardness of the door and the strong line of his broad body. His eyes are looking between your own, his lips part to speak again but it isn’t what you were expecting.

“You scared?” He asks in a low voice, vulnerability and concern swirl in a shadow curling behind his words. He was making sure you were okay and really wanted this and the thought makes your body shiver. The thought that he wouldn’t truly engage with you this way if you didn’t want it is the bare fucking minimum but it rounds out into another full glimpse of the man he is, of who he used to be.

His other hand snakes around your waist once he’s got the door unlocked and it’s no longer holding you up.

The door is kicked shut behind him, the slam echoing through the hallway enough to insight a few shouts of dismay. But his focus is on you, only on you. His hooded eyes dark as he takes in the dilation of your pupils and the hitch of your breath as he corrals you toward the bed. Definitely not scared.

“Only part a you that listens, huh?” He sneaks a pair of thick fingers beneath the waistband and finds you already so slick. “This all you?”

“Don’t let cum in me, if that’s what you’re askin’.” His fingers are the perfect pressure as they dip between your folds, and you hear the sound he makes deep in his chest even if his lips remain shut. A chip in his usual demeanor, a small flicker of that same weakness you had stumbled on the first time you condescendingly offered to blow him.

“Good.” He rasps. “Sit down.”

“Mutual relief,” He grunts as he senses your quiet confusion, the heat of his intent rises up your chest and over the apples of your cheeks, brows furrowing as it doesn’t quite compute. Confusion gives way to a spark, that low simmering heat thrumming in your body catching fire and licking across your entire body. “That’s how we’re gonna do this, y’hear me? Won’t leave you like those other men. Now sit.”

You do, heeding the command as you attune to him, body jostling as you set yourself on the edge of his shared bed, everything else a blur around him. The apartment is barely illuminated by the streetlights trickling in through the sorry excuse of curtains still pulled back on the window. Just enough light to see him, to see how big he is as he begins to kneel before you, hands reaching for your jeans. You can only watch as he undoes them and peels them from your legs, the only pair you have that have molded to your body from years of relying on them. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he tilts his head up and your completely naked from the waist down.

“She’s gonna be back soon.” You don’t worry about getting caught but you’d rather not have an audience for the submission you were too weak to resist. Body responding to him with an intoxicating ease, the curiosity if what he means by mutual relief too much of a temptation. If there was anyone who was worthy of it, it was Joel, even if you loathed basically everything about him. Too similar and too rife with the same qualities and tendencies for violence, too much of a mirror of who you were at the very core of your soul.

“She’s busy setting up the meeting for tomorrow,” He’s suddenly standing, his own clothing being peeled away to land on the floor with your own. His chest is dusted with the same dark brown atop his head, his skin the same bronze of his forearms and weathered face. The rest of his body is just as beautiful as the parts you’re allowed to see. But now all of him is on display, languidly laid out atop the bed as he grips his impressive length in a fist, pumping once before he’s reaching for you.

He manhandles you to straddle his stomach, your slick shining on his hot skin as you’re suddenly face to face with his dripping cock. And it’s so beautiful you can’t help the moan that crawls it’s way up from your ribcage and past your lips as lean forward to grip him with a much smaller hand than his. He’s so thick you can barely wrap your hand around all of him, something he chuckles darkly over as you feel one of his palms land with a sharp slap along your ass. You know he’s watching the ripple of your skin, the irritation of his action spring to life on your skin, the goosebumps that chase the shiver that runs down your spine and you feel yourself flutter around nothing.

“I said,” He gripped your hips painfully tight in his large hands, blunt nails digging into your flesh and pulls you down completely. His nose bumps into your puffy clit and you can’t help but cry out at the bolt of pleasure that rips through you. “Sit the fuck down.”

You were gone before the first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds, just the hot breath from his perfectly pouty mouth was enough to make your body sing. When the wet heat of his tongue licked through your folds, your eyes flutter shut at the scintillating feeling, his palms are wide across your cheeks as he pulls them apart to see all of you and you gasp at the wet sound. You feel your skin pull and you’re keening out a pathetic sound as his nose bumps against the puckered hole previously hidden from him. The fire coursing over your body, trying to catch the air of the room outside your body to roar, it’s only spurred on by the feel of him, hungry and taking what he wanted from the most intimate part of you.

“C’mon now, use that mouth for somethin’ other than talkin’.” He takes a moment, the barest, to lean back and bark the words at you. There wasn’t anything mutual about you going limp in his grip and you feel the tug of humiliation at folding so quickly and forgetting who had started this whole exchange in the first place.

He’s teasing you. But two can play at that game, you think even as pleasure roils too hot through your veins. Gripping his proudly standing cock more firmly at the base, you lower yourself, back arching and thighs tightening around his middle and press feather light kisses to his ruddy, leaking tip.

He’s surprisingly loud, from the rumbles you can feel vibrating deep in his chest, to the slurps of his mouth as it moves against you, to the heavy pants he breaths in an out when he dares to pull away from between your legs. He’s never this loud with her, and the thought sends a thrill through you causing you to gush around his tongue as it slips inside. You can’t help your own moan around the head of his cock as you swallow it down, swirling your tongue over him as you taste him for the first time.

The grunt that vibrates through your folds as you swallow him down is satisfaction enough. He’s heavy on your tongue, the slight curl of him as at the angle allows for the underside of his cock to nudge along the ridges of the roof of your mouth, his blunt nails digging into your skin. You feel the vein just as clearly and he throbs, causing drool to dribble down to his heavy sack.

His teeth close around your clit, nibbling there as you begin to bob up and down at a fast pace. He’s suddenly thrusting up, his hips canting at the sensation and you gag as he hits the back of your throat.

“Take it,” He husks, doing it again. You retaliate by pressing back against him, body flat atop his as you relax your throat for him to continue. The air is thick with the scent of mutual arousal, everything coated in slick and sweat, your plain shirt sticking to your skin as heat crackles in the stagnant air. The smell of him is heady, all musk and something distinctly him as your nose nestles in the thatch of coarse hairs that he doesn’t keep trimmed, the soft velvet of his sack so hot against your face.

You hum as he stills, his thighs shaking beneath your hands as you try to support yourself. He slips from your mouth and the heft of him slaps into your cheek as you cry out at the intrusion of a slick thumb. You feel his grin as he nudges the digit further into your puckered hole, a sensation you hadn’t felt before.

“Never had anyone in here.” He boldly preens, reading the way your own body begins to tremble as you gush, there’s no way he missed it being buried in your cunt. Your only response is to grip him with one hand and resume a brutal pace, breath barely squeezing through your nostrils as you take him as deep as you can again and again. It’s loud, it’s lewd, it’s intoxicating the way he slurps and licks, nibbles and presses. The scratch of his facial hair against your inner thighs lighting you up, building up heat and pleasure in your lower abdomen. He’s twitching, from his fingers to his cock, to the thick thighs beneath you.

It's brutal the way you’re pushed to the edge, the fire taking your body for its own, brought on by unforgiving pace matched by unforgiving pace. Two people still playing for dominance even as you both relish in the tantalizing pleasure of the game. He seems determined to get you there before he finds his own release, and you clench around him he pushes you over the edge, his tongue lapping up everything you’ve given him as you feel his own muscles tense, before he’s spilling hot down your throat at the feeling of your suppressed moan all around him.

Panting, you release him from your mouth, swallowing down everything he had given you in return. The tart taste of him something you never anticipated getting a taste of. Your thighs burn as you push yourself up, the overwhelming dribble of his saliva and the remnants of your release are obvious as your cunt presses to his chest. You’re sure he can see the small bubbles of it as your folds close together, hiding from him where he had just buried his face. He seems to disagree with the shift in position because you’re suddenly face down on the covers of the bed, ass up in the air as he drapes himself over your back.

His thick fingers effortlessly trace your slit, fingers sparking another crest as he plunges two deep into your still fluttering core. You can’t bite back the guttural sound that claws its way from your chest as he curls them and begins to press them against a spot that most men ignore. You feel the length of him soft against the back of your thighs, unable to get it up again so soon after his own release, but it’s like he knows he could pull another orgasm from your willing body.

You hear the crack of his wrist as he pounds his fingers into you, straightening them out for the tips to kiss that spot deep inside and you cry out when he finds it. Head shooting up from the bed as your back arches in a silent plea for more.

“There it is, feels good don’t it, darlin’?” His words are gravel in your ear, the burn of his scruff against your neck welcome as he pushes you over the edge again far too quickly. The moan that rips from you is loud, nearly a wail in its intensity. Something he’s guaranteed to comment on. But he surprises you when he buries his nose into your hair as you clench and gush around his fingers. Nothing but an answering moan of his own floats into the air.

As suddenly as he had been on you, he’s no longer pressed against you. The heat of his body gone in the slow blink of an eye and shuddering pull of breath.

He’s across the room with a creak of the mattress and a shift of the floorboards under his weight. The sound of the shower being turned on is the only clue as to where he’s gone when you turn your head in search of him. Your body is shaky as you move into a normal position, the one you started in, perched at the edge of his shared bed. You quickly pull on your socks, your jeans, stuff your feet into the boots he had unlaced and shucked from you in his haste. Your underwear is nowhere to be found and you don’t linger on what that could mean as you exit the apartment.

An hour later you’re slinking through the space beneath a stretch of chain link fence, pulling the board of plywood that settles over it as another pair of hands disperses dirt over it to hide the hole. Your mind is calm, but your chest feels like an overinflated balloon as you seem to hold your breath for far too long.

Only once the lights of the zone are a mile behind you, do you stop and let it all out in a heavy exhale.

“We leavin’ before the sun or after?” Joel breaths the words out on a heavy exhale, his heart beating fast in beneath his ribs. Tess takes a moment to catch her own breath before she grants him an answer, reaching over for the water glass sweating on the floor beside the bed. Her eyes trail over the naked expanse of his chest, fingers reaching to comb through the hair beginning to show the same threading of silver as the hair atop his head. He doesn’t feel anything when she does, his body satiated from the shared pleasure he had initiated in his half-asleep state after hearing people begin to stir all along the hall in the early hour.

Her breasts catch his eye, the way the jiggle and sway with her motions to slump back against the collection of flat pillows at the head of the bed. He idly wonders what you’ve got hidden beneath your own clothing and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he frowns. She turns to him, after her own eyes drag up his body, from the knee he props up to relieve his back a little, the softening bulge of him hidden beneath the sheet, to the way he watches her with something behind his eyes.

“Before. Cane’s already left. We don’t have the advantage of her helping guide us in person.”

“What?” He sits up, the sheet falling to hide his lap as his knee flattens.

“She left hours ago. Weren’t you paying attention?” Tess doesn’t budge, though it’s obvious that his reaction is unusual and he knows she’s thinking it.

“Stupid girl,” He mutters as he stands, the sheet falling from him completely as he reaches to pull on his discarded jeans. The belt clinks as he fastens it, but Tess doesn’t move at all.

“She can handle her own, Joel. You’ve seen it firsthand.”

“That’s all fine and dandy but this is a new trade partner. And you’ve been the only one in contact with them. Through the radio. Could be a trap.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to send out our scout into a potential trap?”

“Think we shoulda all left together, is all.”

“Why are you worried about her?”

“I’m not, don’t put words in my mouth.” He balks, unable to tame his anger at being scrutinized. He knows he’s acting out of character, but the possibility of there being a threat is real. If you’re really out beyond the parameters of the zone and well past the city limits there’s no where for you to seek cover.

“Joel-“

“Drop it, Tess.” He barks, unable to hide his frustration, to tame it as it flares as quickly and rapidly as a wildfire.

“Alright.” She pushes up from the bed, padding through their shared space bare as she gathers a clean pair of clothes and shuts the bathroom door behind her. Joel knows the scent of sex lingered in the stagnant air of the apartment, that she would be able to tell if was different from times before. Because it hadn’t been just him taking seeking pleasure, he had been doing so with you. As frustrating and bullheaded and downright petulant as you were, there was no denying the scent of you two tangled up that had encompassed the room in such a heady way.

Grunting, Joel rests on the edge of the bed. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as he recalls the night before. He had been rash in his decision to take you up on your offer, the second in as many days, for some ‘relief to calm him the hell down’ as you put it. A line had been crossed but he was like a dog after his first taste of actual food, craving and hungry for more. Willing to get it at any cost and the want burns his skin, boils his blood, consumes him. You had been his for that small bubble of time and he feels the possession sear as it brands him into a different man.

He wasn’t daft, he knew you had soft spots beneath all that rough and violent exterior. Everyone did. But he hadn’t expected to obsess over how sweet it had been for you to roll over and show him, to submit to him the way you had. The way he had with you in return, even if you weren’t aware of it. But the obsession to have rid you of the smell of the other men that had touched you, marked you, filled you had been too much. He wanted them all to smell the lingering scent of him on your skin the next time you decided to visit that pleasure house. And that was the thought that didn’t sit well with him. You weren’t his beyond the activities of the night before. And he didn’t want you any more than a dog in heat, your supple skin and taunting words just the trigger to pull the desire from him.

There was no use for desire in what the world had turned into, crumbled into during the last seven years.

The last time he desired, he wanted, he truly felt, had ended in devastation.

It’s well into the day, the sun at its apex as the two of them come into view and your mind quiets a little.

They make such a good-looking pair, you can’t help but think as they walk through the brush into the opening that houses the remains of a quickie mart. You’re sat on the hard ground, the asphalt long cracked and dried, no longer upholding the meaning of its given namesake. Nothing was secure in this world, especially the things created and molded by the hands of man. Nature had taken it all back, destroyed what it didn’t like and infected the rest it couldn’t.

“They check out?”

“Yes, two men. Just like you said.” You stand, ignoring the crackling of your joints as you do so, aware that you look far less put together than either of them. You had been rash and immediately after your time in their shared apartment, unwilling to toss and turn in your own bed with your ears on alert for signs of the woman’s return. You had nothing against her, she was good once and maybe still wanted to be beneath it all. There wasn’t some unspoken rule that they were each other’s but you still felt like you had maybe crossed a line, the minute guilt making your stomach churn as you took in the effort she had put into looking nice for today.

Your mind replayed the feeling of Joel’s mouth on you and it brought a scowl to your face as you realized even he looked rather put together. They made a good pair, and you were just on the outskirts. A lap dog indeed, even if they had come to you. Fuck, it made you feel like the weak link, even if deep down you knew you weren’t. They were both smart, strong, cunning, but they still struggled to understand the ways in which you undermined and ensured different paths in and out of the zone. How you seemed to always know who had what to trade and how to get their supply from them with just the right trade offer or threat. They were good, separately and together, but you were better adapted to the zone’s particulars. Better at reading people, even if it meant you could read into your own actions and feelings just as easily.

“They’ve got the whole town secure. Electric fence, operated by one control panel and two remotes. It’s strong, has a sensor if anything touches it. Saw a squirrel get fried. They’ve laid traps all around, some are covered pits, really well hidden. Some are spring traps, a bear trap or two, marks are nondescript and someone not looking for them wouldn’t notice them.”

“But you did.” Joel’s tone drips in disbelief, not at your ability to gather all of the information but that you had practically fled the second he left you alone on the bed the night before to do so.

“Yes.” You don’t look at him, instead keeping eye contact with Tess. “They both around the perimeter in the morning and evenings, it looks like they’re doing it to keep in shape but one of them always has his eyes on the fence. He’s constantly checking for weak points, for repairs or modifications that can be made. There also seems to be cannisters hidden a few feet beneath the main posts for the fence, every fifteen feet or so. Piping runs down to them, I didn’t dig one up but it seems like they may have some sort of fuel. For either a deterrent of an explosion, which I doubt because then it would compromise the structure of the fence, or a flame thrower of some sort to catch people off guard should they get too close and trigger it.”

“You found all that out in just a couple hours?” Tess must share in the man’s sentiment, because her eyes rove over you. Seeing the dirt sunk into your skin, the ruffled appearance of your clothes, the bags underneath your eyes, the frizz of your hair barely contained in a messy bun atop your head.

“You left last night.” It’s not a question, it’s an accurate observation. Joel’s the one to bring it to light and you only nod in agreement. The timing of this new potential trade relation and the passage of time since they had first approached the zone all coming together in their minds.

“Today is…”

“Yes.” You turn away from them, not wanting to talk about it. Never wanting to talk about it, the reason for your loneliness in a world that couldn’t care less.

You hear them exchange words quietly between themselves as you step away to gather your pack, shouldering it and beginning to lead the way to the path that had been outlined for you to approach the town on by those within in. After another mile, all three of your are on a dirt path that leads directly up to the fence. The figures of the men you had spent hours watching over are stood on the other side. But as you get closer, one of them shifts from blurry to start detail. He must recognize you at the same time, because his thick brows disappear into his hairline and his teeth glint in the sunlight as a smile takes over his face, relief and excitement colors the air. Breaking the tension that bathed every interaction in the time of now.

“Bill, she’s the one I told you about!”

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totallynotasimp67 · 5 months ago

Text

Ghost x Combat Medic!Reader

I don’t feel like finishing this lmao, this was supposed to Goap/Reader but like I said I don’t feel like finishing this, enjoy I guess

Also, I didn’t actually do any research into the cyanide thing I just remember it from a Wonder Woman movie, I also used google translate for a singular word

*Gaol - Love

Not a clue if it actually means that and I don’t really care lol

~~~~~~~~

“Ghost, How Copy?” The coms device crackles in the Lieutenants ear

“All good over here”

There a slight pause as Ghost ponders why you contacted him from base camp

“Ahh, good, there’s been a minor situation back here”

Ghost freezes, did one of his soldiers get hurt, did Johnny get hurt, did you get hurt, questions flood his mind but you speak before he can

“One of the enemy tried to play recon, tried to see what we had, was a fool that one”

Shit, Ghost thought, his favorite medic, though he wasn’t sure of his feelings, was in danger, he had to get there fast

“Stay hidden, I’ll be there soon… did you say ‘tried’”

“Aye, he’s currently out cold and tied to a chair, although I can’t say the bindings are the greatest, used what what was lying around”

A wave of relief washed over the Lieutenant as he allowed a sigh of relief pass his lips

“Hold your position, if I can’t to you myself I’ll make sure another soldier can”

He hated the thought of you being taken care of by another soldier but he hated the thought of you being hurt or worse more

“Aight, I’m almost finished my ‘examination’ last thing is his mouth”

Ghost wanted to question why you were ‘examining’ the enemy, he couldn’t dwell on it too long he had to get over there as soon as possible

“Soap. How copy?”

“Second floors clear L.T. ye need somethin’” Soap questions

“Sorta, one of the enemy slipped by and is being held back at base camp”

Soap understands now, Ghost’s worried about you, Soap had spared with you a few times per your request, he knows your rather strong but he knew that before you asked to spar, you treated wounded soldiers on and off the field, holding them down or dragging their limp body was nothing new to you, Soap knew it, surely Ghost did too, maybe the rational part of his mind wasn’t working, only caring for your safety

“Aye, all most finished ‘ere, scan the grounds make sure no one slips by then head back, be done soon ‘nough”

Good, he can go to you and not some random solider

“Loud an clear”

Scanning the surroundings for anyone, but only bodies littered the ground, a sigh of relief, Simon can go and make sure you’re alright and not alone with the enemy regardless of if their tied up or not

“s’all clear, nothin’ but bodies” Ghost grumbled into the coms device

“Aye, almost done ‘ere, go check on yer gaol*”

Simon rolled his eyes at John’s comment, not that anyone could see, the sentiment was still there

“Ye can tell me what that means later”

“Haha, not a chance, ye’ll try and kill me”

——— Back at Base Camp ———

Humming to no one in particular as it was only you and the unconscious combatant

“Hhhmm, I wonder what secrets you hold,” your pondering interrupted when your coms crackle

“Fangs, how copy”

It was Ghost, he must be almost done

“All clear, captive doesn’t have any on him that could compromise us or him,”

So that’s what you meant by ‘examination’

“Although he could stand to have visited the dentist more often”

“And why do you know that, ya know what jus tell me when I get there”

Giggling “alright, when will you get here”

“Soon”

That’s all you heard before the coms went silent, guess you’ll have to sit by your lonesome at base camp

‘Base camp’ wasn’t all that bad of a building, it was really just a safe house that Ghost, Soap, yourself and a handful of other soldiers would return too once all necessary targets were eliminated, and the information was secure, looking at your watch it had been almost an hour since the others should have infuriated the target building, they shouldn’t be gone for too much longer, if Ghost comes back alone you’ll have to ask where the others are

The soft crunching of boots on dried leaves let you know someone is approaching, keeping out of sight from whom ever walks through the door, be it Ghost or any of the other boys or another enemy looking for their missing comrade, having decided to not take any chances

One hand the standard issue pistol, the other ready to call for back up, bracing for whoever’s on the other side, friend or foe, the door cracks open at first as if the one opening it is worried about an ambush, opening it the rest of the way having not seen you on the initial opening Ghost calls out

“FANGS! Where are you?!” Worry lacing his voice, he hadn’t seen you on his first scan of the room before him, worried someone might have come for their comrade and for you

Stepping out of the door way you hid in “no need to shout, ‘m right here”

The sight of you unharmed has Ghost relaxing a bit “good, where’s the guy you subdued?”

“Also what about that comment ‘bout ‘im needing to see a dentist?”

“Oh, that,” motioning for Simon to follow “well, some context, before I became a medic I had, well I still have, quite the interest in execution and torture techniques”

“I don’t even need to see your face to know it says ‘what in the actual hell’ I’ve gotten that reaction before”

Shocked would be one way to explain how Simon felt, gob smacked even, you, the tiny(compared to him most everyone is tiny) kind and harmless person has such a morbid curiosity, one would expect something like that of Ghost himself, but you, it was almost impossible to imagine, something like plants and which ones could be used medicinally maybe, but execution and torture

Pulling Ghost from his thoughts you spoke, “well here he is, but one of the ‘execution’ techniques was a pill of cyanide in a false tooth, so when you get captured to avoid torture you’d break the pill and die”

“Now I know it’s not very common but, I feel the need to check anyway, because the one time I don’t check they’ll have it and boom, we’ve lost a source of intel”

Ghost has to admit though, your thoroughness could prove useful in the future, but now he was just glad you were safe

Wordlessly he checks the bindings on the captive, ensuring their strong enough to hold, he’d have to contact Price when the others go back, then he’s being pulled to the side by his shoulder

“You hurt? This can go the easy way where you just tell me or I strip your gear off and look myself”

Silence, frustrating silence, Simon couldn’t breathe or think let alone reply to your question, the seconds felt like an eternity, the thought of you pulling his tactical gear off and looking over his body with such care, Simon feels as if he could combust when he’s pulled out of his thoughts by your annoyed huff

“Looks like it’ll be the hard way” but before you can start removing Simons gear his hands grab your wrists preventing you from doing anything more

“‘M fine, wasn’t hurt”

“Haaa, ye didn’t say so because…” hoping he’d answer

“Was making sure you weren’t hurt, can’t have our only medic hurt now can we”

If you rolled your eyes any harder they’d roll right outta your skull

#not proofread #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #gn reader #asexual writer #fluff?#hopefully i tagged this right lol

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alicesivory · 11 months ago

Text

The Moon Song

Inspired by the movie ‘her’ 2013 - directed by Spike Jonze

Pairing: Billy Washington x female! Reader

Warning: smut, angst, and teeth rotting fluff (mdni), and not proof-read lol.

WC: 7005

Disclaimer: I am not comfortable using [y/n] but I won’t be using any OC since it’s still an x reader fic. But I’ll slip a nickname or two in some stories ;) Oh and I took some words and sentences from my favourite scene from the movie and the iconic monologue at the end but I revised it so it would fit into the story but all credits goes to Spike Jonze. Enjoy!

“War? You don’t got a clue- what do you know about war?! War against halal butchers? You don’t know anythin-.”

Billy nodded as tears started to build up in his eyes. Of course he knew nothing. It's as if anyone gave him a chance to know something. It’s meaningless at some point, he meant his life and all this bullshit about all of this charade. Just when he felt like a somebody, of course his sister had to crumble it all down.

Or just trying to make him snap out of it from this dreamlike state he’s in as his inner self tries to justify his actions.

He didn’t mean to be like this in the first place or mingle with those thugs.

He never did.

“-grow up, Billy!”

He nodded once more as a tear dropped from his eye.

“You done?”

“Yes, I am.”

Billy kept an eye on his sister as she stomped away from his room, and finally from his apartment.

Slamming the door.

Humiliation weighed over his shoulders as he hung his head low, running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair with frustration. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way. Not the way he wanted it to. Taking a deep sigh, he lets go of all of his tears letting them roll down from his cheeks. Sniffling and crying alone in his dark room. But just as wanted to just curl up in bed and cry ‘till exhaustion, he heard a knock from his apartment door.

Wiping away his tears and snot, he stood up bravely and walked towards the door. It’s probably his sister, wanting to yell or lecture him about…literally anything, really. Nothing’s good enough for her or their parents. He sighs and opens the door with no hesitation without checking who it was.

“Coming back for mo-.”

Oh, it wasn’t his sister.

Her name rolled off his tongue easily like he was dying to say her name for months. She looked at him curiously as she stood there with an awkward thin smile. “I bumped into Lana and…she looks pretty pissed. Did I come at the wrong time?” she asked, pointing towards the apartment hallway. He quickly shook his head.

“N-no! Not at all. We just had an argument- you know how it is.”

It has been…8 months and 2 weeks since he broke up with her (yes he has been counting) and 2 months since he last saw her. Their breakup was hard for him and sometimes Billy believed that their breakup was the one that caused his downward spiral. He had known her since they were in university, she was his friend before he slowly developed feelings for her. His train of thoughts were snapped away by her gasp. “What happened to your hand?”

He quickly hides it away behind his back.

“N-nothing! By the way, What’re you doing here?” He asked, not wanting to tell her the truth. What will she think of him? He can’t just dump his troubles into her.

“I know this is silly, but I forgot to take some of my stuff,” she sighed in defeat, clearly letting him brush away the topic of his hand. Billy knew what she left and he didn’t even bother to tell her since he..well..just wanted her to maybe stop by or just kind of let it stay in his apartment to remember something of her. A piece of her, some sort.

“Yeah? What did you left?” He asked, acting dumb.

“Some books and my brown watch. Have you seen them?”

“No, not at all. Come in.”

Three years ago.

Laughter filled the apartment floor as his pale cream couch was being moved from the first floor to the third floor. He was at the bottom end while his sweetheart was trying to pull the couch up. “It’s getting heavy, love!” He teased as he tried so hard not to laugh seeing them fail over and over again to move their couch up to their apartment.

What’s now his apartment, used to be their apartment.

“Hold on! Oh dear Lord-,” she cackled as she took a step back up the stairs, lifting up the other edge of the couch.

“Alright, now push!” She ordered as they finally succeeded to drag and carry the couch unison. It took them a while to finally make the couch fit through the doorway, but they managed. Back then, their apartment was still empty. No mess or dirty clothes scattering around the floor. It still smelled like paint. “Phew!” She said before crashing onto the couch. Billy follows along, putting his arm around her, letting her lean onto him.

“Tired, sweetheart?” He teased.

“Terribly.”

“Gosh I think the last time you were this tired was two nights ago when I fuc-,”

“Ew, no ew stop-,” she says with a giggle trying to get away from him but he won’t budge.

“And you told me to keep going! ‘Ah harder Billy! Harde-,”

“You are so disgusting!” She exclaimed as she covered his mouth with her palm, but he kept teasing her with his stupid dirty jokes. “Really? The last time you told me that was when I gave you backs-,”

“You are so infuriating!”

The only thing to make him shut up was tickles and her plan worked. When her fingers started to wiggle on his stomach, he burst out laughing like a mad man. “Stop! Stop!” He begged her. After one last tickle, she pulled away with a satisfied grin. “You’ll be the death of me, woman.” Billy placed his arm back around her shoulders and gave her a sweet peck on her lips. “I shall be,” she replied cockily, booping his nose. He smiled at her as he admired her features that he loved more than anything.

He didn’t know he was able to love someone this much.

“Can’t believe we have this place to ourselves,” he said softly to her, brushing a hair away from her face. She smiled back, “Can’t believe I’m doing this with you.” They both shared a sweet kiss where no one could disturb them or interrupt them. Ever.

“I uh…I applied for the military,” he informed her as they pulled away from their kiss. “Yeah? That’s amazing..,” she said supportively, brushing his hair with her gentle fingers. “Yeah..I wanted to try, y’know? Seeing Lana on field…I want to be like her y’know? Brave…tough…,” he listed.

“But you are.”

Her words made him scoff.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m your boyfriend. It’s biassed.”

“It’s still an opinion,” she said gently, still brushing his hair. Seeking her comfort, he leaned his head on her shoulder. “You think I can do this?” He asked with a hint of insecurity in his voice. “Of course you can,” she reassured him, giving him a gentle kiss on his head.

Present day

They ramage through his apartment trying to collect all of her stuff. Piece by piece they collect the stuff she left in his apartment. “Alright we have the books…wuthering heights, pride and prejudice, little women, yada yada yada, and all I need is my brown watch. And it’s nowhere to be found- you sure you haven’t seen it anywhere?” She walked towards his gaming chair and sat on the pillowed chair while he sat on the cream coloured couch.

Normally, he won’t let anyone sit there. Even Becky, or Lana. She was the only one he trusted to touch his possessions. He smiles as he listens to her babbling and talking. He hates to admit it, but he missed it.

“Nope, not at all,” he lied.

Sighing in defeat, she starts rocking the chair as she looks around the room they’re in. “How you’ve been, by the way?” Billy shrugs at her question, acting all casual even if his life was basically crumbling down. No job, shitty friends, commit a minor crime, his sister, parents, even current girlfriend hates him. “Just fine, really.”

His answer made her smirk. “Well your hand says otherwise,” she says. Her witty answer made him chuckle. “What can I say? I’m a busy man.” He always liked how easy it is to talk to her. “What about you? You doin’ alright?” He asks, his tone gentle and eager to know if she’s been alright.

“Well, yeah I’m alright. Ups and downs here and there, y’know?”

“Compared to me, you look like you’re doing amazing,” he compliments her, leaning in to take a good look at her even if they’re a little bit away from each other.

His compliment made her chuckle.

It always does.

“Thanks..,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m serious though..you look amazing.” His tone genuine and full of meaning into it.

She looked at him for a moment, trying to read him before nodding.

“Well you look like you need a haircut and a shave.”

Her comment made him laugh. Genuinely laugh. It’s been awhile since he felt that much comfort in him.

After a while, their laughter died down and a comfortable silence swept the room. “You seeing anyone?” she asked. He nodded, “Yeah, but it’s a bunch of crap. Her name’s Rebecca and I haven’t heard from her since last week.” She gave him a thin smile, both of them knowing that they don’t want to discuss that topic further. “And you?”

“Been on a date or two but none of them worked out,” she shrugs. He nodded again, a little bit glad to hear that. “You happy with your new book?”

“You’ve read it?” She asks with a chuckle. “Well, I saw it in a book store last week and it looks pretty cool, I might have to buy a copy after this,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean sure I like how it is,” she says. But he saw how she pursues her lips with a pregnant pause coming from her. “But I feel like it’s true to what I set out to do. So I’m happy with that.”

“I swear, You’re your own worst critic, I’m sure it’s amazing. Even that paper you wrote on synaptic behavioral routines made me cry.”

“Yeah, but everything makes you cry.”

“Everything you make makes me cry.”

A sense of familiarity washes between them. How easy it was to just talk like normal people would. Alice looked into his eyes for a moment before darting away and spots his injured knuckles once more.

“No but seriously though, what happened?” She asks, pointing at his hand hesitantly. He looked down and felt heat coming up to his cheeks.

“I uh…it was an accident.” “What accident?”

“An accident that involved me and some glass shards.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

Why is she asking me all this shit?

“You don’t want to know.”

“I would love to know, actually.”

He looked at her for a while to sense any sort of hesitation in her words but the only thing he could find in her eyes was determination. It intimidates him. She could scoop anything from the bottom pits of his heart.

“For fuck’s sake, Ismashedawindowatabutchersh-“

“What?!”

“It was a fucking protest-“

“—What protest, Billy?! All I see is that you’re now doing property damage-,”

“—Am not!—”

“—Then what was that for? Why on earth would you smash a butcher shop’s window?!”

Billy was silent.

Why did he do it?

“I..”

Did he actually believe all that bullshit? Or was he just tagging along with his buddies? To be…accepted?

“Everything I do is never enough for you, is it?”

His words created this thick tension in the room. Her brows crinkled as she took his word as an offense. “Why would you say that?” She asks, her voice cracking. “Because it’s the truth-.”

“No it isn’t,” she said, stern and true. “I always felt like you wished I could just be a happy, light. ‘everything’s great’, bouncy girlfriend who always puts a smile whenever you come home either happy or angry and I’m sorry but I can’t do that, I still have feelings too-.”

Billy winces at her words and shakes his head, “No I didn’t want that.”

“You avoid me and shut me out whenever I point out something wrong about you, or us- even when we argue you never wanted to listen!—“

“—No I don’t!—”

“—It’s like as if you can’t handle real emotions, Billy—,”

“—They are real emotions, how do you—,”

“—What? Say it! Am I really that scary, Billy? Say it- How do I know what?!”

Silence hung in the air once more. They were both seeing red and they…she...he…realized how this argument was going nowhere. Billy saw how her gaze shifted, how her brow relaxed and her eyes slowly softening. Her once angry demeanour changed into what is now left with regret and embarrassment. Rubbing her arm, avoiding his gaze. God, did he really messed up this bad?

“I was gonna marry you, y’know?”

He didn’t even realize that he said those words out loud, avoiding her gaze as his head hangs low once more. Not realizing how her eyes softened, looking at the man that she once loved and believed was the love of her life. Maybe he is still the one she loves- but he sees that as wishful thinking.

“I’m sorry that came out of nowhere-,”

“—Billy, It’s okay-,”

“—But I mean it though, I…really want to marry you. Back then, after I’m finally in the military or something- but turns out none of that shit worked out, so…,” he says running his hands through his hair once again. His sentence hung in the air as he shut his mouth from talking any further.

Billy’s birthday, last year.

“You’re so infuriating..,” she giggled lowly as she laid on his bed, in his arms, tangled in bedsheets as the moon shone bright from the window. “Me? Infuriating? Is that a proper way to say to your birthday boy tonight?” Billy teasingly replied, leaning his head to hers letting his forehead rest on hers.

She giggles again shifting her whole body close to him as she clutches the blankets close to her chest to keep her warm. “Jeez sorry, it’s not my fault that you keep giving bad activity ideas for your birthday. Like, seriously? Skydiving? You know I hate heights, you arse!” She slaps his chest, earning a cackle from him. “It was just a suggestion, love that’s all…,” Billy grunts as he cuddles her tightly.

“Ugh you’re squishing me..,” she complained.

“Stop whining..,” he replied, giving her a sweet kiss on the neck. “It’s still my birthday tonight, I can hug you as tight as I can..,” he murmured sleepily. Alice chuckles and slightly shifts, facing up to him. “No but seriously though, what do you want to do tomorrow?” she seriously asked.

“I don’t know, really…probably taking you out and the lads up for a few pints. Just the usual, love,” he said, rubbing her arm. “Just wanna spend some time with the people I love.” Giving her a sweet peck on the lips.

“Yeah? You gon’ give your mum and da a visit then?”

Billy groaned as he nuzzled his face on the crook of her neck. “Knew you’d say that.”

“Oh c’mon, love…it’s been a half a year since you saw them. One visit won’t hurt…,” she said gently, running her fingers through his hair. “Yeah one visit will end up my da making fun of me and seeing my mum’s disappointment up close,” Billy sarcastically chuckled. “I won’t let them,” she whispered closely to his ear.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Her response earned her a smile out of him. “What’d I do without you, sweetheart?” He asked sultry before he started to kiss her jaw…down to her neck as his big hands snaked her waist, holding her gently. “I think you’d do just fine,” she answered with a sensual sigh. Billy smiled, nuzzling her cheek with his nose before capturing her lips with his.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back with a low hum, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they explored each other's mouths. Billy took his time as he slipped his boxers down and placed them somewhere in the bed. “Mm…y’know I love you right?” He asked in between kisses as he pinned her down to bed, hovering over her. “I know,” she said. His kisses trailed down from her lips, her jaw, her neck, down to her chest. Gently squeezing and caressing one of her breast while his mouth nipped and sucked the other carefully. He’d then squeeze one to make her nipples perk so he could kiss it and suck it better, leaving wet trails down to her tummy and finally finding his treasure.

Gently spreading her legs, he could see that her white cotton panties had already left a dark wet patch on it. A smile tugging at his lips and he gently nuzzled his nose on her clothed sex. “Already all wet for me, babe?” He asked, placing a sweet kiss onto it before pulling down her panties in one swift motion as if he’d done this a thousand times already.

“C’mon…where’s my sweet darling..ah there she is…,” he muttered to himself. Without a warning he kitten licked her whole sex making her gasp in pleasure. Smirking smugly up at her, he continued to tease and lick her pussy before managing to eat her out properly. Hungrily munching on her like a starved man. He rubbed her clit gently in a circle motion as he stretched her hole with his tongue, fucking her with it.

This motion made her squirm and gasp, her brows crinkling feeling the intense pleasure that she couldn’t get enough of even if he’d done this to her more than she could count. “M gonna put a finger in, yeah?” His voice said in a reassuring and gentle tone. She nodded with no hesitation and just as she knew it, she felt his finger slipping into her. One finger then became two fingers, slipping in and out of her dripping hole as he licked her clit making her cry in pleasure.

He took his time to help her find pleasure. He could die between her legs and he’d be happy. He groaned in delight as he licked all of her juices when his fingers pulled out of her weeping hole. He couldn’t get enough of her as he licked off her juices before he had to pull away and looked up to her.

“W-wha- why did you stopped?” she asked. He hovers over her once more, “Need you inside of me.” Needily nuzzling his nose to her neck, sucking onto her. He then felt his body shift as now he has is back on the bed as she sits on top of him like a queen on her throne. Straddling him, he could see all of her. Caressing her sides, he saw how she looks down and groped the base of his shaft, giving it a few strokes.

“You okay with this?” She asked.

“Mmhm…y-yeah- fuck yeah,” he couldn’t even speak properly, blinded with pleasure.

Then he felt her lining up their sexes, his cock leaking with pre-cum as she teasingly rubs the outside lining of her pussy with it. “Don’t tease-fuck!” Before he could even finish his sentence, she slips his cock in making both of them gasp in unison. “F-fuck, Billy…,” she moaned, adjusting to him. She loved how he felt inside her. Not too overwhelmingly big or small, to her it’s the right size and girth.

“You’re made for me,” he grunted as he needily thrust up begging for any movement or friction. Billy saw how she looked at him, eyes full of lust and love as she started to move up and down and rocking him as they adjust to their pleasure.

“Billy?” she called out to him as she thrust into him, her body full of sweat. “Y-yeah?” Holding her hips with his big calloused hands. “Wake up.”

“W-what?”

“I said wake up.”

Present day, Billy’s birthday.

The sun started to rise, but only tiny streaks of sun rays managed to peek through the blinds. Billy opened his eyes, finding his room empty, finding his bed empty.

Fuck, he just had another wet dream of her.

He looked down, finding a dark wet spot on his pants. Of course he did. His phone kept buzzing beside his bed, probably some ‘happy birthday’ notifications from his mum, dad, and sister. Becky didn’t even bother to send him a ‘i’m leaving you’ text. Ghosted and gave up on him.

Like the others do.

He sighs, getting up from bed and throws a shirt on himself and changes his shorts before finally picking up his phone. Then he saw it. A notification with her name on it. It’s been months since he last saw a notification from her. What is she going to say? Should he open it now? Maybe later- oh fuck it!

Hi Billy how you’ve been? I just want to say happy birthday here and hope you have a great birthday this year🎂 Sorry for the other day, I really didn’t mean a lot of those things, just wanted to see how you’ve been.

I know it’s been 10 months since we broke up and I know you probably don’t want me in your life again but I really just want to say that I wish you nothing but the best things in life. We’ve gone through a long way, we grew up together and all that shit and I just can’t act as if you don’t exist in my life. You always do in some way and I hope that’s okay.

Have a great birthday Bil.

That text was the last straw for him. He looked around his no-good apartment, in the back of his mind he remembered everything he’d shared with her in every corner of this apartment. It drives him insane how he can’t have that now. But God he’d take it all back and do better for her. Reading her text, knowing how much of a shitty person he is, and she could’ve ghosted him and never talk to him ever again yet she decided to acknowledge him as a person. Not wanting to cut him out of her life, even he himself wouldn’t do the same thing if he was her. It drove him off.

He hates the way he projects himself. But it is how he is.He hates everything in his life. It’s insufferable and suffocating in his own flat. He didn’t ask to live like this, but he knew the only person he could blame was him.

Not his family,

Not his friends,

And definitely not her.

He couldn’t stay in his place any longer but as he was about to just grab his stuff and leave the place, there was a heavy knocking on his apartment door.

Life went on for a while that summer. He jogged to his car and placed his phone on the phone holder. He opens his phone, checking if he has any texts to answer before he starts driving. He sighs as he spots her name again when he opens his messaging app. He has read her text but he hasn’t replied to her. Opening her chatbox, he realized that there were also a few things he’d like to say to her. Tapping his heel and his leg bouncing anxiously, he contemplates whether or not he should reply to her or leave it be.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

Pressing down the voice message icon, he starts to speak,

“Hey uh…hey love, thanks for the uhm message, I appreciated it r- fuck why do I sound so nervous?” Billy presses the stop button and deletes it. He clears his throat, “Hey uh, I got the birthday message, I really appreciated it, ta. I’ve been doing better…thanks for asking.” He said as he starts to drive his car.

“Listen, I…I’ve been sittin’ and thinkin’ about all the things I wanted to apologize to you. All the shit and…pain we caused each other and everything I put on you, like how you think I needed you to be or needed you to say, and I’m sorry for that..really. I think I’m just doin’ that because I want to be better for you, even until now. And you know what, you helped make the best versions of me. We grew up together and there’ll be a piece of you in me too, always. Whatever we are in the future, and wherever you are in the world I just want you to know that I’ll always look for you and…I…,” he paused.

I love you and I’ve never stopped loving you.

“...I hope you have a great day too. Bye.”

Taking all of his courage, he presses the send button.

Letting out a big sigh, he leans back onto his seat and tries to drive peacefully.

Maybe a gum will help him calm down.

A year ago.

Billy remembered it like it was yesterday. It was late at night and Billy was watching something off the old Telly. He had a terrible day. After he failed to get into the military, he tried applying for high end jobs but it didn’t work out. Did another interview today and he just knew he’s gonna flunk it. The next thing he knows he’ll get an email saying that they’re sorry and all that bullshit. He sighed, leaning his head back on the couch.

“Billy?” She called out from the doorway.

“Hm?”

“How was the interview?”

“Horrible,” he grunted.

“You don’t know that-,”

“-They laughed at me,” he snapped his head towards her to the point it sets her off. “I-I didn’t kno-,” “Of course you don’t.” He cuts her off once again before getting up from his couch, brushing her off as he passed through her. “Fine,” she muttered and went to the bedroom. “Can you just be supportive for once?” Billy snapped again as he threw his beer bottle to the trash bin. “Just for once, be supportive of me?” He emphasized, with a hint of sarcasm, bitterness and frustration. “Supportive? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all these years, Billy?” She replied, taking his words to an offence.

“Oh really? Well I don’t think you’ve been supporting me, more like nagging at everything I do!”

“Criticising isn’t nagging, Billy!”

“You call that criticising? Critics are supposed to help me be better not bringing me down!”

“I wasn’t bringing you down, Billy! I was just saying the truth! Your CV was weak you didn’t put your best qualities that should’ve been the key point-,”

“--Just stop! Stop it, you’re such a know it all, aren’t you?--”

“--Me? Ha! I’m not the one who can’t accept criticism! Who can’t accept real emotions–”

“--Oh fuck you! Atleast I’m not the one who got rejected by 10 publishers just because the book you’re writing is complete rubbish!”

Her eyes widened. As much as they like to argue, Billy will never dare to say anything about her work- most of all, her book. Billy’s rage died down as he realized what he just said. He crossed the line. He fucked up. He saw how her lips slightly trembled as she wanted to speak.

She nodded as tears built up in her eyes. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?-”

“--No, fuck- babe I didn’t mean that I’m sorry–,”

“--No, it’s fine–,”

He gently walked towards her and tried to keep her from going away from him. Trapping her in a gentle embrace. “--No, it’s not fine…I’m sorry..I didn’t mean any of that…I messed up I’m sorry,” he apologized over and over again. Placing gentle kisses onto her head. His heart sank when he heard her sniffles. Gently stroking her hair, he murmured his apology to her showering her with kisses to make it all better. “Why are we like this?” She asked in a small tone. “Like what?”

“We keep hurting each other.”

Billy’s thoughts were suddenly snapped when a notification enters his phone

Lana: Mate, I’m with Becky. She came to mine looking for you. Call me NOW.

Becky? Why did she came to Lana looking for him?

That doesn’t makes any sense.

Billy brushed it off and probably thought that Becky’s there to call him off or take her stuff from his flat or something. So he clicks on Lana’s contact number and dials her after constantly ignoring her.

“Billy!”

“Can you put Becky on?” “Where are ya? Ya sound like you’re drivin’,”

“Yeah was drivin’ to meet my mates, why? Let me speak to Becky.”

“What mates? Anyone I know?”

“Just mates, Lana.” Billy says as he takes a turn on the road. “Why, what’s going off?”

“Listen, Billy I’m not with Becky- I just needed you to call me.” Billy furrowed his brows as he listened to his sister speak on the phone.

“What?- What do you mean you’re not with Becky?- What do you mean- what- why?”

“I need to talk to ya. You’ve not been answering my calls. You’ve not been about-wh-where are you driving to?

Suddenly his car bumped into some people who were doing some protests. Flipping him off for bumping into them. “Billy? Billy- Where exactly are you?” Lana asks again. Billy flips a protestor on his side bumping into his car. “Farringdon Tube Station,” he answered Lana, annoyed.

“Listen, Billy, it’s important, what are you doing at Farringdon Station?”

“I was meant to meet the lads but they’re not here. Outside the tube he said, but I can’t see them. Just a load of lefty wankers.”

“Billy, why did you drive, was that your idea?”

“Nah, my mates asked me to give some of the lads a lift down. Must be some kind of joke.”

Billy looked around not finding any signs of those so called lads. Shit, he got set up. A joke, like people would see him as. Fuck.

“Yeah they’ve set me up, haven’t they? Havin’ a laugh, aren’t they? Knobheads,” he says with a disappointed demeanor that even Lana could detect.

“Billy, these new mates of yours, they’re not who you think they are.”

“Lana, what you on about?”

“Nick. Nick Roberts, he’s a…he’s a terrorist. One of the Crusaders that killed Nut.”

In a flash, he finds himself in the middle of Cranstead Fields with a fucking bomb inside of his car. He could hear his heart beating rapidly, his ears ringing as it mutes everyone and everything around him. From many different scenarios in his head, Billy didn’t think he’d die like this. Trapped in a car in the middle of Cranstead Fields with a ticking bomb that’s about to go off at any minute by now. His breath ragged and unstable as he kept an eye on the timer. Swallowing a lump on his throat, he looked up to his rearview mirror. “Oh no..,” he pants to himself. Scared to death, really. He wondered if he’s ever going to survive this. Maybe he should’ve chosen better shit in his life and maybe he won’t get blown off by a fucking bomb latched onto those terrorists. If only he chose better friends, listened to his sister, he’d be at home patching things up. If he was any good maybe he’d be watching some old telly show with her.

Fuck, he didn’t even said goodbye.

He hasn't told his mum and dad how sorry he was for being a mop, and for everything he did.

“Billy! I’m here! Alright it’s gonna be fine! Just stay really still for me, I'm gonna have a look around the car.”,“Yeah you gotta do something about this,” he pants, glancing at the timer that’s still ticking. “About three minutes, yeah?” Three minutes and twenty five seconds. Twenty four, twenty three..shit! He hasn't read her new book. Lana tried to take a look at the bomb as well through the window with a worried and nervous expression. But when Billy faced her again, she tried to put on a brave face for her brother. “Okay stay still, I’m gonna go have a look- Don’t touch anything, I’m just gonna check the car okay?”

“Y-yeah, yeah…just-just hurry!”

11 months ago.

Billy leaned onto the hood of his car as the night breeze swept through him. One hand on his jacket pocket, and the other holding a fag as he took a drag out of it letting out a puff of smoke into the air. Looking down at his phone, he saw that it’s 7:00 pm sharp. She should be home from work by now. He sighs, flicking the cigarette down to the ground before stubbing it as he walks to the building. After going through security, he saw his sweetheart talking to the receptionist at the lobby as she had her bag on her shoulder. After finishing her chat with the receptionist she turned around and spotted him immediately. A smile plastered on her face.

“Heya Billy…,” she greeted with a smile, hugging him with her arms around his neck. He kisses her cheek and neck intimately. “Hiya, love.” As they pull away from the hug, he has his arm around her waist leading her out of the building. “How’s work?” He asked as they walked towards his car together. “Same old, same old,” she shrugged.

“And…how’s your book going?” His question made her giggle and grins in excitement. “I just got an email that..they’re actually going to publish my book!” She cheers. “Told ya they’d love it,” he said to her smugly, giving her a kiss on the head. “I was so scared and nervous though…but I guess I just needed to take a deep breath with it all,” she said, opening the passenger door. “Yeah, you actually do need to do that,” he said with a pregnant pause. He kept his eye on her as she fastened her seatbelt.

“Hey, babe?”

“Hm?”

He gently strokes her hair. “Look, I just wanted to say sorry about that night. I was a big dick to you that night, didn’t know what came over me…,” he said carefully to her. “It’s fine–,”

“Don’t say that it’s fine, bub. It’s not. It was stupid and fucked up for me to say about your book. Those 10 publishers who rejected your book were also stupid. I think everything you write is amazing. Can’t wait for the next one.” He kissed the back of her hand, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. “You forgive me?” He asked. Billy saw a smile creeping on her face, “I’ll forgive you. If you promise you’d buy a copy of my book everytime I release one.”

“Easy, I’d buy Five.”

“Five, huh? I’ll keep your promise, Washington.”

He chuckled, giving a kiss on her temple.

“Promise, love.”

Present day, Cranstead Fields.

What felt like an eternity of Lana checking the bloody car, he gripped his steering wheel while glancing at the timer once more. Two minutes and fifty three seconds. Fifty two…fifty one…his heartbeat was banging like a drum inside of his chest. Breathing in, breathing out. Lana looked at the timer and the bomb through the passenger seat’s window, trying to find a solution and just..anything! To turn that stupid bomb off. But her expression wasn’t that convincing. It scared him.

“How bad is it?” He had to ask Lana.

Lana could only look back at him with a nervous smile. “It’s fine,” she lied.

“I can tell when you’re lying, man! So how bad is it?!” He asked again.

He kept screaming his sister’s name as she went away for awhile- but she can’t just leave him, he needed his sister. Screaming out Lana’s name like a mad man, his face gone red as he cried inside his car. He does not want to die. He swore it felt like hours inside that stupid car. From the rearview mirror he saw Lana running back to him. “Billy! Listen to me! LISTEN TO ME! LOOK AT ME, YEAH? The timer means nothing! They put it there as a trick so you’ll open the door–,”

“--please–,”

“--Can you hear me?!”

“...please,” he begged again.

“Don’t touch it! Stay still! It’s gonna be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” His head hangs low as he realized that there’s no way out of this situation.

“Listen to me, I’m your sister, okay?!”

She’s his sister.

“You need to trust me, I’m gonna go and get some stuff–,”

“--Lana please, don’t go–,”

“--You gotta trust me! It’s gonna be fine.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat as he nodded. Okay. It’s gonna be fine. It is. It is.

He resisted the temptation and fear of opening the door. But when the timer ran out, it freaked him out. But everything was silent, no explosion or anything going off. There he realized that Lana was right. It was a trick. Okay- fuck. He has to stay focused right now. Watching from the rearview mirror once more, he saw Lana’s team hurriedly bringing their tools.

“Alright Billy, we’re gonna just take off the rear window so you could crawl out, yeah? Stay. Still,” Lana reminded him calmly. She takes a glance at the bomb once more, giving him a thin reassuring smile. “See? It’s gonna be fine. Don’t touch anything.” Billy nodded at her words even if he was internally screaming. Slowly, he saw how her team plucked out his rear window. “Okay Billy, just slowly crawl right out. We got you,” Hass says, reaching out his arms to pull Billy out. Billy nodded and carefully crawled from the front seat, avoiding the shift gear or anything really! Not wanting to trigger the bomb. As he reached the backseat, the timer of the bomb went on again.

“Shit!” Billy screamed, hastily scrambling out of the car. He lets his sister and Hass pull him out taking his arms. “Get me out of here!” He screamed as they all grunted, pulling him out of the car. Billy landed on the ground with a thud and the team ran from the car as the timer counted down from five.

“Fuck, ma ankle!” Billy winced as he rubbed his ankle that got twisted after he got out from the car to the ground.

Four…

“Billy!” Lana screamed from afar.

Three…

“Shit shit shit shit.”

Two…

Billy tried to walk as fast as he could, away from the car.

One.

Billy didn’t explode in the car, but his ankle got twisted and his leg was burned from the sparks of the explosion. Laying down on the hospital bed after consulting with medical staff in the ER, Lana accompanied him throughout the day. Not leaving his side. Even his parents came to check up on him. His mum was crying, thinking that he died or something. It made his heart warm by the fact that he had a second chance with his family. His dad hugged him for the first time in years which was also surprising. But, he liked that surprise.

“Miss, you’re not supposed to go in there-,” he heard one of the nurses said from outside. What kind of commotion is happeni-.

And there she was.

Panting like as if she was just running a marathon, she stood there by the ER doorway. Then she saw him. “Billy!” she sighs in relief before instantly running to him. Billy couldn’t believe it as they both embraced each other. She hugs his head close to her chest, her heart beating rapidly.

“H-how did you-,”

“--Lana called me,” she says with a relieved smile, running her delicate fingers through his hair. Billy turns to look at Lana and saw Lana sipping her coffee with a mischievous smile that says; ‘Thank me later’ all over her face. He gave his sister a nod before turning back up to her.

“Are you okay?” She aks, concerningly. “Never better, love.”

He was done with being afraid. Done being a coward.

In her embrace, he pecks her lips.

Even though she was quite surprised, he earned nothing but a smile from his sweetheart.

“I’d say yes, y’know?”

“About what?”

“If you still want to marry me.”

Billy smiles to her. Guess he gotta save up then.

A/N: I SWEARRRR this fic took me so long to complete cuz it’s so overwhelming to write especially the Cranstead Fields scene- I had to go back and forth on youtube to keep the dialogues and description right꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱. But anw, thank you so much for reading until the end! I hope you guys enjoyed it and I still had so much fun writing this fic. I hope this fic makes sense, cuz I really wanted to keep it as accurate as possible with ‘Trigger Point’ in the first place(゜▽゜;). I’m up for requests for any Ewan characters and if you want me to write something in the future or you have ANY fic ideas, don’t hesitate to hmu! My inbox is open :D THANK YOUU!!!

P.S, I would like to give a little shoutout to @/targaryenrealnessdarling and the Cranstead Fields scene was also inspired by their Billy Washington series fic called “It’s Who We Have” so please check their blog as well they wrote so many amazing fics.

That’s all! Love, Alice!ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Tags🎀: @ladytargg @anukulee @michaelsgavey @whencokewascasual @fan-goddess

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