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sevsgiirl · 3 days ago

Text

— do the girls back home touch you like I do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

“sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis. how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies.

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane #arcane smut #wlw smut #arcane fanfiction #lesbian #sapphic #dividers by fairytopea

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 days ago

Text

Yandere Eldritch Ex-Husband ///////

Your now ex-husband is incredibly surprised when the authorities are dispatched to your new house when he enters. Thinking nothing of it he broke the knob of your new home, thinking after all that time talking with the judge over some foreign topic you’d both be settling into the new place. Turns out this ‘divorce’-thing and ‘restraining order’-stuff meant something after all. That he couldn’t be with you and the baby.

“Wait, the dee - force means I don’t get to come home? What–?”

“Sir, if you give me trouble it’ll only hurt your chances of seeing your kid more.”

“Wait I can’t see him? (Y/n)! (Y/n)-honey, please!”

“Sir, please put your hands behind your back.”

The only reason he doesn’t suck their brains out through their noses+ fight more is because he’s so devastated as he thinks about how in the dark about cruel-human-practices. Only now does it register that when you were oh-so cutely crying about leaving, you weren’t talking about a late night run to the store to satisfy your cravings. That the word he had dismissed as something you wanted to buy was actually an action. An action that meant he’d be deprived of the most important person in his life.

“Hello?”

“......I did not understand before….but I understand now.”

“Kilton? You know a restraining order extends to calls, right?”

“IM nOt LetTInG yOu go—”

Click.

“Creep.”

As he reluctantly uses the resources proposed to him, to argue for custody he has time to think about when you first mentioned the word. But the more he replays those heavenly moments with you he realizes how often your brow was scrunched and a vein was popping from that kissable forehead. It’s then that your ex-husband begins to realize just how little he was actually listening to you. Ashamed, he’s realized that while he finds all your actions absolutely irresistible it didn’t mean you were happy. And he really had no one to blame but himself.

“Hello this is Kilton (L/n) if you have a message leave it at the tone….beep.”

“Hey I hope I got the right number but I need your help with the baby….there’s stuff going on that I have no idea how to deal with. I won’t call the police or tell anyone..I just need….some help. And you're the only one who can give it to me.”

“OF COURSE i’LL BE RIGht oVER!”

“Wait you never set up your voicemai—”

When you left your husband, you were tired of being so confused all the time. Your husband, your best friend was keeping you in the dark for a long time now. Starting from the occasionally odd behavior you’d witness him do, that he’d brush off as if it were nothing. Like the doors in the house that have begun to open to alternate dimensions (that’s what you believe but your husband will not explain in any way) ignoring your concerns and calling you being ‘silly.’ It was annoying but you hadn’t died yet so it wasn’t that bad…until you got pregnant.

“How can this be?”

“Yippee I told you, that one took!”

“No, I literally can’t.”

“Of course, you can babe, you already are look at your little bump.”

“No like I literally can’t this is unbelievable.”

Whether you physically can and were vigilant in prevention or you physically should not be able to conceive matters not. You are pregnant. Or you were. And while dealing with the intense hormones and birthing pains and gravity-defying phenomena happening in your home, your ex-husband would explain nothing. Doing nothing but smile wistfully at you while you demanded to know why the fridge was inching closer every time you turned the corner. Any sane person could only handle so much of his pretend assurances that you were just losing your mind.

But hindsight 20/20 you should’ve known you couldn’t get rid of your eldritch ex-husband with your eldritch baby.

“Hey you left the door unlocked, so I let myself in. Babe, you can’t be doing that it’s really unsa–the furniture doesn’t look at all like it did before.”

“Of course it doesn’t! Because your son has decided to rearrange it with his humming!”

“That’s not a hum, Love. He’s singing a hymn of Utter Chaos–”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS MAKE HIM STOP.”

As you suspected the root of all the inexplicable happenings in your life were because of your ex-husband and by extension the little bundle that has been doing all sorts of things a normal baby shouldn’t. Like humming the ‘utter chaos song’ or making supplies float over to you while changing him or how at the end of his bath the water turns red and evaporates in an echo of screams. It’s just a little alarming.

“Where is the baby?”

“In that other dimension.”

“Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that something familiar to you? Every now and then he just goes into this other dimension that let’s his laugh morph the walls a little.”

“Oh my. That’s new for me too.”

Surprisingly despite your husband’s now-confirmed-eldritch-heritage he’s not an exact expert on everything his son does. Apparently no one from his world/dimension/atternate plane of existence does everything your son does and is blissfully writing off as something from your side of the family. He’ll shrug and use the opportunity to listen to you list the observations you’ve made about your darling offspring and maybe compliment you on your vigilance as a new unfortunately single parent. Don’t worry it won’t be that way for long!+

“So the blood water thing. It happens whenever he interacts with water.”

“Oh I know that one it’s an old habit of mine, for storing water for later!”

“What about the metal-eating?”

“Metal eating? With no teeth? Beats me must have gotten a taste from all those utensils you’re so fond of. By the way parenthood looks good on you have I told you that?”

As he becomes more of a constant presence in your home, there's a startling change in your baby boy’s behavior. It doesn’t stop but it’s a lot less destructive. Finally, you could have the delivery crew enter the yard without them being swallowed by the portal to your son’s crib. Finally, you can afford to have a couple-hour meet and greet with your family without anyone inexplicably sprouting horns. So reluctantly you let him back into your life with very specific conditions.

“You can’t stay the night.”

“Aww but aren’t you worried about me going home in the dark?”

“I know you’re not just some helpless human, so no. Second rule no kissing or lovey dovey things with me.”

“Got it. So vague I can work with that.”

“And finally–”

“EEEKK! WHAT DID HE DO TO MY BABY!?”

“Oh guess someone’s up from their nap.”

“I’ll distract her with a ring to her doorbell, you change back the dog.”

“As always, please try to turn down her invites for dinner this time. I don’t think I can spare her if she upsets him again.”

“No promises!”

Kilton realizes that what he has with you doesn’t mean he’s equally let back into your life, especially since so many other couples ailed by this (dee)force co-parent more or less the same so he’s got his work cut out for him. He’ll have to finally get over his listening issue while worming his way back into your heart! And don’t worry he definitely will!

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stevieschrodinger · 2 days ago

Text

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

#steddie #pre steddie #rock star eddie munson #drug abuse #alcohlism #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ficlet #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy #alpha eddie munson #beta steve harrington

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sv3t1ana · 3 days ago

Text

SYNOPSIS ᯓ You were always meant to be nothing. A servant, a shadow in the grand halls, another soul swallowed by his world. And yet, he sees you. Knows you better than you want to be known. When you stop running, was it ever a chase at all?

PAIRING ᯓ trueform! Sukuna x fem! reader

WARNINGS ᯓ fem! reader, throat fucking, Sukuna is murderous, choking (barely), oral (m + f receiving), two cocks (one hole), second mouth, he's lowkey down bad for you, stomach bulge, he cries, choking on it, he wants everyone to hear you, you're lowkey jealous because he fucks you so well.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.4k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO ⋮ SUKUNA

No time for anything but duty.

Dawn was yet to break when you stirred from your thin, pearl white bedding, the distant toll of a gong signaled the start of another day to service the King of Curses. Frigid air coming from your open window causing goosebumps to kiss your skin, fingers stiff while you pushed upward to swing your feet off the bed.

The grand hall awaited.

Moving quickly through the dim corridors, your footsteps slapped against the stone. Other servants were bouncy, murmuring among themselves as they hurried to their own tasks. For some reason, Sukuna preferred you. That fact alone ensured you were allowed no leisure, no freedom, no pleasure.

The grand hall was vast, towering pillars with gilded braziers. It was your responsibility to rekindle them, to sweep away the remnants from last night’s indulgences. Scattered bones, wine stains, the destruction Sukuna left wherever he went. You worked in silence, sweeping, scrubbing, making sure to leave not a trace of mess before he entered.

By midday, your monotonous duties led you to Sukuna’s chambers. A cavernous space lined with dark silks and the ever-present scent of blood. You moved with your usual practiced efficiency, wiping down the lacquered surfaces and straightening furnishings. All while listening, there was always something to hear.

Today it was Uraume’s voice, calm and collected.

“They begged for mercy.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and amused. “Did they?”

“You slew them anyway.”

“Their supplications did but offend me,” he spoke, tone laced with disdain, waving his hand dismissively. “To levy demands upon one such as I… how unworthy the breath spent.”

Uraume didn’t argue. They never did. No one did.

It was always like this, he destroyed for no reason. No one dared to question it.

A heavy presence filled the room as you straightened the last piece of furniture. A kind of presence that made the hairs along your arms raise before you turned. You knew what was about to happen.

“You are slow today.”

His voice was smooth. You kept your eyes down, focusing on the task at hand.

“I am thorough,” you corrected, wringing the cloth in your hands over the soapy water bucket.

“Hm.”

A single sound. You’ve been here long enough to hear his smirk.

You swallowed the sharp retort that rested on your taste buds and moved toward the door when you finished your last task. Before you could reach it—

“Woman.”

You stopped, not by choice but because it was a command. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.

“Do you find my chambers displeasing?”

You blinked once, face expressionless. “I find them filthy.”

Another pause, then a laugh. Though not cruel, but entertained.

“Good.”

He merely watched as you turned on your heel and left.

You hated him.

You hated everything about him.

His arrogance, his amusement of suffering, the way he looked at you as though he were waiting for something, like one day you might offer him more than disdain.

You hated being here at all. That all your life was to serve him. Losing all purpose and reduced to serving a homicidal monster who thought himself a god.

And yet, he preferred you. That was the worst part.

He would never let you be. That's why you were the only servant allowed to perform duties inside his personal chambers. It made you wonder why you were always given the task of cleaning up after him, it was like he wanted you to see what he did.

It had been weeks of the same grueling routine of your new schedule, of enduring his presence and feeling the unwieldy weight of his gaze even when you weren’t looking. You should have expected it, that sooner or later he would grow tired of the silent treatment.

Your summons came at dusk. One of the lesser servants palpitating as they spoke.

The lord has requested you.

His chamber was dimly lit, braziers casting shadows against the silk-draped walls. Sukuna was reclined, one arm against the curve edged atop his throne.

“Woman.”

You stopped a few paces before him, reluctantly bowing to the floor.

“Lord.” The word seared your tongue, burning like embers from a growing flame.

A slow smirk grew on his lips. “How obedient.”

He studied you for a moment, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. Exhaling through his nose like he was disappointed, “you hate me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Is it amusing to state the obvious, my lord?”

He chuckled, “I find amusement in many things.” A pause, then quieter, more deliberate, “you, most of all.”

Your fingers twitched, brows furrowing slightly as your eyes narrowed. “Then find new entertainment.”

His smirk widened. More certainty than mockery from before.

“You loathe me,” he mused. “And yet, here you stand. When I call, you come.”

“I am a servant.”

“A servant whose words do not wane. And yet, you do not leave.”

You swallowed, no response to give. Truth is you took up being a servant for added protection and the free rent. Beforehand, you had been struggling to make ends meet for years. Now, you are one of the longest lasting servants Sukuna had the pleasure of employing. You could leave, sure, at the expense of your life. But you already gave your life up to serve him. It was this or death.

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Is it duty that keeps you here?” His eyes flickered, “or something else?”

Your breath caught halfway down your throat.

There it was, the shift. The shift you refused to acknowledge, the one he stoically waited for you to realize.

The thing is, he didn’t demand it. He didn’t ask. He simply made it inevitable.

And you hated him for it.

The silence between you stretched. You should have scoffed and turned on your heel already, leaving without another word. But here you were, feet remaining on the polished floor, fingers gripping the inside of your sleeves.

Sukuna only watched, an unreadable expression you’ve grown to detest. He had no smug grin, no sharp amusement. Only patience. He was waiting like he always did.

Your jaw clenched while your eyes darted to the floor. “You are mistaken if you think—”

He shifted and rose to his feet in one shift motion. The space between you disappeared too quickly. His presence was overwhelming, looming over him the thousands of innocent lives taken for the sake of amusement. Entertainment. One clawed finger reached forward, catching the edge of your chin and tilting your face upward.

“Am I?”

His voice was low, deep. Something sent heat crawling through your blood vessels, blaze threatening to set your skin on fire.

“You assume much,” you bit out. Resisting the instinct to pull away, resisting the urge every cell in your body was screaming at you for to pull away. After all, he would win if you did.

“I assume nothing.” His thumb brushed the curve of your jaw, cocking his head back to truly look down at you. “I see.”

Your breath was uneven, rage and something else twisting in your chest creating the perfect mixture of rage, uneasiness, desire? “And what is it you think you see?”

A deliberate smile spread across his face slowly.

“A human who does not flinch.” His fingers traced lower, skimming your throat before resting his fingers around the back of your neck and thumb resting lightly in the curve between your collarbones.

“A human who has spent years writhing over a hatred that wavers.”

“No.” You answered, “you’re wrong.”

He hummed, stepping back and releasing the hold around you. Giving you just enough space to breathe, but not enough space to release you from the metaphorical tether he tied, binding you both together.

“Perhaps,” he pondered. “Or perhaps you are afraid of what hatred becomes when it festers too long.”

There was an invitation, a challenge in his tone. Something else entirely different from the usual amuse present in his gaze.

You should leave.

Walk away.

Turn and never come back.

But you didn’t.

That was all the answer he needed.

The worst part was he never saw you as weak, he didn’t dismiss you like he did other servants. He knew you would kneel before him willingly so there was no point in asking. Instead, he lured, pulled, and twisted until you were the one standing too close.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ear and down your neck. “Tell me, human,” he murmured. “If your hate is so pure, why is it that you linger?”

You could only shake your head, will your heart to stop its swift pace.

Moments of silence pass, Sukuna feeling you through his eyes, arms crossed across his chest while you kept your gaze low and head slightly bowed.

“What is it that you want?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he said, tilting his head and bringing his hand up to his chin as if he was in great contemplation. “Finally, the right question.”

“You know what I want,” he continued, his voice nothing over a small rumble. “The real question is, what is it that you seek?”

Your breath stilled, he was doing it again.

Twisting, digging, forcing you to see something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You hated him.

And yet—you wanted him.

He hummed and walked away, turning around half way to curl his finger at you, petitioning you to follow. You did just that, unsure of how this all happened. How had you got here in the first place? Your own feet brought you here, yet you barely remember the journey. Here you remain, following your lord where his bed lay.

It’s then that he grabbed your body whole, whipping you around to face him while he sat on his bed as you stood between his legs.

“Well?” He began after moments of stillness and silence. “On your knees.” While he gripped the crown of your head and pushed you to the floor.

You didn’t resist. In fact, you obliged without hesitation.

You skillfully opened his robe to reveal his rock hard length. Holding back a gasp at the sight before you—two cocks. Nimbly gripping both with each hand, choking each while you lapped your tongue on both tips, spitting and letting it drip to his base, giving each equal treatment.

He watched before you, an expressionless face as you loved on his cocks, reacting indifferently.

You gazed up with inquisition to watch his reaction as you dragged your tongue down one and began pumping a steady rhythm with the other in hand.

He let out a quiet hiss, almost too quiet for your dept ears to hear when you completely enveloped him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his length while his cock head grazed your uvula, causing you to gag. You coughed around his cock, letting dribbles of spit mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his base. You sucked and sucked, pinching your cheeks around his thick veiny circumference.

You only popped! your mouth off him when you felt his hips jerk in attempt to throat-fuck you. It wasn’t now that he was allowed that control. Not after the nauseating consciousness he forced upon you earlier.

Lowering your lids while you traced the veins up and down his second cock, using your free hands to jerk his other, twisting in tandem, squeezing tightly when you reached his angry red tip. You pointed your tongue and circled his tip and opening, as if to tease the one you serve.

You watched as his eyes narrowed, you saw the way he held back his moans. You saw the way he had to fight his body going limp by positioning his arms to brace his upper body behind him.

You embraced his second cock in your mouth, this time letting one hand pump the length your mouth couldn’t reach. He brought his hand out to smack yours away, gripping the back of your skull and pushing you down.

You choked, coughed, gagged. Tears brimming the corner of your eyes when you moaned and adjusted to the sensation of his cock in your throat.

And he was so deep you were sure he could see the outline of it. His breath quickened for a moment before he pulled you off. “Enough.” He said calmly. He wasn’t calm.

He grabbed your forearms to pull you atop him, forcing your clothed pussy to graze his spit covered, sloppy cocks.

“Your garments. Remove them at once.” He demanded.

You did as told, taking your time in attempt to mock him. Pulling your shirt over your head slowly to reveal your braless chest. You watched his blank face, not missing the way his pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when your rotund tits bounced out from the fabric holding them back. He gripped one firmly in his large hand, letting the plush tissue of your breast pillow between his fingers as he massaged with greedy desire, letting out a quiet hm like he was deciding something, or rather, coming to a conclusion.

He wanted this just as much as you.

When you removed your pants and panties he grabbed your waist tightly to position you so your pussy would grind against his cocks that lay on his naturally-defined abs.

“Hah,” he laughed. Feeling your dripping cunt coat him in even more of your sweet fluids. “Ready for me already, are you?” He still gripped you with two hands, using an extra hand he slapped your pussy. The sound of it squelching filled the empty room as he kept slapping it, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull.

You splayed your fingers on his chest for support, looking up at him with a distressed look on your face when he positioned his first cock at your entrance.

“Human, can you not handle me?” It was a rhetorical question. Not that you’d give him the pleasure of hearing your answer even if it wasn’t.

You furrowed your brows and sat down as if to prove a point, filling yourself up immediately with one of his cocks, ignoring the pain, the sting you felt while he nearly tore you apart.

He gritted his teeth, “I see now.” He smiled, “you are too inexperienced.”

You stuffed yourself repeatedly, almost seeing stars every time your hips descended at the limited capacity your small body had in comparison to him. “Inexperienced?” you huffed out between breaths, tears rolling down your cheeks and eyes pinched shut. “My lord… should you… expect me to… lay with more men?”

“I never said such a thing.” He growled, seeking the strength to resist stuttering his hips from your painfully languid pace. He didn’t want to hurt you too much.

You felt your walls begin to flutter around his cock already, your clit hitting the wet tongue of the mouth on his stomach every time you filled yourself with him. It had been only a few minutes of this, and yet your body still hasn’t adjusted. He had a good two inches that wouldn’t fit. His tip was already kissing your cervix, the ache that rang through your entire body like a bell when your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with even a slow pace. He was painfully large.

“Make haste, human.” He spoke, lowering his lids and sucking an inhale through his lips. “Hasten your pattern. Reach your precipice.”

You felt the building pressure in your stomach when he spoke, the coil tightening in your abdomen as you lost composure and came from a single one of his cocks alone when you felt him internally grunt and muscles tighten beneath your palms. Your body nearly went limp, as when you went to collapse forward he caught you, switching positions quickly so you lay on your back with him between your legs, now pulled out from your entrance.

“Inadequate,” he voiced, gripping both cocks with either hand, centered at your entrance. “This shall be rectified at once.”

And before you knew it, he was inching both of his cocks inside you. It burned, it felt as if he was searing you apart, like you were a fly compared to an elephant. The throb you felt radiating through you that started at your center, the sweet, sweet throb.

You saw the way he looked up at you, looking for permission to continue. You threw your head back whimpering, gripping the sheets at your sides with your mouth agape. Looking at him once more to see him avert his concerned gaze turn into a more nonchalant one.

“You must take this.” He looked down, having the tongue on his lower stomach dart out to lap at your folds, caressing your clit with care as if to soothe your pain.

He took the hint when you linked your ankles behind his sculpted back, pulling him in. He gripped your thighs, threw your ankles above his shoulders and pulled your body to him. Letting him fill up as much as possible before hitting the limit.

Getting in another inch or two, he began his erratic pace. Grunting as he thrusts, he held a wicked, evil smirk on his face while he gripped your waist like you’d run away.

“I… I still hate you,” you reminded him. Sukuna made you drunk. It was the pain, the pleasure, the agony from losing this fight with him. He only let out a demented laugh in response.

You panted loudly, clenching around his length as if it were a lifeline. You’d gotten somewhat used to his size with just one cock, and now he fucked you apart with both. It was truly a transcendental experience, pain morphing into pleasure, hate turning into a reluctant passion.

He removed one cock and began fucking you at an erratic pace with the other. His other cock slapping your stomach each time he snapped his hips, rutting into you and grunting like an animal.

You were still so tight, and now his one cock could fit fully inside you, like he really did stretch you out to fit him. He saw the bulge of himself outlining your lower abdomen, giggling to himself.

“You humans,” he huffed out, voice low and gritty, “are so fragile.”

Your moans only became louder when he pounded faster, deeper. At one point deciding to cover your own mouth in attempt to lower your voice from being heard, he smacked it away.

“You must not.” He commanded. “The estate must be apprised of our connection.”

He then brought his calloused hand to rest at the base of your neck, teetering on the edge of just barely gripping you but still keeping you in his hold. Your fingers linked behind his neck, beckoning him to come closer.

Your lips met, kissing for the first time and sharing breaths, moaning in his mouth. And fuck, was he a good kisser. You wondered if he’d ever done this before… and with who.

His lips devoured yours like he’d been waiting years for your arrival. Like he could never get enough. It was such a stark contrast to his usual bloodthirsty demeanor. He was ruthless in having you, lying in wait for you to realize what you already knew. The festered hatred splitting in two to create something new. The fire burning in your chest with hate wasn’t so different from the fire in the pit of your stomach as his cock alone made you cum for the second time tonight.

Sukuna rarely demanded, and he never chased. He simply stood, watched, and waited.

When the moment came, and years lying in wait for the moment when you turned toward and not away, he would not gloat. He would only smirk, as if to say, finally.

For all his taunting, smug certainty, he was just as bound to you as you were to him, your lord. Something about you was different than the rest of the servants. The care and precision you put into your duties was different than their usual mindless acts of submission. Your defiance was sharp and deliberate. You may serve him, but you never belonged to him.

And that was what he sought most from humans and rarely found. Not a servant, not obedience, but you. Entirely and willingly consumed by something stronger than hatred.

That’s why he gravitated towards you, and that’s why he picked you to be the first human to ever become intimate with him.

Therefore he waited. He waited for the moment you’d stop resisting the inevitable. For the moment you were his just as he, in the depths of his cruel, stubborn heart, was yours.

Which is why when he expended himself, painting your walls with thick ropes after ropes of cum, room filled with the slowing slap of skin, grunts, panting, smelling of shared sweat and sex, you just had to ask,

“My lord, are you crying?”

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #hate fuck #jjk fic #he's lowkey in love with you #sweet but psycho

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rafedarling · 23 hours ago

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𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐭

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: drew appears on the late late show with james corden to play the infamous game ‘spill your guts or fill your guts’. little does he know, you had previously been on the show and specifically requested he be invited.

warning(s): english is not my native language. mild language, secondhand embarrassment, extreme cheesiness and boyfriend material overload.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @issabellec7

based on this request

“Alright, Drew,” James started, rubbing his hands together.

“First of all, welcome! We are so happy to have you here.”

“Thank you, man, I appreciate it,” Drew said, shifting in his seat.

“Though I gotta say, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

James let out a dramatic laugh.

“As you should! Because, as you saw, your lovely girlfriend Y/N was here not too long ago. And guess what? She personally requested you to be here tonight!”

Drew groaned playfully, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I knew it!”

“And,” James continued, “she also made sure we included dark chocolate, which I assume is some kind of inside joke?”

Drew exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“Yeah, uh, I hates dark chocolate. Like, passionately. So this is definitely her way of messing with me.”

“Well, my friend, she succeeded!” James laughed.

“Now, let’s get started! First up…”

He gestured toward the table, dramatically lifting the first lid.

James scrunched his nose.

“Oh, this smells absolutely disgusting. So, Drew, here’s your first question: What is the most annoying habit Y/N has that drives you crazy?”

The crowd gasped playfully. Drew tilted his head back, laughing.

“Oh man, I can already hear her reaction to this.”

“Would you like a bite of pickled pig’s feet instead?”

James wiggled his eyebrows.

Drew shook his head.

“No, no, I’ll answer. Uh… okay, Y/N is literally the most perfect human, but if I had to say something…”

He exhaled dramatically.

“She never puts the cap back on the toothpaste. And she squeezes it from the middle instead of the bottom, and it kills me.”

The audience burst into laughter.

“That is valid,” James agreed.

“She’s an amazing actress, but a toothpaste menace.”

James pulled out a glass filled with a murky, grayish-green liquid.

“This is a sardine smoothie. And your question is: What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for Y/N that she doesn’t even know about?”

Drew winced at the drink.

“That looks awful.”

“It is awful,” James confirmed. “So spill it.”

Drew thought for a moment, then smiled.

“Okay. There was this one time when Y/N had a bad day she didn’t say anything, but I could tell. She had this childhood book she lost years ago, so I spent weeks tracking down a first-edition copy. I left it on her nightstand with a note, but I never told her it was me.”

The audience awed loudly.

James clutched his chest.

“That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life!”

Drew shrugged, grinning. “I just love making her happy.”

James lifted the lid, revealing a large, slimy cow tongue. Drew grimaced.

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Then answer this,” James smirked.

“Out of all of Y/N’s past on-screen romantic co-stars, who do you think had the best chemistry with her?”

Drew’s jaw dropped as the audience gasped. “Oh, come on!”

“Answer, or it’s cow tongue time!”

Drew groaned.

“Fine. If I’m being honest… I hated watching her with Jake Gyllenhaal. They just had way too much chemistry, and it made me so jealous.”

James burst into laughter.

“You paused the movie, didn’t you?”

Drew sighed. “Paused it. Left the room. Came back an hour later and still wasn’t over it.”

James lifted the plate.

“Drew, Y/N personally requested the chocolate, but we added wasabi. Your question: What’s the cheesiest thing you say to Y/N in private that you would never say in public?”

Drew groaned.

“Oh no. Nope. I refuse to expose myself like this.”

“You sure?” James taunted.

Drew sighed. “Fine. I call her ‘my little sunshine bean.’”

James lost it. “SUNSHINE BEAN?!”

Drew buried his face in his hands. “I knew this was a mistake!”

James wiped his tears.

“Alright, last one. You have to call Y/N and let her ask you a question. Answer, or take a bite of fermented tofu.”

Drew sighed dramatically before dialing your number.

“Drew?” your voice filled the studio. “Are you on Spill Your Guts?”

The crowd cheered.

“Yeah, baby, I am. And James is making me call you.”

You giggled. “Okay… If you had to get a giant tattoo of my face anywhere, where would you put it?”

Drew groaned as James cackled.

“Fine! I’d put it on my ribs. Right over my heart, happy now?”

You gasped dramatically. “That was actually a really good answer.”

James smirked. “What’s a role you regret turning down or missing out on?”

Drew sighed. “I was this close to being in a Western movie, and I regret not pushing harder for it.”

James lifted the bowl. “If you could travel anywhere right now, where would it be?”

Drew smiled. “Greece. I wanna take Y/N and just disappear on an island for a month.”

James leaned in. “What’s your dream project?”

Drew grinned. “Something I can do with Y/N. Whether it’s a rom-com or an action movie, I just wanna work with her.”

James clapped his hands.

“Drew, you survived!”

Drew blew a kiss to the camera.

“I did it for you, baby!”

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x famous!reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x singer!reader #drew starkey x female reader

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sematarygirls · 2 days ago

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⠀ ⠀⠀♯┆marshgirl!reader x rafe ⏤ part ii.ㅤ ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎“ i witnessed a girl dragged under by the current once; i wanted to help her, but my father pulled me away. he told me there was no justice for drowning girls ,, ‎‎ ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎IN WHICH . . . a strange boy shows up at the marsh unannounced. ─── ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆🌾

THE AIR SEEMED different that day. The wind blew harder, swaying the leaves and making an eerie moaning sound that echoed through the marsh, a warning call that you should have picked up on. The air, usually a dusty blue in the evening, was a dark, suffocating grey that weighed down the atmosphere, making everything seem sinister and ghostly.

You were sitting in the window, gathering your dried herbs into bundles to hang around the house and ward off negative energies and bad spirits when the sound of a car approaching caused your ears to perk up. You knew the rattle of your daddy's truck like the back of your hand. This engine purred smoothly, like it was brand new.

A pit settled in your stomach at the realization that someone was in the marsh, someone you didn't know, and while your daddy was out no less. If he came home and saw a stranger, he would assume the worst of you, and you'd be in a heap of trouble.

Your heart thrummed wildly, like the wings of a moth caught in a lantern's glow as your head darted up to look out the window, watching a sleek black truck come into view. It looked expensive, a stark contrast to your daddy's rusty one.

The truck rolled to a stop a few feet from the porch, the sound of the engine cutting off sending a wave of nerves through you. No one ever came out here. No one should be out here.

You were frozen in place, fingers tightening on the bundle of dried herbs in your hand that you had been tying a string around. You watched a boy step out of the truck, glancing around with an uncertain look on his face. He was adorned in a dark blue polo shirt, white shorts, and a backward hat on his head.

Just from looking at him, you could tell he was the kind of boy your daddy had warned you about, the kind that took what he wanted without regard for consequence. The kind that girls like you should run from.

He approached the door, cringing as the porch creaked under his weight. He half thought it was going to give out right underneath his feet, but it stayed somewhat sturdy. He knocked once, surprisingly lightly, as if he thought the door would crumble under his knuckles and then stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around as he waited.

You hesitated for a moment before slipping off the windowsill and walking on the balls of your feet toward the door as quietly as you could manage. You shouldn't open the door. You knew better than the open it, but still, your hands twitched at your sides, eager to turn the knob and see what he wanted. He looked to be not much older than you were, after all.

You knew you shouldn't, but you longed for conversation that wasn't tense and short like the ones you had with your daddy. You longed to know what it was like behind the marsh, but you also knew that if your daddy found out about that or found this boy standing on your porch, it would get ugly.

The house held its breath as you stood there, hand outstretched just an inch from landing on the knob. The air around you seemed to thicken, pressing against you from all sides, and the wind outside howled, the marsh eager to see what decision you would inevitably make.

To your surprise, you closed the distance and pulled the door open before you could talk yourself out of it. Your eyes widened as you saw the tall boy up close, his head turning at the sound of the door opening. He was handsome, like the boys on the covers of the magazines you saw at the store.

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and assessing. There was something uncertain in the way he rocked back on his heels, like he was trying to put distance between the two of you.

You didn't say anything at first, only stared, hands still clutching the bundle of herbs, the brittle stems digging into your palm. His presence felt intrusive, unnatural, like a stone tossed into a still pond. You weren’t used to visitors. You weren’t supposed to have them.

“You shouldn't be here,” you murmured, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Rafe tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of you. “Yeah?” he said, like he wasn’t convinced. His voice was smooth but edged with something you couldn’t quite place—arrogance, maybe, or curiosity.

You glanced over his shoulder, tilting your own head like a curious puppy as you listened intently for the rumble of your daddy's truck of the quieting of the crickets—any indication that he was coming.

“You need to leave before my daddy gets home,” you said finally, voice even softer now, as if speaking it too loud might summon your father from the trees. “If he sees you…” you trailed off, letting the implication settle between you.

Rafe’s lips pressed together, like he was considering pushing his luck, but something in your expression—your wide, wary eyes, maybe—made him pause. “I just wanted to talk,” he said after a beat. “Didn’t think I’d get the third degree for it.”

You blinked at him, confused. “The third degree?”

His lips quirked up in amusement, glancing behind you into your house, seeing a shelf of herbs, jarred substances, animal bones, moss, stones, and carved sculptures that made his brows furrow. “Uh—Nevermind. Look, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just…” He hesitated, like the words weren’t quite right, like he was trying to find something that didn’t sound like a lie. “I wanted to see you. I mean, I saw you before—at the grocery store, and I just—I dunno, wanted to meet you.”

A foreign feeling settled in your chest at his words. “I'm not supposed to talk to strangers,” you told him, looking up at him with wide eyes, but still, your feet seemed planted in place like the roots of a tree, keeping you from doing what you knew you should have—shut the door in his face.

“Well, I'm Rafe,” he grinned, that arrogant look he was known for. He reached his hand out for you to shake, but you just cocked your head, looking down at it in confusion, like you didn't know what to do. “What's—uh—What's your name?” He asked, retracting his hand. “So we won't be strangers anymore.”

You froze at that, at the simple question. Names were dangerous things. They weren’t just words. They were identities, parts of yourself that you could never take back once given. You were known as “marsh girl” for a reason. No one knew your real name, and you had always intended to keep it that way. Names were powerful.

The weight of the question hung in the air for awhile, and for some reason, you really wanted to tell him your name. For once, you wanted someone to know you, someone to not be a stranger, but you knew better. “My name's... not important," you finally whispered. “I'm not allowed to talk to people like you.”

“People like me?” He asked, his brows furrowing at how cryptic you were. This was definitely going to be harder than he thought, but he was determined to make it work. He'd made a bet to win, and that's what he was going to do. It would just take a little more effort than he anticipated.

You felt your chest tighten, as if the words were caught between your ribs. Your gaze flickered to the ground, to the bundle of herbs still tightly held in your hands, a small comfort. "People who come from... places where the air is different," you whispered, your voice fragile. The air around you was a comfort to you and a discomfort to him. He didn't understand the ways of the marsh, and that was a dangerous thing.

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, clearly trying to decipher the layers of meaning in your words. “Places where the air is different?” he echoed, sounding like he didn’t understand. Inside, he was trying to keep his composure. You were nuttier than all the Pogues he'd ever met combined, and it drove him crazy that he had no idea what you were talking about

It made all the sense in the world to you, though. Everything about him—his clothes, his demeanor, his shiny car—it all screamed that he was out of place, different, and that kind of thing got you killed in this world. Prey blend into the greenery. They don't stand out.

He came from a place where being loud and assertive was how you survived, how you thrived. He didn't know what it was like to live by the standards of the marsh, to only speak when spoken to. He didn’t know what it was like to keep your head down, your voice soft, and your hands busy, never drawing attention to yourself.

“You have to go now,” you told him firmly, the air seeming to shift in a way that you noticed, as if the marsh was warning you. “Goodbye... Rafe.” You shut the door in his face before he could say more, leaning against it and letting out a shaky breath.

You listened, and for a moment, there was nothing, but then, you heard his footsteps retreat and his car start up. You were relieved that he was leaving, and all you could do was hope that he never came back, not unless you knew your daddy wouldn't be home in time to interupt.

୭ৎ

tags .ᐟ @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @oatmealisweird / @lanaslushworld / @6r4cie / @corpsebridenightamare / @moustacherryismyhusband / @littlelamy / @vanityvixen / @susanhill / @jjasmiineee / @rafecameronswifeyy / @throughthedakotas

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badhee · 3 days ago

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𝑼𝑵𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 ⋅˚₊ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

pairing: musician bf!heeseung x skater gf!reader ft. jake & sunoo genre/tags: smut, fluff, some angst, takes place in the year ‘08, scenecore aesthetic, forbidden relationship, references to old media n other stuff, mentions of weed, way too much dialogue, very cringey texting (it’s fitting for that time period tho lol), y/n has a toxic home life, heeseung and y/n get into an argument but gets resolved quickly, mentions of crying, switch!hee (he do be switchin’), fingering, oral (m. rec), semi-public sex, piv, unprotected sex, creampie words: 7k+

[ note. ] — this is another old fic of mines from my old blog that i wrote over a year ago (05/30/23), i felt nostalgic reading this again so i wanted to share it on my page!

No one likes being given lectures or told they can’t do something. If anything— it only drives the person to want to do it more. Unlucky for you, you were about to receive yet another antagonizing speech as soon as you arrive back home. It’s past 10 o’clock and way beyond dark, you should’ve been home a good hour ago. This was all Jake and Sunoo’s fault though; they were the ones who kept distracting you from keeping track of time.

They wouldn’t stop bombarding you with messages on MySpace. Spamming your inbox asking you to meet them at the mall after classes. Sunoo really wanted to get a Skelanimal hoodie from Hot Topic and Jake wanted to look around Spencer’s. You only bought a fuzzy Domo-Kun keychain for your bag. The only goal you had was to save as much money as possible in hopes of being able to eventually move out.

You had overbearing and controlling parents, they were strict and had extreme core values for the household. It was nearly impossible to live up to their excessively high standards so you started going against them. Self-expression was not something they celebrated, instead they treated it with disdain. They thought your dyed hair, dark clothes, and excessive use of eyeliner was “too eccentric” and the work of the “devil”. It also didn’t help that they absolutely hated all your friends, including your boyfriend, Heeseung.

On a random night, you had him over while you thought everyone was gone for a while. Turns out they arrived back earlier than expected and ended up catching you and Heeseung red handed, making out in your bed. Your parents were completely mortified to see a boy covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings with their daughter. Not exactly the ideal man they had in mind for you. It was hell to pay for you after that, they never wanted you seeing him again. Threat after threat to kick you out all because they believe he was nothing but a bad influence on you.

Will you ever listen though? Of course not, you love him like crazy. There was nothing getting in your way from seeing him. You’re an adult and can make your own logical decisions, they still treated you like a baby which infuriated you. Naturally your only choice now was to date in secrecy, sneaking out the house so you can go hang out at his place. You had a solid routine at this point— just wait until everyone was asleep and sneak out through the window. Your house was only one level so ideally it worked out perfect. Once you got out successfully, Heeseung would pick you up and just drive around for a bit sometimes. Today would be no different, you were on your way to sneak out again.

You skated all the way back home from the mall since neither Jake or Sunoo had a car. Listening to Bring Me The Horizon on your iPod while sipping on a slushy from 7-Eleven, one more block until you got home. You pivot your board to the side entering your driveway; feeling that pit in your stomach knowing what’s about to erupt. You lift your board up from the ground and walk inside the house with it.

“Where the fuck have you been y/n?! It’s 10:45 pm on a school night! You better not have been hanging out with those damn junkies again!” Your mom practically screams in your face the minute you walk through the door.

“I was just at the skatepark after class, leave me alone!” You snap back at her viciously, “and for the last time, they’re not fucking junkies they’re my friends!”

Now seeing her face visibly redden with anger, she points her finger at you harshly. “Who the hell are you talking to like that? I’m the one who runs shit around here, not you. Speak to me like that again and you’re going to wish you’ve never been born, got it?”

You really couldn’t help but laugh in her face, you’ve heard it all at this point.

“That’s hilarious, you make it seem like even I asked to be brought into this shitty world to begin with!” You shove her out the way, walk to your room and block out the rest of her nonsensical hollering.

Finally you’re able to text Heeseung in peace. Your heart was still pounding from that whole encounter. You don’t stand up to your mom often enough, praying to God that she doesn’t end up kicking you out right this instant. Pulling out your BlackBerry phone with a sliding keyboard, you text your boyfriend after hours of not talking.

Seungieeee, where r u ? xc

He replies to your message almost instantly,

@ Jake’s. can i scoop?

Yes pls get meee, my mom’s being an annoying cunt again!!

Not again… ok will be there in 10. cul8r

Also Jake is having horror movie night he says i have to come -_-

Tell him we MUST watch bride of chucky or else i’ll fuck him up >:[

I gotchu babe lmaoo :p

You quickly change into different clothes and reapply your smeared eyeliner from earlier. It was safe to say you needed to pack a few things in your bag incase of having to stay over; who knows how tonight might ensue. Since it became frigid outside you put on your favorite hoodie which was previously Heeseung’s. You’ve grown a lot of attachment to it over time. The most sickening part of it was that even after months of wearing it you still never washed it, wanting to keep the scent of him lingering on it for as long as you could. The smell of him brought you a sense of comfort, whenever you’d come home and your mom starts cursing at you you’d just curl up in bed cuddling with Heeseung’s hoodie.

A loud thump clamoring against your window startles you. You come closer in it’s direction to slowly walk up and see what the commotion was.

*Thump*

There it goes again.

You froze in confusion, feeling a bit worried now. Could it just be the wind?

You swing open the curtain to reveal your boyfriend, standing outside the window actively throwing rocks to get your attention. You couldn’t believe he’d attempt something so bold like this, your parents weren’t asleep and could catch you at any minute. Prying open the window so you can finally talk, you tell him to back away and stop causing a ruckus.

“Are you fucking crazy? My mom’s in the living room, quit making all that damn noise!”

“I got tired of waiting, just wanted to see you already!” He whines, anxiously waiting for you the whole time.

He literally just saw you yesterday but is so obsessed that he could never get sick of being around you.

“Gimme one sec.” You pause to grab all your stuff and jump out the window to go meet him.

Almost lost your balance in the process but thankfully Heeseung swooped in to keep you stable. You landed backwards into his chest and felt the warmth of his body against you. Your boyfriend was too dreamy, every part of him made your kitty throb. He was more than just a pretty face though, he was a hard-working musician too. He played the guitar, drums, and could sing beautifully. He was the true definition of a one man show, his real passion was to become a singer and songwriter.

You fully supported him in anything in he does, he uploaded most of his music on MySpace and got thousands of interactions instantly. His songs would continue to grow more popular online and he got more gigs to perform at shows. You were beyond ecstatic for him but also worried about it all in hindsight. The more famous he gets the less quality time he’ll be able to spend with you. You know this sounds really selfish but it always crosses your mind. The fear of losing him was something you just couldn’t fathom or grasp right now.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you so so much my pretty baby.” Heeseung didn’t waste a single minute to smother you in the car. His lips plastered all over your face, always doing the absolute most when showing his affection towards you.

“Missed— you too— babe!” You muffle in between kisses, your heart was overwhelmed with joy.

He looked exceptionally good today too, then again he always does. Bright orange strands hid the side of his face, the semi-oversized black t-shirt he wore clung to his body perfectly, and the snake bites and eyebrow piercing on him was to die for.

“Oh! You like my new piercing I got?” Heeseung announces after pulling away.

He proceeds to open his mouth and stick his tongue out, revealing a shiny silver ball smack dab in the middle. You weren’t shocked that he’d consider another piercing, you’re just surprised by the placement.

“Whoa, your tongue!” You gasp, pointing at it in amusement, “looks so cool, did that hurt?!”

“Not really, and thanks. Got it to please you better babe.” He knew he was causing to get all flustered by this.

“Y-you already please me enough Hee.” It was hard to even get a sentence out without tripping over words.

“I know that! But it can always be improved, right?”

There was nothing he really needed to improve but he found new ways to do it anyway. You really just loved him for who he is, all the extra stuff were added bonuses. He was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for in the whole universe.

“Do you want anything while we’re out? I can stop at the store and get that pink Monster drink you like.” He asks tentatively.

You think about it for a second but you just had a slushy from earlier, “I think I’m okay for now, hopefully Jake has some snacks at his crib!”

Heeseung nods, “Oh he def will, the guy smokes more than a damn chimney and gets a crazy case of the munchies.”

The whole ride there you listened to Heeseung’s music on a CD he burned. You were definitely his biggest fan, knowing all the lyrics to every single song because most were written about you. One of his most popular songs was an entire dedication to you, he never mentioned your name in it but every aspect of the song includes a small detail of your relationship. He liked the art of hidden subliminal messages in his music, knowing that only you two can fully understand.

Finally, you get to Jake’s house and are immediately met with gusts of clouds from all the smoke. You spot a blue-haired Jake and red-haired Sunoo who were sitting on the couch smoking a joint and giggling amongst themselves. You weren’t against smoking it just wasn’t your thing since you knew that you’d be in so much trouble if you showed up home high.

“Jakey! Sunny!” Your voice becomes more high-pitched when greeting your friends as you go up to hug them.

“Y/n! It’s always good to see you again.” Jake says, hugging you back.

“Hii y/n, come sit and watch the movie with us!” Sunoo scoots over to make room for you both.

Heeseung was just here so he didn’t feel the need to say hi to them again, instead just sitting down and having you on his lap.

“What’re we watching?” You ask, looking at the TV trying to make out what the movie is. “This doesn’t look like Bride of Chucky to me!”

“Jeepers Creepers 2!” Jake replies, “it’s not as scary as the first one to be honest but it’s still pretty decent. Oh, and I don’t have that one on DVD sorry.”

“Are you serious?! I could’ve went to Blockbuster and rented the damn movie out!” You were a little upset you wouldn’t be able to watch one of your favorites.

“It’s okay y/n, we’ll watch it next time. Also, I thought this movie was pretty scary Jake. I still get nightmares after watching it alone…” Sunoo admits.

“Of course you did, ‘cause you’re a big baby!” Heeseung teases, “and you’re baked off your ass? This is gonna be an interesting time.”

“You should’ve seen him earlier, he wouldn’t stop crying while watching Silent Hill!” Jake adds, pointing over in Sunoo’s direction.

“That never happened fuck off! You go try watching that shit in pitch black at 3 am and see what happens then!” Sunoo huffs, getting fed up with the both of them.

You couldn’t stop laughing at the whole debacle, playing with your boyfriend’s hands between your legs. The whole day went pretty well, you had a blast with Jake and Sunoo at the mall and now you’re reunited with them again and your boyfriend. The only real problem was your home life, but you had an escape so it wasn’t all too bad.

“Do you have any snacks Jake?” You ask, looking over at his kitchen to scan the area.

“Duh! I got chips, pretzels, ice cream, frozen pizzas, dino nuggets, really anything you could think of honestly. We kinda overdid it at Target..” He says, looking over at a guilty Sunoo.

“Hey, it’s better to be overstocked and than under!” Sunoo did make a great point.

You slowly get up from Heeseung’s lap and walk into the kitchen to get some ice cream. Luckily, Sunoo remembered to get your favorite flavor while they were out. You got a giant bowl and scooped piles of ice cream on top, putting chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles to finish it off.

“For me? Thanks!” Heeseung reaches his hand out in attempt to snatch the bowl from your hand but you weren’t letting off that easy.

“Not so fast- get your own loser!” Swiping the bowl away and flashing him an evil glare. You did not mess around when it comes to your favorite ice cream.

Sitting back down on the couch again, you finish watching the movie with them.

“Should I get raccoon highlights in my hair y/n? I been thinking about it for a while but I dunno if it’ll suit me,” Sunoo asks next to you.

You nod your head in agreement, “Hell yeah, do it! But you could rock any hairstyle Sunny.”

“Awe, thanks my dear!” He chirps, making a heart with his hands.

“I look good too, right y/n?” Jake chimes in, he’s always wanting to be the center of attention.

“Don’t answer him.” Heeseung butts in the conversation, giving Jake the side eye.

“Oh but it’s okay for her to compliment Sunoo and not me?!” He raises an eyebrow of confusion.

Heeseung shrugs, “That’s because Sunoo is gay, he poses no threat to me.”

“Yeah but he does for me, do you see the way he looks at you sometimes?!” You jokingly reply.

“I’m not gonna steal your girl bro. Besides she’s literally conjoined to you by the hip, I wouldn’t be surprised if both your hearts beat in unison!” You couldn’t stop laughing at Jake’s comments, he could sound so bitter at times.

“They do. We’re the same person actually,” Heeseung leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek. “You’re my little twin, isn’t that right babe?”

“Only if I get to be the evil one!” You combat, giggling at him tickling your tummy.

“Deal.”

“Ugh, I hate ya’ll. Making me feel like a third wheel in my own damn house..” Jake expresses with disgust over the way you’re both all over each other.

“Then get your own fucking girlfriend and stop looking at mine,” Heeseung was now nibbling on your neck, holding you tightly in his embrace.

You were a giggly mess, you made you feel so high when you were with him.

“Or you can get your own room and go fuck there instead of making us suffer watching you both act like sluts!”

Heeseung pauses to think about it for a bit. “Huh, that actually doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. C’mon babe, let’s go!” He lightly taps your thigh, signaling for you to get up.

“And the only slut in this house is your mom for not swallowing you,” Heeseung claps back one last time before you both dip.

Sunoo burst out laughing hearing that, almost snorting. Jake was pissed but Heeseung ran out the door before he could even get to him.

“You’re a dead man when I see you again!” Jake yells through the door.

“Yeah sure, you’ll forget in 2 seconds from all the weed frying your brain!”

Getting in the car now, he starts driving but you have no idea where he’s even going.

“I hope you were only joking with him because that was a bit much, don’t you think?” Asking him in a way that wouldn’t come off too blunt.

“Are you serious? I’ve known Jake forever, we just joke like that. Besides, he was taking it a bit too far when he was fishing for compliments from my girl.”

You chuckle, of course he would still be stuck on that. He was pretty possessive over you, he would only be okay with you talking that way with Sunoo but all his other friends were off limits. “Ooh, I think someone’s feeling a little jelly!” You tease, poking his face with your index finger.

“Yeah and so what if I am? You gonna sue me? Come and arrest me? Honestly speaking, you’d look really hot in a sexy cop outfit.” He gushes, sneaking glances over at you while driving.

“Is that some weird fantasy of yours? I come in your room one day and handcuff you to the bed?” You couldn’t even say that with a straight face.

“Now that you mention it, I might actually do.. Can we try that one day?”

“Sure, whatever your little heart desires.”

Heeseung parks into an empty lot and stops the car. You can see an old abandoned train station in front of you, the windows were shattered, graffiti plastered all over with overgrown moss on the exterior. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie which seemed to fit the theme of the night.

“How come I’ve never seen this place before?” You ask, stunned by it’s ominous beauty.

“I just discovered it recently while driving aimlessly around town, I figured out a way to get onto the roof, the view’s fucking insane!” He grabs your hand and leads the way inside.

Thankfully he had a flashlight on him so it was easier to navigate through the dark halls. The barren walls were covered in more graffiti, as was the ceiling which kind of freaked you out. There was a creepy porcelain doll sitting in the corner of one area, half of it’s face was broken which was giving you nightmare fuel. You tensely clung onto your boyfriend’s arm for support, closing your eyes so you don’t have to look at anymore creepy things in this place.

“Are we almost there Hee?” You whine, trying to gain your composure but you just want to get the hell out of here.

“Chillax babe, you’ll be fine. No one’s gonna get you, they’ll have to get through me first!” He reassures, squeezing your hand to comfort you.

Heeseung finds his way through the maze and you walk up a few flights of stairs to eventually reach the top of the roof.

“Mission complete!” Heeseung announces loudly, “you can open your eyes now love.”

Your eyes flutter open and adjust to what you’re seeing. You could see almost the entire city from the top, you didn’t realize how high up you were. Your fear of heights were now starting to kick in so you cling back onto his arm like a magnet. Heeseung starts walking towards a certain spot on the roof, “Come with me, I wanna show you something.”

You follow him while holding hands, he walks over to an area and points at one of the brick tiles. You end up spotting both you and Heeseung’s initials + forever carved into the brick with a heart around it, a Polaroid photo of you two kissing was also attached next to it. You couldn’t help but tear up at the sight, it was such a simple yet cute gesture.

“Soo, what do you think?” He was starting to get a bit nervous, hoping you’d appreciate it as much as he enjoyed doing it.

“I-I think it’s adorable. I love it so much, you’re the cutest ever!” You jump into his arms and he wraps you into a tight hug.

“I’m glad you like it. I thought it was kinda corny at first but when you think about it.. it’s only corny if you make it out it to be.”

You loved the thought he put into just about anything. It amazed you how you found such a great guy in your life, but having to sneak around and date him was the worst.

“I love you so much Hee.”

“I love you too sweetheart,” He pauses as if to stop himself but continues, “too bad your parents hated my guts before I could even get the chance to speak.”

“Fuck my parents, I don’t care about their opinions. The only one that matters is mine and yours.”

He shakes his head, “Actually no, don’t fuck your parents, fuck me instead!”

“Oh, eww you know what I meant!” You frown, playfully hitting his arm.

You look up to see a sky full of stars, the distant twinkling mesmerizing you from faraway.

“So, I got asked to perform at this festival coming up.” Heeseung protrudes your thoughts.

Your face lit up at that exciting news, “Oh really? That’s exciting, I’m so happy for you! Where is it?”

He goes quiet for a minute, “10 hours away from here and they want me to perform on both days…”

“I mean, I understand that you’ll be away from me but isn’t this your dream?” You want to be happy for him but deep down you’re feeling depressed.

“It is… but I don’t like not having you with me. It’s like my brain can’t function without you. I wish you could come along..”

“I know, I wish I could too but there’s no way in hell that’s possible.” Your head hung low as you expressed your apprehensions. You’d give anything to travel with your boyfriend to his shows, but you know your parents would never let that happen.

“Why not? I’m tired of doing this shit with you, we’re grown adults but I still have to go sneaking around just to see my damn girlfriend, do you know how exhausting that is? How much of a toll it’s been taking on me? I don’t wanna keep living like this anymore y/n.” Heeseung let’s it all out, this is what he’s been bottling up inside.

“Are you seriously trying to pit all the blame on me? You know I never wanted this to happen! I would give absolutely anything to make my parents like you, that’s just the way they are I can’t change it! I wish you’d stop guilt tripping me into thinking I’m always in the wrong!” You attempt to walk away from him but he pulls you in again. He saw you tearing up now, feeling responsible for his actions he wipes them away and does his best to undo the damage he’s already caused.

“No no, don’t cry please. Y/n stop crying, I didn’t mean to say it harshly like that. Please— I just don’t like seeing you like this.” His consoling words only do so much to mitigate the situation.

It wasn’t working enough for you, you continued sobbing loudly in his shoulder. He tried getting you to calm down but nothing was seeming to suffice. He couldn’t help but tear up too, he really felt like the world’s worst boyfriend right now. He keeps telling you he didn’t mean it and that he was sorry, apologizing over and over sounding like a broken record.

“All I want is to make you happy. Please, baby just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything! I’ll jump off this goddamn building if you told me, if that’s what I need to prove how much I love you, I’ll do it.”

He was dead serious when he meant that. He was so lovestruck by you that anything was reasonable in his eyes. As long as it meant that you were happy in the end he saw no wrong with the outcome.

“Don’t say things like that, I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I just wish you could see how difficult this situation is for me too.” You finally spoke.

“I know, I never doubted your struggles babe, I’m sorry if it seemed like I was dismissing them. I just really want you to do this one thing for me, I’m not asking much… please. I won’t take it if I can’t have my #1 fan there to cheer me on.”

You crack a tiny smile as you sniffle and wipe your tear stained face. He was always going to pick you first over anything, even his own career.

“You better be so fucking lucky my eyeliner is waterproof, you would’ve been dead meat if it got smudged!” You joke, letting him pull you back into his chest once again.

“It’s not like I’ve never made it smudge in other ways.” He replies, kissing the rest of your fallen tears away.

The mood shifts back to normal. He holds you close to him, hearing the rapid sounds of his heart pacing. It was soothing to you, giving you a sense of tranquility.

“The moon looks so beautiful today.” You quietly say, looking in awe while tracing the shapes of his tattoos on his arm.

“Yeah the moonlight looks nice, we should have sex under it.”

You spring your head up to face him with a questionable look, “Oh my god, you’re such a horndog. Only thinking with your dick!”

“When am I ever not horny?” He lightly chuckles, “but come on, let’s do it! I’m so boreddd.”

His attention span never lasted for too long, always needing to keep himself busy. Partially one of the reasons why you had sex a lot.

You gave in to his desires quickly, letting his hands explore your upper body. He slowly marks trails of kisses down your chin and neck, feeling his lip ring graze over the sensitive skin. His mouth parts open to reveal his flashy tongue piercing again, gliding it over you as you sharply inhale. The sensation was making your brain short-circuit, feeling a second pulse between your thighs.

“Mmh… feels so good Hee.” You whimper, shutting your eyes completely.

Those sneaky hands of his wander lower, coming in contact with your love handles to gently caress them. You gasp once you feel a light squeeze against your ass, grabbing as much as he can fit in his hands. It felt too ticklish when he slid his tongue up, making you squirm a bit. He works his way up to your chin again and plants a soft kiss to your lips. Standing on your tippy toes to slightly lean more into him, he latches onto you tighter.

Your foreheads were glued to each others but that still wasn’t enough, if you could get any closer you would. You had your arms locked around his neck, moving your lips with the motion of his. The kiss grew more desperate with time, playing with the metal bar once he slipped his tongue inside. You rake your hands through his fluffy hair, getting a handful of it, tugging it just slightly enough to solicit a moan from him. He goes bonkers whenever you pull his hair, it was a huge turn on for him.

“Do you want me to take the lead or you?” He asks politely, pulling away slowly before continuing any further.

You both liked to alternate between who’s in control during sex, it was fun having a boyfriend that didn’t mind being submissive at times.

“Why don’t we both take turns?” You reply, your eyes lustfully scanning him.

Something must’ve came over you because once he bit down on his lip you went feral, pushing him up against the door entrance and pinning his body with your weight. He swallows a massive lump in his throat, staring at you with the utmost adoration.

“So hot…” your boyfriend mumbles. Ready for whatever you had in store for him.

Thank God it was the dead of night and no one was around to be seeing or hearing what was about to go down. You’ve fucked in some strange places before, the movie theater, playground, a cemetery, and now on a roof of an abandoned train station. They may not have been the most romantic places of choice but all of them held a sentimental memory in their own ways.

Your lips crash with his again, kissing roughly while running your fingers along the lines of his shoulders. He cups your face in his palms, deepening the kiss to embrace every part of you. You explored a little lower, finding yourself playing with the hem of his shirt, lightly tugging on it to signal him to take it off. He obeys your wordless command, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the ground next to him. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times but you still never get used to how sexy he is. Trailing your fingers across his chest, tracing the contour of his toned abs and pecs. The more you touch him the wetter you got.

“Need you so bad baby…” He mutters under his breath, looking at you with glossy eyes.

“Don’t worry Hee, I’ll please you soon.”

You place small pecks to his chest, kissing each every spot. You go down a bit lower to his v-line, admiring how beautiful it is; placing another delicate kiss. You glide your tongue on his skin, tracing the deep lines as you go. Now coming face to face with his crotch, you undo the studded belt he was wearing. He quickly unzips his pants, not wanting to waste anymore time to reveal the massive boner he’s been hiding. His cock was ginormous, way above average. You were rightfully terrified of it at first but as you got more used to it you adjust to his size perfectly now after being together for so long.

Your lashes flutter as you drag your lips to his tip, giving a few kitten licks to start off. Heeseung feels his breath hitch as he creates a makeshift ponytail with your hair, making sure to get a clear view of your face. You form more saliva in your mouth and spit directly onto him, coating it with your hand.

“Mmm… love when you make it all messy for me.” He groans while licking his lips.

You smile softly as you look up at him, giving a few pumps to his cock before wrapping your mouth around him. You couldn’t fit most his length in your tiny mouth so you had to improvise. Taking half of him while your other hand strokes the rest. You slowly bob your head, rotating sideways while collecting more saliva to create an even bigger mess.

“C’monnn, you can fit more than that I’ve seen what you can do before babe.” He begs, grabbing onto your hair tighter.

You can’t stand when he bosses you around when you’re supposed to be the one in charge. You detach yourself from his cock and look up to see his whiny reaction.

“What the fuck baby, why’d you stop? Keep going… pleaseee.” He pleads, bucking his hips into the air.

“Not until you shut the fuck up and let me do what I wanna do!”

He gets his act together quickly and stops whining. “Okay.. I’ll be quiet from now on, promise.”

Going back to what you were previously doing, you bring his cock to your face once again. Pressing his tip against your bottom lip, you flick your wet tongue over the slit. Taking slow, deep breathes Heeseung swallows an inconvenient lump in his throat the more you prolong it. You know he wants you to just suck him off already but that’s not what you’re going to do just yet.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, giving it a couple light strokes. You feel his veiny cock pulsating and throbbing in your small hand, making it twitch with each tug you give. You accumulate more saliva from your mouth to spit on his cock some more, rubbing it in to make it wet as possible. It was so slippery your hands kept loosing it out of your grasp, you gripped onto it tighter and accidentally squeezed his shaft bit.

The action makes Heeseung jump up a little and he rocked his hips forward, you look up to gauge his reaction.

“Sorry about that.”

He looks at you with confusion. “What’re you being sorry for? That felt kinda nice actually…”

You were surprised to hear that but you decide to do it again since he seemed to enjoy it. He winces from the light pressure but it doesn’t bother him. Guess you just found out another weird sex kink he has. You continue stroking his cock and he pants heavily for you to do more but you just act like you can’t hear him. Instead you keep stroking him and play with his scrotum in your free hand. He mumbles some gibberish under his breath and you build a steady rhythm, making him whine for more.

“I-if you’re not going to— ahh!” Heeseung could barely get a word out from you making his cock overly sensitive. ��If you aren’t gonna suck my cock then let me fuck you already.”

You look up to see a flustered Heeseung, he looked so cute you just wanted to eat him. You let his torture finally come to an end as you get up from being on the ground, coming face to face with your lover once again.

“Hi pretty girl.” He says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Hey cutie pie.” You grin, meeting your lips with his again for a quick kiss.

“Take your pants off, pretty please!” Heeseung asks nicely while giving the most precious pout.

You can never say no to that face so you fumble with your ripped jeans to pull them off. He presses your back up against the door this time, having your legs wrapped around his waist for support.

“Gonna fuck you ‘til I have you screaming on this roof begging me not to stop.” He whispers against your ear. His dominance swings back into full force, making you want him even more.

He licks his lips at you, giving a sinful smile. His hands slide under your shirt to toy with your nipples. You let out a sigh as he rubs in gentle circles, hardening them within seconds. He pinches the sensitive bud to make you moan louder for him.

“Want you to make as much noise as you can, okay?” He asks.

Simply nodding your head, you swing your head to the side in pleasure.

He drags his finger along your inner thigh, playing with the fabric of your underwear. You relax into him, letting him take a peek inside to see feel how wet you are. You inhale carefully, watching down as you see him sink two of his digits into your aching core. Your muscles tense up and you feel eyes roll to the back of your head now. All that can be heard are faint slews of moans and the sounds of your wetness while he pumps into you. He kisses you again while pressing his fingers in your cunt faster, making you moan directly into his mouth.

He brings his thumb to your clit and rubs harsh circles, making your bud more puffy and swollen. You mess up his hair and grab onto him tighter. Once he pulls his fingers out, he brings them up to your lips making you suck the juices clean off. You look him in the eyes while doing it, sending a primal spirit within him.

“Can’t wait to fill up that pretty little cunt of yours.” He mutters against your neck, hands aligning with yours to bring you closer while he slides himself in between your sticky folds.

You cry out for him, wanting nothing more than to let him fill you up. You feel so empty as you clench around nothing, begging for him to fuck you already.

“Yes, please baby! Want you to fill me up, need your cock so bad please!” Whining to gain sympathy from him.

He’s not playing your little game though, not after how you tortured him earlier. “How bad you want it?” He groans, his cock still rubbing along your slit.

“So bad! I want you so bad please, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything you say?” He questions while raising his eyebrow.

You nod profusely, “Yes, anything I mean it!”

“Then promise you’ll stay with me forever. You can never break up with me, you’re stuck with me until we die, got it?”

“I promise I’ll never leave you Heeseung, I wouldn’t even dream of doing something like that.”

He smiles and kisses your cheek, “Good” was all he had to simply say.

Repositioning himself to enter you now, he wraps his hands firmly around your waist, sliding into you with ease. He stays with his cock inside you for a bit, relishing the feeling of you around him. Nothing but sweet ecstasy fills your senses when he thrusts into you, feeling so full all you can do is scream. The immense waves of pleasure emitting chills up your spine as he fucks senselessly into you.

“Fuck, you look so good beneath me.” He growls, digging his nails into the depths of your hips.

“Yes! Yes! Right there baby, just like that. Keep going..” You moan out, feeling close to your orgasm already the more he hits your erogenous spots.

His pierced tongue travels down your neck again, sucking and biting on the flesh harshly. You know those will definitely be leaving visible bruises once he’s done with you. You hold onto him tightly, crying out while drooling all over yourself as he quickens his pace.

“Need you to do as I say,” he pants against your neck, slamming his cock into your walls hungrily. “Want you to cum on my cock when I tell you to.”

It was impossible for you to even respond. Anything you said didn’t even sound remotely coherent. His mind was going blank too, the way your tight cunt won’t stop cinching around him was making it harder for him to move.

“Love how I can fuck this pussy as many times as I want and you’re still always so tight for me.” His cock was going into you mercilessly, fucking you so good you feel like you’re going to faint.

Your limbs grew weak and that deep pit in your stomach builds up, feeling your climax approaching by the minute.

“Fuck- fuck- fuck, please don’t stop!” You wail, begging for more as you let him do all work.

Your arousal was everywhere at this point, your shaky legs were dripping with your juices and the sounds of him pounding into you was harmonic to his ears. All Heeseung could focus on was making the both of you cum together. He loved it when you both came at the same time, it makes the moment more special to him.

“Cum with me baby, please.” He groans, sounding drunk off the way you feel, “just wanna fill this pussy up over and over…”

You brace yourself against him, “I’ll cum with you, promise. Just fill me up— need your cum so badly Hee, please!” You can’t stop whining, digging your nails into his back harshly.

The feeling was all so intense, seeing stars from being so cockstuffed. You didn’t even have a single moment to blink before your vision fades entirely to black. You let your orgasm erupt through you as you throw your head back. His thrusts become more erratic as he reaches his high, moaning out a bunch of curses along with your name.

“Y/n, please never leave me..” he says while in the middle of cumming inside you, “I love you so much, my angel forever.”

Even during something this intimate, he still never shies away from telling you how much you mean to him.

“I will never leave you, that’s a promise. I love you more.” Both your hands intertwine with one another, the love you have for each other is unbreakable.

You felt so warm inside, having Heeseung empty all his seed in you. Looking up at him to give him another passionate kiss before he pulls out.

You were struggling to put your clothes back on as you could barely stand up properly. Your wobbly legs would go into a different direction than you wanted. Heeseung helped stabilize you by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in a half hug.

“How ‘bout we finally get out of here?” He asks, reaching for the door handle to head back downstairs.

“I kind of forgot we were still here actually.”

“Yeah, me too. C’mon let’s hurry and get to the car, I still haven’t tried this tongue piercing on you yet!” Heeseung says excitedly.

Giggling at his enthusiasm you walk back with him into the train station. You wanted to check the time on your phone but of course it was dead. It was way past a decent time for you to try sneaking back in so you don’t even bother going back home that night. Instead, you opt to stay over at Heeseung’s place, not really caring if you’re parents will be pissed tomorrow. This is your life after all, why let others stop you from enjoying it to the fullest?

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nanamiskentos · 11 hours ago

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➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊﹙ 脹相 : CHOSO KAMO ﹚ ─ the death painting cw ─ MDNI. canon!choso, óràl (m. receiving)

"and don't get me wrong," choso huffs, his breath puffing out like steam escaping a kettle. pale pink lips pouting, "i know yuuji's got a heavy burden on his shoulders, but he could really stand to try and take my advice a bit more, don't you think?"

huh. no response. choso's scowling now. cinnamon-hued eyes thinning into slivers, searching for where on earth you disappeared to.

thin brows furrowing, "my love?" the end curling into a question as uncertainty colours his tone. choso's had a long day training thus far, and it didn't help that upstart who shoulda' stayed in that damned box — gojo satoru, seemed to occupy most of his younger brother's attention. diverting his attention away from the important lessons that his petulant older brother was trying to teach him. eso and kechizu were never so stubborn.

with a sharp exhale, choso pushes himself up from the seat, smacking his thighs in frustration, but not before —

"sit back down, cho."

choso's mouth goes bone-dry, nerves going into some twisted form of sensory overload as he tries to calm the blood rushing through his pounding heart before the muscle explodes. but it's too late for the blood rushing down south, already pooling in a satisfied coil over his groin.

he hasn't the faintest clue on where you managed to swipe away his robes, but he thinks he may yet be the luckiest man (no, wait, let's not unpack that yet) alive. amber eyes raking over how the cream linen drapes your form so perfectly, clinging to every curve that he loves to worship.

but choso is sharp, he doesn't miss the mischievous glint in your eyes nor the way that your teeth sink into the flesh of your lower lip. teasing, watchful. he should have known better than to be caught off guard like this, but choso truly cannot even bring himself to care about how much of an effect you have on him. how you unravel him to the core.

"you're lookin' pretty frustrated, baby," you're purring, already stalking closer so choso has to tear his eyes away from the swell of your chest and back to somewhere more polite and acceptable. think, choso, think of something smart to say. something that isn't sleazy, and something that hasn't been concocted by the heat throbbing and pumping straight outta' his cock.

but there's some awful lag between his brain and his tongue, and choso can only let the crimson flush build up, painting the back of his neck awash. watching as you snicker, knowing that the half-curse is practically one touch away from trembling in your hold. well, you can truly give him something to quiver about now.

"had a rough day, is all," choso rasps, and he doesn't even seem to be aware of how his vocal cords have turned to a husky granite. loose strands of chestnut-dark hair falling over his eyes as his pink tongue comes out to moisten his lips, mind whirring on how to turn this loss of composure into a win, "uh, it really sucked, you could say. mhm, i guess that's how i'd describe it."

you're already seated between his knees, head gently leaning against the broad muscles of his thighs. hands already pawing at the loose waistband of his ivory martial pants. unimpressed eyes blinking up at him, "what did i say about bad puns, cho?"

"that they're no good," choso murmurs, doing his best not to shudder as your nails lightly skim over the thatch of dark curls past his hips. but because he truly can't help himself, he has to add on, "that they blow."

he's really a natural born comedian, choso thinks to himself, it's just a shame that no-one else can really see past the gloom and doom to appreciate his natural wit.

you're pressing a gentle kiss to the base of thick shaft, and choso has to muffle a loud groan to prevent himself from coming undone already. fuck, he was far more sensitive than he anticipated but how could he not be? when you're proving personal love and care to each thick, throbbing vein that spirals up his cock?

choso shuffles in his seat, muscles already twinging as he parts his thighs. giving you more room to giggle and slot yourself into that gap, allowing you to firmly reach for his shaft and giving it a firm one, two! pump. already managing to pull out slick beads of translucent precum from the pink slit.

"sooo, how's that feel, baby?" your tongue barely brushing against the tip of his cock, applying the most gentle and teasing pressure that makes choso press his lips together firmly. your mouth parting to try and take as much of him as possible past your lips.

"g-good, real good," choso breathes out, tawny eyes already reaching skywards to thank the heavens for bestowing this upon him. he's panting, hands flailing in the air to clutch at the air, then at the thin material of the seat before settling at your scalp.

but he's gentle with it, determined to not apply too much pressure, to not delivery any sharp stings of pain. not when you've lavishing him with such attention, your fingertips now resting on his bare thighs as your mouth steadily bobs and releases with a sticky pop! each time you pull back.

and god, choso's entirely obsessed with how you press against the underside of his cock with a lil' more firm pressure. laving right up against the girthy veins in a way that makes his muscled abdomen tense and flex with each new wave of pleasure.

"m-my love?" choso's eyes are shut now, dark lashes fluttering against splotched skin as he feels something creeping up on him. he's sensitive, so sensitive now and each caress of your loving mouth has his thighs shaking, "i think 'm gonna, hah, i'm 'bout to — what the fuck?"

choso does pride himself on being an exemplary role model and a high standing member of whichever society will have him, so he doesn't actually curse quite often. but this situation entirely calls for it, and he can only swing his hazy eyes open to blink down at you. dumbfounded as you're already smiling like a minx. pulling yourself up, and up and —

oh. well, choso's never been one to complain. not when you're gently positioning his large hands against the ties of the robes, nudging him to pull the linen off so your bare skin can be lavished by him. a gentle kiss being pressed to his bite-stung lips, "wanted you to cum in me, silly."

#he's so fun to write i really loveee writing him being a bit quirky idk #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso #jjk x reader #choso smut #choso kamo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #daphworks #choso x y/n #choso x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

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rafes-slut · 17 hours ago

Text

You marked his back with your nails pretty bad

Pairing: Cocky!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: explicit content, rough/intense smut, scratching, possessiveness, toxic dynamics, mentions of arguments, morning-after intimacy.

Summary: after having argument you make it up only way you know. Rough sex. So when you wake up next morning and find his back all red and scratched from how hard you went. Only for him to love it.

-----

The first thing you register is warmth. Not just the soft, golden hue of the morning sun breaking through the blinds, but the heat radiating from the body beside you. Rafe. His skin, bare and warm, pressed against yours beneath the tangled sheets. Your limbs feel heavy, the lingering exhaustion from last night still weighing on you, but there’s something else too—a soreness between your thighs, a faint ache in your muscles, a reminder of how things unfolded after that argument.

You shift slightly, turning to face him, and that’s when you see it.

His back.

Your breath catches for a moment as your eyes trace over the angry red marks slashed across his tanned skin. Deep, raw, and unmistakable—the aftermath of your nails dragging down his back, your body clinging to his as he fucked you through your frustration, through every unspoken word and every unresolved fight. The scratches stand out starkly against his skin, fresh and undeniable proof of just how wild last night had been.

You bite your lip, feeling a mix of pride and guilt. You hadn’t even realized you were digging in that hard, but looking at the way the marks line his back, there’s no doubt you claimed him in some way.

Rafe stirs beside you, shifting slightly before letting out a low, sleepy groan. His voice is thick with sleep, muffled against the pillow as he speaks.

"Mmm… you awake?"

He’s still half-asleep, his face turned towards you but his eyes barely open. Without thinking, he leans in, pressing a lazy, drowsy kiss against your shoulder, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

You hesitate before speaking, your fingers lightly grazing over one of the red streaks down his back. "Rafe…"

He hums in response, not fully awake yet.

"You should see what I did to your back," you murmur, running your fingers along another set of scratches. "It looks bad."

That wakes him up.

Rafe shifts onto his side, cracking one eye open as a slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. "Yeah?" His voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s amusement in it now. "You worried about me, sweetheart?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you. "I didn’t realize I went that hard."

Rafe finally opens both eyes, his gaze dark and amused as he watches you. Then, without warning, he flips onto his stomach again, stretching his arms above his head, completely unbothered as he settles back against the mattress. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," you admit, tracing one of the deeper marks with your fingertip. "Like… I might’ve actually hurt you."

Rafe chuckles, and the sound is low and smug. "You didn’t hurt me." He turns his head slightly, giving you a lopsided grin. "I like it."

Your stomach tightens at his words.

"You like it?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He nods lazily, completely unashamed. "Hell yeah. It means I fucked you good enough to make you lose control." He glances over his shoulder at you, his smirk widening. "That’s kinda hot, don’t you think?"

You huff, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. If anything, his words send a rush of heat straight to your core.

Rafe must notice because his smirk turns more devilish as he pushes himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching over to tug you closer. You don’t resist as he pulls you against him, his lips brushing against your collarbone before he trails them up to your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Next time," he murmurs against your throat, "maybe you should leave them somewhere I can actually see them."

Your breath hitches, and you hate the way your body immediately responds to him, how the heat from last night still lingers between you. But that’s just how it always is with Rafe. The fights, the passion, the way you always come back together in the most intense, all-consuming way.

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babyjinsu · 3 days ago

Text

heartlink - anton lee

it's a match!

wc; 2.8k slight fluff (for now :x) 002 here!

💭 hehehhehehhehehehhe there'll b a part 2 n a reddit post!!

you weren’t looking for love—you weren’t even looking for something casual.

it was boredom, plain and simple. besides, the semester just ended and you had nothing else to do besides attending your part-time job at a local cafe as a waitress. it was a quiet sunday night when the idea came to you—a way to kill time.

going on dating apps!

you created your profile—chose the best, prettiest selfie you have of yourself. you didn’t put much details in your bio, just a simple, just for fun! ◡̈. at first, it was just swiping for the entertainment of it. left, left, left… right, left… most of the profiles were almost the same—bad quality selfies, forced, corny bios, dudes flexing their muscles in bathroom mirrors… you weren’t expecting much, or anything at all.

then his profile appeared.

anton lee. 20 years old. likes music n playing them.

holy shit. this guy doesn’t even look real, you thought. he looked like he had been pulled straight from a magazine—the type of guy you just know you stood no chance with—his hair was dark and it fall just past his eyes and he had those handsome features and this anton dude just looked like someone who didn’t belong in dating apps (he definitely didn’t need one too).

you hesitated—but reminded yourself that this was just for fun. if you had no chance with this guy to begin with, what’s the harm? just have fun!

you couldn’t deny that he was exactly your type. painfully so.

you swiped right. and a second later, almost immediately, your screen flashed—

it’s a match!

——

it didn’t take long for anton to send you a text.

in fact, it happened faster than you’d expected that it got you wondering if he was the one who had been waiting for you to initiate a conversation. you thought that anton was just one of those guys who matched with girls to boost his ego—that he’s still relevant to the market, but you might be wrong.

anton lee: hey.

even the greeting suited him. short, simple, deceptively normal. or maybe you were just sooo starstruck by his appearance to think he was weird.

upon receiving the text, you stared at your screen—your thumb hovering over the keyboard. it was just a simple hey, but you were thinking too hard on the perfect reply. one that won’t leave anton ghosting you afterwards.

you hesitated for a second before typing back.

yn: hi. i didn’t think you’d text first.

you hummed in satisfaction, giving yourself a slight nod and smile. almost immediately, you got a reply.

anton lee: why wouldnt i?

you bit the inside of your cheek—why wouldn’t he…?—debating what and how to respond. now feeling a little bit stupid for asking him that. you should’ve just said hi back. you didn’t want to sound insecure, or ‘pick me’, but at the same time, realistically, it felt insane that someone like him, would even notice someone like you.

yn: i dont know lol. you look kinda out of my league. im surprised we even matched.

there was a pause after your text—read—and for a second, you thought you fucked up.

but then his reply came through.

anton lee: you think so?

huh, there was something about his response that made you… shift uncomfortably on your bed. a feeling—an unfamiliar one. it wasn’t a dismissal, nor was it a playful teasing. it didn’t even feel like a question…

before you could think too hard about responding, another message popped up.

anton lee: i think youre really cute though.

the unfamiliar feeling vanished as soon as it came—replaced with a now strange warmth booming in your chest. he thinks i’m cute, you thought, giggling by yourself. you reread the text over and over—flattered.

yn: i guess i got lucky then :)

anton lee: yeah you did ;)

——

for the next few weeks, you and anton fell into an easy rhythm.

it started slow—just a few, once or twice texts a day. but somehow, the conversations never died. surprisingly, anton knew how to carry a conversation, and he always came up with different topics to talk to you. you started to realise that anton wasn’t like any other guys on the app, or any guys you’ve talked to before.

he was calm, steady, and almost too easy to talk to—despite his looks.

the odd feeling never came back. he never bombarded you with clingy or needy texts, or pushed you for more than you were comfortable with. he never asked for your inappropriate pictures, or drifted the conversation to one. if you took hours to respond, he understood. if he sensed that you weren’t in the mood to talk, he was more than willing to hear you out.

anton was just always ready to pick up where the conversation was left off.

you found out that anton created his profile because of a bet—which he had lost a few hours prior to meeting you. and you told him your reason as well—boredom. he was also a student like you too, studying music performance (he didn’t tell you where though, but you understood).

additionally, anton had a sense of humour like yours—he wasn’t boring, or dry, or had no personality like most handsome guys you knew. he also wasn’t always flirting—but he’d say things that let you guess how he felt about you. there were definitely moments where talking to him was too good to be true, but you’d quickly remind yourself that it wasn’t serious.

and then, one evening, it happened,

anton lee: so… when are you gonna let me take you out?

you blinked at your screen.

of course this would come sooner or later—it was only a matter of time before he asked. seeing the question actually came true made your stomach flip in all directions. you bit on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovering over your keyboard.

you wanted to say yes so badly,

but a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind told you to think it through thoroughly. you had only been talking to anton for a few weeks, and you’d heard all the horror stories about meeting guys online—creepy messages, dates gone wrong, murders…

not that you thought anton would be like that… hopefully. if anything, he had been kind, patient, easygoing, and almost too normal. but… wasn’t that how it always started…?

on the other hand, maybe you were just overthinking it. what if it actually goes well? it’s like winning a lottery, you thought.

yn: i donno. are you as charming in person as you are over the text?

his reply came fast.

anton lee: only one way to find out

you didn’t realise you were holding your breath until his reply came.

anton lee: we can go to rain report in seongsu if you’d like.

anton lee: they have good pastries there

okay, a cafe. it’s an open, safe, neutral ground.

yn: that sounds good.

anton lee: saturday at 5?

you hesitated again for a split second—then shook the doubt away as soon as.

yn: okies, see you then?

it took anton a few minutes to reply.

anton lee: im looking forward to it yn :)

you stared at his response, your grip still around your phone. they felt strangely heavier than they should have.

you locked your phone and exhaled.

it was just a date.

what’s the worst that could happen?

——

saturday came by pretty sooner than you’d expected. too soon, honestly.

you had spent the whole week trying not to overthink it. that it was just a date. a date with a normal guy. except this guy was intimidatingly handsome and chill. in hindsight, there was nothing to be nervous about, it was anton who had asked you out. but you woke up that morning feeling like your stomach had been tied into a thousand knots and twists.

you weren’t a loser by any means. in fact, talking to guys wasn't anything new to you at all. but this was the first time ever that you’d be meeting up with a guy you’d only ever spoken to through a screen. one with a romantic intention.

that morning, while waiting for the perfect time to start getting ready, you distracted yourself by doing the laundry, studying—just whatever to keep your mind from spiraling. but the hours ticked by and the nerves started to creep back in. by 3, you started getting ready.

throughout the whole process of prepping, your mind went through every possible scenario that existed to a man—what if he thought you don’t look like your pictures? what if the conversation was awkward in real life? what if he prefers you over the phone?

4:30. the distance between the cafe and your apartment wasn’t that far—but it’d be nice to get there early and calm yourself. make a nice first impression.

you took a deep breath, smoothing your clothes down one last time in front of the mirror.

it’s just a date. but the nervous pit in your stomach refused to go away.

——

when you arrived there, anton was nowhere to be seen. for a split second, you thought anton stood you up. you hated that your heart sank at the possibility. it wasn’t like you were that desperate for the date to happen, but the idea of your date not showing up…

you scanned the cafe, trying not to look too obvious as you searched for a familiar face. people—teenagers and young adults your age, specifically, were chatting and laughing amongst themselves. but there was no sign of anton.

you exhaled sharply and stared down at your phone, debating whether or not to text him. you decided to ask; and then—

“you’re early.”

the voice came from behind you and it made you jump slightly. whipping your head around, there anton was.

he stood just a few feet away from you. dressed casually in a dark blue sweater with his hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets, his hair was slightly tousled like he had run a hand through it. he looked exactly like his pictures—better in person.

your breath hitched, and you felt stupid for thinking he wasn’t going to show up—after saying he was kind and all.

“i—” you swallowed, feeling caught. you let out a small dry laugh. “i thought maybe you stood me up.”

anton tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “why would i do that?”

you didn’t have an answer.

before you could think of one—anton smiled softly, god he looked so good.

“come on,” he hummed, nodding toward the open cashier. “should we order?”

you nodded quickly and followed his lead as he made his way towards the counter.

“what do you want?” he asked, glancing down at you beside him. the height difference was apparent. he was so tall too. you stared at the menu displayed on the television screen above, humming in thought.

“vanilla latte, i think.” anton nodded then turned to the cashier to order. he got himself a classic latte. the employee rang it up, and before you could even reach for your purse, anton was already tapping his card on the terminal.

“oh, i could’ve paid…” you murmured softly, not wanting to say it outloud in front of the staff. you know it’s a thing where it is expected for a guy to pay on the first date—a gesture of chivalry. but still, you felt guilty.

anton gave you a soft smile and shrugged, tucking his wallet back in the back of his jeans. “don’t worry about it,” he said. “next date, then.” he added, casually.

your brain short-circuited for a moment. next date?

he said it so effortlessly like it was given. like anton had already known there would be a second one. you felt your face heat up, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. was it his sheer assumption that made you flustered?

either way, it didn’t seem like anton noticed. or he probably did and was just enjoying watching you squirm.

minutes later, after you both had settled at a nice, quiet table by the corner—and anton had grabbed the drinks from the counter—an odd silence sort of just… settled between you.

not awkward, exactly… just charged.

you wrapped your hands around your cup, focusing on the warmth against your skin instead of the man before you. anton, on the other hand, was a lot more calm—leaning back against his chair as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly. his eyes laid on you in quiet amusement.

for anyone who didn’t know the context, it didn’t look like a date.

“you always this nervous?” he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly as he tapped the mocha spoon on the rim of the cup before putting it down.

“i’m not nervous.”

he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a smile. “really?”

you hummed and nodded before letting your eyes meet his’. “maybe a little. i’ve never done this before.”

anton leaned forward slightly, placing his elbow on the table. “meet guys from tinder?”

“yeah.”

he hummed in understanding, bringing his coffee to his lips. “don’t you wanna know why i swiped right on you?” he asked. you blinked at the question, slightly caught off guard. of course you do. so you nodded shyly.

anton set his cup down, his fingers traced the rim of the lid deliberately. “i thought you were pretty,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “really pretty, actually.”

a warmth crept up your neck—you weren’t used to being complimented.

you wanted to thank him, but he cut you off. “and you looked cute too. i didn’t know you could look better in real life,” he let out a soft laugh, humming. “i’m so glad we matched.”

okay now, you were sure your face was as red as a tomato. blood was rushing, sprinting to your cheeks.

“thanks, wow,” you brought your cup to your lips, trying to conceal how flustered you were.

anton smiled, just a little, “and i feel like i’ve known you.”

your breath hitched, “what?”

anton tilted his head, studying your reaction. “i don’t know. i feel like i’ve seen you before.”

out of nowhere, something cold curled in your stomach. what did he mean by that? was it just one of his flirting pick up lines? you forced a small laugh, keeping your voice light. he looked way too calm, maybe you were just overreacting. “you… haven’t though, right?”

what is wrong with me? you thought, why couldn’t you shake off the uneasiness?

anton didn’t respond right away. his eyes flickered over your face, and he wasn’t smiling. then, after what felt like hours long of pause— “no,” he finally said, lips curling slightly as he looked down on his cup. “just a feeling.”

——

if you were being really honest, the date felt a little strange.

you didn’t mean it in a bad way—anton was really nice. he never made you uncomfortable (in an obvious way), and he paid for your drink—oh, and he bought you some pastries to take home too. the conversation flowed as well enough, and you learned a lot about him. he had been playing the cello since he was young; and he was also a part of the swimming team during his school days.

but there was just something—you couldn’t name it—about him that sat in your chest.

maybe it was the way anton looked, watching you when you weren’t looking at him. or maybe it was the way he spoke—so calm and collected, so nonchalant about the things he was saying. his mannerism, perhaps? the way he never broke off eye contact when you were talking about your university life?

but then again, who were you to judge? you had never been on a proper date before. heck, you didn’t even know how a date was supposed to go, to feel. for all you know, it could be normal for girls to feel the way you did upon their first dates too. maybe you were just overthinking—so many maybes.

anton lee: i had a really nice time today yn :) you looked even prettier up close.

you found yourself smiling as you locked the door behind you.

yn: thanks! i had fun too ><

yn: you’re just as handsome anton

it wasn’t a lie, at all. you did have fun, and he looked even better in person.

anton’s reply came just as fast.

anton lee: i’d love to see you again soon.

you bit your lip, typing a response—that you too, looked forward to seeing him again.

totally ignoring the way your stomach was twisting.

💭 AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH creepy anton ill probably proofread n edit this l8rrrrrr

#riize #riize oneshots #riize imagines #riize fic #riize x reader #anton oneshots #anton lee #riize anton #anton imagines #anton fic #anton x reader #anton smut #dark anton

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reidsmanuscript · 2 days ago

Text

Sweet echoes of the past

Summary: When the gentle hand of the past becomes the present, it tightens around the ADA's throat, forcing the hidden faces of darkness into the light. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HURT/comfort wc: 19k! (i know it's long but its a retribution for the wait time) TW: cm canon violence, FEMALE RAGE, kidnapping, discuss of child trafficking and abuse, discuss of domestic violence, vertigo, discuss of drugs and reader's past (talked in part III) gets disclosure! A/N: i support women's rights and women's wrongs. it's supposed to be jesus reid through the whole chapter but i didn't find a pic that would match. not proofread yet. part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

As the elevator doors slid open, you stepped into the hallway of your apartment complex, exhaustion settling deep in your bones from the lack of sleep over the past few nights.

It had been months since you helped Morgan in Chicago. The determination you had shown—sometimes unnecessarily—and the disclosure of your past to gain Morgan’s trust had made you the BAU’s preferred unofficial legal advisor. Whenever they needed legal assistance—whether it was a warrant, a last-minute consult, or navigating bureaucratic red tape—you were the first person they called. It was never official, never written down anywhere, but the weight of it still lingered, pressing against your already demanding workload.

You weren’t complaining, though—you loved to help. And you would never admit that maybe, just maybe, Reid’s presence was a factor in your willingness to do so.

Ever since that conversation on the jet—the one that had been abruptly cut short when Hotch interrupted—you hadn’t tried to continue it. You had left the seat in front of him, and going back felt… strange. Too obvious? Too desperate? What if he didn’t want to talk? So you didn’t.

Which was incredibly frustrating, because you would have listened to him for hours. Every thought, every opinion, every ridiculous fact he might throw your way.

Still, in that time, you had learned a few things about him. He was brilliant—almost impossibly so. You had overheard him ramble, though never to you, about the most fascinating things: statistical probabilities, obscure historical events, literary references that seemed to live at the tip of his tongue. His mind was like an endless black hole of knowledge, and the more you listened, the more you wanted to be the one he shared it all with. The more you wanted to crawl inside his head and understand everything about him—the books he read, the things he liked, his favorite foods, his favorite things in general. Everything. Anything.

But the more time you spent with him—with the BAU in the middle—the heavier the guilt sat in your stomach. Someone like him, someone that brilliant, wouldn’t turn to drugs because he thought it would be fun or relaxing. Something must have happened. Something bad. And instead of reaching out, instead of trying to talk to him like a normal person, you had freaked out. You had gotten mad. You had acted on impulse—flushing his drugs, shoving a card with a number into his hands without even checking if he understood what it meant.

You had been a monster.

And you didn’t know if there was any way to fix it.

Anyway… you tried not to go down that road too often. Your impulsiveness wasn’t entirely your fault—though if Dr. Fitzgerald were here, she'd make sure you took responsibility for your actions.

Still, Reid didn’t seem to hate you or anything. If anything, he was almost… friendly. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he was wary of you—of what you could do, of what you could become.

You definitely needed a bath. A long one.

One that would take your mind off him, off your spiraling self-doubt.

Though, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d probably just end up thinking about the major case that had landed on your desk months ago.

At first, it seemed like a straightforward prostitution case—three men arrested for running a ring. But things took a darker turn when financial records revealed suspicious transactions, and lists of names and ages were hidden under the guise of real estate properties.

On paper, they appeared to be children and teenagers. But no bodies were found. None of the rescued individuals were underage, and every single one of them insisted they hadn’t been forced into anything.

You had call transcripts connecting D.C. to Virginia, Maryland, and even Baltimore, but they weren’t enough to prove people were being trafficked and sold. You didn’t even have a confirmed transportation route. With the evidence you had, the harshest sentence you could secure was 20 years—at best.

That wasn’t good enough.

You and Austin had been working non-stop, digging for anything that could reopen the case. The police had committed a dumb mistake, totally unintentional, and blamed it on a rookie officer.

You weren’t so sure.

The trial date was still a month and a half away, and if you didn’t find enough evidence to charge them under RICO, you’d be forced to fight for every minor charge you could throw at them.

It was a high-profile case. You knew that. Your boss knew that. Your very proud—but slightly concerned—parents knew that. Soon, the press would probably know that too.

Did the pressure affect you? Maybe. It added weight to your shoulders, sure, but nothing compared to the pressure you put on yourself.

As you reached your door and unlocked it, the usual sense of ease and relaxation never came. Your body knew it wasn’t safe yet.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Coincidence. Paranoia. Your mind playing tricks on you after digging too deep into something dangerous.

But then, the little things started adding up.

The unsettling feeling of being watched, the man you were almost certain had followed you during your morning run. Papers on your desk shifted just enough to make you second-guess yourself. A black car parked across the street, there one day, gone the next—then back again.

You were methodical. Filed the complaints, knowing full well they'd be ignored. But you did it anyway. It was something to fall back on—a formality, a way to say you tried.

But nothing prepared you for this.

The moment you stepped inside, something felt wrong.

The silence, thicker than usual. The stillness in the air as if it were holding its breath.

Something incredible happens to the brain after it experiences trauma. The amygdala heightens the sensibility to danger helping recognize and avoid potentially harmful situations in the future. It can also enhance emotional resilience—some people develop a stronger sense of intuition, quicker reaction times, and a greater ability to read social cues.

Your bag hit the rack. Your coat slipped off your shoulders, but you didn’t move—didn’t breathe—until you saw it.

A piece of candy. Then another. And another.

Everywhere.

Scattered across the floor, the counters, the table—spilling from the cabinets, tumbling from the couch, everywhere.

Your skin prickled. Your stomach twisted. You didn't want to follow the trail, but your feet moved anyway, step by step, against every instinct screaming at you to turn around.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

Crinkling wrappers, glinting under the dim light.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

Your breath came shallow. The air felt thick. Too sweet. Sickly.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You followed it into the kitchen. More candy.

Piled high, spilling over the edges of the counter, the table, the chairs. The sheer amount of it—obscene, suffocating, grotesque. Like a tide that had rushed in and drowned the room in sugar-coated horror.

Your fingers twitched. Your jaw clenched.

A candy wrapper crinkled. Your body jerked—but you hadn’t moved. Had you?

You looked down. Your hand. Your fingers, clenched so tightly around something that the foil had crushed against your palm.

Your heart lurched. You didn’t pick anything up.

You swallowed, throat dry. Then you saw it. Amidst the mess, perched at the very top of an overflowing heap.

A folded note.

The candy was pressing in, the sweet artificial scent clogging your throat.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You reached out.

A breath shuddered out of you. Your vision blurred. The room felt smaller, pressing in, squeezing, pulling you back—back to the days when candy was more than just candy. When it meant something else. Something worse.

Your knees locked. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You weren’t breathing. You couldn’t breathe.

The paper crinkled between your fingers as you unfolded it.

Miss me, sugarcube?

—Dr. C.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The night was settling over the city as the bullpen slowly emptied. The BAU had just wrapped up a case in Louisiana, and exhaustion lingered in the air, each agent buried in their own work.

Spencer wasn’t paying much attention until Morgan’s phone rang.

“What's up, Woody?”

That caught his ear. They usually called you. Not the other way around.

A flicker of jealousy sparked—irrational, unwanted, but there. Morgan had the privilege of calling you by your nickname, not just your name, like it was second nature. Like it meant something.

But that flicker died the second Morgan’s posture shifted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on? You have to bre—”

Whoever was on the other end cut him off. Morgan sat up straighter, his brow furrowing.

Spencer felt his pulse tick up.

Morgan nodded sharply, already reaching for his jacket. “I'll be there in ten. Is she okay?”

The words hit like a hammer to the chest. You.

Something was wrong.

Reid was on his feet before he even realized it, trailing Morgan as he grabbed Prentiss’s arm on the way out.

“What happened?” he demanded, voice tighter than he intended.

Morgan didn’t answer right away. He was moving too fast.

That only made the knot in Reid’s stomach tighten.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Morgan's knocking on your door was frantic, sharp raps against the wood that barely left room for a pause. Behind him, Prentiss and Reid stood tense, their eyes flicking toward the door, waiting.

Inside, Austin peered through the peephole before unlocking it, swinging the door open without hesitation.

“I got her to take a shower,” he said, stepping aside to let them in. His voice was steady, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.

The apartment felt wrong.

Reid stepped inside, his gaze immediately scanning the space. The lights were on, but there was an eerie stillness, a weight hanging in the air. The scent of something sharp—maybe soap, maybe something harsher—lingered.

Morgan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “What the hell happened?”

Austin’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked toward the hallway, where the faint sound of running water could be heard. “Someone broke in during the day”.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the kitchen. In the middle of the aisle sat a large garbage bag, its top loosely tied. Austin pulled it open, revealing an unsettling sight—piles of candy, an overwhelming amount. He reached inside, pulled out a small card, and handed it to Morgan.

“This was scattered all over the place,” Austin said, nodding toward the bag. “And this was left with it.”

Morgan’s eyes scanned the card, his expression darkening. He turned it over, glancing at Austin, waiting for an explanation.

Austin’s voice was steady but clipped. “Dr. C,” he said, the name alone carrying weight. “It stands for Dr. Calloway.”

Morgan frowned. “Who is that?”

“He was my foster father.”

Spencer turned at the sound of your voice. You stood in the doorway, wrapped in a long, fluffy white robe, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders. The only skin visible was the curve of your neck, the length of your forearms, and a glimpse of your legs beneath the hem. You clutched the robe tightly against your chest, as if trying to shield yourself—not just from the cold, but from the lingering presence of what had invaded your space.

“He used to give those… a lot of them, before and after he—” Your voice stuttered, catching on the words, unable to finish.

Spencer’s gaze flickered to the kitchen, then back to you, the weight of your words settling heavily. Then, he noticed it—the raw redness of your skin. Even from across the room, he could see the angry patches where you had scrubbed too hard, as if trying to wash away something that wouldn’t come off.

You cleared your throat as best as you could. “What did the cameras show?” Your voice was low, raspy, as if it hurt to speak.

Spencer barely registered the words. All he could focus on was your eyes—wide, searching, and for the first time, so… small. The sharp edges of your presence were still there, but instead of the formidable woman he knew, you looked like a child—a scared one, cornered with no way out.

Austin sighed, his expression unreadable as he chose his words carefully. “The staff said the cameras haven’t been working for about a week.”

Something in you snapped.

“What do you mean they aren’t working?” Your voice rose, trembling with anger. “This place brags about its security system!” You whirled toward the door, fists clenched. “I’m gonna sue them for negligence and breach of contract! They’re going to—”

Austin moved fast, already anticipating your reaction. He caught you before you could storm out, arms locking around your waist as he turned you away from the door.

“You are not going out.” His grip was firm but steady as he spun you to face him, hands settling on your shoulders. His voice softened, but his words struck hard. “You’re losing focus. You’re losing perspective. You’re losing energy.”

It was a mantra he told you every time you were being too impulsive, too reckless, lashing out without thinking. His voice grounded you when you were ready to burn everything down.

You refused to look up—to meet the gazes of Reid, Morgan, or Prentiss. You could already picture their expressions. Judgment at your impulsiveness. Pity at your situation.

You didn’t know which was worse.

“Woody I understand this is a lot for you right now” Aside from Austin, Morgan was the only aware—partially—of what it meant that note. “We can help catch whoever did this okay? We'll take this to the rest of the team.”

You nodded, not being sure if that's what you really wanted. “I-” You couldn't help but stutter while swallowing the knot on your throat you forced yourself to. “He's supposed to be in prison now”

Prentiss began scanning the apartment, checking the corners with a trained eye. She ran a gloved hand over the door frame, inspecting the lock closely before crouching near the handle. “No visible signs of forced entry,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Morgan asked carefully, “Is there any chance he got out?”

The thought of someone like him—a monster—walking free through the streets made you sick. “I’m not sure. His sentence was 20 years, but the charges didn’t exclude parole opportunities.”

“Did they break anything else?” Reid asked, his gaze shifting to the shattered glass on the floor.

You shifted your weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, at the full display of your anger, shaking your head. “No, I—um… that was me.” He didn’t miss the note of shame in your voice as you spoke.

“Have you noticed someone following you or watching you, maybe?” Prentiss asked carefully from the entry door.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah, um… on my morning runs and outside the courtroom sometimes. There’s a folder in my desk.”

Without waiting, you walked in toward your office. As they entered, they took in the mess from the case you were working—registers in the floor, files and records pinned in a corkboard, a stark contrast to the rest of your apartment. The mess in here felt intentional, like the chaos inside your head had spilled into the space.

You dropped to your knees in front of the desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. Then, instead of rifling through it, you gripped both sides and yanked it out entirely, setting it aside.

Their eyes followed your movements as you reached down, pressing your fingers against the smooth wood floor until you found what you were looking for. A red folder, hidden beneath the drawer, its worn edges marked with a single sticker that read Austin.

You stood slowly, gripping it tightly before handing it over. “I have copies of every complaint I’ve made over the last couple of months… it’s all in here in case—”

The thought of you leaving proof in case something happened to you made Spencer’s chest tighten. His fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second before he opened the folder.

Inside, neatly stacked yet slightly worn from being handled, were copies of official complaints, incident reports, and personal notes. Dates, locations, descriptions of suspicious figures—some written hastily, others with meticulous detail.

Before he could say anything, Morgan spoke up. “Do you know if they took anything from here?”

You shook your head. “It looks normal, and if they did take something, I have copies of everything in my office.” You paused for a moment, thinking. “Did you find anything at the hospital?” you asked, turning to Austin.

He shook his head. “They insisted on a warrant, but a nurse said she could help me if I came back tonight.”

A sigh of exhaustion left your lips as Morgan glanced between the two of you. “Then why don’t you just get a warrant?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion.

The question made you tense up.

You and Austin exchanged a wary look before you answered carefully. “We’re conducting an investigation that has to stay off the record.”

“What do you mean ‘has to stay’?” Reid asked, his brows knitting together.

“It’s a case I’m prosecuting, but we think it’s bigger than what’s on paper, and we can’t prove it yet,” you explained, crossing your arms as you stood. “Weeks ago, some evidence was ‘mislabeled’—sat in storage for weeks before anyone realized. The police chalked it up to a clerical mistake, and now they’re insisting on closing it.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, glancing at Austin. “And you think someone did it on purpose?”

Austin nodded. “There’s too many coincidences. Too many people trying to shut this down.”

Morgan nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, we’ll tell the rest of the team about this. It’d be best if you didn’t go out much—stay indoors as much as possible.”

You shook your head immediately, running a hand over your forehead. “I can’t. I have to go to work tomorrow. I have a trial.” Your voice was firm, unwavering. You weren’t about to let someone else control your life. Not again.

Reid, who had been silent up until now, felt his mind start running the numbers. He calculated the probabilities of something happening to you if you insisted on going to work—factoring in everything they knew. Your stalker’s escalation pattern, his growing confidence, geographical profiling probabilities based on your work location. The percentage of workplace homicides committed by known aggressors versus strangers. The statistical likelihood of an abduction attempt in broad daylight versus early morning or late evening.

The numbers weren’t in your favor.

The higher the risk, the tighter the knot in his stomach became. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t control your choices, but emotionally, the thought of you walking straight into danger made his pulse quicken.

He swallowed and called your name softly. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

“If he’s watching and I don’t go to work, he’ll think he’s in control.” You met Reid’s gaze, and for a moment, the numbers ceased to matter. The statistics, the probabilities—none of it held weight against the quiet determination in your voice. You weren’t demanding, just asking. Asking to hold onto some semblance of control over your own reality.

Austin, who had promised long ago to stand by your side, spoke up. “The courtroom and the D.A.’s office are always packed with officers. Plus, if we escort her, he’ll see us and maybe back off.”

Or get even angrier, Reid thought. The probability of escalation was high—too high—but when he looked at you, at the way you squared your tense shoulders despite the fear you were barely keeping at bay, he knew you already understood the risk. You were scared, that much was obvious. But you refused to let that fear dictate your actions. And maybe that terrified him more than any statistic ever could.

Prentiss re-entered the room, her gloved hands brushing against the doorframe. “The lock wasn’t forced, but the scratches on the latch suggest someone picked it.” She gestured toward the window. “And there are faint scuff marks on the sill, like someone checked it as a secondary entry point.”

You nodded. "So it's not safe for me to stay here, is it?" Even if it was, you weren’t sure you’d ever feel safe here again.

Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss exchanged hesitant glances. Eventually, Morgan let out a deep breath, looking at you with concern. "We can set up surveillance outside, keep a close watch. But you need to think about what you want, too. If you don’t feel safe here, we’ll figure something out."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the uncertainty pressing down on you. Spencer could see it in your eyes, and it ached him to realize that you didn’t feel safe in your own home.

Austin noticed the hesitation too and, without another word, made the decision for you. “Fix a bag with what you need. If you forget something, we can come back together, you are staying at my place.” he said, his voice steady and firm.

You nodded slowly, the practicality of the suggestion grounding you, but the knot in your stomach tightened. The idea of leaving felt like a step further into something you couldn’t control, but at least it was a step toward safety—toward some semblance of normalcy.

As you turned toward your bedroom, you felt a flicker of gratitude for Austin’s unwavering presence. Spencer’s gaze followed you, his concern etched deep into his features, but he remained silent, understanding that you needed space to process it all.

As they were walking out of your office, something caught Reid’s attention—a small yellow post-it note buried among the clutter. The handwriting was nearly indecipherable, but the quote stood out:

"To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's."

He recognized it instantly—Dostoevsky.

Almost reaching your bedroom, you suddenly froze. A realization hit you like a punch to the gut. Someone had been sending you baskets of candy and chocolate for months—always without a card. You had dismissed it every time, taking them to the park to share with the kids. The kids.

“Austin!” you called out, horror tightening your throat.

He was by your side in an instant. “What? What is it?”

“The c-candy… we have to—”

“I’m getting rid of all of it, don’t worry,” he said, grabbing your trembling hands.

“No! You don’t understand.” You shook your head frantically. “You have to test them. See if they were spiked or something.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he nodded, his grip on your hands tightening.

“I’ll call your dad, tell him to get them tested first thing in the morning,” he reassured you.

"Tested how? Why?" Spencer asked, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Austin, picking up on every detail—the stiffness in your posture, the way your fingers twitched like they wanted to curl into fists. The horror in your eyes.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You should have had an answer, a perfectly structured explanation. But your mind wasn’t cooperating. The words tangled, stuck somewhere between logic and memory. If you said it out loud, it would be real. And if it was real, then—

Austin moved, getting you into your bedroom before you could even try to force something out.

"Sit down," he said, his voice softer now but edged with quiet urgency. "Take a breath, and when you feel ready, pack a bag."

He stepped out, finally giving you a moment of silence. Outside, he joined Morgan and Prentiss, their conversation hushed but focused as they mapped out their next move.

Ten minutes later, they had a plan—Austin would relay all necessary information about you to Garcia and JJ. But Spencer wasn’t listening. Not really. His mind was elsewhere, caught on you and how you were holding up. He didn’t want to intrude, not while Morgan and Prentiss were deep in discussion, but his gaze kept drifting to your door.

Slowly, he approached, noticing it was slightly ajar. The dim light from inside spilled into the hallway, offering him a glimpse of your space—neat, controlled, yet somehow fragile. He hesitated, then knocked softly, calling your name.

No answer.

A flicker of unease tightened his chest. He knew you needed space, but silence had never felt so heavy. Pushing past his hesitation, he stepped inside.

You were curled up on the window seat, dressed in loose black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. The window was half-open, a faint cold breeze stirring the fabric of the curtains, cooling your senses down. Your back was turned to him, your hand moving absently over the soft fur of a gray cat curled against your thigh.

Reid hesitated, watching you for a moment. There was something fragile about the way you sat there, staring out at the night. The weight of the evening still clung to you, but the cat’s quiet presence seemed to ground you—if only just.

He took a careful step forward. “Hey,” he said gently.

He startled you, making you jump clumsily in the seat. The sudden movement spooked the stray cat perched on the windowsill, its fur bristling as it let out a sharp hiss. In its panic, it lashed out, claws swiping against the back of your hand before bolting.

You flinched, instinctively pulling your hand close to your chest as the cat leapt from the ledge and disappeared into the night. A bright line of red was already forming where its claws had caught you.

“I’m sorry, I—” he started, but you quickly cut him off.

“It’s okay. I didn’t hear you coming.” Your voice was quiet but gentle, like you didn’t want him to feel bad for it.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say—unsure of how to reach you through whatever you were going through. Finally, he settled on the only thing that came to mind. “What’s its name?”

That earned him a small, tired smile, and for a brief moment, he thought he might have done something right. “Um—he sorta came with the place,” you admitted, glancing back at the empty windowsill. “I just call him Stray.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You named a stray cat ‘Stray’?” His voice held a hint of humor, soft but genuine.

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread in your chest at the sound of it. “Yeah…” you replied with a lighter tone. “He owns up to his name.” You raised your right hand a little, showing him the long scratch on the back of it, as if to prove it.

He pressed his lips together, rocking back and forth on his feet nervously. “Sorry again,” he muttered, his voice soft.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine, he just got scared.” You glanced back toward the window where the cat was tentatively returning. You placed your hand a few inches away from him, watching as the stray slowly approached. It only took a second before he leaned against your hand, purring softly and licking the scratch he had done, as if he felt guilty and was apologizing.

“He’s been coming around since I first moved in years ago,” you said, your voice gentle as you scratched the back of the cat’s ears, causing it to purr louder. “It took me an entire year, some food, and a lot of scratches and patience to get him this comfortable.”

You smiled a little at the softness of the moment, but the warmth faded just as quickly as it came. The reality of it all crashed back down on you—this place you called home had been invaded, your sense of security stolen. Again.

“I have to move out right?” the thought of leaving Stray alone and without food pained you.

Spencer saw the shift in your expression at his nod, the way your shoulders sagged and your eyes darkened with exhaustion. He hated that look on your face, hated the weight of it. Desperate to pull you away from the spiraling thoughts, he let his gaze sweep across the room, searching for something—anything—to get you out of it.

“Did you go to Harvard?” Reid asked, his eyes landing on a framed picture sitting on the bookshelf.

In the photo, a younger version of you stood between your parents, your diploma in hand. Your mother held a crimson banner with the university’s name in gold, while your father wore a red sweater emblazoned with a bold yellow ‘H.’

“Yeah. Law school. Though I look awful in those pictures,” you admitted.

You were 18 in them, and in your opinion, it wasn’t your best moment. The smudge eyeliner and dark clothes—an attempt to make yourself look unapproachable—clashed awkwardly with the family-intended picture. Besides, college wasn’t exactly a time you looked back on fondly.

Thankfully, you had outgrown the phase of needing to prove yourself. Sort of.

Reid, however, thought you looked pretty. Despite the heavy makeup that aged you, he could still see the youth in your features—the sharp intelligence in your eyes, the quiet determination. He wanted to ask more. At what age had you graduated high school? How had your teenage years in college been? Were they anything like his—lonely, spent buried in books?

You stood from the window seat, moving to zip up the bag you had packed for the next few days at Austin’s. Your gaze flickered to the closet, pausing briefly on the dress hanging behind the door.

Prentiss knocked lightly before stepping in with a small smile. “Ready to go?” Her eyes landed on the dress. “Oh, that’s fancy.”

It was. The dark purple silk draped elegantly, the halter top flattering yet professional, the long skirt flowing with just the right amount of sophistication. You and your mom had picked it out together for an important dinner—she had insisted you needed something that made you feel beautiful.

You exhaled, brushing a hand over the fabric. “Yeah… It was for a work dinner. But I guess I finally found the perfect excuse not to go.”

You grabbed the bag and walked out of the room, Spencer and Prentiss leading the way. With one last glance over your shoulder, you reached for the light switch, casting the space into darkness before quietly closing the door behind you.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Walking into the bullpen of the BAU felt like stepping into a pressure chamber—every glance, every hushed conversation carrying the weight of unspoken questions. You weren’t just another visitor; you were the case. The reason for the extra tension in the air.

Morgan led the way, having picked you and Austin up for security reasons—Austin’s bike wasn’t exactly the safest option. The briefing room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken concern. You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your back, the telltale sign of exhaustion clawing at you. Sleep had been scarce last night, and the extra-bitter coffee in your hand was doing little to keep you grounded.

Everyone was already there when the three of you arrived. Their eyes flicked toward you, subtle yet piercing, like they could see right through you. You hated this feeling—vulnerability wrapping itself around you like a second skin. Have you ever walked into a room and felt like a lamb walking straight to the slaughter? You swallowed the knot in your throat and forced out the proper good mornings, your voice steadier than you expected.

Some habits never leave you. Like the art of avoiding physical touch—something you’d perfected in your teenage years. Always keeping your hands full, whether with books, files, or a cup of coffee. A strategic shield, paired with an apologetic smile when someone offered their hand, as if to say, Oh, I’d shake, but my hands are full. Sorry. Every movement calculated, arbitrarily staged, yet second nature by now.

And yes you could perfectly just say no to a simple handshake but playing against the rules wouldn't have gotten you anywhere.

You stayed at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, trying to avoid the pitying looks from the team. JJ began explaining how, over the last few months, you had been stalked—someone had followed your routine, watching your every move.

Images appeared on the screen, displaying your apartment filled with candy. Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you quickly averted your eyes, staring out toward the bullpen instead. JJ continued, explaining how the situation was even more concerning given that your personal address wasn’t listed in any public records—precautions you had taken after past incidents.

“There was a note left behind,” she said, pressing a button to reveal a close-up of the paper on the screen. The message was short but chilling.

“‘Dr. C.’” JJ read aloud. “It stands for Doctor Calloway.”

Garcia chimed in, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. “Doctor Dean Calloway is a convicted felon. Over twenty years ago, he and his wife, Michelle Calloway, ran a foster home. He was sentenced to 30 years in prison for child neglect and public assistance fraud in Wallens Ridge State Prison.”

The picture of him on the TV makes your legs go weak. His cold, piercing eyes—the same ones that had once looked at you with a twisted, possessive kind of love—make you feel like you want to rip your skin off, just to escape the memory of them.

Hotch frowned at the pictures. “And what’s the significance of the candy?”

You cleared your throat, knowing this was an important detail you had to clarify. “Calloway was—is—a child molester.”

The silence that settled over the room was suffocating, pressing down on your chest like a weight.

“He used to call me like that and drug me on the nights he—” Your voice wavered, threatening to crack, but you forced yourself to continue. “I never knew how or with what. All I know is that he made me eat thousands of those, maybe to hide the taste of whatever he was using.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of their eyes pressing against you, seeing through the cracks you tried so hard to keep together.

“His license was revoked after his conviction,” you added, your tone carefully measured, though your hands clenched at your sides, wanting to stop the trembling. “And I never had enough proof to go after him.”

A heavy silence followed, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. The team exchanged glances—understanding, anger, maybe even guilt for not realizing sooner. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Hotch was the first to break the silence. His voice was steady but edged with something close to anger. “If he’s been sending you these messages, then he’s either out or has someone on the outside working for him.”

Reid shifted on his seat, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Calloway was sentenced to thirty years. Even with good behavior, he shouldn’t be out yet.”

Garcia’s fingers flew over her keyboard, her usual warmth replaced by urgency. “Apparently, Wallens Ridge had a fault in their security system three days ago, making it really easy for a whole lot of very bad people to escape.”

“Three days ago?” Morgan’s voice was incredulous. “The stalking’s been going on for almost two months. Why didn’t we hear about this sooner?”

“They say they’re not sure who specifically got out,” Garcia responded, her fingers pausing over the keys. “The place is huge, so they’re still updating the fugitives list.”

“I never told anyone about the candy,” you said, your voice thick with the weight of the revelation. “He’s the only one who could’ve known about that.” Your mind raced, trying to piece together any possible logical explanation.

“Unless he has someone on the outside, someone who’s been following you,” Rossi suggested, and his words made your skin feel clammy.

“Or there are two different stalkers,” Austin added, his gaze focused on you. “It wouldn’t be the first time a case backfired, especially if people have been watching you for other reasons.”

“So, we’re talking about two UnSubs?” Prentiss asked, her brow furrowing in thought.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper. “It’s a high-stakes case. A lot of powerful people are expecting it to be closed and moved to trial as soon as possible. If something goes wrong…” You trailed off, feeling the invisible pressure of it all.

Hotch looked at you, his gaze intense and almost protective. “What kind of case is it?.”

You placed the file down on the table, your fingers brushing over it as you tried to keep your voice steady, but the weight of everything pressing down on you made it hard. You could feel the room’s tension shift, everyone leaning in, focused on your every word.

“The police investigated what on paper are prostitution houses,” you continued, your tone serious, “leading to the arrest of four men—two of them were real estate agents as a cover-up.” You paused for a moment, glancing at the file again, then at the faces of your team, your voice steadying as you pressed on. “All the victims we managed to rescue are adults who claim they weren’t being exploited. But when I went to check the financial records of these real estate agents, I found a ton of transactions tied to a series of properties they owned. The weird part? It was incredibly difficult to get access to the catalogue of properties, and none of them have a real, tangible address.”

"At first, I didn’t think much of it, but then I realized—each property is actually a person they’re selling. It’s a human catalogue disguised as real estate listings." You knew you probably sounded crazy, but recognizing patterns and hidden meanings had always been how you survived.

"If a property is listed for rent, it’s prostitution. If it’s for sale only, it’s trafficking. A single-story house means the victim is a minor, while two or more floors likely indicate an adult. A garage means it’s a girl, no garage means it’s a boy. I think a porch signifies plastic surgery. And the descriptions of the walls and floors? They match the victim’s physical characteristics."

You laid out the pictures from the folder across the table, arranging them with a methodical precision. "These are the rescued victims. All of them are adults, former prostitutes, found in houses packed with bedrooms."

Then, you placed photos of houses and their corresponding descriptions beneath each victim’s picture. "Look at this one. Dark skin, dark eyes. And this house? Walnut floors, two stories, only available for rent, and it has a garage." You tapped the listing with growing certainty. "They aren’t selling homes. They’re selling people."

The team exchanged looks, some curious, others frowning with concern. Morgan was the first to speak. "How certain are you about this?"

"About 80%. Finding consistent leads has been really difficult," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady.

Hotch leaned forward, his expression sharp. "What does the DA say about all of this?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “She… doesn’t know. She’s planning her retirement and wants me to run for her position so I can ‘follow her legacy.’ She thinks this case could secure my election—and she’ll be telling everyone that at the Annual Winter Gala for the District Attorney’s office tonight,” you explained carefully. “If I find proof that the case has crossed state lines, it would automatically fall under the Department of Justice’s jurisdiction, leaving our office completely out of it.”

“Let us help,” Emily stated firmly.

Hotch nodded in agreement. “Garcia can look into this further to see if she uncovers anything else. Meanwhile, the rest of us will split up. JJ, Rossi, and Prentiss will focus on finding Calloway, profiling where he could be hiding, and the other half will stay with you, just in case.”

You hesitated but didn't decline knowing it was the best shot you had.

“And it would be better if you stayed home,” Hotch said tentatively.

“Absolutely not,” you snapped, barely holding back the venom in your voice. “I have cases to handle and a trial in two hours—I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

He nodded as if he already knew your answer, but still insisted that you not go to the Gala. You didn’t complain; you barely wanted to go anyway.

The thought of staying home, of locking yourself inside like some helpless prey, made your stomach churn. You weren’t a child anymore, weren’t that drugged, defenseless girl he could control. If Calloway showed up, you wouldn’t freeze. You wouldn’t run.

No, you’d put him down like the rabid animal he was.

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Going through sexual abuse leaves a deep, lingering sense of desperation. Last night, you scrubbed your skin with everything you had, trying to erase the phantom touch of ghost hands. It never worked, though. The sensation stayed, haunting you no matter how hard you tried to wash it away.

Being a survivor also carries a heavy burden of guilt. You knew, logically, it wasn’t your fault—what happened to you wasn’t something you could control. But the aftermath, the side effects of being drugged nearly every night, still clung to you, refusing to let you forget.

The familiar hallways of the DA’s office offered a fleeting sense of normalcy, a place where you could breathe a little deeper without your chest aching so badly. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Fresh from the courtroom, you felt like you finally had some semblance of control over your life—at least for a little while, without the suffocating presence of a stalker lurking in the shadows. Morgan and Reid had been accompanying you all day, which was both mildly embarrassing and infuriating. The idea of people thinking you needed babysitters made your skin crawl.

On the other hand, Spencer couldn’t have been more eager to stay by your side. He hated the circumstances, hated the way you refused to meet his or Morgan’s gaze, but more than anything, he hated the way your hands trembled—no matter how hard you squeezed them together or tried to hide it. He wanted to reach out, to take your hands in his, to offer you something—anything—to anchor you.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to have your past dissected and laid bare on a table for everyone to see. If just hearing you say Calloway had drugged you had made his stomach twist with sickness, he couldn’t fathom what it had done to you. So if you couldn’t look at him, he understood. He just wished he could hold you instead.

Watching you in court had been mesmerizing. Then again, everything about you captivated him.

Almost at your office, a sharp voice cut through the hallway. “Counselor!”

Spencer immediately tensed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan’s hand instinctively move to his holster.

You turned at the sound, already bracing yourself and recognizing the voice from Defense Attorney Bennet. Just the sight of him made your stomach tighten, and the way your jaw tensed and your nose twitched slightly—a near-wince before you masked it—didn’t go unnoticed by Reid.

Bennet strolled toward you with his usual smugness, and you barely resisted the urge to take a step back.

“No deal.” Your voice was flat, dismissive. His client had been arrested for attempted murder—of his own wife, in front of their children. The woman had come to you, fear in her eyes, begging you to make sure he wouldn’t get out and try to hurt her again.

Bennet didn’t seem fazed. “I'm not looking for one. My client isn't guilty.,” he said smoothly, as if that was enough to make you care.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, the corners of your lips threatening to curl in distaste. “Your client belongs in a pine box... but I will settle for an 8-by-10 cell where he can rot until he dies.”

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Ms. Woodvale. He was under a lot of stress due to his demanding workload, which caused him anxiety and insomnia," he says smoothly, as if that excuse isn’t absolutely ridiculous.

You catch a glimpse of Morgan and Reid stepping into your office. Exhaling sharply, already fed up, you fix him with a cold stare. "I have anxiety and insomnia. I don’t go around shooting people."

You turned on your heel and got inside your office, you shut the door with more force than necessary. “I’m sorry for th—” A yawn caught you off guard, cutting off your words as you let your forehead rest against the cool surface of the door.

"Do you want some coffee?" Spencer offered, his voice so gentle that, for a moment, your shoulders eased ever so slightly.

"Uh—yeah, thank you," you said, watching as he moved toward the small table where the machine sat. Then, quickly, before he could pour, you added, "No sugar, please."

The thought of sweetness on your tongue made your stomach twist. On a normal day, you couldn't stand it. But today? Today, when the fact that Calloway was still out there felt like a breath against the back of your neck? You weren’t willing to find out how you’d react.

Across the room, Spencer nodded, his fingers brushing over the sugar packets before he left them untouched. He finally understood. The incident in Chicago, the way you had recoiled, the way you'd run. He clung to every fragment of insight he could gather from you, anything that wasn’t in a file.

Caleb, Molly’s temporary replacement, entered your office without knocking, looking harried—like he’d just remembered something important, or more likely, forgotten something crucial—Caleb nearly tripped over himself as he spotted you.

"Miss Woodvale," he started, already sounding defensive, "I was just about to—"

You didn’t have the patience. With a sigh, you reached into your bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, pressing it into his hands.

"I need two things, and I need them before midnight," you said, your tone clipped. "First, look up any prior convictions for Daniel Rogers—everything, even sealed records if you can access them. Second, type up a subpoena for the evidence request I noted down."

Caleb blinked at the paper, then back at you. "A subpoena? Like… now?"

You leveled him with a stare. "Yes, Caleb. Now. Before I have to argue in court for evidence I should already have."

"Right! Right. On it." He gripped the paper like it might disappear from his hands.

"Caleb," you added before he could rush off. He turned back, looking hopeful.

"Sign it under my name before filing. Properly."

"Of course! Totally on it."

You watched him scurry away and exhaled sharply. You should’ve just done it yourself.

Spencer handed you the cup of coffee, and the brief touch of his fingers against yours sent a small tingle through your skin—just enough to take the edge off, to let you breathe a little easier.

"Where's your usual girl?" Morgan asked, nodding toward the door.

"Molly's on maternity leave. She’s got three weeks left." You sighed. Three weeks with someone incompetent felt like thirty years.

Morgan’s phone buzzed, and he stepped out to take the call, leaving you alone with Reid. Ignoring the nerves creeping up your spine at the thought, you turned and made your way to the back of your office. As you pushed the door open, the room beyond was revealed—a chaotic mess, not unlike the study in your apartment.

He followed you inside, and for the first time, the sight of the mess actually embarrassed you. You shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes scanning the board. His brows furrowed. “Why is the map unmarked?”

“I—uh—” You took a sip of your coffee, stalling. Admitting this felt ridiculous. “I’m not very good with directions. Or maps in general… I was going to ask Austin for help, but I always forget.” You hated how left and right sometimes blended together in your head, how frustrating and embarrassing it was.

“Let me do it,” he offered.

Your first instinct was to refuse, but he stepped closer before you could protest. “I do the geographical profiles for the BAU. I’m good at reading maps.”

Something about the way he looked at you—puppy eyes, long hair framing his face—made it hard to say no. Or maybe it was just him. And you couldn’t say no to him.

"Those are the directions," you gesture toward the board just as your phone rings. Seeing Austin’s name on the screen, you pick up.

"Good news, Woody. The candy wasn’t spiked, and I doubt the rest of the baskets were either."

A weight you didn’t realize you were holding in your chest suddenly lifts. The thought of someone twisting something as simple as sharing candy—something that once brought you comfort—into a potential nightmare had been unbearable.

You exhale, murmuring a thank you as Austin reassures you they’ll catch him. When you hang up and relay the news to Spencer, he gives you a small smile, his focus still on the map. Then, as he places a thumbtack, something clicks in his mind.

"How did you get the lab to run the test that fast?" he asks, glancing over at you. The average turnaround time for something like that would usually be at least a couple of days, even for a small lab.

You shrug. "My dad’s a chemist. He runs a lab, so... it wasn’t hard to get him to push a few tests through."

The irony isn’t lost on you—how your birth parents had also run a lab, except theirs was a meth lab. And now, you’d been raised by someone who ran a legitimate one. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Another piece of you gets stored forever, engraved in Spencer’s mind, and the way you’re being so… casual with him makes his chest warm.

“I’m sorry you can’t go to that party tonight.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to get pampered around by my boss, making promises on my behalf.” You lean against the wall.

“Yeah, social environments aren’t my thing either,” he says, placing the last thumbtack on the map. “So, you don’t want to be the DA?”

You take a second to think. “I know it’s a big position, and it would be great for my career. My boss is always saying the tabloids would go crazy—she can already see the headlines with my name on it. And I know it opens a lot of doors, but…” You trail off. “It comes with things I don’t want to do, like playing politics. I’m not interested in that. I’d barely even step foot in a courtroom, and I want to help people. Bring closure. Maybe even some peace, if I can.”

Spencer watches you as you speak with such passion. For a moment, your eyes don’t look as haunted. Your words seem to carry a weight he’s never seen before, and the strand of hair falling over your face is so tempting for him to tuck behind your ear. It’s as if a magnetic force is pulling him closer.

He smiles at you, opening his mouth to respond, but his phone rings. “I got something for you about our secret mission,” says Garcia on the other line when he picks up and puts her on speaker.

“So, I tracked the license plate from the arrested man. Stumbled upon something—two of them always went periodically to a location where there are no cameras around. It’s pretty far, almost at the border with Maryland,” Garcia continues.

“Is there anything over there?” you ask, feeling a slight sense of urgency.

“It’s a pretty abandoned area, but from a street view program, apparently, there’s a warehouse over the Cicero street,” she replies. “I sent you the location.”

Spencer thanks her, but before he hangs up, Garcia adds, “Rossi picked up Morgan from there. A street camera caught someone who looks like Calloway near the Capitol.”

Your breath catches in your chest for a moment as the weight of her words sink in. You exhale slowly, Spencer hangs up and you speak urgently. “We have to go check that warehouse.”

You see hesitation in his eyes “Please?

He nods, but the hesitation doesn’t leave his eyes. He doesn’t want to go alone without the team, but something shifts when he notices the tremor in your hand. It was slightly worse than before, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he decided not to mention it, knowing that pushing you away now wouldn't help.

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Arriving at the warehouse, you felt anticipation creeping through your bones, an almost electric tension settling in your chest. You were close—so close that whatever detail had been slipping through your fingers had to be right in front of you.

The aged wooden floor groaned beneath your boots, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the space. Dust floated in the slanted beams of light filtering through broken windows, and the air smelled of damp wood and rusted metal.

If Spencer cursed, he would have done it the moment you didn’t wait for him to clear the area first. Instead, he sprinted to your side, his breath sharp as he yanked his gun from his holster, his fingers tightening around the grip.

The place had two floors, surrounded by nothing but dry, brittle trees. Looking back, you wished you could say you had been cautious, but the events of the day had started to numb your judgment. There was no hesitation when the door didn’t budge—you shoved your shoulder against it without a second thought.

Spencer inhaled sharply behind you, his voice cutting through the stagnant air.

He called your name as a warning, his tone edged with unease. And if you had time for waiting you would've picked on the hint of fear in his voice.

The door gave in, and you stepped inside immediately. The interior was somehow worse than the outside—humidity clung to the rotting wood, the scent of decay thick in the air. The space was lined with tiny bedrooms, each one filled with small beds. The sight made your stomach turn. You didn’t need to imagine what had happened here; the walls practically whispered it.

“You go check upstairs, I’ll check here,” you said, already moving.

“We should wait for backup.” Spencer's voice was firm, his grip on his gun tightening.

"This place is abandoned," you countered, dismissing his concern before he could argue further. He sent Garcia a quick message as you moved through the rooms quickly—most were the same, two beds, a small closet, nothing significant.

Until the last room.

It was different. A desk sat by a small, cracked window, standing out among the neglect. You crossed the room immediately, opening every drawer, rifling through them with practiced efficiency. But there wasn’t much. Loose papers. A few pens. Dust coating the insides.

Then, just as you were about to move on—something.

Tucked in the very back of the bottom drawer. A flash drive.

Your fingers barely brushed against it when— crack.

A footstep. A snap of dry wood behind you.

Your pulse slammed into overdrive. Every muscle tensed, locking you in place for a fraction of a second—just long enough to see a blue shadow move between the trees, fast, deliberate. They had something in their hand. They took something from the desk.

And then your body moved before your mind could catch up. You bolted.

The cold air burned your throat as you tore through the doorway, barely registering Spencer shouting your name behind you. The forest was a blur—branches whipping past, the earth uneven beneath your feet, every instinct screaming at you to keep going, keep your eyes locked on the figure ahead.

Then it hit.

A wave of vertigo crashed into you like a freight train when you were jumping off a rock.

The world lurched.

Trees stretched and twisted, the ground tilting violently beneath you. Your stomach turned, and suddenly there was no up, no down—just a sickening pull as your balance shattered.

Your foot slipped.

You didn’t fall so much as collapse, legs giving out as the world spun in a dizzying, nauseating spiral. Your shoulder slammed into the dirt first, then your head, the impact ringing through your skull like a gunshot making you groan in frustration and dizziness.

Distantly, you could still hear Spencer yelling. His voice was closer now, urgent, frantic.

You tried to push yourself up, but the world wouldn’t stop moving. The trees swayed, the ground rolled beneath you, and the sickening weight of disorientation kept you pinned where you fell.

The sirens screamed in the distance, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat, loud and erratic in your ears. The earth tilted beneath you as you tried to push yourself up, twigs and dirt digging into your scraped palms.

Right now, Spencer could only see himself in you—that reckless, desperate version of himself from two years ago. The one who told JJ they didn’t have time to wait. The one who ended up at the mercy of Tobias Hankel. Right now, those magnets—the ones that should have drawn you together—were mirroring instead. And magnets that mirror don’t attract. They repel.

The nausea surged again, your stomach twisting violently as you heard Spencer’s footsteps closing in.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

His voice, along with some police sirens, cut through the ringing in your ears, sharp and edged with frustration, but you could barely focus on it. The ground felt unsteady beneath you, as if the earth itself was shifting. You blinked hard, trying to ground yourself, but the pressure in your skull only worsened.

Spencer didn’t notice—didn’t see the way your fingers dug into the dirt just to keep yourself upright. All he saw was a reckless choice, the same mistake he had made, playing out all over again. And it terrified him.

"I almost had him!" you shot back, breathless, the words slurring slightly as the world swayed again when you stood up again.

"You ran off alone!" His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “You have no idea of the hundred things that can happen when you go alone in the field! You are not even an agent or a police officer!”

The words hit like a whip, laced with something deeper than anger—fear. But your head was spinning too much to fire back. The ringing in your ears pulsed in and out like waves crashing over you, swallowing his words before you could fully process them.

You thought you saw another figure moving toward you—just a flicker of motion in your blurred vision, a shadow against the trees. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything else, making Spencer’s voice feel distant, like he was speaking through water.

“Woody!”

Morgan’s voice cut through the static, sharp and urgent. You barely registered the moment he reached you—his presence was solid, grounding—but the nausea clawed at your stomach, threatening to pull you under again.

“Someone—a blue jacket was—” you tried, but the words barely scraped past your throat, your breathing uneven, shallow. You forced yourself to stay upright, to push through the dizziness, but Morgan’s hands were already on you, steadying, his gaze scanning your face with concern.

“They… they took something from the house. I don’t kn—” Your voice broke off as another wave of vertigo surged through you.

Morgan’s grip tightened, firm but not harsh. “You don’t look good, Woody. Sit down before you fall down.” He guided you down against a tree with your knees to your chest.

“I’m fine, it’s just—this vertigo shit, I—” The lie barely made it past your lips before the ground tilted violently beneath you. You staggered, your vision swam, and this time—there was nothing you could do to stop it. You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to stop the nausea clawing up your throat. “I—I just need a second.”

As if he snapped off his frustration. Spencer crouched down in front of you, eyes scanning your face, his own panic shifting into something else. “Just take a deep breathe,” he said, and now it wasn’t frustration in his voice—it was realization.

You blinked at him, but the edges of your vision were still blurry. You hated this. Hated feeling weak in front of him, hated that your body had betrayed you at the worst possible moment.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, even as another wave of vertigo made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer wasn’t buying it. And suddenly, he felt so much shame over how he hadn't even helped you out because he’d been so caught up in his own fear, his own anger, that he hadn’t even seen you struggling.

And that scared him just as much as watching you run into danger alone.

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Once again in the BAU bullpen, you had finally recovered from the vertigo, knowing it was brought on by stress and anxiety.

While you had been struggling, the rest of the team had sprinted through the woods, searching for the person you saw. JJ was the one who found a crumpled, half-burned document about 50 meters away from the house. As for the figure in the blue jacket—there was still no trace.

The files contained lists of properties, and they were marked with prices. For the looks of it, you sensed they could indicate age or maybe height but you didn't get much opportunity to look into it. As for the flash drive, Garcia had taken it to analyze.

They had told you that the one man they caught on a street camera thinking it was Calloway was just a false alarm, meaning he was still free, you hated feeling like a prey again.

Austin was crouched in front of your chair, watching you carefully.

"I'm fine. And we both know it’s just because my body doesn’t handle stress well," you muttered, taking a sip of the gatorade he handed you. You were no stranger to vertigo and dizziness—episodes that had come and gone over the years—but this one felt different. More intense, more unsettling. A doctor had once told you, years ago, that it could be a lingering side effect from drug abuse.

"Just eat," he said, opening a paper bag and setting it beside you.

You sighed, grabbing the sandwich but leaving the small cardboard box inside. Breaking the sandwich in half, you offered him a piece, but he shook his head. Rolling your eyes, you spun your desk chair to face JJ instead.

"Want half my sandwich? I’m not going to finish it."

She frowned slightly but quickly answered, "Oh, thank you." Taking a bite, her eyes widened. "Oh my god, this is really good," she said, covering her mouth as she chewed.

Smiling, you took a bite yourself. "My mom’s a chef. She likes to send me food sometimes, and since she knows I like sharing, she always sends extra."

JJ hummed in approval before handing a piece to Prentiss, who had the same reaction.

Just then, Hotch entered the room with Garcia and Spencer behind him. Garcia grabbed the remote and turned on the TV showing the FBI logo.

“My lovely ducks this flash drive was cripting nightmare. But! as your dear tech colorful genius I got it.” She pressed a button, and a series of documents filled the screen—spreadsheets, names, locations, and timestamps. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Okay, so this flash drive? A goldmine of incriminating evidence," she said, her tone more serious than usual. "We’re talking organized trafficking orders—detailed lists of victims, complete with coded identifiers, transaction dates, and destinations. But that’s not all."

She clicked to another file, and a map appeared. "These are transport routes—highways, backroads, even rest stops marked as exchange points. Whoever put this together is meticulous. And then, there are these."

Another document popped up. It was a list of addresses.

"Safe houses," Garcia continued. "Not just in DC—there’s here in Virginia, Maryland, Baltimore and a few in Pennsylvania. Meaning, this isn’t some local operation. It’s an entire network."

The room fell silent as everyone processed the weight of what she had just revealed.

The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow exhale as you sank back into the chair. You and Austin exchanged a glance, both of you silently acknowledging the weight of what was in front of you—the information you had been chasing for weeks was finally right there.

In retrospect, it seemed almost absurd—how just three men were possibly going to be convicted for minor felonies, while they and so many others were responsible for running and ruining God knows how many lives.

Hotch’s voice was firm. “We’ll give this to the Head of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force, Andi Swan, to continue with the investigation. They will be communicating with the Department of Justice.”

You nodded slightly, processing the weight of the situation you had been unknowingly tangled in. Austin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You have to go to the gala for an alibi.”

He was right, and you knew it. Not attending such an important event, coupled with the fact that the office was losing an important case while FBI agents had been seen talking to you, could easily make you a target—marked as a 'snitch.' The irony stung, especially when all you’d been trying to do was uncover the truth.

You turned to face the team. “What about Calloway and the other threats?”

Garcia’s expression softened as she responded. “Wallens Ridge has cleared 75% of the area. They haven’t ruled him out as a fugitive yet.” Her voice took on a pitying tone, one you didn’t want to acknowledge but knew was meant to protect you.

“We’ll protect you,” Morgan added, his voice steady. “The gala will be crowded with security. We’ll drive you there and back, and by tomorrow, we’ll continue to look for him. You’ll be safe.”

You nodded, knowing the smart decision was to attend the gala and put on a convincing smile. Austin had told you it was 6 p.m., giving you two hours to get home and be ready by 8.

Hotch assigned Rossi, JJ, and Garcia to keep tracking Calloway, while Morgan and Prentiss would drive you to the event.

Once the team had their tasks, you stood, picking up the brown paper bag before heading toward Spencer’s desk. You placed it on top, glancing toward Garcia’s office, where you’d just seen him disappear. It was a terrible excuse for an apology—‘Sorry for being impulsive and reckless. Here’s a sweet treat.’ But words had never been your strong suit, especially when it came to your feelings.

Time had a cruel way of shifting things. Over two years ago, you had stood in front of another desk, clutching an identical paper bag—only back then, it hadn’t been an apology. It had been his drugs. And you had thrown them away.

Austin was waiting for you. You caught a glimpse of Prentiss flipping through files and swallowed your nerves. You never knew if your difficulty making friends came from feeling like a freak or simply not knowing how to connect.

You hesitated before calling her name. “Uh—could you help me? Maybe? I know you probably have more important things to do, so—”

Prentiss looked up, offering a friendly smile. “No, it’s okay. What do you need help with?”

You shifted awkwardly. “Getting ready? I—I don’t really know how. I mean, I can dress myself, obviously, but—”You exhaled, frustrated at your own fumbling. “I barely know how to do any of that ‘pampering’ stuff.”

Prentiss smirked, grabbing her coat. “Oh, you came to the right person. I’m a diplomat’s daughter—I was practically trained in this.”

You blinked at her, surprised by how quickly she jumped in to help.

She gestured toward the elevator. “Come on. Let’s make you look like you belong at this gala.”

Trying not to seem too eager, you followed her. Before stepping in, she quickly told Morgan she’d be driving you and Austin.

A few minutes later Spencer finally emerged from Garcia’s office, barely escaping yet another lecture about overthinking things. His eyes landed on his desk—and the familiar brown paper bag sitting atop it.

Inside was a small cardboard box. And in it—a piece of chocolate cake.

A flicker of guilt settled in his chest as he stared at the cake. Had he really made you feel like you needed to apologize?

Maybe he felt it even more acutely after taking a bite—sweet, rich, and undeniably good. The kind of thing that made him wonder if he even deserved it.

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You glance at the reflection in the mirror, taking in the clean, elegant look. The dress falls delicately, the long strips cascading down your back—so stunning, so unlike what you’d usually wear.

“You look good. Don’t overthink it,” Austin’s voice comes from behind you.

“Thanks,” you reply, offering him a faint smile, but it comes out more like a thin line.

Emily had done a great job polishing you up. She even revived the black nail polish you thought was long gone since your college days, using some remover drops. Your hair was styled in an updo, the final touch to a look that felt like someone else entirely.

“Here you go” she says, handing you the long black coat, giving your makeup a final check. It felt strangely nice to feel this... pretty. You knew without her help, you wouldn’t have pulled it off. To be honest, you liked pretty things. You liked makeup, but you just didn’t know how to do it right. And you wanted to have girlfriends, though you weren’t sure what you’d talk about with them. But that didn’t matter, and Emily seemed nice enough to not mind.

“The car’s downstairs. Morgan and Reid will be taking you” she adds. Right. Reid. You nod as you slip the coat on, trying to ignore the unease creeping up on you.

The thought of Reid seeing you like this, this version of yourself that was so different from the usual, made you squirm.

Would he think you looked good? Pretty, even? Why did you care about his opinion? Maybe because you cared about what he thought in general. Maybe because having his attention, even for just five seconds, felt like something sacred. Why would someone with such an incredible mind waste more than five seconds on someone like you?

You didn’t know which thought haunted you the most: the sense of insecurity that came with the fact someone had broken into your place, erasing the feeling of home and comfort you’d hoped for while getting ready, or the look in Spencer’s eyes—the one that made you feel like you’d been stupid.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the lobby, and in front of the glass entrance doors of your apartment complex stood the familiar black SUV. Your stomach churned with nerves.

Spencer’s breath hitched when he saw you, the way the dress fit you so perfectly, so timelessly elegant. If someone had told him you were a duchess or from some aristocratic family, he would have believed them. The way you carried yourself—controlled yet poised, with your head held high and your back straight—was enhanced by the silk of the dress, giving you an almost regal presence.

He got out of the car to help you in, and the rush of warmth that flooded your face instantly banished the winter’s cold. You smiled awkwardly at him, unsure of what to say.

The low whistle from Morgan saved you.

“Lookin’ good, mama,” he said, flashing that charming smile of his.

You smiled back at him, relieved, before turning to say goodbye to Prentiss. Spencer gently helped you into the car, making sure the dress didn’t get caught or ruined in the process. You felt the tingle of his hand lingering where it had touched yours, and you couldn’t shake the electric pulse it left behind.

Slipping into the back seat, you settled in with Austin in the front, relaying the venue’s address to Morgan. Spencer sat beside you, trying to keep his composure. He had to be extra careful not to stumble as the scent of your perfume hit him, wrapping around him like an intoxicating mist. It was all he could do to focus on anything else, the smell of it swirling in his senses and pulling him into a dizzy state he could easily get lost in.

Throughout the ride, you stared out the window, mentally preparing yourself for the event ahead. You knew you had to play the part—professional, charming, decisive, almost regal if you wanted to make an impression. The problem was, you didn’t want to win that way. You didn’t want to play the political game that came with it.

Looking at Morgan was a reminder that Calloway was out there, and you could let him throw you off. But then your gaze shifted to Reid, and the tightness in your chest made you stutter for a second. His presence had that effect on you, unsettling yet magnetic in the most infuriating yet addicting way.

Your phone rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. You rummaged through your purse and saw it was your office number, making you frown as you picked it up.

“Hello?” you answered doubtfully, everyone was supposed to be at the venue or on their way there by now.

“Miss Woodvale!” Caleb’s voice came through, making you fight the impulse to roll your eyes. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid there’s been a problem.”

You sighed, bracing yourself. Caleb was pretty useless as an assistant, and you could already feel the frustration bubbling up. “What’s happened now?”

“It’s the subpoena for the evidence in the Rogers case, the one about the gun,” he said, his voice tinged with panic. “The judge declined it, and I... I’m not sure what to do about it. The paperwork was filed wrong, and—”

You cut him off before he could ramble further. “Is it the one I gave you a draft on how to do it exactly?”

Yes! I typed but—I don't know something must have gone wrong and I’m at the office right now and I-” You sigh knowing you had made a mistake in asking him to handle such an important thing like a physical evidence paperwork.

Knowing it was pretty urgent and could jeopardize the case, you decided to take care of it in the moment “I’ll handle it.” You ended the call, already plotting the quickest way to fix this.

You glanced at the others in the car, a sudden sense of urgency creeping over you. The event felt like it had slipped from your mind for a moment, but the reality of your job brought you back into focus.

“Is everything okay?” asked Spencer, with a concerned look on his face.

You nod slowly “Yeah just…” you said, turning to Austin and Morgan. “Can we please make a stop in the office for a second? There was a problem and I’ve got to go fix it.”

Morgan glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “You sure? We’re almost there”

“It’s on the way, just some paperwork issue that I don't want to escalate” you said, your tone firm. “I’ll be quick. I promise”

Morgan nods and turns towards your office. A couple minutes later you are in front of the office, stepping out of the car. Spencer, followed quietly behind you. His voice was low, but there was concern in it. “I’ll come with you”

You just nodded, knowing that convincing him you’ll be fine was a waste of time. As you walked toward the courthouse, your mind raced through possible solutions to fix Caleb’s mistake, not wanting to think of the effect Spencer’s presence by your side had on you, and how the silence between you two was almost suffocating over the unsaid feelings.

Spencer cleared his throat. “You look beautiful,” he said, offering a sincere smile. He wanted to say more—wanted to apologize—but the words tangled inside him, unsure of how to make it right.

The compliment caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily defenseless. You felt the warmth of a genuine smile tug at your lips, and Spencer’s chest tightened at the sight of it.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meaning it.

Spencer exhaled, deciding to take the chance. “About what happened in the warehouse, I—”

A sharp gasp from Caleb cut him off.

“Counselor! I’m so sorry—I completely forgot the gala was tonight!” Caleb’s voice was frantic as he adjusted his glasses, guilt written all over his face. “I wanted to apologize. I know you trusted me with this, and I—”

“Just give me the files and let’s fix this,” you interrupted, already feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Before anything else could be said, Spencer’s phone rang with Garcia’s name in it.

He picked up immediately, but something was off. The call crackled, her voice cutting in and out, fragmented in a way that sent a prickle of unease down his spine.

“Garcia? You’re breaking up—what’s going on?”

As you, Caleb, and Spencer stepped into your office, the static grew worse. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, but Penelope’s words were barely making it through.

“Ca—way… Welle—ridge…” The interference distorted Garcia’s words, making it impossible to understand what she was saying.

“What? Garcia, I can’t hear you,” Spencer said, pressing his hand over the other ear to block out the noise.

Your assistant glanced up. “There’s better reception downstairs at night.”

Spencer gave a quick nod and stepped out of your office, heading toward the lower level. By the time he got there, the call had already dropped. With a sigh, he immediately tried calling Garcia back as he got further and further from you.

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Upstairs, Caleb handed you more files, his usual carefree expression in place. As you took them, your eyes flicked to the dirt under his nails, and you fought the instinctive wince of disgust.

“I gave you notes on how to do this. Did you check them?”

You really didn’t want to lecture a man who was two years older than you and a bit taller, but at this point, it felt unavoidable.

What felt even more ridiculous, though, was how he managed to mess up every task you gave him.

Caleb scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I mean… sort of? I figured it was just a formality thing, so I—”

“This isn’t even from the Rogers case, Caleb,” you interrupted, exasperation seeping into your voice as you handed the file back to him. You didn’t even try to mask your frustration.

“Oh! Right—sorry!” He fumbled through his stack of papers before hastily picking up another document and handing it over.

You sighed, taking it from him, already dreading what mistake you’d find next.

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you staring at the stack of files, irritation simmering under your skin. With a sigh, you scanned it carefully, your frustration shifting into confusion. There was nothing wrong with it. No technical error, no missing information—just a perfectly valid request.

Frowning, with your back towards the door, the file still in hand, rereading it just to be sure.

“Caleb, I don’t think thi—”

You never got to finish the sentence.

A sharp, jarring thud struck the back of your head, and the world lurched sideways. A burst of pain shot through your skull, white-hot and disorienting. The file slipped from your fingers, papers scattering across the floor as your vision blurred.

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Morgan’s phone buzzes sharply against the desk, the name Garcia flashing across the screen. He barely has time to press accept before her voice spills through the line, fast, frantic.

“Morgan, this is weird—really, really weird—I don’t understand how th—”

He straightens, instincts flaring. “What’s going on? You caught Calloway?” With a flick of his thumb, he puts the call on speaker so Austin can hear too.

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end, then Garcia’s voice—urgent, almost breathless.

“Morgan I called Reid first but his phone it’s not working, Wallens Ridge just called. Calloway never left the facility.”

The blood in their veins turned to ice at the thought of it. If it wasn’t Calloway—the only one who knew about such a macabre detail—then who? Who else could possibly know?

They both bolted out of the car. Who even had your address? It had to be someone trusted. Someone close. Someone you had let too close.

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A blinding explosion of pain cracked through your skull, turning the world sideways. The room twisted, floor tilting beneath you as your knees buckled. The taste of copper flooded your mouth.

Hands—rough, too strong—grabbed at you, yanking you forward before you could catch yourself. Your body slammed into something solid. A wall? A desk? It didn’t matter. The impact rattled through your bones, sending shockwaves down your spine.

Panic surged through the haze. You tried to move—tried to fight—but the dizziness slowed your limbs, making everything feel sluggish. You wanted to scream for help, for someone, anyone, for Spencer, to come help you, but the spinning world had stolen your words.

Your fingers clawed for anything—something—to defend yourself. Your vision swam, but you felt it: the sharp edge of something on the desk. A pen? A letter opener?

Your hand closed around it.

But Caleb was faster.

A crushing grip seized your wrist, twisting, forcing your fingers open. The object clattered to the floor. He shoved you back—hard. Your shoulder slammed into the wall, pain blooming through muscle and bone. The air left your lungs in a choked gasp.

You had to move. Had to run. Had to— A sharp sting. Cold flooded your veins.

Your body locked, every nerve screaming in protest as the drug hit.

No. No. No.

You thrashed, arms flailing weakly, but your strength was already draining, slipping away like water through your fingers. Your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in.

Caleb yanked you by the arm, dragging you across the floor. The wood scraped against your skin, tearing at you as you kicked weakly. Your fingers clawed at the ground, desperate for an anchor. You dug your nails into the floor, hanging on, fighting to the last.

A white-hot burst of pain exploded through your hand as your index’s fingernail caught on a splintered groove in the floorboards—and ripped clean off.

A strangled cry wrenched from your throat. The agony barely registered before the blackness swallowed you whole.

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They were too late.

Your office was a disaster—papers scattered, the desk chair overturned, a letter opener lying abandoned on the floor. The air felt wrong, thick with something unsaid, something violent. But it wasn’t until Spencer’s gaze dropped that his stomach lurched.

A fingernail. Lodged between the wooden floorboards.

His breath hitched, nausea creeping up his throat, but there was no time to process it. Austin was already moving, frantic, his eyes darting toward the hallway. He knew there were cameras out there—but not in here. Whoever had taken you had known exactly how to stay hidden.

Morgan and Austin had sprinted up the stairs the second Garcia’s call came through, barely stopping when they saw Spencer frozen near the entrance. The silence in the office was suffocating. There was no one else here. Everyone was at the gala.

Spencer was supposed to be watching you. Supposed to make sure nothing happened. And yet—he had failed. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating, as Morgan barked into his phone, demanding that Garcia access the security cameras, cursing when the signal started to fail.

That’s when he heard the soft creak of a door.

He turned just in time to see Caleb stepping out of the bathroom, his face and hands damp, water still clinging to his skin.

Something wasn’t right.

“Where is she?” Austin’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

Caleb blinked, frowning. “Where’s who?”

The nonchalance sent a cold chill through Spencer’s body.

Morgan wasn’t wasting time. He tore through your office, yanking open drawers, rifling through papers, looking for any sign of where you’d gone, but there was nothing. Austin was shouting your name now, advancing on Caleb, his voice rising with barely contained rage.

Then—Morgan cursed. Low. Cold. Spencer turned just as Morgan reached into Caleb’s desk and pulled something out. A signal jammer.

That was why his phone hadn’t worked.

That was why Morgan’s call had cut out.

You were gone.

And they had walked straight into it.

Austin was the first to react. In a blur of movement, he grabbed Caleb by the collar of his blue jacket and slammed him against the wall with enough force to make the drywall tremble.

Someone close. Someone who knew the building well enough to avoid the cameras. Someone who knew you—your schedule, your address.

Austin’s grip tightened. His voice was razor-sharp. “What have you done to her?”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His face paled. “I—I swear, I didn’t w-want t—”

Austin didn’t let him finish. He slammed him back again, harder. “Where is she?” His voice was low, lethal, vibrating with fury.

Morgan was calling Garcia again, his voice tense in the background, but Austin barely registered it. His entire world had narrowed to the man in front of him—the only lead to where you were.

“They—they threatened me,” Caleb stammered, hands raised in surrender. “My family—I’m sorry, I—”

Austin didn’t care. He shoved him harder against the wall. “Where. Is. She?”

Caleb’s breath came in ragged gasps, terror widening his eyes. His voice cracked as he stammered, “I—I don’t know—they just gave me the needle, and they took her through the back door.”

Morgan was already moving, heading toward the back of the building in search of any trace of you.

Austin didn’t budge. His grip on Caleb’s jacket tightened, his knuckles white. “What did you give her?” His voice was sharp, edged with something raw and dangerous. When Caleb hesitated, Austin snapped. “I’ll kill you with my own hands—what did you give her?!”

You had been drugged.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years of sobriety—stolen in an instant.

The thought sent fire through Austin’s veins. His chest heaved with barely contained rage, but before he could lose himself in it, Spencer’s voice cut through the chaos.

Spencer’s gaze locked onto Caleb’s blue jacket, his mind racing. Then, he caught it—the dirt under Caleb’s nails. His stomach twisted.

The warehouse.

Caleb had been there. He was the one you saw. The one you spoke to in your office—where he could have easily eavesdropped.

You had been watched. You had a target on your back for far longer than any of them had realized.

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The air smelled of damp wood and rusted metal, creeping through your nostrils as your vision swam in and out of focus. Slowly, you began to regain awareness of your body and surroundings. A harsh light flickered overhead, blurring your senses, and a sharp pain on the side of your head made you wince.

Your hands were bound tightly behind your back, the rope digging into your skin, and the searing pain made it almost impossible to ignore. A sound, sharp and unsettling, reached your ears—the click of someone’s tongue. It was enough to snap you from your fading consciousness. You fought to stay awake, but your body felt like it was on fire, an unnatural heat that made your skin crawl. Despite the whistle of the wind coming from somewhere in the room, that warmth felt suffocating, as if it were dragging you deeper into memories—or perhaps the lack of them. Blurry flashes, distorted sounds, and a gnawing sense of wrongness churned in your mind, making you want to destroy anything within reach.

Then came the steps, heavy and deliberate, each footfall resonating through the creaking wood beneath.

“This one used to be one of my favorites, you know?” A low, cold voice slithered through the air.

Something about it... felt familiar. Your mind, clouded by pain and fear, tried to place the voice, but it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t Calloway, you knew that tone—there was no forgetting in the one that had whispered awful things to you in the dark, its pitch a disgusting echo in your ear.

Your mouth was dry, coated with a thick, cottony feeling that made it hard to speak. "Who... are you?" Your voice came out barely a whisper, weak and fragile—closer to breathless than you would’ve liked.

He hummed as he approached, the light casting long shadows over his grey and black hair, his dark clothes blending into the ominous surroundings. His presence was suffocating, strong and undeniable. He squatted down in front of you, the light revealing his sharp features and a long, crooked nose that seemed to sharpen his sinister presence.

"It doesn’t matter who I am, sugar," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with malice. "What matters is how close you've been sticking your nose in my business."

Another wave of sharp pain surged through your skull, confusing your thoughts as you tried to place the familiar face before you. But it was like trying to grab smoke—elusive, slippery.

He stood, his footsteps heavy as he moved behind you, his presence darkening the space.

"A friend of mine gave me some tips about what to do with you," he continued, his tone cold and casual, as if discussing something mundane.

You felt a jolt as his hands grasped your arm, and instinctively, you tried to squirm away, but his grip tightened like iron.

"Although," he mused, his voice taking on a sickening quality, "he preferred you docile. I’d rather have you... more awake." His words made you feel sick, each one like poison dripping into your ears.

The needle slid deeper, it's cold metal scraping against your skin, and you could feel the fluid entering your bloodstream—too quickly, too forcefully. Panic surged within you, clawing at your chest, suffocating you. You fought against it, trying to tear your arm away, but his grip was unyielding.

The world began to spin. The adrenaline hit you fast, a hot wave of electricity zipping through your veins, making your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. Your mind was a fog, thoughts slipping in and out like water running through your fingers.

"You feel that?" He whispered close to your ear, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, like a predator with its prey. "The rush. It's all just a little push, and you'll be awake for everything. For all the things that are coming."

The blurry edges of your vision started to sharpen, your breath coming in short, rapid gasps, your chest heaving with every painful inhale. Each breath felt like a battle, the world spinning around you as the adrenaline pulsed through your veins, burning you from the inside out.

Behind you, you heard him laugh—a harsh, cruel sound that sent ice through your veins. But it wasn't the laugh that made you shudder; it was the anger underneath it.

"If only Dean could see how big his sweet girl has grown," he spat, his voice thick with venom, dripping with something darker than just anger. "He was a good associate, knew exactly how and when to prescribe pills for our little business."

The words were like poison, each one meant to wound, to remind you of the twisted connections. You could feel your pulse racing from the adrenaline, your body on edge as the drug coursed through you, making your heart hammer and your vision swim.

"He's rotting in prison now," he continued, his tone laced with twisted satisfaction. His hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, jerking your head back so roughly that a sharp gasp of pain ripped from you.

But it didn’t stop you. The adrenaline only fueled the fire in your veins, making the anger burn hotter. You gritted your teeth, trying to focus, your throat raw and dry. "Same place you'll go when they catch you," you spat, voice hoarse but unwavering, as the rage swelled inside you.

He chuckled darkly, the sound grating against your ears, before the cold, hard press of metal settled against your temple. The weapon’s chill did nothing to cool the heat that roared inside of you, only making your body tremble with a surge of fury.

“Don’t be so sure of it, sweetheart,” he taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot and rancid against your skin. “You and that friend of yours have been causing me a lot of trouble.”

Your chest heaved, but this time, the adrenaline wasn’t clouding your thoughts—it was sharpening them, feeding the fury that burned in your veins. Austin. His words only made the fire inside you grow.

“You’re the little bitch who runs that human catalogue? The whorehouse we searched?” you hissed, every word dripping with venom.

He chuckled darkly, the sound making your blood boil. “Whorehouse? Is that how you call orphanages now?” His twisted smile spread across his face when he saw the flicker of confusion in your eyes.

A sharp sting ripped through the right side of your cheek as he slapped you hard, the pain jolting through your skull. Orphanages? You tried to focus, trying to make sense of his words, but the anger only surged more violently within you.

He laughed harder, the sound reverberating through the cold air. “I thought they called them foster homes now. You’re one to know, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dripped with mockery, savoring the way his words landed, knowing exactly how to twist the knife.

He circled around you like a predator, his steps slow and deliberate, inspecting the room. “Like I said, this one was one of my favorites.” His words were casual, but they carried a weight that made your stomach turn.

Through the sharp blur of your vision, you turned your head, your eyes darting to the right. The trees outside were bare, dry branches silhouetted against the bright moon. Recognition hit you like a blow to the chest, and your heart sank. You were in the warehouse you and Spencer had searched earlier.

The memory hit you like a freight train—rows of tiny beds, abandoned, empty, each one a reminder of the lives stolen and shattered. The thought of those children, trapped in that hell, sickened you, making every inch of your skin crawl with the need to escape.

A low, guttural groan escaped your lips, fury burning in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You fought against the ropes binding your wrists, the adrenaline sharpening your senses, making everything feel raw. "I’m going to kill you," you snarled through clenched teeth, barely able to contain the rage. The thought of being in that place again, again, after everything you'd been through... it made your entire body tremble with fury.

“Where’s Calloway’s little girl? His sugarcube? The one he refused to sell after seeing her so tiny and beautiful in that hospital bed?” He taunted, pulling a piece of candy from his pocket. “He told me you loved these. Didn’t you like my special delivery? He used to give you these and you’d just love them.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer. The memories flooded back—sharp and violent, dragging you into the past. You could almost feel the sticky sweetness coating your tongue again, the bitterness mixing with the sugar, and the suffocating control of it all.

Calloway used to feed you those damn candies—piles of them—whether you wanted them or not. He would shove them in your mouth, watching you as you had no choice but to swallow, his sick pleasure in the power he had over you written all over his face. He reveled in your discomfort, in your helplessness, in your inability to escape.

Once, you’d tried to hide some of the candy, just a few pieces, to give to the other kids in the foster home. Maybe it would make them smile, maybe it would give them a little relief from their own nightmare. But Calloway had caught you. He’d punished you for it—made you pay the price for defying him.

You never tried to hide the candy again.

The sickening memory made your stomach churn, bile rising in your throat. The pain of the past felt so close now—too close, threatening to overwhelm you. The heat of adrenaline still surged through you, but it didn’t dull the disgust, the rage.

“I have proof of your sick business,” you spat, your voice rough and dripping with fury. “Every escape route, the safehouse, the money transactions—everything. And you’ll go to the most disgusting 2x2 cell I can find in this world and rot there, going crazy in isolation.”

He hummed, his gaze cold and calculating as he slowly pointed the gun at your forehead, steady between your brows. You stared him down, defiant, refusing to let him see even a hint of fear.

“You think that’s going to save you?” His voice was a low murmur, twisted with mockery.

His grip tightened on the gun, and for a brief moment, the world narrowed down to the cold, unforgiving barrel pointing against your forehead. You could feel his anger radiating off him, a palpable heat, but it only fueled your own defiance. His words were venomous, designed to rattle you, but you stood strong.

“You’re going to die here, sweetheart. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. All your little threats, all your big talk? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll put so many bullets in your head, God wouldn’t even recognize you.” He sneered, the words dripping with malice.

You rested your head against the cold steel, the metal biting into your skin, but you didn’t flinch. In that moment, the sensation was almost soothing, like the clarity that comes when everything else fades away, leaving you focused. Focused on one thing.

“I don’t believe in God,” you said, your voice low and steady, despite the terror churning in your chest. "Go ahead and shoot. See if that stops me from haunting you from the grave."

His finger moved over the trigger, just a whisper away from pulling it. The sound of quick footsteps approaching was the only thing that stopped him.

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The BAU stepped out of the SUV with precision, their movements sharp and efficient. Spencer felt his chest tighten beneath the bulletproof vest, adrenaline buzzing through his veins.

After your kidnapping, they had brought Caleb in for questioning. He had confessed to aiding people who had threatened him and his family, revealing that he had given them your personal address. He had been sent to retrieve documents from the same warehouse where you'd been taken, but he panicked and dropped them before JJ could reach him.

The threats had been traced to a man named Graham Sullivan, a former doctor who no longer practiced. He traveled frequently, never staying in one place for long. Garcia had tracked his rented car through its online GPS, leading them straight to the warehouse.

Spencer could only hope they weren’t too late. Again.

Hotch directed the team to surround the house, already briefing them on the structure. He and Morgan led the breach, kicking the door down and clearing every room with practiced efficiency.

"FBI! Put the gun down!" Morgan’s voice rang out from the last room.

Reid rushed in behind Hotch, his heart pounding. His eyes landed on you—sitting in a chair, wrists raw and red from the restraints tied behind your back. Across from you, Sullivan stood with a gun aimed directly at you.

Sullivan’s grip on the gun was steady, his finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flicked between the agents and you, calculating his next move.

Reid could feel the pulse in his throat, pounding, deafening. He tightened his grip on his own gun, but his hands were steady—years of fieldwork had trained them to be.

“Graham,” Hotch’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. “There’s no way out of this. Put the gun down.”

Graham’s presence triggered something in your memory—distant, almost dreamlike, but unmistakable. The image of Uncle Gram flashed before you, an echo of Calloway’s manipulation. You could almost hear his voice, coaxing you to greet him every time he visited, making you act like everything was normal. But it never was. After his visits, the house always felt emptier, the silence heavier, as if another group of children had been “adopted,” leaving behind only their absence.

Graham moved to fire, but Hotch was faster. He saw the threat in his eyes before Graham could make a move, and with practiced precision, he shot him in the leg. Graham crumpled to the floor, dropping the gun as he went down, clutching his leg above the knee. Spencer immediately rushed to undo your restraints, but you didn’t follow him. Your eyes were fixed on something else. You weren’t looking at Graham, or even at Spencer.

All you saw was the gun in the corner. All you felt was the burn of your newly freed hands. All you wanted was revenge.

Before anyone could stop you, you lunged for the gun, fingers closing around the grip. Adrenaline surged through your veins, your breath ragged as you turned the weapon on Graham.

He was on his knees, bleeding, vulnerable.

Morgan called your name, but you didn’t hear him. Your eyes were locked onto Graham’s.

Your right hand trembled slightly, the raw, nailless finger resting over the trigger. It pulsed—as if calling you to pull it.

The sirens in your head were deafening, drowning out Morgan and Hotch as they tried to reach you.

“Where’s your God now?” you spat, voice sharp and shaking with rage. “Because He sure as hell wasn’t in that house.”

Your entire body trembled, but not with fear. Not with hesitation. With something darker, something primal, something that had lived inside you for years, clawing at the walls of your ribs, screaming to be let out. And now—now that monster had a name, a face, and he was kneeling right in front of you.

Your chest heaved as you tightened your grip on the gun, the cool weight of it grounding you, fueling you. Your hands ached, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force with which you clenched the weapon. Your index finger twitched against the trigger, the tendons in your wrist pulled so taut they might snap, the palace were you nails used to be pulsated as if it was calling you. Do it.

“This man trafficked children across the country.” Your voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the fury that laced every word. It crackled in the air around you like the moments before a thunderstorm, suffocating and electric. “He made them think they were safe. He made them trust him. He took their hands, promised them safety, and then he sold them. He ruined their lives—just like Calloway did.”

Morgan’s expression hardened.

You knew if you kept talking, you could get to him. You could make him see. Maybe, just maybe, he would let you do this. You could say it was an accident, that it was life or death. And you could walk free.

You didn’t move. You didn’t take your eyes off Graham, who had the audacity to grin.

The sight of his teeth—white, clean, untouched by suffering, untouched by the pain he had inflicted on others—sent something violent and raw ripping through you.

"Finally," he mused, his voice tainted with amusement, mockery, knowing. "Calloway’s little sugarcube. The angry one. The wild one. The one who snapped that boy’s arm like a twig when she was what—six? seven?"

Something inside you cracked.

The air turned thick. The blood in your veins ran hot, too fast, too much. You felt it in your fingertips, in the throb of your pulse, in the back of your skull where pressure built like an overfilled dam, desperate to break.

Your ears rang with the phantom sound of his voice—not Sullivan’s, but Calloway’s—the slurred taunts, the threats, the sickly sweet way he’d whispered your name while he—

Morgan took a careful step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Put the gun down," he urged, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t you."

But it was you.

The gun in your hand felt like the only real thing in the room. The weight of it, the cold metal against your palm—it was control, justice, revenge.

Graham’s smirk deepened, unfazed. "Go on," he taunted, his voice raspy. "Show them who you really are."

Your heart pounded. Your finger hovered over the trigger, aching to pull it.

"You don’t have to do this," Morgan tried again. "You pull that trigger, you don’t get to come back from it."

The words hit you like a slap, but they didn’t land. The sound of the gun, of Graham’s taunting grin, drowned everything else out.

Your chest was tight, your breath ragged and shallow. Every fiber of your being was screaming, do it. End him. Make him pay. But something else, something deep inside, tugged at you—just a whisper of hesitation, but it was enough.

And then Spencer appeared at your side.

His voice, when it came, was soft. It wasn’t the sharp edge of a command or the hard lines of Morgan’s warning. It was patient, the way he always spoke to you when he thought you needed to be reminded of your worth. Of your humanity.

He called your name, his voice threaded with something like understanding, like he was walking on glass but knew that you needed him to be there. “I know what you’re feeling. I know you want him to pay. But this won’t fix anything. You know that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes were locked on Graham, on his smile. The gun in your hand felt so right. But there was something in Reid’s voice, something gentle, that made you waver.

You could feel his presence now, right next to you. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body that seemed to pull you in. He wasn’t backing off, wasn’t giving you space to breathe—he was there. Centered.

Reid repeated your name, his voice lower, more insistent. “You’re not him. You’re not the monster he’s trying to make you. Please.”

But you were a monster. Weren't you?

You finally tore your eyes away from Graham, the weight of your anger still pressing down on your chest. And then you saw him—Reid. His eyes weren’t filled with fear, or judgment, or pity. No, they were soft, gentle, as if he was trying to reach something deep inside of you.

He wasn’t looking at you like you were some broken thing to be fixed, or a threat to be afraid of. He wasn’t recoiling in disgust. He was looking at you like you were human. Like you mattered. Like you weren’t the monster you thought you were.

"Please," he whispered, his hand—slow, tentative—moved toward your trembling wrist. "You don’t need to do this. You are not alone."

Your breath hitched. A sob built up in your chest, hot and sharp. The rage was still there—so there—but somewhere in the flood, you felt something crack. A dam breaking. The years of holding everything back, all the hurt, the memories, the weight of a life you had never asked for, crashing down on you. You closed your eyes, and in that moment, Reid’s voice was the only thing you heard.

“I’ve got you,” he said, almost like a prayer, his fingers brushing yours, a lifeline in the chaos.

Your chest burned with the need to scream, to yell at him to stay away, to let you do what needed to be done. But instead, your hand—still holding the gun—slipped. Your fingers, raw and trembling, lost their grip, and the weapon fell to the floor with a soft, final clink.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. You stared down at the gun, a wave of dizziness crashing through you.

The urge to kill, to make him feel the same terror, the same helplessness, was gone. But in its place… there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Reid’s hand was on your arm now, guiding you, steadying you, like a shore amidst the storm. You let him pull you back, away from Graham, away from the moment you almost gave in to. You let him lead you out of the fury, out of the darkness that had almost consumed you.

Hotch kicked the gun away, and Morgan quickly cuffed Sullivan, but none of it registered. All you could hear was the thudding of your own heart in your ears, drowning out the world around you. You couldn't shake the feeling of weakness gnawing at you—how you couldn't pull the trigger, how pathetic it felt to even consider it. The shame washed over you in waves, thick and suffocating.

And then, hands were on you—Spencer’s hands. Soft, steady, and protective. They guided you, as if he could sense the storm raging inside of you, and he didn’t let go. His touch grounded you, calming the chaos, but it didn’t stop the guilt. You wanted to pull away, to hide from the vulnerability that threatened to swallow you whole, but Spencer didn’t let you. His presence was a quiet reassurance, his grip gentle yet firm, and for once, you let yourself be guided. You needed it. You needed him.

The freezing raindrops began to fall as Spencer walked you out of the building toward the waiting paramedics. Each drop felt like a sharp reminder of everything that had just happened. As the cold settled into your bones, everything hit you all at once. Your body trembled, weak and exhausted, while self-loathing thoughts swirled in your mind. You couldn't stop thinking about what you'd done—or what you had almost done.

Spencer noticed the way your body quivered, how your shoulders were bare in the downpour. Without a second thought, he draped his FBI windbreaker over you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice broken, eyes filled with regret.

Before he could reassure you—that none of this was your fault, that you hadn’t done anything wrong, that everything would be okay—one of the paramedics rushed toward you with a stretcher. In an instant, they pulled you from his arms, guiding you toward the ambulance.

Spencer cursed under his breath, the image of you in that moment burned into his mind. He knew it would stay with him for the rest of his life.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The sun bathed the park in a golden glow, its warmth fighting against the crisp breeze, making the trees shimmer with life on what the weatherman called ‘the warmest day of our winter’. Everything looked prettier at sunset. It was a beautiful day—one best spent among the laughter of children and the quiet focus of elderly chess players, their skill not only clearing your mind but offering it a rare moment of peace.

It had been two weeks since the night you almost lost control. After that, you decided to take three weeks off work—time you had spent searching for a new place, moving in, visiting your parents, and coming to the park.

"Check in five," Ethan said with a confident smile.

He was good—really good. He assessed the board with careful precision, you considered every move, from the forced plays to the controlling one's for the next move.

"I see it in four," a voice said behind you.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, but he plays with the rooks,” you said, studying the board after spotting the move Spencer had pointed out.

Ethan frowned as you moved your bishop, setting up a check he hadn’t seen yet—not until he moved his pawn.

“Check in two,” you announced.

He sighed and pushed his king piece forward. “I officially surrender because I do not remember moving my bishop there.” His confused expression made you smile. Then, he glanced behind you. “And I’m glad you finally showed up. Can’t wait to see which one of you is better.”

Spencer tensed slightly but forced a polite smile at Ethan, who had no idea what had happened between you two. And Spencer hadn’t come here looking for you—but considering the probabilities of both of you being at the same place at the same time, he wasn’t exactly surprised either.

Still, he didn’t know how to talk to you. He still felt guilty about how he had treated you in the warehouse, and you were ashamed of how you had reacted.

As Ethan walked away, Spencer took the seat across from you. Something shifted in your stomach when you noticed his hair—it was shorter now, messier, no longer brushing his shoulders. Your blood rushed at the sight.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

It was infuriating and embarrassing how impulsive you became around him. “You cut your hair.”

“Uh—yeah. My boss said I looked like I joined a boyband.” He ran a hand through it, chuckling nervously.

“I think it looks good.” Where had all the apologies you prepared for this moment gone?

He smiled softly, wishing the hair was long enough to cover his pink ears, and you looked down at the chessboard, unable to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to start over?” he asked gently.

When you looked up again, it wasn’t the board he was focused on—it was you. There was something in the way his eyes shine, the way he swallowed nervously. That’s when you realized he wasn’t just talking about the game.

So much remained unspoken. Too much. Fear and shame sat heavy between you. You had convinced yourself that no one could love someone with the monster you carried inside you. But Spencer had seen it. And somehow, he was still here, offering a way forward.

He extended his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

His skin looked soft, and you hesitated for only a second before reaching out. For the first time in weeks, physical touch didn’t make you flinch.

You smiled. “I’m Woody.” Your voice was soft but steady.

“I’ve been told you’re good at chess.” He smiled at you the way the sun warmed the park—quiet but certain.

“Well, wanna see for yourself?” You began arranging the pieces.

He did the same, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Maybe the odds suggested otherwise, and maybe you didn’t believe in destiny—but if Spencer ever confessed how he had felt inexplicably drawn to the park that day, you might just believe him.

Dostoevsky once wrote, “To love someone means to see them as God intended them to be.” And Spencer, ever the atheist and man of science, found himself willing to believe in God every time he looked into your eyes.

　　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　　　　　　　　

FINALLY MY BABYS ARE TOGETHER. the request for them are OPEN. And the series is going to take a jump in time, next time i post about them, they are going to be already together

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner @nymph0puppp @l-a-u-r-aaa @cherrygublersworld @theoceanandthestars @i-need-to-be-put-down @esposadomd <3

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blairxbear · 3 days ago

Text

Hit with a Villain’s Sex Quirk & They NEED You NOW!

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

(All readers are aged up, UA students are now Pro Heroes)

They’re desperate, aching, and the only thing that can ease their suffering… is YOU

Featuring Aged Up: Katsuki Bakugo, Tamaki Amajiki, Hitoshi Shinso, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Rikido Sato, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Katsuki Bakugo

The second the quirk hits, he stiffens, his breathing ragged.

Heat floods his body, his skin burning, muscles tense as his fingers twitch.

At first, he tries to fight it. He grits his teeth, growling, his body shaking with need.

“The fck kinda quirk is this?!”*

When he sees you, though? His restraint shatters.

Storms toward you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“Y/N… I need you. NOW.”

Doesn’t even give you a chance to tease him—his hands are on you immediately.

So desperate, so rough, so possessive.

“I don’t care what’s going on. I’m not waiting. I need you—NOW.”

Tamaki Amajiki

Poor baby is MORTIFIED.

Instantly flushes bright red, his body trembling as he fights the intense heat flooding his veins.

His entire body feels like it’s on fire, his mind foggy, his skin overly sensitive.

Covers his face with his hands, breathing heavily.

“N-No, this… I-I c-can’t…”

The moment you touch him, even just placing a gentle hand on his arm?

He shudders, whimpering, his breath hitching as his body reacts.

Tries to hold back, tries to be respectful, but he’s losing control fast.

“P-Please… Y/N… I—I need you… I can’t t-take it…”

Completely desperate, clinging to you, burying his face against your neck.

Hitoshi Shinso

Staggers when the quirk hits, immediately groaning as heat pools low in his stomach.

Tries to act cool about it, but his body betrays him.

His hands grip whatever is closest, his breathing getting heavier as his pupils dilate.

“Sht… this is bad…”*

When he sees you, his control completely shatters.

“Y/N… I need you. Right now.”

He doesn’t care where you are—he’s dragging you somewhere private immediately.

Voice is lower, raspier, completely wrecked with need.

“Please, don’t make me beg.”

Eijiro Kirishima

Gasps when the quirk hits, stumbling slightly as his body reacts.

His hands clench into fists, his breathing ragged.

At first, he tries to shake it off, grinning nervously.

“Ha… ha… wow, uh… I think something’s wrong…”

Then it gets worse. The ache deepens, and suddenly, nothing else matters except YOU.

Finds you as fast as he can, panting, his hands shaking as he grips your shoulders.

“Babe… I don’t think I can—”

His usual restraint is GONE. He’s all needy, desperate, primal desire.

“Please, I need you. NOW.”

Mezo Shoji

The second the quirk hits, he stiffens, all six arms trembling as he gasps sharply.

His entire body feels like it’s burning from the inside out.

His self-control is legendary, but even HE is struggling.

His hands grip the nearest surface, fingers digging in as he fights to stay upright.

“I… I don’t know how much longer I can…”

When he sees you, everything clicks.

His instincts scream for you, his restraint slipping as his entire body begs for relief.

Slowly approaches, his voice strained and breathless.

“Y/N… I need you.”

Fumikage Tokoyami

Dark Shadow immediately panics.

“Uh, boss? You okay? You’re looking kinda… HOT.”

His whole body is tense, shuddering with need as he struggles to stay composed.

His usual calm demeanor? Completely shattered.

Grips onto the nearest surface, his breathing heavy and controlled.

“This… this is unbearable…”

When he sees you, his control is gone.

Dark Shadow snickers. “Ohhh, I see what’s happening. You need your mate, huh?”

You barely get a word in before he’s pulling you close, his voice low and urgent.

“Help me, Y/N. I need you.”

Rikido Sato

Groans immediately, his entire body stiffening as the quirk washes over him.

His hands clench into fists, his breath coming out in short, shaky gasps.

He’s used to handling intense physical strain, but THIS? This is a whole different challenge.

His body feels heavy, hot, aching for you.

When he finally finds you, he grips your waist tightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I— I don’t know how much longer I can hold on…”

Completely desperate, pressing himself against you.

“I need you, babe. Right now.”

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Grunts when the quirk hits, shaking his head as heat floods his body.

His entire body aches with need, and he groans loudly.

“O-Okay… this is… wow, this is bad.”

Tries to act tough, but he’s struggling.

His steel skin is practically radiating heat, his fingers twitching at his sides.

The moment he sees you? He sprints to you, grabbing your wrist with a desperate grip.

“Babe— I NEED you. Now. Please.”

His usual competitive nature is gone—he’s completely at your mercy.

106 notes · View notes

rubylace · 3 days ago

Text

PART 1. FIRST SUMMERS

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f) updated hybe idols . yeonjun txt, yunjin lsrfm, nagyung fromis9

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic, lovehate

wordcount: 37k (the longest I've ever made istg)

warning: harsh words

a/n: I'm using his real identity, to stay realistic bc it also has to do with his favorite lover - guitar. so don't put it to heart the bad side fyi I dare not be jealous ok love ya 𖹭

A car nearly hit you as you practically floated across the street in a daze after leaving the attorney's office. All these years, you’d tried so hard not to think about him. Now, he was all you could think about. Flashes of him invaded your mind. His dark hair, his laughter, the strum of his guitar, the deep sadness and disappointment in his gorgeous eyes the last time you saw him 9 years ago.

You was never supposed to face him again, let alone own a house with him. Living with Jay was not an option, even if just for the summer. It was probably more like there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jay was going to agree to share a house with you. Whether you liked it or not, though, the beach house in Newport was common property now. Not yours. Not his. Fifty-fifty.

“What the hell was Ameryn thinking?” You’d always known she cared deeply about him, but there was no way you could have predicted the extent of her generosity. He wasn’t even related to you, but she’d always thought of him as her grandson. You picked up your phone and scrolled down to Nagyung’s name. When she picked up, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Where are you?” you asked.

“On the west side. Why?”

“Can you meet up? I really need to talk to someone.”

“Are you okay?”

Your mind went blank before slowly filling again with fragmented thoughts of Jay. Your chest tightened. He hated you. You’d avoided him for so long, but you was really going to have to face him now. Nagyung’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, where are you again?”

“Meet me at the falafel place. We’ll have an early dinner and talk about whatever is going on.”

“Okay. See you in ten.”

Nagyung was a fairly new friend, so she knew little about your childhood or teen years. You taught together at a local charter school in Providence. You had taken today off to meet with your grandmother’s attorney, the smell of cumin and dried mint saturated the air inside of the fast food Nagyung waved from a corner booth, a piled-high styrofoam container of tahini covered chicken kabobs and rice already planted in front of her.

“You’re not gonna get anything to eat?” she asked with her mouth full, a dollop of yogurt sauce coated the side of her mouth.

“No. I’m not hungry. Maybe I’ll take something to go on the way out. I just needed to talk.”

“What is going on?” your throat felt parched.

“Actually, I need something to drink first. Hang on.” The room felt like it was swaying as you made your way to the refrigerator by the counter and returning from purchasing a bottle of water, you sat down and let out a deep breath. “I got some pretty crazy news today at the lawyer's office.”

“Okay…”

“So, obviously you know I went there because my grandmother passed away a month ago.”

“Yes.”

“I was just meeting with the attorney to go over her estate turns out she left me all of her jewelry and half of her summer house on Aquidneck Island.”

“What? The beautiful house in that picture on your desk?”

“Yeah. That’s the one. We’d always go there a lot in the summer when I was younger, but in recent years, she’d rented it out. The property had been in her family for generations. It’s older, but it’s beautiful and overlooks the water.”

“Y/n, that’s amazing. Why do you seem so upset?”

“Well…she left the other half to a guy named Jay Park.”

“Who is that?”

“He was just a boy I grew up with. My Ameryn took care of him while his parents worked. Jay’s house was on one side, mine was on the other, and Ameryn’s was in the middle.”

“So, he was kind of like a brother to you?”

“We were close for many years.”

“From the look on your face, I get the feeling that something changed?”

“You’d be right.”

“What happened?”

There was no way you could handle rehashing it all. Today had already been too much for you to absorb. You would give her a shorter version.

“Basically, I found out he was keeping something from me. And I freaked out. I’d rather not get into it. But let’s just say I was fifteen at the time and having a really hard time handling my hormones and my issues with my mother. I made a rash decision to move away and live with my dad.”

Swallowing the pain, you said, “I left everything behind in Providence and moved to New Hampshire.”

Thankfully, Nagyung didn’t pry as to what the secret was. That wasn’t the issue you needed to talk about today. It was more important for her to help you figure out your next step than for you to be opening old wounds.

“So, you basically ran away from it all rather than dealing with it.”

“Yeah. Ran away from my problems…and from Jay.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“After I left, there were several months where there was no contact. I felt so guilty about the way I handled things. I did eventually try to see him and apologize once I came to my senses, but by then it was too late. He didn’t want to see me or talk to me..”

“..I can’t say I blamed him. He’d moved on, got in with a different crowd and then eventually moved to New York soon after graduating high school. We just completely lost touch, but he stayed in contact with Ameryn apparently. She was like a second mom to him.”

“Do you know what’s become of him?”

“I haven’t looked him up. I’ve always been too scared to find out.”

“Well, we need to take care of that right now.” She put down her fork and dug inside her purse for her phone.

“Whoa? what are you doing?”

“You know I’m a self-proclaimed professional stalker.”

Nagyung smiled. “I’m looking him up on Insta. Jay Park, you said his name was? And he lives in NYC?”

Covering your eyes. “I can’t look. I won’t look. There are probably hundreds of guys named Jay Park out there anyway. You probably won’t find him.”

“What does he look like?”

“The last time I saw him, he was 16, so I’m sure he doesn’t look the same. He has messy hair, though.”

He was really cute. You can still see his face like it was yesterday. You could never forget it. Nagyung was reading aloud information for the different Jay popping up on Instagram. Nothing stood out until she said, “Jay Park, New York, musician at BAM Acoustic Guitar.”

Your heart dropped, and to your surprise, you could feel tears trying to fight their way through your eyelids. The emotions rising to the surface so fast were unsettling.

It was as if he’d come back from the dead. “What did you just say? Works where?”

“Just In Time Acoustic Guitar? Is that him?” The words wouldn’t come out, so you stayed silent, pondering the name it was the same one he’d always used even as a kid playing guitar on your street corner.

“That’s him,” you finally conceded.

“Oh my God, Y/n!”

Your heart started to pound faster. “What?”

“This guy is…”

“What? Tell me,” you practically yelled before downing the rest of your water.

“He’s gorgeous. Absolutely freaking gorgeous.” Covering your face, you said, “Please don’t tell me that.”

“Take a look.”

“I can’t.”

Before you could refuse again, Nagyung shoved the phone in front of your face. It shook in your hands as you took it. From what you could see in the one photo, he was beautiful just like you remembered, but at the same time, really different. Grown up.

He was wearing a gray beanie and had a fair amount of chin scruff that he was never able to grow when you knew him. In the profile pic, he was leaning into a guitar and looked like he was about to sing into a microphone. The look on his face was intense and gave you the chills. When you went to click on the other photos, it wouldn’t let you in because his profile was set to private.

Nagyung reached out for the phone. “He’s a musician?”

“I guess so,” you said, handing it back to her.

You muttered to yourself. ‘He used to write songs for me.’

“Are you going to contact him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I don’t even know what to say to him. Whatever is meant to happen will happen. I’ll end up having to talk to him eventually. I’m just not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

“How exactly is this housing arrangement going to work anyway?”

“Well, the attorney gave me a set of keys and told me that another set was sent to Jay. Both of our names will be on the deed. Ameryn also set aside some money to be used for house repairs and maintenance to the property during the off season. I’m assuming he’s been made aware of all of the same info.”

“You don’t want to sell the house, right?”

“No way. There are too many memories, and it meant so much to Ameryn. I’m going to use it this summer and then maybe eventually rent it out if he agrees to it.”

“So, you have no idea how he plans to use his half? You’re just going to show up there in a few weeks, and if he’s there, he’s there, and if he’s not, he’s not?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

*****

At 24, you was single again and starting a new life in Newport for the summer. Your teaching job in Providence afforded you summers off. Your hope was to find a temporary job for the season, but for now, you just wanted to enjoy a few weeks of relaxation.

Returning from downtown Newport with your bag of crustaceans one night, you noticed that the front door to the house was wide open.

“Did I forget to lock it? Was it the wind?” your heartbeat accelerated when you entered the kitchen to find a tall, leggy chick with short, cropped platinum blonde hair. She looked was stocking the cabinets. You cleared your throat.

“Hello?” She turned around before covering her chest.

“Oh my god. You scared me.”

Walking over to you smiling, she held out her hand. “I’m Yunjin”

With fine features, high cheekbones and that pixie cut, Yunjin could have been a model. You was the complete opposite from her physically with your long and dark hair, and curvy figure.

“I’m Y/n. Who are you?”

“I’m Jay's girlfriend.”

“Oh…I see. Where is he?”

“He just went to the market and the liquor store.”

“How long have you been here?”

“We just arrived about an hour ago.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Not sure really. We’re just gonna see where the summer takes us. Neither of us were expecting this development..you know, the house.”

“Yeah, I know.” You looked down at the French-manicured toes peeking out of her heels.

“Do you work?”

“I’m an actress, actually on Broadway. Off Broadway for now. I’m in between jobs, but I’ll probably be going back and forth to New York for auditions. What do you do?”

“I’m a middle school teacher. So, I get the summers off.”

“Oh, that’s really cool.”

“Yeah. It’s fun.”

“Where does Jay work?”

“He works from home right now. He sells software. He can work from anywhere. He also performs. You know he’s a musician, right?”

“Actually, I don’t know much about him anymore.”

“What happened between you two anyway? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He’s never told you anything about me?”

“Just that you grew up together and that you’re Mrs. A’s granddaughter. Honestly, he never mentioned you at all until we got that letter from the attorney.”

Even that was expected, it made you sad. “That’s no surprise.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Did you guys ever date?”

“No. It was nothing like that. We were just good friends, but we drifted apart after I moved away.”

“I see. This whole thing is a little weird, right? I mean, inheriting a house like this out of nowhere?”

“Well, my grandma was very generous, and she loved Jay very much. My mom is her only child, and she loved Jay like a grandson, so—”

“Your grandma left the house to you and not your mom?”

“Mom and her had a bit of a falling out some years ago. Thankfully, they made amends before she died, but things were never really the same again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

Yunjin opened her arms to pull you into a casual hug. “Well, I really hope we can be friends. It will be nice to have a girl around to shop with, check out the island.”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“I hope you’ll have dinner with us tonight?” You wasn’t ready to face him. You needed to make up a story and get out of here. “Actually, probably not tonight. I’d better be leaving.”

“That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” a deep voice you hardly recognized interrupted you from behind.

“What’s that?” you asked, swallowing nervously and refusing to turn around to look at him.

“Leaving,” he said louder. “That’s what you’re good at.”

Your breathing was ragged, but it was when you turned around that you nearly lost it. Jay was standing in front of you, and you swear it was like the boy you’d left behind had been swallowed up by a lean mass of muscle.

He just looked so different from what you remembered years ago. The anger on his face was transparent and somehow made him even more incredibly hot. It just would have been better if it weren’t directed toward you. His skin was a beautiful shade of bronze that complemented the natural golden streaks in his dark hair.

The smooth face you remembered was now rough. A rope and barb wire tattoo wrapped around his bicep. He was wearing camouflage cargo shorts with a tight white ribbed tank that hugged his chiseled chest. An indeterminate amount of time passed as you just took him in. Even though you was too stunned to say anything, your heart was screaming.

You knew deep down your reaction wasn’t just because of your physical attraction to him. It was because despite all of the changes, one thing had stayed exactly the same. His eyes. They reflected the same hurt that you remembered from the very last time you saw him. His name finally managed to roll off your tongue. “Jay…”

“Yes.” The deep, throaty sound of his voice vibrated through you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I have?” he sneered.

“Well, I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“You’ve overestimated your significance to me. Of course, I was going to come. This is half my house.”

His words stung. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just, I hadn’t heard anything from you.”

“Interesting how that goes.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the sparring, Yunjin cleared her throat. “I was just asking Y/n if she wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Maybe you guys can catch up.”

“Apparently, she already has plans.” You turned to him.

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’re holding a bag that smells like dirty snatch?”

“It’s fresh seafood.”

“Doesn’t smell very fresh to me.”

“God. We haven’t seen each other in five years, and this is how you act?”

You turned to Yunjin. “Is he always this rude?” Before she could answer, he cracked, “I guess you bring it out in me.”

“You think Ameryn would be happy right now with your attitude? Something tells me she didn’t leave us this house so that we could fight with each other.”

“She left us both this house because we each meant something to her that doesn’t mean we have to mean anything to each other. Anyway, if you cared so much about what she thought maybe you shouldn’t have run away.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“The truth hurts, I guess.”

“I tried to contact you, Jay. I–”

“I’m not talking about this now, Y/n.” He said, speaking through gritted teeth. “It’s old news.”

It was unnerving to hear him to calling the name like that. Aside from the very first day you’d met, he’d always called you Patch or Patchy. Hearing your name come out of his mouth felt like a slap in the face for some reason, like he was trying to emphasize how much you’d grown apart.

Jay went from hot to cold as he shut down, heading back outside to retrieve the groceries from his car but not before slamming the door behind him. You shuddered, looking over at Yunjin whose eyeballs were moving back and forth from side to side in confusion. “Well, that was a nice start,” you joked.

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen him act like that toward anyone to be honest. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Believe it or not, I probably deserve it.”

The only thing worse than the rude reception he’d given you was his blatantly ignoring you during dinner and for the rest of that night. That hurt more than anything he could have ever said to you. You thought the evening was horrible, lack of sleep assured that the next morning was even worse. Apparently, Jay found a way to take out his anger by taking it out on Yunjin.

Let’s just say playing guitar wasn’t the only talent he’d fully developed over time. Yunjin's moaning in the middle of the night as Jay pounded into her woke you up in the middle of the night. The walls literally shook, it was impossible to go back to sleep after that.

You tossed and turned your thoughts alternating between rehashing Jay's words to you from earlier to imagining what that scene in the other room actually looked like.

You used the opportunity to admire his stature and the flawless skin of his defined, shirtless back. Black gym pants hugged his beautifully round a**. You never realized how incredible his a** was. Your physical attraction to him really irked me under the circumstances, but that didn’t stop you from checking him out.

Squinting, you unsuccessfully tried to figure out what it was. He startled you when he suddenly turned around and met you with an incendiary stare. “Do you always ogle people when you think they can’t see you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “How did you know I was standing here?”

“I could see your reflection in the window, genius.”

“You didn’t even flinch. I didn’t think you noticed me.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you or something? Because you’re doing a pretty damn good job.”

Jay didn’t answer your question. Instead, he just turned back around toward the window.

“Why do you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Say things to piss me off then shut down?”

He continued to speak to the window, “Would you rather I just continue to piss you off? I’m trying to get my anger in check with you, Y/n. You should be happy I know when to stop unlike some people.”

“Will you at least look at me when you’re talking to me?”

He turned around and walked toward me slowly then leaned his face in. You could feel his words on my lips when he asked, “Is this better? You’d rather me in your face like this?” you could practically taste his breath.

Your entire body felt weak from the close contact, so you backed away. “I didn’t think so,” he snarled. You walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, pretending to look for something. It annoyed you that your peaceful mornings were a thing of the past.

“You always get up this early?” you asked.

“I’m a morning person.”

“I can see that so bright and cheery,” you said, sarcastically.

“Some of us need sleep, though.”

“I slept just fine last night.”

“Oh, I know after you traumatized me. You must have passed out after all that screwing could you two have been any louder last night?”

“Well, excuse me. If I can’t f*ck in my own house where do you expect me to do it?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. Just be more respectful.”

“Define respect.”

“Doing it quietly.”

“Sorry. I don’t f*ck quietly.”

As much as you hated that answer, you somehow felt that those words would be repeating in your head later tonight.

“Forget it. Clearly, you don’t know the meaning of respect.”

“Respect you? Why? Because you’re not getting laid? Why don’t you hook up with some salty dude down at the dock? Maybe then you won’t care so much about other people’s business.”

“Salty dude?”

“Yeah. You know, the guys that live on the boats the ones who sell you that nasty fish you were eating last night.”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes, refusing to dignify that comment with a response. He surprised you when he suddenly lifted the carafe. “Want some coffee?”

“Now you’re being nice?”

“No, I just figured you’re sticking around for some reason. It must be the coffee.”

“This is my kitchen.”

He winked. “Our kitchen.” Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, he asked, “How do you take yours?”

“Cream and sugar.”

“I’ll take care of it while you go put on a bra.”

You looked down at your b**bs which were hanging freely beneath your white t-shirt not expecting to run into him this early, you hadn’t thought to put one on. Too embarrassed to acknowledge the fact that he’d noticed, you went back to your room and got dressed when you returned he was back at the window drinking his coffee.

“Is this better?” you asked, referring to your dress. He turned around and gave you a once over.

“Define better. If better means I can’t see your tits anymore…yes, it’s better. If better, means you look better, that’s debatable.”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It looks like you sewed it yourself.”

“Actually, it’s from one of the shops on the island. It is handmade.”

“Out of a potato sack?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe?”

He snickered. “Your coffee’s on the counter, raggedy ann.”

Your inclination was to try to come up with a comeback but then you realized that was probably what he wanted, you needed to kill him with kindness instead of showing your anger. “Thank you. That was nice of you to make it for me.”

You took a sip and immediately spit it out. “What did you put in this? It’s so strong!”

Instead of answering you, he just started to crack up. His laughter resonated through the kitchen and as much as you hated that it was at your expense, it was the first time he’d laughed. It took you back in time for a moment and served as the only real reminder that the smoking hot a**hole in front of you used to be your bestfriend.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s a bit strong. What is it?”

“It’s coffee fusion, actually.”

“What does that even mean?”

Jay sauntered over to the cabinet and took out a can and a package. “It’s my own recipe. Cuban coffee mixed with this one.” He pointed to the black packaging that had a white skull and crossbones on it.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s coffee. I order it online. Nothing else is caffeinated enough for me.”

“That’s why you wanted to serve it to me, wasn’t it? You knew I’d hate this concoction.”

He simply let out that raspy laugh of his again, except this time, he was laughing way harder than before. Yunjin entered the kitchen, wearing a long black t-shirt that must have been the one he wasn’t wearing.

“What’s so funny?” Jay's mischievous eyes peeked from behind his mug.

He snickered. “We were just having coffee.”

Yunjin shook her head. “You didn’t drink his mud, did you? I don’t know how he likes that stuff.” You reminded yourself of your plan to kill him with kindness. Taking another sip of the coffee, you nodded.

“Actually, at first taste, it was pretty strong, but I actually think I really like it.” It was disgusting.

“You’d better be careful. That sh*t is potent. Jay is immune to it, but the one and only time I drank it, it kept me up for like four days.”

Jay laughing. “Apparently, we kept Y/n up last night.”

Yunjin turned to you. “Oh, sh*t. I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, you said, “It’s no big deal. I got used to it after a while.”

“Was that when you decided you wished you could join in?” he cracked.

You wasn't going to respond to that. The more you looked over at his smug expression, the more determined yoi became to finish the entire damn mug of coffee to spite him. “I’m really surprised at how much I’m actually liking this,” lied.

Yunjin chose to ignore Jay's earlier comment. “What do you say after breakfast we head to town, Y/n? I’d love it if you could show me around the island.”

“Alright. That would be nice.”

She walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “You want to come with us, babe?”

Jay said before finishing off the last of his coffee and putting the cup in the sink. “No. I have sh*t to do,”

“Okay. Just the girls then.”

The coffee had turned you into a spaz. As Yunjin and you walked around Newport that morning, she kept having to tell you to slow down. Apparently, in her heels, she couldn’t keep up with you. At one point later in the afternoon, you stopped to rest your legs. Yunjin and you sat on a wooden bench overlooking the dozens of docked sailboats as the sun shined over the water.

“So, how did you and Jay meet?” you asked.

“I was in the audience at this club called Showbox in Seattle, Jay was performing there that night. He was eyeing me the whole time he was singing and after the show, he came to find me. When he said he was thinking of me while he was singing the last song, I nearly died. We’ve been inseparable since.”

Your face felt hot. You wasn’t willing to admit to yourself that it was jealousy. The thought of them connecting so intimately while he was in the middle of performing made you uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe because it reminded you of the songs he used to write for you. You’d think nothing would bother you after having to endure their f*cking last night.

“What kind of music does he play now?”

“Well, he does some covers of artists like Drake, but he also writes a lot of original stuff. He mostly plays clubs, but his manager has been trying to get him a music deal. Of course, the girls all go crazy over him. That part has taken some getting used to for me.”

“I’m sure it’s hard.”

“Yeah. Big time.” She tilted her head. “What about you? No boyfriend?”

“I just got out of a relationship.” You confide in her as if she were just a normal friend to you.

On the way home, you passed Yeonjun’s on the Beach, a restaurant that was known for live music at night and really good food. A sign out front read, Temporary Summer Help Wanted. Since there was a university just over the bridge, a lot of the students went home in the summer, leaving some of the local restaurants in need of temporary wait staff. You stopped short in front of the entrance.

“Do you mind if I go in and inquire about this?”

“Sure. I’d actually like to check it out, too.”

Both Yunjin and you had waitressing experience so you sat down and filled out applications, by the time you walked out of there, we each had a job. The manager basically told you could work any night you wanted. The extra money and flexibility was impossible to pass up, Yunjin was particularly happy that he’d told her it was no problem if she had to suddenly cancel a shift in the event she got called back to Manhattan for an audition. You were each going to start tomorrow.

That night, Yunjin thought you should celebrate new jobs over dinner and drinks on the upper deck back at the house. It hadn’t dawned on you how peaceful being away from Jay all day had been. When you walked in the door, butterflies started to swarm in your stomach again as soon as you smelled his cologne.

Jay was standing in the kitchen drinking a beer when Yunjin ran over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jay was tall over six feet but Serim wasn’t that much shorter than him. Next to both of them, you was basically a midget. He cleaned up nice, Jay had changed out of his camouflage shorts from earlier into dark jeans and a gray shirt with black stripes that hugged his chest. He’d done something to his hair that you couldn’t pinpoint. She ran her fingers through his hair then kissed him.

“I missed you. Guess what? We both got jobs at this restaurant on the beach.”

“Did you tell them you could get called back to New York anytime?”

“The guy said it didn’t matter. He said I could basically just work whenever I want.”

“Really. That sounds a bit shady to me. But whatever. You sure he doesn’t just want in your pants, Serim?”

“He said the same thing to me,” you interrupted.

“Well, then it can’t be that.”

It took you a bit to realize that he’d just insulted you. Yunjin intercepted before you could muster up a comeback.

“It’s mild out. How about we all have dinner on the upstairs deck tonight. We could barbecue that steak I have marinating in the fridge.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t like red meat, so you just kept quiet. He would probably think you was looking for an excuse not to have dinner with them. Kill him with kindness. “I’m not that great of a cook, but I can make a big salad.”

Jay smacked the counter. “Great. I’ll start the grill while Y/n tosses her big salad.” He started to walk outside when you yelled after him.

“You know what Ameryn would say to you right now? She’d tell you to go wash your dirty mouth out with soap.”

He turned around and lifted his brow. “Soap wouldn’t cut it.”

After chopping up lettuce, carrots, red onion, tomatoes and cucumbers, you dressed the salad with homemade honey mustard vinaigrette. You carried it upstairs where Jay and her were already sitting down at the table. She had poured three glasses of merlot, and Jay was sipping one as he looked over at the waves, which were rough tonight.

Once you started eating, Jay wouldn’t look at you or make conversation. You filled your plate with salad and bread, and it took a while before anyone noticed that you wasn’t eating anything else. Yunjin’s mouth was full when she said, “You didn’t even touch the steak.”

“I don’t really like to eat meat.”

Jay chuckled. “Is that why you can’t find a man?”

You dropped your fork. “You’re a prick seriously I don’t recognize you anymore, how were we ever best friends?”

“I used to ask myself that all the time before I stopped giving a sh*t.”

You got up from the table and went downstairs. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Yunjin in and out slowly to calm yourself down, she came up quietly behind you.

“I really don’t get what’s going on between you two or why he refuses to talk about it.”

“Are you sure you guys never dated?”

“I told you, Yunjin. It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I think he should be the one to explain it to you. Honestly, I don’t know. Anything that happened before that is irrelevant now. He’s pissed because of how I handled something or just running away, that's how i survive. Let’s just go back upstairs and try to have a nice dinner.”

Back on the upper deck, Jay was stone-faced, pouring more wine into his glass. A part of you wanted to slap him across the face, but another part felt guilty that you had caused so much anger in him. He said he didn’t care, but you refused to believe he would be acting up like this if he didn’t.

You touched his arm. “Will you just talk to me?”

He whipped his arm away. “I’m over it. I’m not talking about anything.”

“Will you do it for Ameryn?”

His head flipped up, and his eyes darkened. “Stop f*cking bringing her into this. Your grandma was a wonderful woman. She was the mother I never had. She never turned her back on me like pretty much everyone else in my life. This house is a representation of your mom, which is why I’m here.”

“I’m not here because of you. You want me to talk, but what you don’t seem to understand is that I don’t have anything to say about anything that happened almost a decade ago. I’ve erased it all. It’s too late, Y/n. I don’t care if you and Yunjin become friends, alright? But don’t bother trying to get through to me because we’re not gonna be friends,”

“..you put me in a sh*t mood, and I don’t want to spend this whole summer in a sh*t mood. We’re roommates. Nothing more. Stop pretending there is something more to it. Stop pretending to like the goddamn coffee. Stop pretending everything is just great. Cut the sh*t and see things for what they are. We don’t mean anything to each other.”

He got up and took his plate. “I’m done, Yunjin. I’ll see you in the room.”

Yunjin and you sat in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of the waves crashing beneath you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Please. Don’t, okay? He’s right. Sometimes, you can’t fix things.” Despite the complacent words that had come out of your mouth, a tear fell down your cheek.

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