#I say this as a person who did get a little too into it and who genuinely really did love the first season

[from-the-owls-nest]

mhm. what if you're too broken, in too tiny pieces, even the base too shattered to rebuild from. what if there's too little good left.

*swallow* that... that probably wasn't the most helpful answer. but I know what you mean. and I don't really have a fix or anything.

*drily, like, ironically* should probably clarify that the you in that first sentence meant me and just me. so. before you get any more ideas. because of course for Me that's Different! At least for my chaos brain tangles.

[ooc: Philosophy Below. idk brain ran away with thoughts call me if u find it /silly]

*silence, thinking over the words again* I don't know. All I can hope is that - that sentence from the movie Aria likes. When we can see no future, all we can do is the next right thing. the next little ray of sunlight. the next little moment of peace.

And if none of that is possible... Wait, and hold on, and look for them, and hope they come back soon. This is just my thoughts - my little agreement with myself. I gotta try the best I can, even if the best I can is a break from trying to recover. And then I'll know that Past Me did their best for me now and that I owe it to Future me to do my best for what they might become. Even if they weren't very successful. Like deciding that however I am right now is me too, and so I am all these things and parts, the good and the rough ones, and they all together make the full me. It's these nice little shortcut across the self blaming and infighting that take a long time to work out but help wherever they hold.

But like. I think I owe it my future self to hold on, and to get through the storms. Our past selves have come such a long way, and who knows where we'll go next, what our future selves and lives might be like. So like. I do think that new paths open up all the time, possibilities. Even if the ones now are all bad, who knows where we can still go. And the only way to find out is to try, and to do our best.

*they pull out their diary, and from the front a little calendar page* Look. I... It's one of these pages I'll keep forever and ever because I need the reminder, and give to others when they might need it. I don't know if it's right. I hope so. and I think the only way to find out is to try and hold on.

For me that's enough. That, little hopes, little good moments, even just the memory of warmth and hope and the knowledge that all that was once can come again - in different forms, maybe, but it can. *turning to lay it next to Will's sneaker*

*more silence* But. Well. That's really big thoughts, and hard to see when everything is so dark. Hm. okay just to throw some thoughts out. You don't have to tell me, you don't have to think about it, just... some ideas. Little windows into that maybe, whenever you're able to look.

what do the voices say? can they maybe be talked to, or be both a little right?

is there anything you wish wouldn't stop? or come back? any little thing. ignore realism and context all that. if you were playing make-believe, your own little world, what would it look like? if you want to we can take turns. I play that game regularly cause, well, bad memory, and i probably should start again.

and... does it have to be a *bad* hurt? like. yes. you're different. stuff happened, and it changed you, and that really really hurt. you might not be the same person as before. is that a bad thing? or, you said nasty. sure. right now it's raw and painful and doesnt fit yet. but... could all these little shards grow back together and become something scarred and mended, and different?

I hope they could. I'd really miss you - not you from before, you however you are right now and however you want to be. Idk doesn't make much sense but - people if they change are still that person, right? just... changed, by a situation or because they got to know themselves better or whatever. Like Butterflies. I'd like to see the next chapter, with you if you want or just knowing there was one for you.

Image Credit @thelatestkate and her website

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ━━ Show a Little Loving

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.4K

❀ ━ warnings: detailed make out but it doesn’t go any further

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: think TATBILB

THE NEXT MORNING, Jo woke up feeling like she was in a completely different reality.

Nothing looked different—the room was the same, the dim winter light slipping through the curtains, the soft weight of the blankets tangled around her legs. The air in the cabin was cool, and the scent of coffee and something sweet, maybe cinnamon, lingered in the air from downstairs. Normal. Everything was normal.

Except for the fact that Jo was—and still is—decidedly not.

She’s never been less normal in her entire life.

Because for the first time in her entire life, she likes someone who isn’t Asher Davis.

And that someone is Paige.

When she woke up, Jo stayed frozen under the covers, trying to process it—like if she just laid there long enough, she could force her brain to make it not true. But the weight of it merely pressed down on her, undeniable, suffocating. She felt like she’d just unlocked some secret part of herself she wasn’t supposed to find, like she’d just opened a door that can’t be shut.

She spent the entire night tossing and turning, hyper-aware of every single thing Paige did.

The way Paige curled up beside her like she always does, shifting close like she’s drawn to Jo in her sleep. The way her breath tickled against Jo’s neck, steady and warm. The way she tucked her face into Jo’s shoulder, lips brushing against her skin. Jo barely slept because of it. She just laid there, rigid, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum, panicking.

And then later this morning, when they were brushing their teeth together in the tiny bathroom, Paige kept nudging her shoulder. Jo doesn’t even know if it was on purpose—Paige is like that, casual and comfortable, always touching Jo like it’s second nature—but Jo noticed. She felt it. And it was so stupid, so small, but it sent a wave of something through her, something warm and unbearable and foreign.

And now—now they’re on the ski lift, and Jo is trying so fucking hard to act normal.

It’s not going well.

Paige is sitting way closer than necessary, thighs pressed against Jo’s even though there’s a whole chunk of space open on the other side of the lift. The cold metal bar rests against their laps, and the mountains stretch out below them, snow-covered and endless, but Jo can’t focus on any of it.

She can only focus on Paige.

She doesn’t get it. Paige has always been touchy with her. They’ve shared a bed countless times, always leaned against each other, always sat too close. This isn’t new. This isn’t different. But now, it feels different. It’s like Jo’s senses have been turned all the way up, like she’s suddenly attuned to every single point of contact, like her body is tracking Paige without her permission.

And she doesn’t like it.

She shifts slightly, just enough to put some space between them, but Paige only grins and leans in closer, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re quiet,” Paige says. “Cold?”

Jo forces a shrug, not trusting her voice. She knows it’s uncharacteristic, but everything about her seems to be that way today.

Paige hums like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she doesn’t press.

Jo bites her tongue inside her mouth and stares straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the scenery, pretending her heart isn’t trying to climb out of her throat.

She cannot be weird about this.

She won’t be weird about this.

Because if Paige notices something is off, Jo has no explanation. What the hell is she supposed to say? Sorry, I just realized I have a thing for you and now I can’t function like a normal person anymore?

Absolutely not.

And worse—what if her family notices? They know her better than anyone. If she doesn’t get her shit together, they’ll realize something’s up.

Jo swallows hard, stomach twisting. She can hardly survive herself knowing this—if other people did, she doesn’t know what she’d do.

So she keeps her mouth shut, keeps her body still, and hopes to God this feeling will go away before she completely loses her mind.

And then, thankfully, they reach the top of the lift. Meaning Jo has something else to focus on.

Getting off of it on a snowboard isn’t hard, not really, but it’s definitely not something you want to mess up unless you enjoy face-planting in front of a bunch of strangers. Jo angles her board as the bench slows, pushing herself forward with practiced ease, gliding down the short slope leading away from the drop-off point. She turns just in time to watch Paige follow behind her, arms slightly outstretched, knees stiff.

Paige doesn’t fall—which is honestly impressive for a first-timer—but Jo can tell it’s more luck than skill.

They then make their way over to the side, where Jo’s family is already securing their bindings. Jo sees Paige watche, then follows suit, crouching down and clipping in her back foot like she’s done it before. For a second, Jo thinks maybe she has—that maybe she totally overestimated how difficult this was going to be.

Then Paige stands up.

And just stands there.

Jo doesn’t even have to say anything—she can see the exact moment Paige realizes she has no fucking clue what to do next.

The thing about snowboarding is that, once both feet are strapped in, there’s no casual shuffling around like with skis. You have to commit to your movements, shift your weight with intention, trust the board to follow. Paige, currently, looks like she doesn’t trust anything. She’s frozen in place, weight too evenly distributed, arms slightly hovering like she’s trying to counterbalance pure fear.

Jo’s family doesn’t notice. Of course they don’t. They’re already pushing off, racing down the slope like they forgot they just dragged a complete beginner onto what is definitely not a beginner run.

Which means it’s entirely Jo’s problem now.

Jo sighs and turns back to Paige, who immediately schools her expression into something completely nonchalant, like she wasn’t just panicking a second ago.

“I’m good,” Paige says, nodding.

Jo lifts a brow. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Paige insists, overconfident. “I ski all the time. How hard can it be?”

Jo snorts, shaking her head. “That’s like saying, ‘I can ride a bike, so how hard can a unicycle be?’”

Paige glares. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

Paige groans but doesn’t argue further, which is good, because Jo is pretty sure that if she lets her go down the slope without at least trying to teach her something first, she’s going to have a very injured best friend by the end of the day.

Which—yeah, Paige doesn’t need any more injuries.

Jo drops down onto the snow, motioning for Paige to do the same. “Okay, before you kill yourself—”

Paige sighs. “Very encouraging, thanks.”

“—I’m gonna teach you the basics.”

Paige rolls her eyes but listens as Jo explains how to shift her weight, how to stop using her heel edge, how to not immediately die the second she starts moving. She nods along like she gets it, but Jo knows she doesn’t, because when she tells her to try stopping, Paige just stares at her.

“Like this,” Jo demonstrates, digging into her heel edge and coming to a smooth stop.

Paige squints. “I don’t think my feet can do that.”

Jo gives her a look. “They can. You just have to actually try.”

Paige glares at her, then attempts it—and immediately wobbles so hard she almost eats it.

Jo bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, because she knows if she does, Paige will shove her straight into the snow.

Still, watching Paige struggle is… entertaining.

Actually, no, it’s worse than entertaining, because Jo is finding it way too endearing, and that is a problem.

But it’s hard, because Jo is stuck here watching Paige, her flushed cheeks, her concentrated little frown, the way she huffs whenever she messes up but refuses to ask for more help.

Jo has to get it together.

She clears her throat and moves on to the next part—teaching Paige the “falling leaf” technique, which goes just about as well as expected. Paige flails. A lot. She makes little frustrated noises, glares at Jo when she tries to help, insists she’s got it even when she absolutely does not have it.

Jo grins, probably too much, but she can’t help it. She’s never seen Paige like this before. Paige is good at everything—basketball, school, literally any sport she tries—but right now, she’s an absolute disaster.

And Jo finds it so ridiculously cute, it makes her chest constrict.

Why, why, why, why, why?

By the time they move on to full turns, Paige is mildly competent. She’s still wobbly, still too tense, but she starts linking her turns together, starts actually looking like she knows what she’s doing.

Jo watches her, nodding approvingly. “Look at you.”

Paige looks at her, grinning wide, blonde hair slipping out from under her beanie, flushed from the cold, happy.

And Jo—Jo feels something tight in her chest.

Something warm and annoying and confusing and—

She tears her gaze away before it turns into something worse.

Eventually, they decide Paige is ready for the slope.

Jo isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but there’s only so much practicing they can do before Paige gets impatient and wants to actually go somewhere. And Jo gets it. She does. Paige isn’t the type to sit around mastering the basics—she’d rather dive in headfirst, figure it out on the way down.

Which is how they end up at the top of the easier slope—the one Jo’s family didn’t go down.

It’s still not technically beginner-friendly, but it’ll have to do.

Jo studies Paige as she shakes out her arms, shifting her weight back and forth like she’s hyping herself up. She’s still pretending she’s not nervous, but Jo can see it in the way she breathes in deep, lips slightly parted, exhaling like she’s about to take a game-winning shot instead of just… sliding down a hill.

Jo shakes her head, telling the blonde, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Paige doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yep,” she says, sounding uncharacteristically unenthusiastic.

“Mhm,” Jo confirms.

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls on her goggles. And then she takes a final breath, gives Jo one last I’m totally calm and confident nod, then pushes off.

Jo follows immediately, ready to intervene if Paige immediately eats shit.

She doesn’t.

In fact, Paige actually does an okay job.

She’s still stiff, still a little too tense, but she’s making turns, shifting her weight properly, keeping herself upright. Jo even hears her let out a small whoop at one point, though it quickly turns into something that sounds suspiciously like a scream before she regains control again.

Jo has to laugh. “Not bad, huh?”

Paige breathes out hard. “I’m doin’ great, thank you.”

Jo grins but doesn’t argue. Paige’s balance is still shaky, but she’s improving with every turn, her confidence visibly building—until they get too close.

Jo realizes it a second too late.

She shifts left, trying to create space, but Paige is still a beginner, and she wobbles at the exact wrong time. She catches an edge, stumbling forward, and Jo barely has time to react before she gets caught in it.

“Shit—”

Then, they’re both tumbling.

Jo crashes backward into the snow with a heavy thud, the impact sending a jolt up her spine, her board kicking up powder. Paige lands right on top of her, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs.

Jo groans, blinking up at the sky for a second before lifting a gloved hand to shove her goggles up.

“Shit, bro, that hurt,” Paige mutters against her chest, fumbling with her own goggles, breath puffing out in visible clouds.

Jo exhales sharply, trying to process—not the fall, not the pain, but the fact that Paige is on top of her, head pressing into her heavily layered chest like it belongs there.

She’s too close.

Jo feels it everywhere—Paige’s weight, the warmth of her breath against the fabric of Jo’s jacket, the way her hand is braced against Jo’s sides as she tries to push up, but she’s still struggling with her goggles, fingers catching on the strap.

Jo shakes her head. “You’re a mess—”

Without thinking, she reaches up, gloved fingers brushing against Paige’s cold skin as she pushes her goggles back, slipping them up over her helmet.

Paige shakes her head a little, her other hand dropping to Jo’s side to keep herself balanced.

The world is quiet around them—just the muffled sounds of distant snowboarders, the crunch of powder under shifting weight, the occasional gust of wind.

Paige blinks down at Jo, blue eyes so blue in the snow-bright lighting, her face flushed from exertion, from the cold, maybe from something else too.

And Jo—Jo can’t look away.

Her chest tightens.

Her fingers are still against Paige’s face, and Paige isn’t moving, isn’t pulling back, just watching her with something unreadable in her expression.

Jo’s gaze flickers down—to Paige’s lips, slightly chapped but still soft, still way too close to her own.

And for a second, for one reckless, impulsive, insane second, Jo thinks about leaning in.

The thought sends a jolt through her.

She shoves it down so fast it makes her stomach churn, immediately pushing Paige off of her before she can even fully process what just happened.

“You’re too heavy to be laying on me like that,” she says, trying for humor, but the words come out a little strangled.

Paige grabs her own bearings, letting out a startled laugh, sitting up on her knees. “Hey!”

Jo rolls over, sitting up quickly, dusting snow off her sleeves, trying to act normal, trying to breathe properly, trying not to think about how she almost—

God.

She can’t do this.

PAIGE STEPS out of the bedroom, rubbing at her arms as a shiver wracks through her. She knew changing into just a t-shirt and sweatpants was a bad idea, but her sweatshirt is still damp from falling in the snow earlier, and putting it back on felt like asking for hypothermia. She’ll have to live with it, she guesses, even if the cold air nips at her skin, goosebumps rising along her forearms.

The day has been long, another one spent out on the slopes. Since Paige’s first time on a board yesterday, she’s improved tenfold, and today had been much much more enjoyable, only a few falls to round it out.

She hears movement in the kitchen as she rounds the corner, the soft clinking of mugs and the faint hum of Jo moving around.

Paige slows her steps.

Jo’s back is to her, standing at the counter, stirring something in a mug—hot chocolate, probably, based on the rich scent of cocoa that lingers in the air. The sight of Jo, standing there so effortlessly domestic, makes something warm curl low in Paige’s stomach.

Paige is used to it, at this point. It happens constantly, the unshakable heat that rises whenever Jo does literally anything. Yesterday, it had been on the slope, when Jo helped her up from the snow, when she brushed Paige’s hair out of her face, when she looked at her with something so unreadable, so intense, that Paige had felt frozen in place.

And now—now, it’s just the way Jo stands there, all soft and warm and anything but hers in the low light of the kitchen.

Paige hesitates for a second, then smirks to herself, an idea forming in her head. She moves quietly, barely making a sound as she steps up behind Jo, hands flexing at her sides, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

Then, before Jo can realize what’s happening, Paige strikes—

Cold hands pressing firmly against the back of Jo’s neck.

Jo screams.

It’s high-pitched, startled, and absolutely hilarious.

She jolts forward, nearly sloshing cocoa over the counter, then whirls around, eyes wild, before smacking Paige’s arm, sending a weak but retaliatory shove into her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” Jo yelps, voice still breathless from the shock.

Paige is cackling, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, your face—”

Jo glares at her, rubbing at the back of her neck with a dramatic shudder. “You suck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Paige grins, stepping beside her, nudging her lightly with her hip. Jo just mutters something under her breath and turns back to the counter, still grumbling as she grabs another mug and pours some hot chocolate for Paige, shoving it at her without another word.

They end up drinking together, leaning against the counter in a comfortable quiet, warmth settling between them.

Paige takes a sip of her cocoa, sighing into the comforting heat, before glancing over at Jo—only to immediately snort.

Jo blinks at her, confused. “What?”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “Joey, you got a little—”

She gestures vaguely, but Jo just frowns, not getting it, so Paige doesn’t think much before she lifts her hand, reaching out, swiping her thumb carefully across Jo’s upper lip to wipe away the hot-chocolate mustache.

And Paige—Paige really should’ve thought about what she was doing before she did it.

Because suddenly, Jo is looking at her.

Really, really looking at her.

Those wide, dark eyes staring up at Paige, so open, so deep, so endlessly fucking beautiful, and Paige’s breath catches somewhere in her throat.

Her thumb lingers at the corner of Jo’s mouth, pressing lightly into the soft skin there, and Jo doesn’t move. Paige doesn’t even think she breathes.

Her lips part, and Paige’s gaze drops, just for a second, just long enough for something unspoken to crackle between them, thick and heavy and—

The sound of footsteps breaks them apart.

Paige jolts, snatching her hand away so fast it’s almost unnatural.

Jo takes a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, stepping back, shifting away.

And then Peyton waltzes in, completely oblivious to the moment she just shattered, announcing cheerfully, “I’m making cookies, and you two are gonna be my helpers.”

Paige’s heart is still racing, and she shoots a glance at Jo, who looks… composed, somehow, like she didn’t just—like they didn’t just—

But Paige knows her.

She sees the way Jo’s fingers twitch against the mug she’s holding, the way her jaw clenches just slightly, the way her shoulders are drawn just a little too tight.

And Paige knows.

Whatever that was—Jo felt it too.

It doesn’t really undo anything in Paige like it should. Because, recently, things have just been like that. It’s weird.

Paige swallows hard, turning back to Peyton with a too-easy grin. “Oh, yeah, we’ll totally help.”

Jo lets out a quiet laugh beside her, and when Paige glances over, she finds her smirking too, They both know they’ll be no help—if anything, they’ll be a nuisance, eating all of the dough before Peyton can even put it in the oven.

For now, the tension’s been almost buried under something playful, something safe.

But still—Paige knows.

She felt it.

And no matter how hard Jo tries to act normal, no matter how hard Paige tries to shove it down—

It’s still there.

JO LEAVES Mia’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her as she rakes a hand through her hair. The faint scent of strawberry-scented hair chalk clings to her hoodie, and her fingertips are slightly stained pink and blue from helping Mia color streaks into her light brown hair. It had been cute, how excited she was about it—sitting cross-legged on the bed, practically vibrating with energy as Jo carefully twisted sections of her hair and dragged the chalk down in soft strokes.

Jo’s family does their gifts on Christmas Eve—Jo’s parents are firm believers in the magic of sleeping in on Christmas morning, rather than waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents—and tonight, was just the same as always. The living room had been a mess of ripped wrapping paper and scattered boxes just an hour ago, Jo and her sisters laughing over their gifts, their parents watching with fond amusement. Paige had fit into it like she belonged there, pressed beside Jo for the entirety of it.

Jo frowns slightly as she steps into the hallway, suddenly aware of the quiet that’s settled over the cabin. It had been loud earlier—Peyton arguing with their dad over the rules of a board game, Mia showing off her new gifts, Christmas music playing softly in the background—but now, it’s peaceful. Dim lighting, the distant hum of conversation from the living room. She wonders where Paige went.

She heads toward the kitchen, where her mom is finishing up the last of the dishes, running water humming over the faint clatter of plates. “Where’s P?” Jo asks, leaning against the doorway.

Her mom doesn’t even glance up as she says, “Oh, I think she went out to the hot tub.”

Jo nods, but her chest tightens, just a little.

She turns on her heel and makes her way to the room she and Paige are sharing, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She exhales, standing still for a moment, debating.

She thinks about joining Paige. Thinks that it’s normal for best friends to do that, to sit in the hot tub together after a long day, soak in the warmth and relax. But she also knows herself, and she knows the way her thoughts have been slipping these last few days, the way she catches herself looking at Paige for too long, noticing things she shouldn’t be noticing. She knows that if she goes out there, if she lets herself be alone with Paige like that, she might not be able to control the way her mind wanders.

Whatever, she decides. She wants to get in the hot tub.

So, she grabs the bikini she packed, changing quickly before wrapping herself in a towel. The air in the cabin is warm, but she knows the second she steps outside, the mountain air will cut through her like a blade. Still, she forces herself forward, padding toward the back deck, bare feet light against the wood floor.

When she opens the back door, the cold hits her immediately, biting at her exposed skin. She shivers, hissing, “Shit, it’s freezing out here.”

Paige startles slightly, turning her head. She’s sitting in the hot tub alone, the water bubbling gently around her, steam rising in wisps. Her eyes catch the deck light for a second, flickering bright, and she huffs a quiet laugh. “It’s warmer in here.”

Jo rolls her eyes, setting her towel down on a nearby chair. “Oh, really?” she says, sarcastic, before stepping into the hot tub.

And then her gaze fully lands on Paige, and—well, fuck.

She looks good.

It’s not like Jo hasn’t seen Paige in a sports bra, in oversized sweats, in all kinds of casual, effortless outfits. But this is different. Her blonde hair is down, slightly wavy, damp at the ends. Her bikini is turquoise, standing out against her skin, making her eyes even more blue in the soft deck lighting. And—shit, Jo shouldn’t be looking—her biceps. Jo knows she���s been training through her ACL recovery, knows she’s been getting stronger, but she hasn’t let herself really notice until now. Hasn’t let herself register the way Paige’s arms look, the lean muscle in her shoulders. And then there’s the cross chain hanging at her collarbone, resting against her skin, catching just enough light to make it glint faintly.

Jo swallows hard, forcing herself to look away, sinking into the water as she exhales. The warmth is immediate, a contrast to the crisp night air, and she tries to focus on that instead of the low, lazy grin Paige is giving her.

“You finally decided to join me,” Paige murmurs, shifting slightly, the water rippling around her.

Jo smirks, because it’s easier than letting anything real show. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d get lonely.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, stretching her arms along the edge of the hot tub, tilting her head back slightly. Jo catches herself staring at the curve of her throat, the faint glisten of water against her collarbone, and quickly looks away.

This is fine.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice the way Jo’s whole body is too tight, too aware, too much as she leans back against the edge of the hot tub. Instead, she shifts slightly, gaze flickering away from Jo, looking out toward the mountains. Jo follows her line of sight, letting herself focus on the view instead of the heat curling in her stomach, the undeniable feeling of wanting something she isn’t supposed to want.

The view really is something.

The mountains stretch high and dark against the night sky, the peaks dusted with snow, the stars scattered above them like someone spilled glitter across the horizon. The air is sharp with the scent of pine and frost, the only sounds the occasional distant rustle of wind through trees and the soft bubbling of the water around them. Jo’s been coming here since she was a kid, since before she could even really appreciate how incredible it was. It never gets old.

Paige exhales, voice quiet, almost reverent. “It’s kinda perfect here.”

Jo glances at her again, at the way the dim deck lights reflect in her eyes, making them almost glow. And for a second, Jo doesn’t think she’s talking about the view at all.

“Yeah,” Jo agrees, looking away, looking anywhere else. “It is.”

Silence settles between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Jo tries to let herself relax into it, but then she hears the shift of water, the subtle movement before she feels it—before she realizes that Paige is moving closer to her.

She tenses before she can stop herself, her fingers curling under the water.

And then Paige is looking at her again, something soft in her gaze, something almost vulnerable, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should. It’s a rare look for Paige, whose confidence is as natural as breathing, who always seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Paige says, and her voice is quiet but serious, enough that it throws Jo off for a second.

Jo swallows, holding eye contact with her for a long moment before looking down at the water, watching the way the steam curls off the surface. Her face suddenly feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the hot tub. “Well, it’s not like I’d ever let you stay at campus by yourself on Christmas,” she murmurs.

Paige tilts her head slightly, considering that. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “but a lot of people wouldn’t have just let someone tag along with their family for the holidays.”

Jo looks up again, furrowing her brows, because the way Paige says it—like she was expecting Jo not to invite her—rubs her the wrong way. “You’re not just any someone, though, P,” she says, voice firm. “You’re my—”

She stops short, the words catching in her throat, because—well…

She doesn’t actually know what this is anymore.

She’s never let herself think too hard about it, about the way they slipped into each other’s lives so fast, like gravity pulling them together. Her roommate, her teammate, her best friend. But none of those words feel right for this, for the way her heart is hammering, for the way Paige is looking at her.

Paige shifts closer still, the movement rippling through the water, stealing the air from Jo’s lungs.

“Hm?” Paige hums, like she’s waiting for Jo to finish.

Jo forces herself to breathe, gripping the edge of seat in the hot tub just to have something to do with her hands. She exhales sharply, shaking her head once, barely. “You’re just—my person,” she settles on, because best friend doesn’t suit the way her pulse is thrumming, doesn’t suit the way her entire body is tuned into Paige’s every shift, every breath.

She makes eye contact again, and—Paige isn’t looking at her eyes anymore.

She’s looking at Jo’s lips.

That’s definitely not something best friends do.

Jo’s stomach flips violently, her entire body going stiff with tension, with awareness, with want. Paige’s gaze flickers back up, just for a second, and Jo swears she sees something shift in her expression—like realization, like something clicking into place, like maybe, maybe she’s been thinking about this just as much as Jo has.

The air between them is heavy, electric, charged with something neither of them are saying.

And then it snaps all at once when Paige shifts even closer, so close Jo can feel the faintest brush of her knee against hers under the water, and Paige says, “Jo?”

It’s quiet, almost hesitant, and it’s the first time Jo has ever heard Paige say her name like that, like it means something more.

It undoes her completely.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t even hesitate.

She just moves.

Leans in instead of pulling away, lets her eyes flicker shut as she presses her lips to Paige’s, her heart slamming against her ribs.

And Paige—Paige doesn’t pull away.

Paige kisses her back.

It’s soft at first, like they’re both testing the waters, and Jo melts into it, lets herself get lost in the warmth of it. Paige’s lips are soft, gentle against hers, and Jo feels like she could drown in the way Paige tilts her head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

And then—something shifts.

The hesitation begins to fade. Paige moves in closer, her hands finding the skin of Jo’s waist under the water, and Jo exhales shakily against the blonde’s mouth because oh.

Paige kisses like she plays basketball—effortless, confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she’s taking her time memorizing Jo, mapping her out piece by piece. Jo barely has time to process it before her body reacts on instinct, her fingers reaching out, finding Paige’s shoulders, gripping just tight enough to keep her as close as possible.

The heat between them rises, spreading through Jo’s chest, making her lightheaded. She’s hasn’t felt something like this in a long time—if ever, really. This dizzying, overwhelming need. She can’t remember if it was ever like this was Asher. Jo was always just so used to him—but Paige… Paige is entirely different.

Paige kisses fast yet slow, soft yet rough, the perfect mix. She shifts again, pressing in closer, and Jo can’t help but chase her, tilting her head, her fingers slipping up from Paige’s shoulders to thread into damp blonde hair. Paige makes a soft, pleased sound against her lips, and Jo swears she feels it all the way down to her toes.

Jo’s needy now, desperate in a way that catches her off guard, but she hardly finds it in herself to care. She tightens her grip on Paige, her nails digging into her scalp, pulling her impossibly closer because it’s still not enough.

Jesus fuck, Paige is a good kisser.

The blonde lets Jo take control for a moment, lets Jo press her back against the edge of the hot tub, but then—just as quickly—Paige is taking the lead again. Her grip on Jo’s waist tightens, fingers pressing into slick, warm skin as she shifts them, pulling Jo forward, guiding her onto her lap. Jo’s breath stutters as her bare thighs press against Paige’s, her knees pressing into the edge of the seat on either of Paige’s hips.

Paige’s grip is firm, her touch sure and steady in a way that makes Jo’s skin feel like it’s burning.

She should say something, do something, anything other than let out the small, helpless sound that slips past her lips as Paige pulls her in tighter.

But she does. And Paige hears it.

And something about it—about that quiet, desperate little noise—seems to spur Paige on, because then she’s tilting her head, chasing Jo’s lips again, capturing them in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. Her tongue slips into Jo’s mouth, licking around, and Jo inhales sharply at it.

Jo’s mind is a mess, spinning wildly, but all she can focus on is this—Paige, the way she tastes, the way she feels, the way every press of her lips, every swipe of her tongue, sends electricity straight through Jo’s veins.

The second Paige’s lips leave hers, Jo almost whimpers at the loss.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as moves beneath her, her lips ghosting away from Jo’s mouth, trailing down, down, down—until they’re pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sharp line of her jaw.

Jo swears she forgets how to breathe, her hand tightening in Paige’s hair, half-gripping her chain, as well.

Paige doesn’t stop. She presses a kiss to the spot just beneath Jo’s ear, and Jo shudders, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. She can feel the heat of Paige’s breath against her skin, feel the way Paige’s lips part just enough for her tongue to sweep out.

Paige’s hands grip onto the skin of Jo’s waist before one begins to slide up, fingertips tracing Jo’s spine before settling firmly at the back of Jo’s neck, holding her in place. Paige’s other hand trails from her hip, down to the curve of Jo’s ass, palming and kneading it in a way that makes the brunette feel the need to clench her thighs together—anything to relieve the ache growing between them.

Instead, she makes a noise—something soft and high-pitched, something that she doesn’t even realize she’s made until Paige reacts to it.

Paige groans a little, exhaling sharply, her lips nipping along the column of Jo’s throat, her tongue sweeping across the skin to soothe it. Jo’s head tips back before she can stop herself, before she can think, before she can do anything other than feel.

And God, she feels everything.

Paige’s mouth, Paige’s hands, the firm grip keeping her exactly where Paige wants her.

Jo’s heart pounds, and she doesn’t know if it’s from heat of the water or the heat of Paige, but she feels like she’s burning from the inside out.

She tries not to think about what this means, about how everything is changing, about how she’ll have to deal with this later.

She tries not to think about whether Paige wants this the same way she does.

Paige has a roster. That much, Jo knows. She’s seen it, heard it, talked to some of it—mostly just Celeste, but still. Jo knows that all of this stuff is casual and fleeting for Paige, just another part of her life.

But Jo isn’t like that. She doesn’t do this kind of thing. She doesn’t let herself get swept up in the moment, something that could be nothing, in something that might not mean anything to the other person. Seriously, she literally dated the same person for nearly six fucking years.

But then—what could this be? Paige is her best friend, her teammate, her roommate. If they became something more, they couldn’t fuck it up because it could ruin everything. Not to mention the fact that it hasn’t even been a month since Jo and Asher broke up. She’s still trying to mend that crack in her heart.

All of these thoughts should make her pull away. It should make her stop.

But they don’t.

Because right now, with Paige’s lips on her neck and her hands holding Jo so close, it feels like none of that even matters.

Right now, Jo doesn’t care if this is just another fleeting thing for Paige or if she should even be doing this with a break-up so fresh.

Because right now, Paige wants her.

And Jo wants Paige.

So, she lets herself have it.

She tightens her grip in Paige’s hair, tugs just slightly, just enough to pull Paige’s mouth back to hers, just enough to draw another satisfied sound from Paige’s throat. Paige’s nose nudges Jo’s as she tilts her head, pressing into the kiss again, deep and slow and absolutely devastating.

And Jo lets herself get lost in it.

That is, until the sound of the back door opening shudders around them.

Jo feels her entire body jolt like she’s been electrocuted. The heat from the hot tub is nothing compared to the fire scorching under her skin, the way her heart slams against her ribs like it’s trying to break free. Beside her, Paige reacts just as quickly—springing away, water sloshing violently between them, the absence of her warmth immediately and startling. Jo doesn’t dare look at her, doesn’t dare move, because if she does, she’ll have to genuinely acknowledge what’s just happened. She’ll have to process the way her lips still tingle, the way her chest is still heaving, the way Paige was just kissing her like she fucking meant it.

But she doesn’t have time for that, not when Mia—innocent, unsuspecting Mia—is standing by the back door in her little Rudolph-themed swimsuit, eyes bouncing between Jo and Paige like she’s trying to put the pieces together.

“Hi…” the little girl says slowly, tilting her head.

Paige is the one that moves first.

“Um,” she stammers, her voice higher than usual, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides as she stands up too fast, nearly slipping in the water. “I’mma—uh, I’m just gonna—shower. Yeah—shower.”

Jo watches, still slightly frozen where she sits, as Paige snatches up her towel with more urgency than necessary and books it inside without so much as a glance back. The door slides shut behind her, leaving only the ghost of her presence and the realization of what’s just occurred.

Jo is still stuck, still trying to catch up, still trying to make sense of the fact that she kissed Paige—she kissed Paige—and Paige kissed her back—and—

And then Mia lowers herself into the water, grinning.

That fucking grin.

Jo narrows her eyes before Mia can even open her mouth. “Don’t.”

Because… yeah, she just—can’t talk about this yet. Maybe never.

Jo clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together as she stares down at her hands as if they hold all the answers. Maybe they do—because just moments ago, they were holding Paige.

Jesus, what has she gotten herself into?

[chancloud8]

PART 12.

<< previous chapter || next chapter >>

series masterlist.

series summary: you and chan get matched up on a forum for people who suffer with insomnia and spent most of your sleepless nights texting each other. neither of you expected to fall in love..

pairing: bang chan x reader

tags: smau, written part, first time facetiming, FLUFF

a/n: it's a little short, about 0.9k, but its a smau after all ;) I hope you like it my darlings <3

The screen of your iPhone lits up as you wait for the outgoing facetime request to go through. The camera automatically turns on, showing you your flushed face and wild hair.

'Fuck,' you mutter, quickly dragging your fingers through your hair in attempt to fix it. 

This is really happening. 

Chris is about to see your face, hear your voice and you're about to see him. 

You frown at your own reflection as you wait for him to accept the video call, wondering if you should have put on some make up or brushed your hair. 

The screen goes black for a moment and all thoughts leave your mind when Chris comes into view. 

'Holy shit,' you blurt out before you can help yourself. 'You’re not real.' 

Chan blinks once, twice, and then he doubles over and laughs. It's a beautiful sound, even better than hearing it in all the skz code video's you watched, and you can't help but giggle along with him. 

'I'm sorry, but you just look way to beautiful for a sleep deprived person,' you tell him when you finally stop giggling. 

Chan smiles and shakes his head, his ears turning red. 'Says you.' 

'Mhm, I did,' you nod, grinning at him. 

The next five seconds are silent as you just take a moment to look at each other. Chan is dressed in a white tank top and a black sweater vest that's sliding off of his broad shoulder. His hair is messy, but cute and his face is bare of any make up and just as pretty as all the pictures you've secretly saved on your phone. 

Chan giggles again and hides his face behind his hands, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles yourself. 

'Look at us,' you laugh. 'We can't even look at each other without giggling. What are we? School girls?'

'I blame sleep deprivation,' Chan smiles, shrugging his shoulders. 

'Don't we always?' 

‘Maybe, but it's easy.’ 

You laugh again and nod in agreement. 

‘I was wrong about you though,’ Chan says, tilting his head as he watches you. ‘You’re not just gorgeous, you're beautiful, absolutely stunning.’ 

‘Chan!’ You yell, ducking your head as your cheeks heat up. ‘Stop that.’ 

‘Why? It's the truth,’ he giggles, petting his red cheeks with his hands. ‘You deserve to know the truth.’ 

Your entire body feels warm by his compliment and you just know that your red cheeks match Chris'. 

‘You’re on to talk,’ you say, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. ‘You’re the most beautiful man I've ever had the pleasure to talk to.’ 

Chris sputters and hides his face again. 

‘I am not!’ 

‘Yes you are, have you seen you?’

‘I have, so I know it's not true. Do you see this nose?’ Chris frowns pointing at his face. 

‘Yeah?’ You raise your eyebrows at him. ‘It's a very pretty nose.’

Chan groans and shakes his head, clearly not agreeing with you. 

‘I have a million Stays who will back me up on this,’ you laugh. ‘You better start believing it.’ 

Chan pouts and it's so cute that you can't help but giggle again. 

‘You’re way cuter than I am,’ he says, a smile already back on your face. 

‘Nu-uh, we're not going to do this back and forth thing, cause we'll be here forever and it's too sappy.’ 

Chan’s about to reply when someone seems to walk into his room. His head snaps to the side and he frowns, shaking his head. A male voice is speaking rapidly in Korean and when Chan stands up and leaves the screen, all you can do is wait and wonder. 

There's yelling, the slam of a door and then Chan is back into view. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. 

‘What was that all about?’ You ask him curiously. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Uhm, yeah, that was just my roommate being nosy.’ 

His roommate, meaning Yang Jeongin.

‘That was Jeongin?’ You grin. ‘Why did it sound like you kicked him out of your room?’

Chan clears his throat and rubs his neck again, his lips puckering like he's debating what to tell you. 

‘You did, didn't you?’ You chuckle. ‘Scared I'll ask for his number next?’

Chan rolls his eyes and drops his hand into his lap. ‘No, I'm just–’ he falls quiet and bites his lip. ‘I just want to keep you to myself for a bit.’ 

Your eyes widen and your jaw nearly drops open and his confession. 

‘I mean, just until we've had our date,’ Chan continues before you can speak up, his ears turning red. ‘I just got you back, I don't want them to scare you off again.’ 

‘Okay,’ you smile gently at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

Chan lets out a breath of relief and smiles back. 

‘I can't believe THE Christopher Bangh is being selfish right now,’ you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him. ‘All because of me.’ 

‘All because of you,’ Chan agrees, letting out another giggle. ‘Hasn’t everyone been telling me to be more selfish? I guess all it took was for me to meet you.’ 

‘I’m flattered,’ you smile, placing your hand on your heart to show him how much you mean those words. ‘Seems like we can be thankful for our insomnia after all.’ 

Chan makes a face and the both of you laugh again.

The sound of both of your giggles does something to you, it makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and you just know that you will never get enough of whatever it is that Chan is making you feel.

a/n: Ugghh they're so cute!! I hope you liked it! <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you. 𝐜��𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 3!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, decomposing body, violence, kidnapping, drowning, physical injuries 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.7

𝐚/𝐧: part 3 FINALLY!! thank u to everyone who has been here since the first part of this story. thank u andy @reidingandallthat for agreeing to appear here in the role you play. erika, darling, i apologize in advance 🫶🏼

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

Driving in a car next to your ex, after practically throwing yourself at him and pressing a sudden, still somewhat incomprehensible kiss to his lips, was a little, let's say, awkward

You were heading to the apartment pinpointed by one of Spencer's team members, which allegedly belonged to Clinton Richardson, the man you suspected to be the previously elusive accomplice of The Waterside Butcher. Given how easily Garcia had tracked him down, you hadn’t expected to actually find him there. However, you had to search the place, find out anything more about him than the scant information Rosas had provided. Get inside his mind. Figure out where he might be hiding, where they were holding Rebekah.

In the silence that settled between the two of you, you tried to maintain a straight, dignified posture. To play it completely cool about what had happened. One simple thought helped you with that—maybe it had been your impulsive initiative, but it was fully picked up by Spencer.

The way he cupped your face as soon as he realized what was happening. The pressure of his lips on yours, hungry, insatiable, and unrelenting with time. A sigh when he pulled away, the confusion creeping into his soft eyes.

A gentle shake of his head, as if he was already starting to regret it.

You regretted it too. It only thickened the atmosphere, which was already sharp enough to cut with a knife. In your apartment, you had made a bet—the first person to find Richardson would get one of what you considered the most beautiful and genuine photos from your time together. After what had happened, however, you couldn’t imagine just handing it to him without a word, so you simply kept it in your jacket pocket.

There was still some way to go ahead of you, the heavy midday traffic causing terrible jams, and you could no longer bear the silence nor the unreadable, fixed expression on his face as he stared at the road.

"Well," you started, clearing your throat. It felt like he flinched at the sound of your voice. God, when did you both turn into such idiots? "Just to be clear, it wasn’t...personal. You know what I mean. Kind of like checking if your favorite dessert from an old favorite restaurant still tastes the same."

If it weren’t for the fact that he glanced at you for a moment, you would’ve slammed your forehead into the dashboard. It was one of the worst things you could have said, but well, you couldn’t take your words back now.

“Favorite dessert. Checking,” he repeated in a disbelieving tone. His eyebrows shot up high, and he looked back at the road. Only then did they fall, and he shook his head from side to side. There was a trace of amusement in that gesture. Well, at least he wasn’t angry about the choice of words. “Okay.”

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you pretended to examine your nails.

“And does it still taste good?” Spencer asked after a long pause.

“What?” You shifted, distracted in your seat.

“I’m asking if it still tastes good.”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, and then a laugh gathered in your chest, a burst of it you didn’t let out loud. Instead, you held back, offering only a brief smile, a flash of teeth. Spencer glanced at you from the corner of his eye, seeming less tense than before. Some things were probably easier for you to talk about in metaphors, even if they were simple ones.

“Well, it was favorite for a reason," you said after a moment, gently, though you tried to sound casual.

The photo in your pocket.

Spencer smiled in that subtle way, where only the corners of his lips moved, his eyes remaining unchanged, thoughtful. And with that, the stage of pretending it never happened began.

The apartment that was supposedly owned by your suspect was located in a fairly decent neighborhood—at least nicer than the one Rebekah lived in—which filled you with a bitter sense of injustice. After you dealt with the lock, you both stepped inside cautiously, scanning for any potential occupant, but the place was empty.

"Not exactly how I pictured the place of someone they call The Butcher in the media," you muttered, stepping lightly on the birchwood floor beneath the bright walls.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, that familiar analytical look crossing his face. You stopped a few steps from him, hands stiff on your hips, unable to stop watching him instead of the surroundings. The slight crease between his brows as he crossed the kitchen, probably already knowing what your unsub had for breakfast every Thursday, just from one greasy, barely noticeable stain on the wall. His lips pressed together, and you realized you couldn’t ignore that part of his face anymore. You sighed, annoyed with yourself. Seriously, now?

“Did you expect a torture chamber instead of a bedroom?” he asked as you both crossed the threshold into the room. It was less tidy than the rest of the place, a sign that he spent more time here. Some things were out of place, and there was a pile of loose papers building up on the desk.

While Spencer was analyzing the papers, you walked over to the window, squinting as the midday light hit your eyes. You gently traced your finger along the leaf of the plant on the windowsill before dipping your finger into the soil.

“It’s dry,” you noted briefly, suddenly focused. He must not have been here for a few days. “Damn, maybe my imagination is just really poor, but I can’t picture a guy who does that kind of thing to women calmly watering his plants every morning. It’s just...grotesque.”

He shrugged in response, Reid’s eyes never leaving the things on the desk.

“Lots of violent, serial offenders lead lives that we’d consider normal,” he began. A lecturer's expression, you thought to yourself immediately. You’d always liked it when he explained things to you—he was the only one who could do it in a way that didn’t make you feel dumb for not understanding a concept. And, well, you liked listening to him. “Well, we once had a case with a cannibal who had a bunch of teddy bears in his house,” he added. 

You couldn’t help but snort.

“Stuffed with human guts instead of fluff?”

Spencer finally looked up at you, slowly.

“No,” he replied shortly, raising an eyebrow. “They were perfectly normal teddy bears. And, you know, I’m starting to be glad that your criminal activities haven’t gone beyond robberies and theft.”

“And stolen goods trafficking.”

“Oh, right. Sorry for leaving out one of your...key specializations.”

“It’s fine. Got anything?”

You joined him in searching through the desk, standing so close that your shoulders brushed briefly. You told yourself it was only because you didn’t want to miss any clues.

“There are a few sketches here,” Spencer informed you, his chest rising slightly, which you noticed because he turned to face you sideways. There was barely a step between you. “They look a little...chaotic.”

You flipped open a random notebook, spotting the mentioned sketches—simple drawings and doodles. You kept flipping, not giving them much attention.

“Probably drew them when he didn’t know what to do with his hands during phone calls,” you said. You shrugged at his look. “I know, because I do the same.”

“I don’t recall ever seeing you do that,” he remarked.

When we lived together...the unfinished sentence hung in the air, settling lightly on your shoulders.

You took a deep breath.

“Well, back then, I was more into sending messages than having actual conversations,” you admitted, and it was true. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him slightly parting his lips, about to say something, when suddenly your gaze landed on something on the last page of the notebook you were flipping through. “Look, a phone number,” 

Spencer leaned in to take a closer look, tilting his head a bit, which brought his slightly too-long hair into your reach again. The familiar scent slowly drifted to your nose. Spencer probably didn’t even realize how close he’d gotten, too absorbed in his thoughts. Still, you couldn’t help but find it amusing. After all, just a few days ago, he had pointed a gun at you and kept the greatest distance possible.

He straightened up, and you noticed the change in his expression. You stayed perfectly still, not moving, not backing away. It might sound strange, but you wanted to see how you affected him. Would he have done what you did on the staircase if it hadn’t been for you? Did he genuinely want to do it too, or was it simply the conversation over the pictures that had lured you both into the trap of sentimentality, the nostalgic need to revisit an old dessert?

“You know this number?” you asked, surprised.

You hadn’t expected such a thing to happen, yet here it was. Spencer nodded.

“I remember it,” he admitted. At the same time, his voice carried a note of readiness, excitement about moving the investigation forward with this newly found clue... and an unexpected hint of awkwardness, as he briefly scratched his forehead before placing the notebook back on the desk. “It’s a brothel’s number.”

Your eyebrows shot up mockingly.

“You remember the number of a…”

“You have no idea how often the FBI uses their services,” he blurted defensively.

A beat of silence followed, then his eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant, for God’s sake. I mean, prostitutes often have a lot of information about different people and can be useful…”

“Tsss…” you silenced him with a playful swirl of your finger near his lips, amused by his rushed, nervous reaction.

Spencer glanced down at your finger, his lower lip jutting out slightly as if he wanted to add something, but his brilliant mind failed to produce anything coherent. Even if it had, you wouldn’t have cared.

You couldn’t let go of the topic anyway—you always enjoyed teasing him too much, loved seeing that faint blush color his stubbled cheeks.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, seriously.”

You had the strange feeling his gaze lingered a little too intently as you slowly swallowed, forcing you to cross your arms over your chest, creating a small barrier to keep your focus. You blinked slowly, mischievously.

“I’m not interested in where you sought comfort after our breakup.”

He literally gasped. 

“This is…” he began with a deep sigh, taking half a step back from you. “This is…I swear, this is the most narcissistic thing that has ever come out of your mouth. And there have been plenty.”

You gave a mock salute.

“See, I like breaking my own records,” you muttered.

Spencer’s gaze suddenly shifted from you back to the desk. He sighed, like he was grounding himself after drifting somewhere else.

“We should…we should call that number. Maybe set up a meeting. See if we can learn something more about him than the fact he doodles in the margins when he’s on the phone.”

You nodded in agreement, sliding your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Didn’t think I’d ever say this, but you’re right. Let’s meet your hooker.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Want me to dictate the number, or do you remember it?”

“I get the feeling you’re not letting this go anytime soon.”

“And you’re absolutely right, Spencer,” you agreed. “Absolutely right.”

*

“He made you do… what?!”

Your raised voice filled the car.

Quick recap—you’d managed to set up a meeting with a prostitute, whose services, after a few hours of digging, you’d confirmed Clinton Richardson had used. By now, it had gotten dark, and you were seriously starting to wonder if this wasn’t just a complete waste of time. You knew the rest of the BAU was busy searching for Rebekah using other methods, but the nagging feeling that you could be doing more refused to let go.

On top of that, the fact that Robert Miller had completely vanished since his escape from prison weighed heavily on you. No one had seen him filling up the stolen car at a gas station, wearing a baseball cap. No one had heard him break into a nearby house seeking shelter through the cold night. They must have had a plan—one that played out well beyond your reach.

Though you tried to push it away, a rising sense of dread filled you.

The escort slid into the backseat of the car, introducing herself briefly as Andy. Distracted by your own worries, you couldn't stop the words that escaped your mouth.

“Andy’s not exactly a very hooker-ish name”

The woman shrugged indifferently. She seemed only slightly tense about speaking with the cops (or, well, with one cop). She wore a light white fur coat draped over her shoulders, and, to put it plainly, she was stunningly beautiful. 

"Well, I didn't pick it," she shrugged.

"How old are you?" Spencer suddenly asked, turning slightly in his seat.

You exchanged a look. She did seem alarmingly young despite the heavy makeup on her face.

"Are you doing some kind of interview or what?" she scoffed. "Last I checked, you were supposed to ask me questions about one of my clients. So, I'm waiting. And for the record, I'm twenty-three."

You’d asked her the first few questions to confirm if the man she’d met was indeed Clinton Richardson. Garcia had even sent over his photo, and after a quick glance, Andy nodded, confirming it was him.

And now, back to where we left off.

“He made you do what?!”

Andy grimaced. You would’ve done the same if you weren’t absolutely stunned. You glanced sideways at Spencer, who had straightened up in his seat, his brows furrowed deeply as if he thought he’d misheard. Honestly, you’d thought the same at first. 

You drew in a deeper breath, trying to steady yourself. Spencer shot you a glance, his expression tense. There was no doubt anymore—this was the man you were looking for.

“Chop off chicken heads,” the woman repeated reluctantly, pulling her fur coat tighter around herself. A flicker of discomfort crossed her face—one that hadn’t been there the first time she’d mentioned it. Apparently, saying it again brought the memory into sharper focus, and you felt a pang of guilt for making her relive it. She sighed. “While he was mastrubating” 

Andy had nothing more to offer, no leads to help you track down his current location, and that realization sent a wave of frustration crashing over you. Not at her, of course, but at the fact that this case was moving forward at a painfully slow pace. Sure, you knew it was Richardson now. But what next? How were you supposed to find him before he and Robert hurt Rebekah?

You scrubbed a hand over your face, then clenched it into a fist to stop the trembling. Spencer's gaze dropped to your hand, and he tried to catch your eye, but you didn’t want that—not right now.

“Andy,” you called out just as she pushed the car door open, stopping her in her tracks. Your voice came out rough, an edge of desperation bleeding through. An impulsive decision bloomed in your mind, taking root before you could second-guess it. “We...took up some of your time. Would you have had a client during it?” 

The woman looked at you with a skeptical hesitation, unsure of what you meant.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Instead of saying anything else, you reached into your pocket for the cash you’d taken from your apartment and shoved it into her hand, her perfectly manicured nails catching the light. At first, her face remained neutral, but when she saw how many bills were stacked together, her eyes widened.

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. It’s for you. Payment for your help.”

“But this…” she started, meeting your gaze. You nodded seriously, confirming she could keep the money. Andy blinked, hesitated for a moment, then slipped it into her pocket before clearing her throat. “I…thank you. Seriously. It’s way more than I’d have made in that time. So... good luck finding that freak.”

“It’ll come in handy,” you muttered under your breath.

Andy closed the door behind her, and you followed her figure, wrapped in white fur, as it stood out against the night’s dark expanse. The interior of the car was filled with silence, the orange light from the overhead lamp casting shadows on both your faces. When you saw the grimace on the woman's face as she talked about Richardson, you immediately thought of Rebekah. About how her fate rested in the hands of the same man who had made Andy do things like that. You were also filled with sympathy for her, knowing she must have gone through it. She most likely didn’t have the option to refuse.

“It was a lot of money,” Spencer said after a long pause.

There was this heavy feeling of helplessness hanging in the air. What now? Where the hell were you supposed to go? Who else did you need to talk to? It hurt in your chest, and you sighed.

“Well, who knows,” you said, bitterly, not looking at him, your eyes on the windshield. “Who knows what’s gonna happen. That girl could really use the money. If something happens to me...it’d go to waste...”

You stopped, freezing when you felt a touch on your knee. A gentle pressure, filled with some kind of concern. You lowered your gaze, almost in a trance, watching his fingers spread out over the fabric of your pants, holding onto it.

“Don’t think like that,” he said, swallowing hard, his voice pleading.

You forced yourself to pull your gaze away from his hand and look straight into his eyes. He held your gaze, and there was something warm in it, something you almost wanted to sink into. You could have just nodded, let him take care of everything, let him protect you. But from the very beginning, you knew that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You didn’t want to be just a passive part of the story, waiting meekly for the tragedy that was about to unfold. You wanted to stop it.

“Spencer, we’ve practically got nothing,” you said quietly, but there was a frustrated silence in your voice.

“That’s not true. We have...we have a profile.”

“We have Miller’s profile from two years ago, practically nothing new, and fragmentary info about Richardson. You can’t build a profile just from the fact that he had a prostitute decapitate chickens…”

“I can,” he interrupted with sudden confidence. His hand on your knee tightened, and he probably didn’t even realize it. You didn’t ask him to move it, even though the whole scene—the car, the night, his hand placed like that—was taking you back two years, to when all of this felt natural, a part of your everyday life together. You started to stop thinking about it with simple sentimentality. Since your kiss, there had been this indescribable longing you wanted to get rid of, but every interaction seemed to just intensify it.

Spencer took a breath before speaking slowly.

“Well, maybe not just based on the chickens... but we know so much about his childhood. He grew up across from the Millers, him, the poor kid. Dysfunctional parents, Joseph Miller was like a father figure to him. He had to respect him, idealize him, which is why he visited him recently when his condition worsened. His relationship with the rest of the Miller family… it had to be complicated with Robert. He was probably jealous of him, but because he was able to easily manipulate him, he never saw him as a threat. Robert, on the other hand, treated him like an older brother he never had, trusted him completely. So Richardson had his perfect picture after his parents died. A father, a younger brother, their shared sailing trips, the time spent together. The only thing that bothered him, the only thing he saw as a problem was...

“Robert Miller’s mother,” you finished, already seeing exactly what he was picturing in his mind. The pieces were falling into place, like the image on a puzzle box showing what it should look like when it’s put together. “Unlike her husband, she didn’t treat him like her son. She was part of all their trips, their cruises…during one of them, he pushed her off the boat. But why…”

“Robert took the fall for it,” Spencer answered the question you hadn’t asked, but one he could see had formed in your mind. “He did it to protect someone he saw as an older brother. They...they’re a classic example of a duo working together. One is clearly dominant, here, Richardson, and the other follows his lead, lets himself be manipulated. That’s Miller. And I think... I think...okay, these are just my assumptions...Richardson is responsible for all thirteen murders.”

For a moment, you went silent, furrowing your brow deeply.

“But...but you said you interrogated Miller. And you were sure he committed the murders.”

“Or he believed he committed them,” he added.

 You shook your head in confusion, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t think this was a typical murder duo. They didn’t kill together. Richardson kept the women in Miller’s vacation house. When Miller was arrested, he wouldn’t turn over someone he thought of as a brother, so he took the blame. And over time, through manipulation, he started believing he’d actually committed the murders himself. Just like he believed he killed his own mother. That’s why the polygraph always showed he was telling the truth, why we thought he was the killer. All this time, he truly believed he was The Waterside Butcher—he was stuck in a deep delusion. Meanwhile, our real unsub was still out there.”

You sighed in admiration at how he connected all the dots. You knew he was a brilliant profiler, you knew it well, but you were still shocked at how one person could dive so deeply into the psychology of crime.

“I wanna kiss your brain,” you blurted out.

Spencer’s breathing came out in irregular bursts as he rattled off sentence after sentence without pause. After your words, he paused for a moment—a small, tired smile tugged at his lips.

“You're welcome,” he replied, then slowly easing his grip on your knee before pulling his hand back. He looked at you uncertainly, as if wondering what you made of his gesture. “Although, that would require a surgeon.”

The dry joke broke the tension, adding a strangely sweet awkwardness to the moment. You snorted.

“I’d manage,” you said, mentally giving yourself a little nudge on the forehead. “But you need to update your team about all this. You have to pass on the profile.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. You could feel the air between you cool slightly—as if a splash of cold water had just run under your shirts on an unbearably hot day. With the same hand that had been on your knee, he reached for his phone, though he didn’t dial a number immediately.

“It’s pretty late,” he began, nodding toward the cars outside the window—as if you hadn’t noticed it was night. Well, you had, for a moment, forgotten. “No offense, but you look exhausted. You should probably get some sleep. I’m just wondering…do you have somewhere to stay? You shouldn’t be sleeping there alone.”

He put an emphasis on the word sleeping. It’s one thing to stay there fully awake, weapon in hand, but quite another to let yourself fall into that vulnerable state of unconsciousness.

You slowly shrugged your shoulders.

“I’d probably rather go back there,” you admitted, even though the idea didn’t really appeal to you. You sighed, and his face twisted in confusion. “You know, I have a lot of neighbors. And a lot of women, too. I’m afraid one of them might run into him…if he came for me.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to talk you out of it—he even opened his mouth, only to close it almost immediately. It was hard to argue with that.

“Alright,” he said slowly, turning his phone in his hand. “But in that case, let me stay with you.”

A surprised sound escaped your mouth.

"Seriously? You want that?"

"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink in your own apartment, yet you still felt a hint of hesitation. Things had already taken a wild turn that day—everything was changing. The verbal barbs between you weren’t laced with resentment anymore; they’d turned into a playful game that often ended in genuine bursts of laughter and smiles. You’d literally kissed. He’d touched your leg, shown care. And now, on top of it all, you were going to spend the night in the same apartment. Quite an odd situation for two exes.

The direction all this was heading remained somewhat unclear. You were so preoccupied with the case—the murderer hot on your heels—that you barely considered what would happen when it all came to an end. How would you say goodbye once more before both of you returned to your separate, opposing lives?

Spencer noticed your hesitation. His jaw clenched ever so slightly as his mind worked on a way to convince you—but he didn't really need to. As a criminal, you often thought about the consequences of your actions. You saw them clearly, analyzed every detail. Yet even the clearest vision of those consequences rarely stopped you from carrying out your plans. After all, if it did, you wouldn’t last long in this line of work.

You nodded in agreement, allowing him to stay with you.

*

You knew how it would play out.

First, you'd both slowly cross the threshold of your apartment, arguing about who should sleep in the bedroom and who on the couch, but in the end, you'd both end up side by side on the couch, trying to keep the conversation light and casual, along with your body language, and a second later, you'd start kissing, letting go of everything that had been hanging between you all day.

It was really predictable. Which didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.

“You know…” Spencer started when your lips gave him a chance to open his own. “I think there’s a certain question…” he was silenced. “...that we should both ask ourselves.”

“If it’s what are we? I’m leaving.”

"It's your apartment. Just saying."

"We’d be having a lot more fun if you shut up. Just saying."

With a soft sigh, you pulled away from him, moving your face just enough to be able to talk freely. But not enough to make him stop feeling threatened by the prospect of you shutting him up at any moment. Just saying.

"You wanted to ask about that, right?" you asked quietly.

He shrugged slightly, and because you were leaning against his chest, you felt that little shiver.

"Maybe in different words. But with the same general meaning."

With a thoughtful look, you ran your hand over the buttons of his burgundy shirt. Spencer followed the smooth motion of your hand with his eyes, gently tightening his grip around your waist. The position, the way your bodies were arranged, the closeness—it felt so natural. It was how it should be.

"Did you miss me?" you asked suddenly. "All those nearly two years."

"And you?" he shot the question back at you. You tilted your head, staring at him. You weren’t going to answer, not until he did first, though your answer wasn’t really dependent on his. You were honest with your feelings, even with yourself. Even if he said he hadn’t thought about you once or never missed you on the other side of the bed, it wouldn’t change the fact that you missed him. You’d had no trouble admitting before that, in some way, you'd always love him. "I missed you. How could I not?"

The soft question thrown into the space between you made you pout your bottom lip slightly. His gaze drifted to it briefly, but didn’t stay there—it landed somewhere else. A tiny spot just below your collarbone, a mark in the shape of the number pi. He leaned in to brush it with his lips, first briefly, then more deliberately, and you placed your hand in his slightly too long hair.

“I want to know what’s gonna happen with us when all this finally ends,” he muttered, his breath tickling your skin. You lifted your eyelids, which had fluttered shut in drowsiness and pleasure. “I missed you, that’s true, you missed me…I’d dare to bet that you did too. Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t know…I just don’t know if that’s enough. For us…for it to work, something would have to change…”

Of course, he meant the different life paths you had chosen, your involvement in crime, your long-standing ties to the criminal underworld.

"Spencer," you said his name slowly, cupping his face in your hands so you could look into it. Okay, bad move. His brown eyes made it harder to focus. "It’s...it’s not that simple, you know that. It’s practically my whole life." You paused, swallowing. "I can’t think about it right now. Not with everything going on. My mind...I just can’t tell you anything right now. Except that I want you."

For a moment, he hesitated to answer, a sigh escaping from his chest. It sounded disappointed.

“I want you too,” he admitted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a statement that applies to every possible case with no exceptions. “Exactly like I did back then. And you know it wasn’t enough.”

You pressed your lips together.

“I know.”

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, neither of you moving in any way. The silence was overwhelming, making your breaths perfectly audible. You felt tired of everything that had been happening—not just around you in the last few days, but also inside your head. You needed... you probably just needed to rest your head on his chest, inhale his scent, think seriously about the two of you, then step outside for fresh air and reconsider it, sober. Then compare both conclusions. The corners of your mouth trembled. You wanted to suggest you both just lie down and sleep when his phone rang.

“They need me,” he explained when the call ended, rising from the couch, detaching himself from your body. You nodded in understanding. But he didn’t head for the door. Instead, he paused, staring at you. “You shouldn’t stay here…”

“I’ll find a hotel,” you cut him off. He raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced by the idea.

“I won’t get a wink of sleep here, and I’m exhausted. I’ll make sure no one’s following me. Trust me, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s that,” you snorted softly.

Of course, you were a little worried about your neighbors' safety, but you couldn’t figure out a way to protect both them and yourself. Part of you wanted to stay inside, fueled by caffeine with a loaded gun in hand, waiting for the moment someone tried to mess with the lock. But you didn’t even mention that to Spencer—you knew exactly how he’d react. Not a chance.

He pulled you into one last, lingering embrace before leaving. It seemed like an unspoken agreement to temporarily abandon the topic of what would happen between you two later.

Reluctantly, you made your way to the bedroom. The last time you’d been there, you’d taken almost all the cash hidden in the photo album, which you later gave to Andy. A few bills still remained between the pages—just enough for a night in some hotel and a cup of coffee. You snapped the album shut, but one of the photos slipped out, drifting down like a leaf on the wind, sliding under the dresser.

You sighed. You felt too exhausted to even bend down for it, but after an internal struggle, you finally gave in. First, you dropped to your knees, then sprawled flat on your stomach to reach under the furniture and retrieve it. But as soon as your face got close to the floor…you noticed a strange smell.

Faint, yet distinct. You thought it might be a figment of your imagination, but after inhaling a few more times, you were certain. Sickly sweet in a way, unfamiliar, but it reminded you of an odd mix of rotting meat, damp earth…maybe even mold?

Ignoring the photo, you got to your feet. The smell was coming from your elderly neighbor Erika’s apartment. You realized you hadn’t seen her in a while—not even heard her poodle barking, which was usually relentless with its evening performances. Dark thoughts raced through your mind. She had a bad hip—maybe she’d fallen…

Before you even realized it, you were pulling on your jacket.

The door wasn’t even locked, which only heightened your sense of foreboding.

“Mrs. Hemingway?” you called out, stepping cautiously into the apartment. The hallway was dark, but a yellow light glowed from an old-fashioned chandelier in the living room. You quickly corrected yourself. “I mean, Erika? Are you here?”

The smell had become unbearable. A wave of nausea hit you, doubling you over, but your head remained upright—you couldn’t tear your eyes away from what you saw.

Right next to a long beige leather couch lay a rolled-up light-colored rug. There were dark, bloodstained patches scattered across it, but that wasn’t the worst part.  The worst part was the head, not wrapped in the rug. Your neighbor’s eyes were wide open and empty. Black earrings still dangled from her ears—you didn’t know why you fixated on them. Maybe your brain was starting to short-circuit, latching onto odd details instead of focusing on what it should.

Like the sound of footsteps right behind you.

You heard them too late.

There was no time to turn around before something struck the back of your head with brutal force.

It wasn’t like in the movies—it didn’t knock you out. The blow was too weak, too unskilled. It only sent you crashing to your knees, from which you desperately tried to push yourself back up, feeling your heart pounding furiously in your chest. But you were too dazed, your skull filled with a deafening roar, just before it absorbed another hit—this time stronger, harder.

As you collapsed unconscious to the ground, a shadow of a male figure hung above you.

*

The buzz.

A slowly forming image before you. Its small fragments connecting in incorrect combinations, as if someone were trying to piece together two mismatched puzzles.

The pain in your head.

Oh, it was terrible.

It intensified when you tried to open your eyes, so you spent a long moment in darkness, even though your body was slowly beginning to wake. You tried to press your hand to your temple, to massage it, perhaps to ease that furious pounding...when you realized you couldn't.

You opened your eyes despite the head-splitting pain, as if someone had driven a spike into it.

You were in a dimly lit room that reeked of wood and blood. It made you nauseous, and it wasn’t just because of the injury you’d sustained. At least, not entirely.

Fighting the bitter taste of vomit gathering in your throat, you began to look around the interior. Made of light-colored boards, small, with only one window covered. It resembled more of a cabin than a house, the furniture inside arranged in a way that could give an interior designer a heart attack. A rust-covered fridge stood right in the middle of the room. The floor was covered with a blue tarp that rustled with every movement of your body. The place looked as if someone had built it by hand.

Eventually, your gaze landed on your hands, chained tightly to the wall, causing pain in your wrists. You were half sitting, half lying on the floor, unable to move much. At first, you were too confused to feel fear.

Terror only hit you when you glanced to the side.

"Rebekah," you barely managed to say.

She was sitting next to you, tied to the wall in the same way you had found her in Miller's basement two years ago. Her head was lowered, eyes closed, and you prayed she'd look at you. That would mean she was alive…

She did, but very slowly, and you felt no relief at all. Her hair hung in greasy tangles on her face, her lip looked swollen, and her cheek was covered with blood trickling from a wound on her temple.

Rebekah opened her parched lips, but said nothing. She simply let her head drop again.

"Rebekah, listen to me," you begged in a hoarse tone, instinctively trying to get closer to her, but of course, you couldn't. You started to frantically look around once more. You were searching for your captors, searching for a way out. There had to be one. "Listen to me... you have to focus, I'm here, together we can figure something out..."

"You're here," a weak grunt came from the woman. "Finally. At least now it will end."

You didn't quite understand the meaning of her words, but you sensed some hidden depth to them that you decided to ignore. Instead, you nodded affirmatively. Bad idea. The pain intensified.

“Yes. That's right. Now it will end, we'll escape. You have to tell me everything you know. Where are they? When will they return..."

She grunted again.

"No," she simply said. You could barely hear her rough, quiet voice. "It will end because you're here. He was waiting for you, and now, finally, he will kill us." There was a strange, suffering longing in her voice. The prospect of impending relief lightened her face. Suddenly, though, a brief sob overtook her frail body. "Just like those other women..."

"You're wrong," a male voice cut in suddenly, making you flinch. Rebekah didn't even move. Focused on the conversation, you didn't notice the tall man dressed in a black hoodie and cap approaching.

Instinctively, you pressed yourself back into the wall. You hated your own body for showing fear, even though it was completely understandable in that situation. Before you stood Clinton Richardson. You recognized his face with the unevenly trimmed beard. Before you stood real The Waterside Butcher.

“This way, I'll only kill you,” he said in a neutral tone, staring at Rebekah with an odd look, as though she were the least interesting thing in the world to him. He didn’t blink. Not once. Slowly, his gaze shifted to you, and only then did his expression change ever so slightly, seeming more present in his own body. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve got something else prepared for you.”

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. Sometimes you’d talk to Spencer about his work, sometimes you simply listened to his long monologues with your chin resting on your hand. Did he ever tell you what to do in a situation like this? How to talk to a full-fledged psychopath?

His voice began to echo in your head, gently calming you. You took a deep breath.

“Clinton...” you began, in as soft a tone as you could manage, though your body screamed to rip those chains off the wall, lunge at him, and wrap them around his neck. That desire only grew when you remembered poor, innocent, murdered Erika. You had to close your eyes to get rid of that image.

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off.

A man entered the cabin through the narrow door. You had already met him personally, though the two years he’d spent in prison had significantly changed his face. His features had become sharper, his head shaved clean. When the door opened for a brief moment, you noticed… water. Since it must have been the middle of the night, the moonlight gently shimmered on its surface. The cabin had been placed right on the edge of some kind of water source.

“Take her to the boat,” Clinton ordered, not specifying exactly who he meant.

Your body knew, though. It tensed uneasily, then frantically, as Robert Miller moved toward you. At first, you tried to fight back, kicking, but he immobilized your legs. He reached into the pocket of his fleece jacket and pulled out cable ties. After freeing you from the chains, he used them to try to restrain your hands again. Surprisingly…ineptly.

“Stop playing with her,” the second man growled, crouching next to Rebekah, lifting her chin to examine her battered face. “Hit her, she’ll stop struggling.”

Robert followed the order.

Holding your restrained hands tightly, he dragged you like a slaughtered animal. Your jacket and the clothes beneath it pulled up, and your bare skin unpleasantly scraped against the tarp material, causing abrasions. You hissed as your cheek brushed against the wooden platform outside. Before the cabin door closed, you threw one last terrified glance toward Rebekah, huddled against the wall.

Robert decided it would be easier to do it this way. He threw your body over his shoulder, despite your protests and last desperate jerks, and in just a few steps, he tossed you into the small motorboat by the lake’s edge. You collapsed onto it heavily, wincing from the pain and the ringing in your head. You exhaled through clenched teeth. You didn't know what force kept you from simply going numb, waiting for whatever was coming. What force made you keep fighting.

“Robert, you don’t have to do this,” you tried weakly, trying to make it sound like anything but a sob. You felt powerless, but you knew that this was the weak point of the duo. This was where you had to strike. “Robert...I know it wasn’t you who committed those murders.”

“It was me.”

“No, it wasn’t you. It was Clinton, you just took the blame. You believed you did it. You still believe it. He manipulated you, you have to see that...”

You stopped when he aimed the gun at you.

“Robert,” you said again, though you knew how risky that had become. You could barely force your mouth to open, but you knew it was your only chance. “I know you didn’t kill your mother.”

The hand holding the gun trembled. So, his mother was the weak spot.

“You’re lying. I...I pushed her out of the boat…”

“Why the hell are you even talking to her?” Clinton joined you in the boat, rolling his eyes. He looked at your hunched form with some contempt, and you tried to straighten up, holding onto whatever dignity you had left in these final moments.

As the engine of the boat roared to life and it began drifting farther out, toward the center of the lake, you started to doubt you would ever get out of this.

You sat still, staring at the two men. Clinton had his arms crossed over his chest, seeming to relax, his eyes taking in the surface of the lake. He even closed his eyelids, as if meditating. You noticed he wasn't carrying a gun.

You caught Robert's gaze, tilting your head to the side.

Please. 

He blinked, as if trying to focus. To keep his thoughts from drifting away. He looked into your eyes once more, for a long moment. Suddenly, it seemed like he was looking through you. His eyes registered your battered body, but his mind saw another woman, one who had also drowned in the lake. The woman he had loved. The woman who had been his mother.

“Here,” Clinton muttered under his breath.

Robert quickly stopped looking at you.

“Do it,” Richardson said to him. “Come on. Get rid of her, get rid of the problem.”

 But Robert didn’t move. Your breath caught in your chest, a flicker of hope.

“She’s the reason you ended up in prison,” Clinton reminded him, emphasizing she. “Get rid of the problem, brother.”

When he still didn't move, Clinton grabbed you by your clothes and lifted you to a standing position, holding you so tightly by the shoulders that he must have left marks. In that moment, you could no longer feel fear.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Clinton sighed, pushing you closer to the edge of the boat.

You twisted your neck to glance at Robert one last time. In the hand that hung at his side, he still held the gun, his grip uncertain and nervous.

“If he were your brother, he wouldn't have killed your mother,” you said loudly, no longer caring about the consequences. “Was she a problem to you too?”

The body of the man holding you tensed even more, this time in... unease.

“Robert…” he began, dragging out the syllables of his name. Hearing the fear in his voice gave you a sense of fulfillment. You felt like you needed to experience it before you died. You lifted your gaze to the night sky above, to the stars and the moon. These were the things you wanted to see before your body sank into the abyss. “Robert, no—”

Several gunshots rang out, all aimed at the boat’s deck. He wanted to drown them all. Clinton released you and lunged at his partner. A struggle over the weapon broke out between the men, everything rocking dangerously, sparking as water began filling the boat.

You looked at them one last time. Clinton yanked the gun from Robert's hand and shoved him aside. He didn’t manage to aim it at you, though he tried. You saw his eyes searching for your face. Though you were in the middle of the lake, your hands were bound, and you couldn’t swim... you leaned over the side of the boat.

The bullet pierced the water’s surface just next to where your body fell.

When it hit the water, for a moment, you felt free. No one could reach you there; the cold of the lake protected you, surrounding you like a shield. A rush of adrenaline urged you to move your arms, to push yourself to the surface, to swim toward the shore. It wasn’t far, you could swim. But you couldn’t do it. Your hands were tied.

You began to sink.

*

Water burst from your lungs.

The first thing you felt was that your hands were free. Then the piercing cold, sending your whole body into a tremor. Then the stabbing pain in your chest, but you slowly stopped caring about what you felt. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what you saw.

Around you, blue and red lights of police cars flickered, reflecting off the surface of the lake where you lay. A man with dark skin, performing CPR, pulled away when you finally took a breath, his sharp gaze scanning your condition. He had just quickly checked your pulse when someone almost shoved between you.

“Derek, I need a thermal blanket,” Spencer said, kneeling in front of you. His gaze was frantic, only locking on yours when you made eye contact. You wanted to say something, but all you could do was cough. “Quick. She's shaking.”

You pressed your hands to your chest, waiting for the coughing fit to pass. You didn’t help yourself, still trying to say something, not tearing your gaze away from Spencer. You couldn’t. It was all too unreal. A harsh sound escaped your lips.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, as gently as he could. His voice was soft and weak, and you heard him swallow with relief as he carefully placed his hands on your shoulders, just resting them there. Trying to understand that you were even there. Alive. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You found me,” you finally managed to say.

Spencer nodded eagerly. 

“I did,” he admitted. Suddenly, he furrowed his brow, as if in disbelief. Without caring about your soaked clothes, you pressed yourself against him, burying your injured cheek in his chest. You felt his heavy sigh. “I-I did,” he mumbled. 

You probably shouldn’t have heard those words, but he pulled you so close that they grazed the shell of your ear.

Around you, people were moving, busy with the aftermath. The investigation didn't end with your rescue; the night wouldn't quiet down. They had to follow procedures, secure the scene, get inside the cabin where you'd been held...

Like being jolted by electricity, you pulled away from Spencer. The fear on your face mirrored in his eyes.

"Rebekah..."

"She's alive," he reassured you immediately. Your shoulders dropped, and an unidentified sound of relief escaped your lips. "They didn’t have time to do anything to her. They planned to after they…" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "She's alive. They drowned."

For the first time, your gaze shifted towards the dark waters, hiding its secrets.

"Both of them?" you asked, needing to be sure.

Your breath began to quicken again, unease taking hold. Spencer gently reached for your cheek, guiding your attention back to him, away from the lake.

"Both," he confirmed. He stood still for a moment, watching you with those dark eyes, his concern echoing with every shiver that ran through your freezing body. Once again, he didn’t care about your soaked clothes, pulling you tightly into his arms.

You closed your eyes as his chin rested on top of your head.

"You’re safe now."

*

In the ambulance, they attended to your injuries.

Everything that was happening reached you through a haze. They told you to lie down, but you didn’t want to. It was only someone’s soft, familiar voice that convinced you. You felt a bit pitiful, lying on your back. You wanted to get back up, to return to normalcy after everything that had happened. But when you tried to move, Spencer turned his head slightly, silently instructing you to lie back down. There was an undeniable firmness in his gesture.

Both of his hands held one of yours, enclosing it tightly, like a shell around a pearl.

They told you it was okay to sleep, but you were a bit afraid. You feared that when you closed your eyes, all the warmth would fade, and you'd find yourself back in the icy depths of the lake. Every time you felt yourself drifting away, you squeezed Spencer’s hand tighter. You turned your head slightly to look at him, and he gave you a small smile.

“Spencer,” you murmured suddenly, a hint of worry in your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, something came to your mind. You reached into the pocket of your jacket, where you had the photo you promised to give him. The water had ruined it completely; all you had now was a white, torn piece of paper instead of the image of his hand gently holding your cheek as he placed a kiss on it.

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted it…”

Spencer took the remains of the photo from you, glanced at it without much interest, then crumpled it up. Surprised, you furrowed your brows.

“We’ll take more,” he assured you lightly.

For a moment, you just stared at him in silence. Did that mean…?

“Really?”

“We’ll take hundreds of them.”

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[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

"Why can't we just tell the higher-ups like it is? Or maybe....leave out parts but not tell the whole thing?" Rioto suggested making Kamo widen his eyes slightly and Todo raised a brow at this.

"We can't lie to them!" Kamo tells him.

"It's not lying if we don't tell them anything. Just the key parts to get them off everyone's backs." Rioto adds. Principal Yaga crosses his arms and mulls over this.

"If they know Sukuna and Kinie are doing missions, of course they're going to freak out and be scared as shit...sorry for the language...but just say that they're under the curse's influence like they're parents," Rioto tells them. "If not, they already knew. Just give them answers they want to hear."

Kamo never thought about it but who knew that RIoto would be the kind of person who says something this....smart.

"I agree with Rio, here." Todo asked. "Those guys are always acting up about my brotha being a monster and all that. Not to mention, those two are very protective of my brother and little sister."

"Did you just call Miss Hellion, your little sister?" Kamo asked. Todo grins as he blows his nostrils, "I did! Since Itadori adopted her, she is considered my little sister too!"

"That..does make sense..." Utahime sighed and yet, she felt a vein pop seeing Gojo snickering remembering that memory. It was pretty funny.

"And stop laughing! It was not funny if two little ones that are your students were going to be lost!" she barked at him.

"I know but come on! They were safe right after!" Gojo pouts seeing her sigh annoyed.

"Gojo, I swear.."

Everyone did worry about this and the whole babysitting thing but Principle Yaga said one of the students named Hana was pretty good in babysitting. Explaining the cute playroom.

"So that explains the large plushies." Miwa said.

"Yes. Sukuna and Gojo got them for the babies..I already had some to share but he said it's best-"

"But didn't you already give them a plush or two Principle?" Gojo pouts but Yaga looks to him.

"I did. But I still wanna help so we know the two are happy and being taken care of." he said. "However, missions still need to be done. I don't need the higher ups getting on my ass for this. Their already leaving questions about the two or already wondering of a report towards this."

"So in other words, they been chewing you up demanding answers?" Utahime said with a sweatdrop seeing him nod. "Of course.." she sighed.

"Well, we will help aid you like we said. We can help with some of the missions."

[mattnott]

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in wich your boyfriend thinks the best way to spice up the relationship is by playing hide and seek. WORDS. 4.7K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally have no fucking idea, i was having a mental breakdown and this came out.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, knife play, kinda mean!mattheo, porn w//plot, aged up characters, rough sex, established relationship, unprotected pnv, hard chocking, swearing, ass slapping, licking, making out, blood kink.

masterlist -> navigation -> mattheo masterlist

Being satisfied.

Mattheo was sure that he was not asking for too much. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself over and over again for the last few weeks, but lately, satisfaction seemed out of reach—almost like an impossibility—and no matter how hard he tried, a fucked up emptiness was still there, tattooed on his very being as the control flipped down his fingers.

It was maddening. Absolutely maddening. He was certain he was losing control of his own body, of his mind, and just that thought alone made him feel nauseous; he felt like someone was twisting his stomach, slowly and painfully; and that wasn’t him. Being fucking miserable like this? That had never been him.

He was Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake.

He never lost control; he thrived on it—he was the fucking embodiment of control. He controlled himself, his actions, and, most importantly, everything around him: Quidditch strategies, his routines, his grades, but above all, his relationships and everyone around him. But lately, everything felt off...vague, as if everything he had carefully built was slipping away, leaving him exposed and raw.

He felt like a wreck, in every sense of the word.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just affecting him anymore; the worst part was that it had started to affect his relationship with you. You, the only person he genuinely gave a shit about, the only person who mattered to him, the only person he couldn’t let slip away. That was the fucking problem.

In the beginning, everything was perfect, so goddamn perfect that sometimes he was fucking terrified to wake up and find out it had all been a dream, a goddamn illusion that his own mind created to punish him. The truth was that being with you was like a goddamn drug—in the best, most fucked-up way. It was addictive, intoxicating, and never lost its thrill. 

The way your bodies fit together, how you let yourself get lost in the things he did to you, how he knew your body by the tip of his tongue—it was all fucking exciting. And you? You never dared to say no to anything he asked, no matter how sick it sounded; that was what made him want to keep you locked up, all to himself.

And for a while it was all he needed.

But Mattheo wasn’t the type of man who loved gently or held himself back when it came to relationships. He never knew how to give just a piece of himself, and in return, he took everything from you, consuming you in ways that were almost humanly impossible. He always wanted to possess, to have power, and with you, it was no exception. 

No matter how much he tried to suppress it, the need to control you, to use you, was becoming unbearable, and Mattheo was sure that it was turning into physical pain; he could feel it in his ribs.

And besides all that bullshit, lately, the little control he had over you felt more fragile than ever, as if something had shifted in a weird way, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it was fucking there, eating him alive, almost destroying his mind and opening his ribs; there was a part of you he could no longer reach, no matter how hard he tried, and it was driving him insane—he was furious with himself, and a twisted part of him was even furious with you.

He knew it didn’t make any sense, at least not to him. After all, he still fucked you in every way he could—rough, slow, and sometimes, when he was feeling nice enough, even with a strange kind of tenderness, Mattheo fucked you until you were both so drenched in sweat that your bodies stuck together like glue. But even that wasn’t enough.

He was not satisfied. 

It wasn't that being with you was horrible... fuck no! He would never say that, because he knew that if he did, it would only be a lie to hide the sexual frustration that was haunting him like a ghost. And if there was one thing he definitely wasn't, it was a liar. Besides, you were the only girl he dared to touch more than once, the only one he didn't toss aside like the others, the only one he fucking surrendered himself to—not just to blow off steam.

He knew he couldn’t be with anyone else but you. But lately, something was missing, something different, something more obscene, something more…him.

Mattheo couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to spice up the things in your relationship; he was done with the same shitty routine over and over again—he needed to push the limits of what he had with you, to push you further, to fuck you even better than he ever did.

He needed to fight for the relationship, fight for you.

It was then that an idea popped into his mind. A game. Something as twisted as it was intimate, something that would push the two of you into new territory that would push him toward the satisfaction he so desperately sought.

Hide and seek.

He knew it was probably a sick idea, a really sick one, but the way the thought consumed him, how it gripped his mind, and how the mere idea of hunting you down in a dark room with nothing but his filthy thoughts and a knife made his cock throb was impossible to ignore, especially after weeks feeling like shit, like a failure as a partner.

The truth was, Mattheo couldn’t stop himself—not when every nerve in his body burned with the desperate need for the satisfaction he craved and not when he finally found a way to solve his problems. He couldn't let you slip away, not when you were the only one who ever mattered to him.

He’d spent way too much time drowning in frustration, feeling his satisfied façade crumble, feeling the control he valued so much slip through his fingers like fucking sand.

But this—this fucked-up, twisted game—was how he’d take it all back. How he’d finally feel in control again, finallyfeel like he had all of you exactly where, to him, you truly belonged. To remind himself that you were still his—to wreck, to ruin, and to use however he wanted.

And that thought alone sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

So Mattheo approached you with caution, whispering sweet but fake words to tempt you, tracing his thumb along your thigh, offering you a false sense of security that he was waiting to take away. Looking into your eyes, almost pleading, begging for the uncertainty to finally leave them.

He offered you space to process what he wanted, making you think you had a choice, even though he knew he had already pushed you toward a thing you couldn’t refuse. And when you finally said yes, satisfaction washed over him, and he wasted no time pushing you into the game.

The small room was dim, with the only light coming through the large crystal windows. The setting afternoon sun streamed through the colored glass, casting soft, vibrant hues over the dusty old furniture and the cold stone walls. Strangely, it brought an odd sense of comfort and freedom to a space that otherwise felt heavy and stifling with what was happening inside.

The room was silent except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his slow, deliberate steps. Somewhere in the darkened corners, Mattheo moved like a shadow, his fingers wrapped around the cool silver of the knife, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

He wasn’t rushing—no, he wanted to savor this, to draw it out for as long as possible, and he knew that even if you couldn’t see him, a part of you could feel him and listen to his footsteps.

You were in the other corner of the room, your back pressed against the edge of an old desk, the cool wood biting your skin through the fabric of your shirt, your breath was shallow as you tried to stay as quiet as possible, determined not to catch Mattheo’s attention. The dim light filtering through the colored glass windows barely reached you; keeping you concealed in the shadows was the only advantage in this twisted game.

Every inch of your body felt wired, tense, your pulse quickening with each passing second, yet you could feel your pussy starting to get wet with anticipation of being haunted.

“Sweetheart.” He called in a purr, his voice smooth, slicing through the silence. It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d given you time to hide and entered the room, and you couldn’t help but press your hand to your chest, trying to steady your racing heart. “You’re hiding well... it’s almost cute, really.” Mattheo’s words were filled with mockery as he moved his head around, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room, searching for any sign of you.

He stopped near a bookshelf, casually flipping the knife between his fingers, the blade gliding effortlessly with every lazy movement. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, and he held his breath, savoring the familiar, sweet, and addictive scent of your perfume that filled his nostrils, quickening his pulse and making his heart skip a beat with anticipation. Yet, the scent was still too faint, and he knew you were still far from him.

And that made him even more eager to play, to catch you and use you as he wanted.

He tilted his head slightly, straining to catch any sound, but the room remained silent, save for the faint rustle of old books settling on the shelves and the distant hum of the castle beyond. Mattheo chuckled to himself. You were good—too fucking good for your own good. He couldn’t hear a thing. No sharp inhale, no shift of weight against the wooden floor, nothing to give you away. And he couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation of pride.

A slow, cruel smirk curled at the corners of his lips as he tapped the flat side of the knife against his palm, the sound barely breaking the silence of the stone walls. You were making this interesting—dragging it out, pushing him to the edge, making him hard, testing his patience. But patience? That was never his strong suit, and it never would be.

Mattheo’s footsteps echoed faintly as he began to move again, the knife still shifting between his fingers with that unnerving ease. His eyes scanned the room attentively, every inch of it, studying the shadows, waiting for the slightest slip—a twitch, a breath, the faintest shift in the air that would give you away.

But nothing did.

You held your breath even longer, your hand pressing against your chest as your fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt in a futile attempt to steady yourself against the nervousness that made your heart pound violently against your ribs—and the need now pulsing deep in your now wet cunt.

“Are you trembling right now, aren’t you?” His voice was a quiet hiss, the words almost dripping with a twisted amusement that sent another shiver down your spine. You could hear the satisfaction in his tone, his words dripping with that familiar sense of control. “Holding your breath? Hoping I’ll just walk right past you?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the voice in your head cursed as you felt his footsteps drawing closer, desperately trying to control the frantic pulse of your throbbing cunt.

Despite Mattheo’s footsteps, the room felt too still, too quiet—like you were holding onto every second, every inch of space between you and him. But he still could smell you, your scent growing stronger with every passing moment, enough to make his pants tighten around his cock, and then he finally could hear the faintest breath that made his blood burn with desire through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to push you, to see you crack, to take this game further until you bleed.

His hand clenched tighter around the knife, the grip intensifying as he took another step, shaking his head violently to refocus on the task… breaking you? Well, that could come later.

He was going to make sure of it.

Your breathing quickened with the adrenaline, your heart pounding violently against your ribs as his footsteps grew louder, the vicious scent of his cologne intensifying with his proximity. You gripped the fabric of your skirt between your trembling fingers in a futile attempt to calm your nerves and to stop the excitement that was now dripping between your legs, hardening your nipples.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re close; I can feel it.” Mattheo’s voice came out sweet, and you knew that was the exact opposite of the intentions that had him searching for you so eagerly. “You’re really making me work for it, huh?” He asked, gently squeezing the knife in his palm, the weak lights of the room casting the shadow of the metal on the wall in front of you. “Cute.”

You cringed at the falsely sweet tone his voice carried as you tried to hold your breath even tighter, bringing your trembling knees to your chest in a nearly stupid effort to stop your pussy from growing even wetter at the sound of his manipulative words.

Mattheo stopped suddenly, his brown eyes flicking across the big dark room, narrowing slightly as they scanning every corner for any sign of you. His fingers toyed with the knife, the blade catching the light as he stood still, trying to hear even the smallest sound.

He could feel the impatience growing, clawing at him, but it didn’t dull the ache in his cock—in fact, it only made him harder. The thrill of catching you, of fucking you into the oblivion, made the excitement burn even more.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, love,” he said again, his voice rougher than before, almost like a threat. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’s going to be for you.” He chuckled low, sending a shiver down your spine, and your heart raced even faster than it already was.

You glanced up at the ceiling, noticing how his shadow was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He was getting closer to your hiding spot, making you instinctively rub your legs together in a desperate attempt to ease the heat growing between them.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, his impatience growing as he scanned the room once more, searching for any shadow that might betray your position.

When no sign appeared, he sighed again, this time with a touch of irritation; the silence was starting to get to him, but it didn’t last long, because a wicked idea flashed in his mind, and a cruel smirk curled on his lips, and in an instant, he slammed his foot against the wooden floor with all his strength.

The loud sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed through the empty room, so sharp against the silence that without thinking, without noticing, you jumped back, slamming into the table behind you. The movement was small but enough to knock over a stack of books, which crashed to the floor, the noise even louder than his footsteps.

You couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath, realizing the mistake you’d made, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat.

Mattheo stopped instantly, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. His eyes locked onto the spot where the books had fallen, and a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. He tilted his head mockingly, his gaze glinting with amusement when he caught a small glimpse of your head peeking out from behind the desk where you were hiding from him.

Without giving you a chance to run, he moved toward you swiftly, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, blending with your shallow, frantic breathing, and before you could even blink, Mattheo was right there, standing over you like you were nothing but his goddamn prey.

“Finally found you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, the way he said “sweetheart” making it clear he was loving every second of your discomfort. His eyes never left yours, and he could feel his pants tightening around his hard cock as the panic in your eyes grew.

Oh, there it was—the excitement he had been craving for so long.

You swallowed hard, your hand gripping the edge of the table you were leaning on for support, trying to ignore the dampness already soaking through your panties and the way his eyes were still locked onto your body, his fingers casually playing with the small knife in his hand as you stood in front of him.

“Yeah, i guess you found me” you said, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your shaky legs. “Satisfied now?” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though all it did was make his twisted smirk grow even wider.

Mattheo took a final step, standing right in front of you. His free hand landed on your hip, his grip so tight it would surely leave a bruise. The coldness of his palm against your warm skin made you shiver involuntarily, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, knowing laugh at the way your body reacted to him, your pussy tightening at the rough, throaty noise.

It was always like this, always—you trying to hold your ground while your trembling legs threatened to give out, even if you tried to resist the urge to drop to your knees right in front of him, you trying to challenge him, when in reality, all you wanted was to have your wet pussy filled with his big cock and feel him pump you full of his cum.

The same thing happened each and every time, regardless of how you two fucked, and he felt dumb for ever thinking that this time would be different.

Still, he wasn't complaining, since it made the game much more entertaining.

“No, not yet,” he whispered, leaning forward, your faces so close that his warm breath brushed against your skin. His free hand massaged your hip gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that was both mocking and soft, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs.

Mattheo’s hand left your hip, his fingers tangling in your hair with a strength that had you gasping in surprise as he yanked your face closer to his.

His breath mingled with yours—hot—and you could feel the press of his hard cock against you; still, he kept his lips just out of reach, teasing you. “Be a good girl,” he whispered, the words almost a command. “Show me your tongue, love.”

“And why?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, but it was impossible. The air between you thickened as he pushed his hips forward, his clothed cock pressing against the top of your panties, making you whimper.

“Show. Me. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” He repeated like a command, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you even closer. The grip on your scalp made a sudden soft escape your lips—somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “Now.” He ordered, and you quickly opened your mouth, your wet muscle sliding out to meet him, and you felt his cock throbbing harder against you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised you almost softly, and before you could react, he stuck his own tongue out of his mouth and gave yours a slow, tentative lick, making you shiver and whine with the contact, and then before you could even open your eyes again, he crashed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, full of teeth and tongue.

You moan into the kiss, feeling your tongues roughly clash against each other, teeth hitting with an brutal force as you taste each other’s lips, almost as if you were claiming again a territory that had belonged to both of you for a long time.

Your lips moved against each other in a frantic and aggressive rhythm, your tongues so intertwined that neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began. Mattheo let out a low groan, his cock growing even harder as the kiss deepened, and his grip on your hair loosened just enough for his hand to slide under your skirt.

He grabbed the flesh of your ass tightly, squeezing it tightly with a strength that would surely leave a mark before yanking you forward, grinding your hips against his, forcing you to feel the full weight of his hard cock pressing against you.

“Such a good fucking ass,” Mattheo growled against your mouth, fingers digging harshly into your ass as he thrust his hips into you, the rough friction making you whimper against his lips, your cunt dripping from the pressure alone.

He could already feel his damn frustration fading away, little by little.

His hand tightened on your ass, pulling you closer, making you gasp at the sudden pressure. Before you could react with another whine, you felt his teeth bite your bottom lip, breaking the skin enough to make the taste of your blood linger in both of your tongues. He grunted in satisfaction, savoring the familiar taste, and you felt how hard he was pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

Without warning, he slapped your ass sharply, the impact leaving you surprised, a mark of his fingers on your sensitive skin. Almost immediately, he gave another slap, this one softer but still enough for the sting to make you shudder, biting down on your already bloodied lip.

Mattheo moved away from your body a little bit, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he kept just enough distance to leave you yearning for more, wanting him to finally fuck you the way he intended there and then. His pupils were dilated as he looked at you, and you met his gaze, agitated and breathless.

"Mattheo, please!" you pleaded, trying to ignore the pain on your lip, your brow wrinkled slightly due to the lack of friction you were experiencing. Yet, he only laughed, mocking you, finding it amusing that you were nearly as frustrated as he had been previously.

“Oww, are you anxious, sweetheart?” He blinked, pretending innocence, the hand that had been gripping your skin now tucking a stray lock of your messy hair behind your ear in a mockingly sweet gesture. “Poor, poor girl…” he taunted you, his eyes drifting to the small blade in his free hand, anxiously waiting to mark your skin.

He already had the prey; he only needed to cut it.

Mattheo pressed the flat edge of the knife against his palm, his grip tightening as he slowly dragged it down your skin. A shiver raced through you, and you held your breath as the cold, sharp blade grazed your sensitive flesh.

“What you’re trying to do?” you asked, your voice shaky as you watched the knife press harder against your skin.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed your back against his chest, your feet stumbling to catch up as he dragged you with him. His arm locked around your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, making your head spin, and a soft gasp escaped your bruised lips when you felt his hard cock pressed against your ass.

Mattheo’s grip tightened around your waist, his chest resting against your back as he roughly pushed you into that position, giving him a better view of your ass. Another gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hand slide up to your throat, his fingers tightening around your skin, almost like a reminder of who was in control. Who the fucking prey was.

“Stay fucking still,” he breathed against your ear, his breath hot as he continued to press his clothed hard cock against you, and you obey, trying to ignore the pain of his grip tightening around your neck.

Your pulse hammered under his strong grip, your throat tightening as you swallowed, yet Mattheo only tightened his hold in response, his satisfaction growing with every painful whimper that escaped your lips and every shudder that ran through your already weak legs.

His other hand—the one holding the sharp knife—moved slowly down your stomach, the handle brushing against your skin as he slid the blade lower and lower. Mattheo couldn’t help but smirk even more as he felt your body tremble again and again, his cock pulsing, sensing the way you seemed to shrink back against him.

Mattheo was savoring every second of it, watching you squirm, watching the nerves take over, watching you hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable pain. That was what he wanted, what he needed—to regain control, to own you. You, the one who held his heart in your hands like it was nothing. If he controlled you, you could never hurt him, never break his heart, never crush it with your touch. So, he was just taking the safe option.

Control you before you even realize you were controlling him.

In a swift move, he yanked your skirt and panties down, exposing the soft flesh of your ass even more and your wet folds to the cold air. The sudden vulnerability made your stomach twist in a mix of nervousness and anticipation, but you barely had time to process it before Mattheo thrust one of his knees between your legs, forcing your thighs to open wider, giving him a clear view of your cunt.

“Such a perfect little pussy…” He whispered against your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your body. “Hands on the table. Now,” he ordered. His hand remained firm on your neck, choking you, his voice dripping with dark mockery, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. And he did. He knew, and he planned to use it all to his own advantage.

His fingers clenched around your neck more tightly when you hesitated, pressing with such force that you choked slightly—the gesture almost like a silent warning.

"You really think you can disobey me, slut?" He whispered, letting out a dark, dry laugh as he rubbed his covered length on your bare cunt, causing you to whine. “You know better than to piss me the fuck off. Especially when I have a knife in my hand. Don’t fucking test me.”

You followed the command, stifling a moan as his hands tightened around your neck, your shaking hands resting on the wooden surface, your fingers turning white from the pressure.

Mattheo hummed in approval, rocking his hips harder against you, and you instinctively rolled your ass against him, eager for more contact, his grip on your neck loosened just enough for his thumb to caress your jaw—mocking, almost caring.

Then, he finally pressed the cold blade into your ass, and you held your breath, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs.

He muttered, "Stay still," and bit down on your ear. You leaned into him—into the pain—knowing that this would be the closest thing to comfort he’d ever offer you in that moment.

And just when you let yourself relax a little on his grip, the first cut came.

Your eyes snapped shut with the new contact, and you trembled as the pain of your skin being sliced open hit you. Mattheo let out a chuckle, his cock throbbing harder at the sound of your whimpers and the sight of your eager, exposed pussy.

He pressed the blade harder, dragging it slowly and painfully across your skin, cutting through the soft flesh of your ass, still marked by his slaps.

Another shock of pain coursed through your whole body, and you let out a soft whimper, trying to move instinctively. But Mattheo’s grip on your neck only tightened, keeping you locked in place.

He wasn’t going to let you escape, not now that he was so close to getting what he wanted, to the satisfaction he was craving.

“Shhh, it’s just a game. Stay still, or you’ll make it worse.” His fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your breath enough to make you struggle against his hold. Your head spun, your body fighting for breath, but strangely the adrenaline only turned you on more.

Reluctantly, you gave in, your fingers loosening their grip on the table as you allowed yourself to sink into his hold.

“Just like that, let me take care of you.” His voice dripped with false sweetness, but you let yourself fall for it, ignoring the burning pain in your marked ass as you tried to convince yourself it was worth it.

Mattheo dragged the knife further down, the cold blade scraping roughly over your skin, cutting into you and leaving a trail of blood behind before it finally tore through your flesh. You bit your lip hard, fighting back the scream clawing at your sore throat, your legs instinctively parting, offering him a clearer view of your dripping folds.

This time, it wasn’t just a cut—it was a permanent mark.

“Mine.”

The final stroke completed the “e,” and with each precise cut, you felt the heat of your own blood dripping down the curve of your ass, making your legs tremble more and more. The pain was sharp, but it made your heart race violently against your ribcage in a way you couldn’t explain; and yet his heartbeat mirrored yours, as if, after everything, he had finally regained control over you again.

Mattheo step back slightly, his hand loosening around your neck as he looked at the mess he’d made. He watched as your blood poured down your ass, staining your skin, tracing the deep cuts in thick, red lines. His eyes then moved lower, taking in the sight of your pussy pulsing with need, as if it were calling for him.

Fuck, he wanted to fuck your pussy so bad.

He placed the knife down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he felt his cock straining against the zipper of his pants, watching your chest rise and fall, and your nipples pressed against the fabric of your shirt. His hand slid down to your ass, his fingers tracing the bloodstained marks, feeling the warm liquid collect beneath his nails.

Mattheo licked his lips before bringing his fingers to his mouth eagerly, sucking them clean, licking with the taste, savoring the metallic taste, as if, absorbing it as if by magic, your blood would mix with his.

“Your blood tastes so fucking good,” he muttered, sucking harder on his fingers. You blinked slowly, trying to keep the tears from spilling down your cheeks.

After one last slow lick of his fingers, Mattheo holds you again, a groan escaping his throat as he looks at your dripping cunt, and without wasting another second, he freed his hard cock from his pants, and with a single thrust, he slid himself inside your pussy.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out in surprise as Mattheo's rigid cock entered you without warning, the force of his penetration making you almost sob. Yet instead of pulling back, he drove himself deeper, relishing the way your tight pussy clamped down on his throbbing cock. A low moan rumbled in his chest as he felt the familiar sensation of your inner walls around him.

“Even after all these months, you're still so fucking tight.” Mattheo groaned against your ear, his hips slamming against yours, the brutal force causing the blood pooling in your ass to trickle down and coat his skin. Each thrust pushing him deeper into your cunt, until the head of his cock was almost kissing your cervix, making your tender folds throb with the strange pleasure.

Fuck, he has been begging for this for months. Months begging for control, for satisfaction, and it was finally there; it was finally in his hands.

His hand tightened around your neck, making it hard to breathe, but he didn’t care. He only drove his cock deeper into you, forcing a loud moan from your lips as the pain from the fresh cuts burned through your skin, leaving you no chance to speak, no chance to even gasp his name.

You were almost certain that if he choked you just a little longer, or five more times, maybe even less, you’d be completely out of air—left to die right there with his cock still buried inside you.

But even though you couldn’t say his name or form a single coherent word, that didn’t stop the loud, desperate moans from spilling out of your bruised lips, your cries turning into broken, incoherent pleas as his grip on your throat tightened, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, just like that—moan like a fucking slut for me,” he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His large palm slid over your stomach, pressing you even harder against his muscular chest, forcing your fresh cuts to rub painfully against his bare pelvis. The sharp sting made you bite your lip to stifle a cry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table as another type of pain spread through you.

The pain only pushed you closer to your orgasm.

Mattheo’s grip on your neck tightened, making it almost impossible for you to breathe, let alone moan. His hot breath ghosted over your ear as he fucked your pussy with deep, brutal thrusts, each one so relentless that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow. Yet you didn’t say anything letting him chase what he needed.

“Only letting go of your throat when you fucking come like a bitch, sweetheart.” Mattheo moaned in your ear, his hips fucking you faster, burying himself to the hilt as he felt your walls clenching around his dick, signaling your climax. He knew that his own release was close, but he refused to acknowledge it, determined to push you over the edge first like a sick competition he was playing alone.

With three more thrusts, both you and Mattheo felt your pussy clamp down around his rigid length, your whimpering cries echoing through the room as you came, making him grunt in satisfaction. He finally loosened his grip on your throat, allowing you to gasp in relief, but he didn’t stop. He slammed into you one final time before his release hit him like a wave, his cock pulsing violently, spilling his hot cum deep inside your cunt.

After a moment of silence, Mattheo carefully pulled his cock out of your pussy, his breath still ragged as he watched his cum spill out of your hole, then he gently traced his fingers over the “mine” carved into your skin, brushing the marks softly, almost reverently, as if he was looking at a piece of art. The satisfaction he craved now has a permanent mark on you.

“Are you good now?” you asked softly, feeling the exhaustion take over your features as you tried to steady yourself and keep your eyes open despite the pleasant pain.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your bruised neck before whispering, “You can say that, sweetheart.”

© mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

hate this shit, the smut sucks but the idea is good, bye bye.

thank you to my girl @bucksplum for helping with the last paragraphs, i love you a lot <3

it’s 4 am so if you want to be rude, i will visit you in your nightmares or worse… (tomorrow i might edit better…or not

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

[he3ts]

GIVE YOU MY LOVE

squid game masterlist / part one — part two — masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: angst, jealous!nam gyu, smut ( p in v ) less than the first part but i prioritized tension and sadness!! toxic relationship, sub reader, alcohol use. mild thanos x reader. this is part two, i recommend you read part one to continue reading. sorry if this is long, but i got too carried away. never mind the mistakes, i'm fucking tired

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and i don't see an easy way to get out of this,,

her diary, it sits by the bedside table

the curtains are closed, the cats in the cradle

who would've thought that a boy like me could come to this

oh i, i just died in your arms tonight

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This time, you would not come back

At first, he didn't pay him any mind; you always did that. You would walk away, disappear for a few days, then come back, slamming the door and insulting him for his way of doing things. It was your sick game, a cycle that repeated itself over and over again. He knew it, had always known it, and that's why he hadn't worried when, for the first time, you didn't answer his calls.

You're being difficult. He had told himself a thousand times, throwing the phone on the table with a tired smile. But then the days had passed. Seven, to be precise. A week without a message, without a call, without even your name lit up on the screen in the middle of the night. A week of total silence. And then the weeks had turned into a month.

Nam Gyu had begun to feel it on his skin, that emptiness, like an ink stain slowly spreading, staining his days, soiling everything. The phone had become an obsession. Every night he unlocked it, looked at your contact, but he couldn't call you. He was too proud. Too convinced that, sooner or later, you would give in. You. Not him. Just you.

Only you hadn't. As the months began to roll by, Nam Gyu began to change.

He was no longer him. Or maybe, he was more than before, but without your eyes to make him feel like someone better. Without your presence to balance his chaos. His nights were made up of never-ending cigarettes, of glasses left on the edge of the table, of pills melted under his palate, of days that blurred together without meaning. He did not sleep, or slept too much. He talked little, or talked too much and to the wrong person.

Girls came and went. Bodies without faces, kisses without taste. He looked for your scent on them and never found it. It irritated him. It drove him crazy.

One year. A year without you. That was how he measured time now.

No one was saying it out loud, but everyone was noticing. The way he reacted to things had changed, patience was in tatters, irritability a constant. Friends knew it, strangers who crossed his path at the wrong time knew it, but no one knew it as much as he did.

No one felt your absence like he did. Yet, he was no longer looking for you. Because inside him, though he didn't want to admit it, he understood. This time, you were not coming back. For your own sake.

The club Pentagon was still the same. Dim lights, pounding music, bodies moving too close, but never enough to fill the void. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and stale desire, a perfect place for those who wanted to forget, for those seeking a temporary escape from reality. Nam Gyu had dropped onto one of the black leather couches, a drink between his fingers. The amber liquid swayed slightly as he stared blankly at it. He didn't even know why he was there. Or maybe he knew, but he didn't want to admit it. It had been months since he had heard from you. Months that had stretched into a whole year.

"May I sit down?" A female voice brought him back to reality. He looked up as his eyes rested on a young woman with dark hair, bold eyes, a smile that tasted of promise. She wore a black dress that swathed her body in a way that should have attracted him. It should have.

Nam Gyu did not answer right away; he already knew how it would end. It was going to be a night like many others, a night when he would try to forget you in the arms of someone else. It never worked, but he kept trying anyway. He nodded his head. She smiled, satisfied with his silent acceptance, and sat down next to him. Her scent was sweet, perhaps too much so.

"Are you alone?"

He gave a small, bitter smile. "For a long time"

The girl laughed, as if that answer was a joke, and moved just enough closer to reduce the distance between them. Her fingers grazed the rim of his glass, her red-lacquered fingernails tracing a circle on the cold glass.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

He finished what was in his hand in one slow sip, letting the fire from his drink trickle down his throat, and then set the empty glass on the table.

"That's not necessary"

She leaned even closer, her legs crossed in a studied way, her knee brushing against his. "Then maybe I can offer you something better"

Her fingers slid down the collar of his shirt, playing with the first open button. It was an inviting, calculated gesture, something that should have ignited a modicum of interest in him. Yet, he felt nothing. There was no excitement, no desire, just a sense of apathy that suffocated him.

But he did not back down. He could not go on like this. Maybe, this time, it could work. Maybe, this time, he would stop thinking about you.

The cab sped silently through the brightly lit streets of Seoul. Nam Gyu sat beside the girl, his head leaning against the window. He looked out, the reflection of the lights stretching across the glass, distorted like his thoughts. She was talking to him, but he wasn't really listening, occasionally nodding, occasionally hinting at a smile. He had gotten good at pretending.

When they reached his apartment, she took him by the hand and pulled him inside, without hesitation. She closed the door behind her, dropping her purse on the floor, and pushed him against the wall.

"Are you always this quiet?" she whispered, biting her lower lip as her fingers slipped over his shirt. He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes, something that might convince him she was doing the right thing. But he found nothing. Still, he let her. Her lips came to rest on his, the kiss was expert, voracious, but it didn't make him feel a single thing. Her hands touched him, sought him out, and he reciprocated out of pure automatism.

He let himself be pulled toward the bed, his breathing heavy, his body moving without his mind really being there. She pushed him down, lay on top of him, her lips tracing a trail down his neck. He closed his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, he tried to imagine that she was you. That the hands caressing him were yours. That the voice whispering his name was yours.

And then, without meaning to, without thinking about it. She had squeezed his hair vigorously. Only you could do that.

"Y/n, oh my god bunny"

The girl stopped suddenly, hearing that unfamiliar name. She stiffened and pulled away slightly, her breathing labored. "What did you say?"

Nam Gyu opened his eyes. Her own whisper still seemed to echo in the room. Your name. He had said it. He had whispered it against the lips of another girl. A heavy silence fell between them. She drew back, her eyes narrowing in a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Are you kidding?"

He did not answer. There was nothing to say. She stood up abruptly, hastily picking up her clothes scattered on the floor. "Take your ex back at this point," she spat, slipping on her jacket without even looking at him again. And then, without another word, she walked out, slamming the door behind her. Nam Gyu stood motionless, his gaze lost in the ceiling, his breathing heavy.

He closed his eyes again, but this time there was no illusion, no lie to take refuge in.

The bed was cold. And the emptiness he felt inside him seemed to have no end.

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Time had stopped making sense, your days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a whole year without him. Without his burning gaze on you, without his voice to make you shiver, without his touch to always bring you back to where you started, without his caresses.

You had left without a trace, because you really needed it. Needed to change. You had changed areas, found a different job, away from those places that talked too much about him. You had deleted numbers, blocked calls, closed every door left ajar. You had even nipped relationships with people who could have brought you back, because you knew that all it took was one small crack to bring you down again.

It had been difficult at first. The sleepless nights, the phone that went silent but you kept looking at it anyway. The dreams in which he still appeared, vivid, real, with that damned ability to creep under your skin even when you didn't want him to.

And then there was the silence. Too much silence.

The mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, a tight throat, and the knowledge that you were facing another day without him. The dumb ache of knowing that, deep down, no one had ever made you feel the way he did. Not even in the good, and especially not in the bad. But then it had become habit.

Silence had stopped being an enemy, and had begun to seem almost like a salvation, no longer having to explain to yourself why you always came back, no longer having to justify your need for him with excuses that no longer held up. And, little by little, you had begun to convince yourself that it was really over, that there was nothing left between you. That the love that had consumed you had died along with that old version of you.

But some days were harder than others. You simply woke up already in the morning in a crooked moon. You suffered from lifelong insomnia, but with him it was rare to happen, but that night it was past one, then two, then three. You were lying on the bed, the ceiling a white void that gave you no answers, darkness enveloping everything but your thoughts. Your chest ached, as if there was a weight on it, a tight knot that wouldn't untie.

You didn't know what had triggered that particular night. Maybe a familiar smell heard on the street, maybe "I Just Died in your Arms" played on the radio just that afternoon, his favorite song, maybe just the weariness of having to pretend every day that you had moved on. You had gotten out of bed with soft legs, head light. In the kitchen, the silence was deafening. You had leaned your hands against the counter closing your eyes, biting your lip to hold back the burning that rose in your throat. But it was no use. You could feel it coming. That silent pain, that grip that gripped your stomach and left no escape.

And then, without warning, the tears began to fall. Slow, heavy.

No sobs, no sound, just a silent weeping that seemed to never end. Warm drops on your cheeks, on your lips, falling onto the kitchen countertop one after another, as if your body was expelling all the pain that had been trapped inside for too long.

You felt stupid. You felt weak.

A year had passed. A bloody year. You should have been better off. You should have been free of all this. Instead, there you were, crying in the darkness of a kitchen you didn't even feel was yours, your heart still beating for him, his name trembling on your lips even though you didn't say it.

With the knowledge that, perhaps, you had never really forgotten him.

And that, perhaps, you never would.

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Rain was falling incessantly on the city's gray streets, slipping from the rooftops like tears that no one would ever wipe away. The sky was a cluster of dark clouds, and the air had that oppressive weight that precedes something inevitable. You walked aimlessly, your hands stuffed in the pockets of your jacket too light for that bitter cold, your mind clouded by thoughts that would not shut up. It was one of those days that seemed meant to break you down, no money in your wallet, no place to return to with a smile.

And now him, too. You had rebuilt your life, of course you had to, you were engaged and maybe in love but you didn't know for sure. You thought it centered on the theory that first love is forever, maybe that was why you couldn't open your heart easily to someone else. It was like a poison. But fortunately you had managed, however briefly, to be happy. It had all started that morning with a seemingly innocuous sentence, a joke said lightly, almost in jest.

"You are with me, but sometimes I feel like your head is elsewhere"

You had looked up from the empty plate, fingers fiddling with the now useless fork, your boyfriend was standing in front of you, a smile on his face, you knew him well enough to know something was up. And you knew yourself well enough to know that at that time you were not as spry as before.

"What are you talking about?" you had asked, trying not to sound defensive. He had shaken his head, the smile barely on his lips, but his eyes betrayed his frustration.

"About him"

Your breath had caught in your throat for a second. Yes, him. Nam Gyu.

He had said it out loud. Even though he had never spoken his name, that name that was no longer supposed to belong to you. You had set your fork down on the table with a clatter, trying to maintain control. "I don't want to talk about it"

"But you still think about it"

"I don't"

He had laughed, but without mirth. "Are you really sure?"

Were you? His words were a knife digging into you, slow and precise. "It doesn't matter," you had said finally, crossing your arms.

"It matters to me"

His fingers had drummed against the table, the sound rhythmic and nervous. Then he had shifted, leaning against the back of the chair, watching you with a gaze that made you feel naked, vulnerable. In that perspective, you had noticed how a little like him he looked. You were so screwed.

"I heard you in your sleep," he had said. "You call him. Not me. Him"

You had stiffened.

"No"

"Yes"

The air in the room had become heavy, unbreathable, and going back seemed impossible. "It's not my fault if-"

"If what?" he had pressed, raising his voice. "If he left you? If he destroyed you and now you think no one else can put you back together?"

You had felt your face heat up, your throat tighten. It was unfair. It was cruel. But it wasn't a lie. "If you think that, why did you stay with me?" you had retorted, your voice broken with anger and pain, "You knew my history, you ... You cannot hold my greatest weakness against me"

He had shaken his head, and for a moment had looked more tired than angry. He raised an eyebrow, not expecting me to respond that way.

"Because I thought that in time things would change"

A long silence had fallen between you. One that hurt more than words. Then he had sighed, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, not turning around before leaving. Nothing more had needed to be said. He had been right. He could not be a replacement and you were still trapped in the past. Alone again.

You had left the house only three hours later, your cheeks streaked with bitter tears, your nose red with shame. You felt the air lacking inside the crowded subway, the air saturated with the smell of rain and dampness. You had sat in a corner, your hood up, your eyes fixed on your hands entwined in your lap. Then you had seen him when you hurried downstairs. A well-dressed man with an enigmatic smile and an expression of someone who always knew more than he was saying. He had stretched a smile at you in a casual, almost distracted gesture.

"Will you play with me?" he had said, and you had almost laughed. A game. It was almost funny, maybe he was trying to cheer up your depressed mood. He had shown you two cards, one blue and one red, and you immediately knew what the game was. Ddakji. You had accepted, perhaps just out of defiance. Maybe because you needed something to take your anger out on.

Every blow you gave against the card seemed a reflection of the chaos inside you. Every pop in the air, every defeat, every burn on your skin when his hand hit your face. But then you had won and the bills had slipped through your trembling fingers. It was not the money that scared you. It was the temptation, because you needed the money. And, perhaps, you had nothing left to lose.

You had returned home sadder than before, the room was a reflection of you, you had taken off your soggy jacket and dropped it to the floor with a dull thud, you sat in the armchair cross-legged looking at the damn note.

Then the music had begun.

"Oh, I just died in your arms tonight..."

You had frozen. A chill had gone down your spine, your hands had begun to shake. That song, that damn song. The radio croaked slightly, the sound imperfect, lived-in. An old gift. One you had kept out of habit, just because it was part of you, and like a slow poison, your mind had gone back.

To him.

To the first time you had listened to that song together, lying on the bed with the rain beating against the glass. To the way he had smiled, brushing your hair away from your face with a careless gesture. To the taste of his lips, to the unspoken promise that was in every kiss. To the anger. To the longing. To everything you had tried to bury. Your gaze had slipped to the note clenched in your fist. Maybe you weren't really free. Maybe you never would have been.

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The metallic sound of the doll's voice was still echoing in your head.

The field was littered with motionless bodies, some lifeless, others paralyzed with fear. Blood stained the dusty ground, yet adrenaline did not allow you to dwell on that scene of terror. Your heart was beating so fast you feared it might explode. You had survived. Where the fuck had you gone? Blood, too much blood, your beautiful face was stained crimson red, you could no longer breathe regularly. But you were alive. With hands still trembling, you had turned around slowly, trying to catch your breath, to process what had just happened.

Terror made your whole body shake in a ghoulish dance, you hid your hands in the pockets of that horrible green sweatshirt. You were breathing only because you had to, only because you wanted to live again. You could not die, you were young, poor, yes, but still young. Everyone seemed too interested in money, blinded almost to want to continue. You obviously voted X, how could you continue knowing that maybe you would die next?

The bed was uncomfortable, you couldn't even eat, you were terrified, and now you were forced to play again just because of someone else's greed.

Nam Gyu no longer knew how long he had been staring into space, the spoon trembled between his fingers, he was nervous, he was in withdrawal, the bland meal had now cooled before him, but none of this mattered. He was in withdrawal and thought it was just yet another vision he had before him. But no, he had seen you. You. Across the room, far away, your back slightly bent as if you wanted to make yourself smaller, more invisible. There you were, intent on eating in silence, not drawing attention to yourself, but your face, your movements, everything about you screamed your presence like a deafening echo in his chest.

The spoon almost slipped out of his hand. His lungs closed, as if the air had suddenly become too thick for him to breathe.

One year.

But it had only taken one glance. One bloody instant to shatter every lie. He had lost you. But he had never forgotten you. And now you were there. You were real.

Your hair was longer, slightly messy, but it still looked good on you, as if it belonged to that version of you he had never known. Your face was more mature, marked by something he couldn't define. Suffering? Weariness? Or was it just time that had left its mark?

You were even more beautiful. A kind of beauty that hurt the eyes.

You looked fragile, almost ethereal, as if the world had crushed you for too long. But he knew. He knew that inside you was still that flame, that storm that had always engulfed him. He watched as you brought the spoon to your lips slowly, with no real desire to eat, with no real taste to that meal. Your movements were mechanical, lifeless, and that realization hit him like a punch to the stomach.

He bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. A laugh at his side abruptly brought him back to reality: Thanos, the purple-haired boy, the rapper, always stoned and a little disconnected. Sitting next to him looking relaxed, as if they hadn't just risked their lives. He was saying something, a joke maybe, but Nam Gyu couldn't follow him.

Not as long as you were there. Not as long as your breath seemed to echo in every corner of the room. Thanos followed his trajectory, turning his head sharply toward Nam Gyu "Do you know her?"

"No," he had gasped, but he still stared at you with too much intensity, without shame or modesty. Your eyes met. One moment. A single, eternal moment.

Your lips barely parted. The spoon remained suspended between your fingers, as if you had forgotten what you were doing. Nam Gyu felt the blood freeze in his veins.

You.

It was really you.

Bunny.

He had missed you.

He had missed you to death.

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He did not know how it had started, but Thanos had set his eyes on you from the start. He had opened the cross necklace around his neck only to pull out what looked like an ecstasy pill to Nam Gyu. He scrutinized you as if you were a fun puzzle to solve, as if he had already decided you were worth playing with.

After the fight with Player 333 he seemed more fierce than ever, his had been a test toward him, he was plotting something, and Nam Gyu knew it. Maybe he had noticed the way he was looking at you? He didn't want to talk, didn't want to hunt for some weakness. But seeing you there again had ignited that flame in him that he was unlikely to extinguish now. He felt the fire sprinkle in him everywhere, how delirious.

Thanos was serious, approaching you with that relaxed walk of his, his head slightly tilted, as if everything was a big joke and he was the only one who knew the punchline.

Nam Gyu could tell from your eyes, from that little glint, that you were amused. Maybe from his dilated pupils. Okay it's done, it's going to be really funny.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, his fingernails digging into his palm. Thanos was already in front of your figure, his face tilted in a theatrical gesture, while you were still trying to finish your cross-legged meal.

"Hey, Señorita"

Nam Gyu felt the blood boiling in his veins, you barely looked up from your meal, the spoon suspended in midair. You tilted your head, watching him curiously.

"Señorita?" you repeated with a smile that, however small, was enough to annoy Nam Gyu. That symptom of belonging. You had never been engaged, not officially, but at the club his friends always tried to stay away from you.

"Yes." Thanos nodded slowly, with that air of a sassy kid who enjoyed pushing himself. "I've decided I'm going to call you that. It sounds better than your number, doesn't it?"

"I don't like it"

Thanos clutched his shoulders. Nam Gyu forced himself to look away. He felt his own breathing becoming heavier, his chest rising and falling with effort. He had no right to be annoyed. He had no right to intervene. Yet, he felt the need to do so.

You chuckled, lowering your gaze to your meal.

"Join my team, and I will protect you at all costs"

Another laugh. Light, almost distracted. Yet every time Nam Gyu heard it, it was like a punch in the stomach. He hadn't heard you laugh like that in a long time. Not with him. Not for him. He was the one who knew every expression on your face, every nuance in your voice, and yet, there you were now, smiling with someone else.

And then, as if that were not enough, your eyes shifted to him. You were doing it on purpose, it was so predictable. You hadn't seen him in years. Years in which you had tried to forget the sound of his voice, the way his touch could burn your skin, the look with which he had always made you feel naked, exposed, vulnerable. You had vowed never to think of him again, to rebuild yourself, to erase his name from your mind. But when your eyes had landed on him in that bare, stuffy dormitory, time had stood still.

He had changed. Thinner, harder. His face seemed carved in stone, his black eyes were duller, more hollowed out. Did he have new tattoos? For a moment, you had seen a spark of something familiar before he looked away.

"So now you want to impress me?" you had told him, as Thanos sat down next to you just to talk some more.

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Nam Gyu sat in a corner, his body motionless, his hands intertwined in front of his face. He was trying to ignore it. He was trying to ignore the discomfort that knotted in his stomach every time Thanos spoke to you. But then, Thanos spoke.

"Strange," he said, with his usual arrogant smile, his eyes cast toward the piggy bank. "I didn't think you were the type to let a woman like that go"

Nam Gyu did not react. Not right away. Thanos understood. He was high and only wanted to annoy him.

"Or maybe," he continued, tilting his head slightly, "you never really had her?"

A deep breath. Absolute control. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Why are you talking about things that don't concern you?"

Thanos laughed softly, with the confidence of someone who knows he has the upper hand. He leaned in slightly closer, as if deliberately trying to provoke him.

"Because it amuses me," he whispered. "Because I want her. Because you had her in your hands and threw her away like an idiot"

Nam Gyu clenched his jaw, still silence. Still checking. Yes, he was an idiot. Yes, he was wrong. Yes, his heart still burned for you.

"But maybe it was for the best," Thanos continued, the grin becoming more and more evident. "She is free now."

The bed creaked in an instant, Nam Gyu stood, his breath short, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with pure rage. Thanos smiled even wider. "Ah, so you still feel something? What a surprise"

"Leave her alone"

Thanos stared at him, and for the first time a shadow of caution flashed in his eyes. He was only joking. "What is it you call her? Bunny? Bro, you're really fucked up to call her in your sleep. Maybe you should-"

Nam Gyu moved even closer, his gaze now a bottomless abyss. His sweatshirt sleeves were up, Thanos noticed his scars, from when he was piercing himself. He took his necklace with a dry gesture, opening it in front of him, Nam Gyu's eyes lit up with something all too intense.

Thanos studied him for a long moment, then tossed him the pill, the smile barely noticeable. "Don't worry, champion. I don't want any trouble. At least not yet"

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You could not sleep. The need to go to the bathroom had become impossible to ignore; you were so terrified that you hadn't thought about your physiological needs at all. You had risen cautiously, slipping away from your bed without a sound, moving like a shadow among the huddled bodies. You crossed the dark room, the faint red and blue lights on the floor were blinding. When you reached the door, the guard behind the glass looked impassive.

"You can't get out"

The metallic voice rang through the device, cold and impersonal. You paused, your breath suspended for a moment.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Your voice was firm, but your body tense, but the guard remained still. Not an ounce of sympathy. Clenching your fists, the idea of having to stay there, of being denied even that slightest freedom, made your blood boil in your veins.

"If you'd rather I do it here, be my guest and watch"

The guard did not move. He did not respond. Nervousness burned under your skin. Your instinct told you that you would never be able to convince him, because you couldn't even convince yourself. Do it in front of everyone, even if they were asleep? That was out of the question. But then, a presence behind you.

"What's the problem?"

His voice. Low. Deep. Strange. A shiver went down your spine even before you turned around. He was there, so close you could feel the heat behind you. His gaze, heavy as a mark on your skin, did not leave the guard in front of you.

"She just needs to go to the bathroom"

The guard did not move, "It is not allowed at night"

Nam Gyu took a step closer. "Not allowed?" His voice dropped a tone, becoming darker, more dangerous. "Either you let her pass, or we make a scene. But I guess you don't want to attract attention, right?"

The guard was impassive, as always, and he was so close, and you desperately needed the bathroom.

Nam Gyu looked at him as if he could break him in two with a single glance, resting his hand on your back. "Don't be an asshole," his voice was pure threat. "Open that door."

A second of absolute tension, then finally the guard opened the door. As soon as the door opened, Nam Gyu gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you out without another word. He walked in front of you, determined, his shoulders broad and tense. His grip on your wrist had barely loosened, but the contact between your skins was still there, alive, electric. Reaching the bathroom door, he stopped, you turned toward him, finally meeting his gaze. He was staring at you in a way that almost made you hold your breath.

His eyes were dilated, shiny, you remembered, because you had those eyes too, then you had decided that ruining your life was not the thing and stopped. Only when you had turned away from him had you felt the air lacking. So close, you could touch him, just reach out. All you had to do was ... No, you couldn't. Not now that you were both vulnerable.

"What an honor to know you still care about me," you barely whispered, he tightened his lips into a single line, he wanted to speak, he wanted to stop you. He wanted to... He didn't know anymore either. You had entered the bathroom not knowing that he had followed you quickly. You had done everything in a hurry, not wanting to upset the masked men.

Water ran over your cold hands as you rubbed them under the rusty jet of the sink, trying desperately to concentrate on the monotonous noise that echoed in the small room. But the only presence you could feel was his.

He was there, standing still against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his body relaxed in that silent arrogance that had always driven you crazy. His dark eyes watched you with an intensity that seemed to dig into you, making you feel vulnerable, as if he saw every thought hidden behind your impassive facade.

You knew he was watching you. He was devouring you with his eyes. You breathed deep, trying to find the voice to break that nerve-wracking wait.

"You can leave, you know"

The sound of your words echoed in the small room, but he did not move. Then he slowly left his position against the door and took a few steps toward you, slow, studied. Curse.

"Still playing hard to get" His voice was low, rough, with that undertone of danger you had come to know well. You felt your heart quicken as the reflection in the small mirror above the sink returned his figure to you, getting closer and closer. And then-the contact. His hands. Warm, sure, terribly familiar.

His hands rested on your hips with devastating naturalness, his fingers sliding lazily along the elastic of your sweatpants. A shiver ran down your spine, your breath jamming for an instant.

"Don't touch me. Back away," but you had arched your back so pathetically that your words betrayed themselves. He knew that your breathing had just changed. He knew that your body was already responding to his.

"Really?"

His tone was a challenge-laden whisper, his mouth close to your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He moved even closer, his chest almost touching your back. The warmth of his body against yours made you shiver. And then, you felt it. His erection, how much he wanted you, and the tip of his thumb sliding slowly under the fabric of your panties. A very light, almost accidental touch.

You stiffened instantly, your fingers gripping around the edge of the sink tightly, as if it were the only thing holding you up.

"Stop it"

Nam Gyu smiled against your neck, a smile you couldn't see but felt all over.

"Lie"

His hand moved another inch, his fingers playing with the hem of the fabric, lazily caressing the soft skin beneath it. Your breath grew shorter, the heat spreading along your skin like a slow poison.

"You always said you hated it when I did that"

His voice was low, hypnotic, dangerously close.

"And I hate it." You tried to maintain control, to ignore the way your body responded to his touch. But he laughed softly, a deep sound that made you shudder.

"Stop your bullshit. Can't you hear how much I want you, bunny." That name. That damn name that had always made you melt.

You had bitten your lip, hating yourself for the way your body seemed to give out without you being able to stop it. Stop, stop, stop.

"Go away, Nam Gyu"

He did not move; rather, he let his lips barely graze the skin behind your ear, his hot breath making you tremble.

"Tell me you don't want this"

"Tell me you hate me"

You hated him. You hated him because he knew you would never say it. When his hand reached your opening, opening it with two fingers, your breath was ragged, you had rested your head on his shoulder you could see his face looking down at you.

"Is that a no?" he turned several times between your folds as he gave you pleasure and you closed your eyes. Maybe it was his twisted way of enjoying himself. Maybe he liked seeing you tremble under his intense gaze, knowing that he could destabilize you. Or maybe he simply wanted what he couldn't have.

"He's on you like a hungry dog," Nam Gyu had whispered, his voice low, laden with venom, as he kissed your neck. He was talking about Thanos, you knew; he was jealous because you were still his stuff.

"None of your business," you had replied, your heart pounding in your chest. He had removed his fingers from your pussy too quickly, grabbing your hair with a tug, you had already complained about his distance.  "Yes it is my business. I see your face in my nightmares, I can't touch a woman after you anymore.... bunny, don't you understand?" his eyes were black, damned, you felt your intimacy melt deprived by your orgasm. But you were bursting.

"You reduce yourself to this! I am not a piece of meat! I loved you and you just exploited my weakness, my love to your liking!" before he could continue torturing you, his hand let go of your hair, you were looking at your bodies through the mirror, him behind you, and you trembling in front. Your pants slightly pulled down over your legs, his hand continuing to pull them down.

"You are more than a piece of meat"

"You didn't give me a way to think that, though" you had turned around, now you were face to face. His cheeks red, his eyes half-closed, as he grasped your cheeks with his palms as if to lock them in.

"Maybe we won't get out of here alive, bunny," he sighed, playing with your hair; it was the drug, you knew. "Maybe I'll die. But at least I was lucky enough to see you one last time"

"You're not in you. That's the drug talking"

Your still damp hands clenched against the fabric of his suit. You stared at him, your breath short, your eyes struggling to stay cold, not to betray the fire he always managed to ignite. He smiled. A game. Always the same, the one where he pushed and you tried to resist. Only this time the bathroom walls seemed to close in on you, the breath of both of you was too close, and the air was thick with something you could no longer ignore.

"You're always the same," he continued, his tone softer, almost bitter. "Always ready to say no to me"

You didn't know what to say, you were like stuck, still too shaken.

"You like to drive me crazy, don't you?"

You didn't have time to answer. His hands closed around your face, "Please, bunny, kiss me" It was that closeness you knew, it was that you couldn't stand it anymore, to say enough. It was the fear, the fear of dying in a place like that. It was too strong, and painful but his lips touched yours without any warning. It was a violent, hungry, angry kiss. No gentleness, no attempt to hold back. Just years of anger, repressed desire and unspoken words exploding all at once.

Your fingers slid into his hair, squeezing hard as his body pushed you against the sink again. Your mouths sought each other, taking, biting.

He moaned against your lips, his tongue sank deeper into your mouth, as if he wanted to claim you, as if he wanted to remind you that, in spite of everything, he had never really let you go.

And the worst of it was that you didn't want to stop him. Never. Not even when he turned you over for the second time, and bent you over the cold sink, his erection pressing against your butt was just yet another signal about how much he was treating himself. How many times he had dreamed that you were the woman he had between the sheets, your face, your hair, your lips.

"Nam Gyu," you had said, trying not to wince as he slid down your sweatpants and panties. His body was pressed against your bottom, his hair in front of his face and his hands clasped around your hips.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" was a rhetorical question, sure enough, your head was foggy and your legs gave out. You were all wet, he found it funny. It was sloppy, all so fast, his breath on your neck and the tip of his cock already inside you. You lifted your butt higher toward him, because you wanted more, you were addicted, "Fuck"

"How I had missed your voice" he muttered, as his hand grabbed your hair, pulling you back toward him kissing your neck. You weren't protesting, you couldn't do anything more, you were exhausted and confused completely loose under him. His hands were everywhere, reaching for your breasts under your bra.

"Hurry the fuck up, I'm going crazy"

Your breath took away as he began to giggle and then grabbed you with far too much force as he fucked you in that fatal position. It was your head spinning, sweat soaked into your forehead. You felt it all, his tongue on your neck and moans against your ear. You were so hungry for him but so little in control of your person, "We are both doomed, you know, bunny"

"I know"

You had been struck by time, out of control, and for that night you had been his again. He couldn't get enough of it. Then a soft knock against the door. There were a few thrusts, unrestrained like animals possessing themselves. He stepped out of your frustrated womanhood, pulling your hair back from your neck and laying a chaste kiss on it. You had rested your head on the sink, your cheek flattened, and your face formulated a small smile. Your legs completely filled with him. You were cursed, yes. You were alive, again.

"I love you"

MASTERLIST.

[nakylvr]

MISSED YOU (FINAL)

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary: dealing with the repercussions of your actions, you try your absolute best to fix everything.

warnings/tags: hurt/comfort(?), happy ending (yay!), dealer!dani au, language

wc: 3,5 k

part 1 | part 2

you woke up to knocking on the door. lifting your head from the bed, you immediately felt your head pounding with a headache, making you groan quietly as you got up and left the bedroom. walking to the front door, you peer through the peephole and let out a sigh of relief to see manon.

you unlock and open the door, being met with the taller woman who was holding a convenience store bag in her hand. 

“did you sleep?” manon questions, taking notice of the dark bags under your eyes mixed with the tear stain marks on your cheeks.

“a little.” you shrug, opening the door wider and walking further inside. 

“better than nothing,” manon replies, walking in and shutting the door behind her. she follows you to the living room, setting the bag down on the coffee table as you sit on the couch and curl up into a ball in the corner. “here,” she rummages through the bag before pulling out two cans. “i didn't know if you'd want the redbull or the coffee, so.” she holds both of them in front of you. 

“thanks,” you mumble, taking the energy drink from her hand and opening it. 

a silence fills the apartment again, one that lasts a while before you finally manage to speak up. 

“i don't know how to fix this,” you say quietly, making manon look over at you. “i doubt she wants to see me right now, or ever again.” you look down at the drink in your hand, finger spinning around the rim of the can. “i should’ve listened to her, then none of this would've happened.” 

“it's okay,” manon says. “i mean, it's not, obviously, but it’ll be fine. you can't say that she probably doesn't want to see you, because we both know that she always wants to see you. whenever you're not around you are literally the only thing she talks about, and with what you told me about your last conversation, she probably thinks sophia forced you to do it – which she did, so i don't think she's mad at you exactly. if she is, i’d be surprised.” she pauses for a moment. “you have to just do it. get her out, and then you can talk it out. you can figure the rest out as you go.” 

“yeah,” you murmur, still looking at the can in your hands. 

“yn,” manon grabs one of your hands making you finally look at her. “i’ve known dani for years, she isn't going to be mad at you. when i say you are the only person she talks about, i mean literally you are the only person she cares about. i’ve seen her go through girls so fast that when she started talking about you i felt bad. i thought ‘well, there's another poor girl to add to her list’. but she said you were different. so i tried to believe her. now, i’m going to be honest with you here, okay? because i love and care about both of you very much, and i want you two to fix this, okay?” she stops, waiting for you to nod before continuing. “dani has said multiple times to multiple girls that they're different. so when she said it about you my first reaction was how you were going to get hurt. but things started changing, dani started changing. and that has never happened. you know dani is a pretty independent person, and what she does has her that way because of shit that's happened in the past, but to see her changing – changing for the better? i knew she was right about you.”

“not one other girl has even been able to remotely change one thing about dani,” manon continues. “she always kept them at a distance, she never let them get too close. and the day she told me she took you with her to one of the deals? something that she never let anyone do? i knew she seriously loved you. when she said that you insisted on going with her, she told me that she hesitated. but not for the same reason it usually was. she wanted to protect you. she always wants to protect you, yn. but she lets you come with. she trusts you with the money. she trusts you with certain clients. she trusts you. she loves you. no one else. i don't know why she did what she did, but i know she regrets it. you are the best thing that's ever happened to her, and i don't want this to fuck it up for you two. i can't tell you what to do, but i will support whatever decision you make, okay?” 

listening to everything manon said, you slowly nod your head while taking in all of it. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you could feel them threatening to spill, with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to keep it from trembling. “i ju-st want to fix this,” your voice cracks as you speak. “i love her so much.”

“i know you do,” manon is quick to reply, scooting closer to you and wrapping her arms around your shaking frame. “and i know she loves you just as much. you just have to tell her. you have to talk this out, and you have to tell her about what happened last night.” 

you physically tense up at her last words, the memories of the night before flooding your mind as you put your hands into fists to keep them from shaking so much. “i can't– she’ll really hate me then,” you reply, shaking your head. 

“you have to, yn,” manon tells you. “i know you don't want to, but you have to.” 

a few tears fall from your eyes, but you slowly nod your head, knowing it was the truth. it could make matters worse or it could improve them, but you had no idea how to even go about it. “can you– can you come with me to the sheriff's station? i already have the bail money in a bag, i-i just don't want to go alone right now,” you speak quietly, more tears trailing down your cheeks. 

“of course,” manon replies with a nod. “has sophia tried reaching you?” 

“there was texts and calls for the first couple of hours, but i think she gave up,” you answer with a shrug. “i read a few of them…” your voice goes quiet again.

“bad?” manon questions, judging by the tone in your voice when you said it.

“yeah.” you nod. 

“ignore them,” manon tells you sternly. “you don't need to be seeing her lash out on you because of something terrible she did. you didn't do anything wrong, okay? you don't deserve any of what's happened to you in these months, and it's not your fault for going to the person you thought would keep you safe. but this means you have to fix things with dani. if all else fails, then you can stay with me for some time, okay? you’ll always have a place to stay with me.” she rubs your back reassuringly.

“okay,” you mumble, nodding again. “thank you again, i owe you for this.”

“no you don't.” manon shakes her head. “you're one of my best friends, i’d do anything to make sure you're okay.” she then pulls away from you, grabbing the can from you and setting it on the coffee table. “when does the sheriff's station open?”

“nine, i think,” you answer. 

“we’ll go right when it opens, then,” she says. “get it done as fast as possible so that she doesn't have to stay in there too long. then you can talk things out. i’m sure you'll already be on her good side just by bailing her out after what you said when she was arrested, so you have a good starting point. get her something to eat, get some drinks, and talk it out here in the home you two have made. it’ll all be okay. i promise.” 

“okay.” 

…

one week later you were standing outside the jail, biting your nails with your foot tapping on the ground anxiously. thankfully, you had enough to cover the bail and have a little leftover, which was a relief knowing it didn’t take everything in the safe. you had yet to even speak to daniela, despite manon telling you to at least try and see if she would talk to you. you didn’t want to hear yelling over the phone, you’d rather hear it in person where you could explain everything easier than if you were arguing over the phone line that would cut after five minutes. manon told you over and over again that she wouldn’t be mad at you, but the nervous feeling was still rooted deep inside you as you heard the loud buzzing and the gate slowly opening. 

looking up from the ground, you spot daniela walking with her bag of things. her eyes subtly widen a bit from what you can see, since they didn’t exactly tell her who bailed her out, just that she was able to leave. 

she slowly steps over to you, stopping in front of you and looking at you without saying anything. 

“hey,” you say quietly. “i’m really sor–”

you’re cut off from your apology by daniela kissing you. your eyes go wide for a second, but when her arms wrap around your waist you find yourself melting into the kiss, practically feeling all the emotions she was pouring out into it. 

when she pulls away, you’re both a little breathless, quiet panting coming from you two. 

“do you wanna get something to eat and head home?” you ask softly. “i’d rather talk at home.” 

“yeah, we’ll talk at home,” daniela responds in the same voice.

“okay.” you nod. 

…

by the time you two arrived at the apartment, it was already leading into the evening, the sunset coming down just as you opened the door and walked inside with bags of food and drinks in your hands. 

walking behind you into the apartment, the first thing dani notices is how clean it is. she figured it’d be destroyed when they came to get her, only feeling worse when she realized it had to have been you that cleaned up the place. she follows you silently, setting the food down on the dining room table and going to sit on the couch next to you. 

there’s a silence that fills the room. one that was far from comfortable. both of you sitting there not knowing what to say first, or to say anything at all. until you speak. 

“i’m really sorry,” your voice is barely able to be heard as you fiddle with your hands. “i-i didn’t think– i didn’t mean for it to go down that way, i-”

“don’t apologize,” daniela cuts you off, shaking her head. “there’s no reason for you to be apologizing. i deserved it.” she goes quiet for a moment before continuing. “i’m really, really sorry. i shouldn’t have done what i did, and i know i fucked up. i’m not sure why i did it, but i regret it so much. i don’t know why you bailed me out, i thought the last time was really going to be the last time. but…i’m glad you did. i just want to talk it out.” 

“i know, and that’s why i bailed you out,” you start. “listen, dani. i went to sophia to figure out what to do, and…it wasn’t a smart idea. i know you two already don’t like each other, but this could really make things worse for everyone. i– she convinced me to call the police even though i didn’t want to. i felt so bad once i saw how upset you were. i knew you knew you fucked up and was trying to do anything to make me stay a-and i ignored it. i-i thought it would make things easier but it made everything so m-much worse. everything just t-turned into a shit show a-and i didn’t know what to d-do.” you began stuttering over your words as a few tears fell from your eyes. 

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” daniela is quick to wrap her arms around you and pull your head against her chest. “it’s okay, okay? i’m not mad at you for what you did. i deserved it. so please don’t beat yourself up over what you did, baby. i’m not upset at you.” she presses a gentle kiss on your head. 

“there-there’s something else i h-have to tell you,” you manage to get out, your anxiety growing and your breathing getting heavier. “please don’t get mad when i tell you th-this.” 

“nothing will make me mad, i promise,” dani responds. “what happened?”

clutching onto her shirt, your face is still pressing against her chest as you try to find the words to explain it. “i-i went to sophia’s after. y-you know she’s always had feelings f-for me, so i-i…i fucked up, dani.” you start fully sobbing into her chest at this point, which has her arms tightening around you both from you crying and what she was thinking you were going to say next. “i-i let her have her w-way with m-me b-b-but i hated it. it was t-terrible. sh-she didn’t care that i w-was uncomfortable, she di-didn’t stop even when i w-was crying. all i c-could think about was how y-you would never do that. i-it didn’t feel the same. sh-she didn’t care, she continued a-and i felt so bad after th-that i left immediately. i’m so sorry.” 

once you finished your words through sobs, daniela pulled you closer to her onto her lap, her arms tight around you as you cried. there were hundreds of thoughts running through her head, but they were far from being mad at you. she wasn’t mad at you. she was livid at sophia. “it’s okay,” she tells you over and over. “i’m not mad at you, i swear. i’m not mad.” hearing your cries continue made daniela wonder just how much sophia put you through when she wasn’t around, and thinking it made her jaw clench, anger bubbling inside of her. “baby, look at me,” she says softly. 

you slowly lift your head to look down at her, your eyes red and puffy with a few sniffles coming from you now and then. 

“i’m not upset, okay?” she says, running her hand through your hair. “i understand, i do. which is why i’m not angry at you. i’m angry at sophia, okay? she should’ve known better than to try and do that, let alone continue when you were crying. you haven’t seen her since, have you?”

you immediately shake your head quickly. “no, no, i haven’t. she tried texting and calling but i just ignored them.” 

“good.” daniela nods. “that means it’ll be a fun surprise for her when i show up at her front door.” 

the way she says that has your eyebrows furrowed together. “what do you mean?”

“don’t worry about it, mi amor,” she says, pecking your lips. “let’s just say she won’t be a problem anymore.” 

“as long as you don’t get arrested again, you can do what you want,” you tell her, hooking your arms around her neck. 

“i won’t, i promise.” she smiles at you. “are we okay?” she asks after a moment. 

it takes a minute for you to respond, but you nod your head in the end. “yeah, we’re okay.” 

“i love you,” daniela says, looking you in the eye. 

“i love you too,” you reply, leaning in and kissing her. 

…

it was late into the night when daniela got up. but not for the same reason it had been the past few months. was she going to see someone? technically. was it sophia? yes. was she going to beat the living shit out of her? probably. 

the latina carefully got out of the bed, unwrapping your arms around her and looking at the time on the digital clock. late enough. you shift around feeling her presence leave the bed, and you open your eyes to see her putting on a hoodie and her shoes. 

“where are you going?” you mumble tiredly. 

dani turns when she hears your voice, leaning down and pushing some of your hair out of your face. “i’m heading to sophia’s with manon and minji. don’t worry, i’ll text you once i’m there and when i’m on my way back.” she presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “i’ll bring you back something to eat if you’re awake when i’m leaving.” 

you nod your head, murmuring out a quiet “okay”. this is what you missed. if you were too tired to go out to deals with her, she would always say this. that she’d text you when she was there, and that she would text you when she was leaving that everything was okay, even then she would send more messages than necessary. but, you didn’t mind it. she knew you often got worried when it came to certain clients, and she always reassured you when she would go alone. it hadn’t been like this in months. for the past few months you’ve woken up to her already gone, not bothering to tell you where she was going. for the first time through this hell that’s been these last few months, it was starting to feel normal again. 

“be safe, please,” you say quietly. 

“always,” she replies, kissing your head again. 

walking out of the apartment, manon and minji were already waiting outside in front of minji’s car. the two turn when they hear footsteps coming towards them to see daniela walking towards them. 

“is it bad to say i’m surprised you showed?” daniela says, stopping in front of the car. 

“not really,” manon shakes her head. 

“thanks, anyways then,” daniela looks between the two. “are you both sure you want to do this?” 

“obviously,” manon says. 

“i’ve never liked her anyways,” minji adds, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“alright,” daniela nods. “let’s go then.” 

…

it was three in the morning when you heard the front door open. you were partially awake after daniela told you where she was going, glancing at your phone occasionally when it would light up. it had been thirty minutes since dani told you she was on her way back. just when you were getting worried you heard the creaking of the front door opening, and the jingling of keys. you sit up on the bed a little bit when daniela walks into the bedroom with a bag of food and drinks in her hands. 

“hey.” she smiles at you. “i got you some food and a milkshake from sonic. i’m sure you’re tired of it by now but it’s like, the only place open at this hour.”

“i don’t mind.” you shake your head. “thank you.” 

“it’s no problem,” she says, sitting down next to you on the bed. “here.” she hands you one of the drinks and takes the food out. 

sitting in silence while eating, you had a warm feeling radiating through your body. the type you hadn’t felt in months while everything was going on. the silence wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t tense. it was comfortable. it was normal, like it used to be. 

“i really missed this,” you say randomly in a quiet voice. “i missed you.” 

daniela looks over at you when you speak, seeing the small smile on your face that subconsciously makes a smile grow on her own face. “i missed this– i missed you, too,” she replies in the same voice. 

when you look over at her, you can barely make out her face with the lamp on your nightstand, but staring into her eyes, you know she’s genuine about it. “promise me we won’t do this again,” you tell her. 

“i promise,” she replies in a heartbeat. “you know why?” 

“why?” you encourage her, curious as to what she’ll say. 

“because i’m gonna marry you one day.” 

your breath hitches in your throat at her words. in the two years you’ve been together, she’s never mentioned anything of the sorts revolving marriage or that kind of commitment. and after what manon told you, you weren’t sure she would ever even consider the thought. to say you were surprised would be an understatement. 

“really?” your voice comes out in a whisper, as if you were doubting her words. 

“really.” daniela nods. “i don’t want to be with anyone except you. i don’t want you to be with anyone except me. i know i fucked up right now, but i swear in the future i’ll give you the newlywed life you want. i swear.” 

tears build in your eyes without your knowledge, so focused on her words that you didn’t even notice a few falling until dani’s hand reaches towards you and wipes them away with her thumb, her hand cupping your face. “you can’t go back on me now, y’know,” you say in a hushed voice. “you better stay.” 

“i will,” she responds. “i will, i promise. i don’t want anyone else. i just want you.” 

“then you’ll show me?” you say, your voice changing into a tone daniela was far too familiar with.

“oh, i’ll show you.” she leans in and kisses you. 

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

I think the problem is there's a massive cultural tension between 2 stances.

Everything unsightly, like garbage laundry, dishes, small appliances, cord or hobbies should be hidden away as much as possible so everything looks 'clean', that this is how 'adults' live and should be everyone's goal. Closed storage, minimal drop zones, invisible garbage and storage.

That this clearly doesn't work for a very large subset of people and homes are meant for living in comfortably, not for looking good up to someone else's standards. Your home should serve you and make your life easier, and some people experience "out of sight out of mind" a little too literally and completely to do things like store their hobbies away and still actually think to do them

You see this tension played out in home advice articles and home design opinion pieces all over the internet.

And it's one of those things that's actually about the spectrum of disability or neurology that is natural to humans that no one wants to acknowledge as the problem. At least no one really married to that first viewpoint up there. For people who are able bodied and neurotypical -enough- to pass, or are nd in just the right way, they can get away with living like that and the lack of clutter makes them comfortable and they tell themselves they are the ones doing 'adulting' correctly. Some people who live like this acknowledge it isn't desirable or healthy for other people to... some don't. Some really don't. Some people see drop zones and open storage and hobbies left out where they are visible and see it as a failure to 'live like an adult'. They see it as a dying trend of clutter and describe it with words like 'messy' and 'unsightly' or imply it's deeply off trend and needs to be done away with.

And our parents generation did a lot to try to instill view 1 in a lot of us, like it's the only acceptable way to act like a responsible person, either as an extension of their own acquired neurosis, or because they didn't like seeing their kids stuff all over the place [that is to say evidence of kids and teens being kids and teens in their house]. They learned it from their parents and the passed it on just like body image issues from parents who ask their daughters why they don't have the salad.

Like yes, on tumblr I see posts so often talking about how you should make your home functional for your brain and how you work, all the time, even ones that explicitly mention issues with executive functions or with literally forgetting things exist when you don't see them regularly. Thinking of things like desire paths might be a good way for some people to rewire how they think about their home.

But everywhere else on the internet? There's at least 20 more people trying to tell you that "open shelving" was just a fad, and needs to be done away with because it looks cluttered and 'messy'. With zero acknowledgement that doesn't work for everyone for neurological reasons.

I see these posts so often on tumblr because they are trying to do damage control for a pervasive culture of shame that treats accessibility in home design like it's unsightly.

On one hand, it's great to see people learn how to unfuck their living spaces. On the other hand, that stuff like "frequently used articles should be stored near where they're used" and "trash receptacles should be placed near activities that generate trash" are being received as radical ideas points to a serious knowledge transmission problem.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot IV

McFoord x Child!Reader

Ruesha Littlejohn x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Kiddo)

Summary: Sports day with a bunch of hyper competitive people

"Ouch!"

Caitlin sighs, massaging her temples as she comes down the stairs.

It had already been a loaded morning, crammed full of everything and nothing at the same time.

"Stop it!"

She'd only been upstairs for a moment, separating Gremlin's kitten from your own.

They were two vastly different cats.

Gremlin's Spicy was angry, a walking ball of fuzz that leapt first and asked questions later. He was liable to throwing up hairballs while making eye contact and bringing in dead rats from the railroad tracks.

Your Baby was the opposite, a demure little lady who groomed herself all the time and took naps on your blanket. She craved affection and wound herself around ankles whenever anyone even so much as looked at her.

Two vastly different cats like their vastly different owners.

"Hey!" Katie snaps as Caitlin turns the corner," Gremlin, knock it off! Leave your sister alone!"

A very clear bite mark is on your wrist as you sob, curled up on Katie's lap as she struggles to get your sister's shoes on her feet.

"I've got her," Caitlin says, nudging her girlfriend away," Go and put Kiddo in the car."

Usually, a Saturday morning meant a chill day.

Sleeping until noon and having some brunch. Most of the time pancakes, sometimes waffles if Katie could be bothered to get out the waffle maker.

But today was Sports Day at the school so you were all up bright and early to make it there in time.

Caitlin already knew how this was going to go though.

Gremlin would get hyper competitive and most likely push someone over in her haste to win and you would linger at the back of your pack of peers with no hint of athletic ability in you.

Your little sister was much younger than you so she was separated with the other nursery age girls while you were included in your class.

"That wasn't very nice," Caitlin says as she slips the leash straps over Gremlin's shoulders," You know your sister is sensitive. Why did you bite her?"

Gremlin shrugs. "Dunno."

"Well, I think you should apologise."

"Dragons not say sorry!"

"And dragons don't exist," Caitlin replies, hoisting Gremlin up onto her hip," Maybe you should think about that."

You've stopped crying by the time you're all in the car, a few fingers in your mouth and the other hand out for Katie to hold during the drive, Gremlin's ring of teeth marks displayed so obviously.

"Sorry," Your sister mumbles to you, kicking the seat in front of her.

"For?" Katie prompts.

"Bitin' you."

You mumble your thanks through your fingers just as Caitlin pulls up in front of the school.

She can see a few of the parents she knows well heading into the gates.

Life working at the fire station tended to bond people.

Leah is corralling Bean inside while Jordan (who used to work at the fire station but left after one too many near death scares) crosses the street with their Bug. Lia, their constantly exasperated admin person, is crossing the street with her Guppy as well, joining up with the two of them with a smile.

"Alright," Katie says, turning to look back at her two daughters," Remember what I said about today?"

"It doesn't matter if we don't win because you'll still love us the same," You recite through a mouthful of your fingers and Katie smiles.

"That's exactly right."

You hold Mammy's hand as you all cross the road.

Mammy holds Caitlin's hand. You hold Mammy's. Your little sister holds yours.

She raises your wrist up to her mouth and you tense but all she does is give you a little kiss on the bite mark.

"Sorry," She says again.

"It's okay."

Gremlin smiles at you and you smile back,

"Hey," Katie says, swinging your joined arms," Ma's over there."

It wasn't your week with Rue but she's still come to your sports day and the only hint of athletic ability you possess is put into running over to her.

"Ma!" You cry and she hoists you into her arms instantly.

"Look at you! Looking good, kiddo!" Rue says, bouncing you up and down as you lean into her, breathing in her familiar smell. "You ready for today?"

Your stomach suddenly starts swirling a little.

You know Katie's views on your sports day performance. You don't know Rue's.

"I won't be very good," You say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be good," Rue says decisively," Listen, I've got permission from your Mammy that after this is over, we can go to that fancy bakery you like and get some cakes before I take you back to her. Would that be nice?"

"And we can get cupcakes?"

"As many cupcakes as you like!"

Like you thought, you don't do overwhelmingly well at sports day.

You lag behind in the races and in the big jumping. You do fairly well at throwing the beanbags into the hula hoops but that's about it.

Sports day finishes with the sporty girls winning like everyone thought and a big barbecue to celebrate.

Your little sister eats a lot, Caitlin gets you cotton candy and your mothers even end up being civil.

"Caitlin," You say as your eyes rove around the school field," Why are the mummies and big sisters stretching?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin has a piece of beef hanging out of her mouth.

You point.

Over on the far end by the fence, Alexia and Jenni are stretching their legs. Leah is a few feet away doing the same. Alessia is jumping up and down a few times, warming up her muscles.

Even Katie is doing the same, chatting away to one of Bear's mummies.

"Well that's for the parent race."

"Parent race?"

"Uh-huh." Caitlin takes a wet napkin to Gremlin's face. "So the mummies can all race each other to see who's the best."

"But why?"

"Because adults can be competitive too. They get bragging rights."

That sounds...

Well it doesn't exactly sound weird.

Mammy and Caitlin work at the fire station together and you know all the firefighters there are super competitive with each other.

You didn't know that other adults were competitive too.

"Be careful, Magda," You hear one of Princesse's mummies say," You're not as fit as you used to be."

"Please," Princesse's other mummy scoffs," I'm not letting anyone beat me."

"If you pull a muscle, you get no sympathy from me."

You turn back to Caitlin in alarm. "Is Mammy going to hurt herself?"

"No...Probably not...Hopefully not."

That doesn't fill you with much confidence as Katie takes her place on the starting line.

It's carnage the moment the start is called as adults shove each other and get their legs tangled and fall to the ground in heaps.

Katie goes crashing into the ground in a heap with Leah, Steph and Lucy. Alexia and Jenni collide with each other and Irene. Mapi somehow trips over herself.

Against all odds, it seems, Duckie's mummy Jessie comes first.

Squish's mummy Frida is second and Conejita's mummy Caro ends up in third.

"Get off!" Katie says, shoving the pile of people off of her as you, Caitlin and Gremlin approach.

You crouch next to her.

"It's okay, Mammy," You say," You didn't have to win. I still love you the same."

[aninipanin1]

Hello!!! I have a little suggestion for the manager!reader series.... What if manager!reader made tiktoks/little skits around each stratum for blue lock tv promotional content? I can imagine a lot of people fighting for the spot next to the reader when they do silly tiktok trends hehe ( ＾ω＾ )

Anyways, that's all from me!!! Take care of yourself, and thank you! (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

SUSPECT!

Notes: I don't have TikTok so I don't know much about it. But this turned out to be more player focused lmao enjoy!

"We have to do a what?"

"Some tiktok challenges. Our media manager has already made you guys an account and um, they want you to film some videos so the show can get even more popular!"

You can hear most of them groaning in complaint. Its not that they do not use the app, but most of them could not care less about the cameras or how popular the show could get. As long as they got to continue playing and being in Blue Lock, then everything is all good.

"Can I not join in, Y/n-chan?" Niko asked and most of them soon followed, asking the same question.

"Eh? Oh okay...um, I'll try convincing the JFU but...they said you need to be in it." You said, a sad look in your eyes, knowing that the JFU would probably scold you again when they found out you let the boys do whatever they wanted again.

Isagi, being one of the most sensitive ones in the group, noticed the look in your face. Now, if it was just him, he would also rather say no to whatever the JFU wanted. But knowing that you will probably struggle in convincing the higher ups, and the possibility of you being scolded again, he straightened his posture before clearing his throat.

"Actually, Y/n-chan. We'll do the filming! Right guys?" He said, a fake smile on his face as the rest were just confused.

"What? You do it alone-" Otoya was about to say when Isagi elbowed his side discreetly, before giving a chilling smile.

"Right, Otoya! We'll all do it, Y/n-chan! What do we do?"

Most of them did not like the sound of that, but seeing your face light up in happiness made them get what Isagi wanted. So they just shut their mouths up and let you tell them what to do.

"It's been a while since we even used our phones for fun, didn't know so many trends already came and go." Karasu said as he listened to the trend they were supposed to be doing.

"How do you do this 'suspect' trend, Y/n-chan?" Bachira asked, peeking his head through your shoulder to look at the tablet in your hand where a video of the said trend played.

"So basically, one person will be filming another. The one shown in the camera will be running while the one holding the camera would call them 'suspect' before saying something about themselves that is embarrassing or funny. That's the gist of it, but you all can say what you want, as long as it doesn't cross too many lines."

Oh.

Oh.

A shiver ran through your spine at the smirk on everybody's face. Of course, they all knew each other's deepest habits and secrets, perks of living with each other in this large facility. And exposing and dissing each other? Oh, this was just the thing they have been waiting for.

And that was when you wondered if you picked the wrong trend for the boys to do.

"Um okay, I'll be doing something else in the meantime. I'll leave you with this phone so you guys can film. Um, you can go in whatever order you want. Please try to keep the language to a minimum as possible."

You said nervously, handing a phone provided by the facility to Rin, who just accepted it without a thought. You personally did not know how to feel about this. You trusted them, but definitely not enough to say the weirdest and most out of context things, especially when it comes to their fellow Blue Lock players.

'Oh god, I hope they dont end up fighting...'

The moment you left, they immediately went up to Rin to set up everything and started to point on who will be the scapegoat and be the first one.

"I vote for Barou to go first." Nagi said with a yawn, which only angered the said striker.

"What did you say, you lazyass? How about YOU go first?"

"Hey, hey no fighting!" Bachira cheered.

"Yeah. Hmm, how about rock paper scissors, and whoever loses gets to be the sacrifice." Hiori commented, to which most of them agreed.

It took a while to play the said games due to their number, but as the minutes passed and more and more people won and got eliminated. It was all left to Otoya and Chigiri.

"It's missy versus ninjass!" Karasu laughed.

"Shut the hell up, Karasu!" Chigiri muttered, taking the game very seriously.

But, lady luck wasn't on his side today as he pulled out paper and Otoya pulled out scissors.

"YES! GOODLUCK MISSY!" Otoya cheered. Chigiri fell to his knees at the lost before being pushed up by Isagi, who was laughing at his misery.

Being the one who currently held the phone, Reo snickered at a thought that appeared on his mind as he pressed the video button and started recording the running Chigiri.

"Suspect can't outrun us for too long in this video, or else he'll be in crutches the next day." Like bowling pins, most of the boys fell to the ground laughing at the words. Reo, was busy snickering and making sure that Chigiri's reaction was caught on camera.

"You absolute crud! COME HERE, YOU ASSHOLE!" Chigiri said, fuming, chasing after the chameleon-like striker who just ran away and continued laughing at his offended face.

"Suspect got brotherzoned by Y/n-chan because he started to say slurs on the field!"

"BITCH?! COME HERE CHIGIRI!" Isagi said, feeling offended and a bit heartbroken when he remembered that certain time.

"Suspect thinks his bad taste in fashion brings the girls closer, but actually just shoos them away from him."

"WHAT?! Excuse me, my fashion is good." Otoya tried to defend himself from Karasu's words. But the rest of the boys just shook their heads.

"Your beanies are hideous."

"Nah, its just because they're on him."

"HELLO?! WHY IS EVERYONE SO RUDE TO ME?!"

"Suspect is a closet gay for Hiori." Rin said, filming Karasu who stopped in his steps with wide eyes at what he said.

"What the hell? I'm not gay." But the rest of the boys just laughed at the straight tone Rin said what he said and the expression Karasu currently had.

"Shut the hell up, you crow. You ain't ever gonna beat the allegations!"

"You aren't any better, Shitdough! You are so gonna get it from me!"

"Hey, you're the one who keeps commenting about how erotic Hiori is." Kunigami rolled his eyes.

"I second that. I still can't forget how you called my left leg erotic." Hiori pitched.

"THAT WAS A COMPLIMENT?!"

"How gay can a compliment be, chat?" Otoya joked while slapping Karasu's back, who only yelped.

"Suspect would either get hepatitis from his dreams of Itoshi Sae or his 3 weeks unwashed pillow case!" This time, it was Oliver who filmed Shidou.

"And I don't have anything to hide about that."

"Jesus Christ, you both are disgusting." Rin commented in disgust at both Oliver for what he said, and to Shidou's whole humanity, or what was left in that guy's said humanity.

"Ya'll are getting more unhinged as this challenge pass by." Yukimiya added as he shook his head, not even knowing what you, Ego or Anri would say when they start to view the footage.

"Suspect can't run too fast or else he'll trip because he can't see what's in front of him."

"HAHAHAHA Bachira did not pull any punches." The rest laughed, meanwhile Yukimiya's glasses fogged, his smile clearly fake as he was legit pissed at what the striker said.

"We're here to offend not to ammend, baby."

"Suspect watches anime more for the agenda than the plot."

"So what?" Niko sassed towards Kiyora, who just shrugged while the rest just snickered.

"Nah bro, don't tell me you're one of those in the agenda piece community." Kurona said, only for Niko to shrug.

"Maybe or maybe not. You never know."

"Suspect is a closet mean girl."

"Pfft Isagi!"

"Nagi being a closet mean girl is so true, though."

"All the victims of Nagi Seishiro arise!" Otoya said as Isagi, Barou and even Reo raised their hands while laughing. Nagi, on the other hand just plopped on the ground, not wanting to even continue moving.

Needless to say, the video was a whopping success in social media. Everyone had a good laugh at found out the chill and funny side of the Blue Lock players. But, the JFU was less than pleased of what was in the video.

They expected the boys to behave and say respectable things about each other, not ruin their damn reputation just for jokes and laughs. But, nerdless to say, nobody cared much about their anger because the video did blow up in popularity, and numbers never lie, especially when it brings over money and revenue.

ADDITIONAL TIME!

BLUE LOCK TV TIKTOK COMMENT SECTION:

User1: TO SAY I SNORTED WHAT I WAS DRINKING WHILE WATCHING THIS?!

User2: I swear I always forget these guys are the same age as me, meaning we share the same humour☠️

User3: THE KARASU ONE?! THE GAYNESS IS REAL

-> User4: Idk who to ship anymore Y/n-chan w him or Hiori

User5: I did not expect Rin to actually be funny, good to know he doesn't have his brother's dry sense of humor.

User6: I LOVE THIS! Like I didnt know Nagi and Niko were filled with sass nor did I know Rin can be funny. I NEED MORE OF THESE

User7: Okay, but the brotherzone thing w Isagi proves to me that maybe the crazy harem shippers are right LMAO

-> User8: RIGHT?! Now I'm wondering like theres no way you would use the word brotherzoned if there is no feelings there.

I know this strayed away from the request but I really wanted to incorporate the Bllk boys' friendship so I hope yall enjoy this. I may make a pt 2 that fits more of the request huhu

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗗 lando norris x  fem! reader (angst) fic summary . . . after your boyfriend dumps you at a club, Lando picks up the pieces, bringing you home and holding you through the night (549 words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

Lando wasn’t supposed to be here. Well, not here here, in the way that made his heart beat a little too fast and his chest ache like he’d run a marathon without warming up. But when your blurry call came through—half-laughing, half-slurring about how your boyfriend ditched you at the club—there wasn’t even a second of hesitation.

Because Lando was the one who stayed.

The apartment door clicked softly behind you both as he carried you inside, your arm lazily slung around his neck, head drooping against his shoulder.

“Landooo,” you mumbled, breath warm against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’re my favorite person, y’know that?”

He chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Yeah, I know. He wished it was enough.

Getting you cleaned up felt like muscle memory by now. He grabbed a soft towel, dampened it, and gently wiped off the smudged makeup from your face. Your eyes fluttered open halfway, hazy but trusting, like you knew you were safe with him. You always were.

“Arms up,” he whispered, helping you out of your clubbing top and into one of his oversized hoodies—your favorite hoodie, the one you always stole when you were over. It swallowed you whole, and God, he wished he could tuck you away somewhere safe like that, where no one could ever hurt you again.

Once you were dressed, he tucked you into his bed, but you grabbed his wrist before he could move away.

“Stay?”

That one word, soft and vulnerable, unraveled him.

So he did.

He climbed into bed beside you, and without missing a beat, you curled into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head found its place on his chest, arm draped lazily over his waist. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, breathing in the scent of your hair mixed with the faint trace of your perfume.

This—this—was everything he wanted and nothing he could have.

His heart thudded, steady and slow, but every beat echoed with the words he couldn’t say. He wanted to tell you that you deserved better, someone who wouldn’t leave you stranded in a crowded club like you didn’t matter. He wanted to tell you that he saw you, all of you—the way your nose crinkled when you laughed, how you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved.

But he didn’t.

Because you needed time. You deserved space to heal, to figure out what you wanted. It wasn’t about him, not now. Maybe not ever.

So he just held you tighter, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

Your breathing slowed, soft and even against his chest, but Lando stayed wide awake, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers he was too afraid to ask.

What if she never feels the same? What if this is all I’ll ever be?

But even as those thoughts swirled in his mind, he knew one thing for sure—he’d rather be your safe place than risk losing you altogether. So he’d wait. For as long as it took.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. Sometimes, it was just about being the one who stayed.

[archangeldyke-all]

hii idk if you’re still writing the cowboy sevika fics but i’m actually obsessed with them you have no idea!! anyway i was thinking a fluffy little fic about sevika being depressed after shimmers death and reader, vi, and jinx do their best to cheer her up/support her!! do whatever you want i’ll literally take anything i just love your characters so much🙏🙏

YEEHAWWWW i miss cowboy sevika

men and minors dni

it's been a month since you and your girls buried shimmer by your garden. not a night has passed where sevika hasn't cried herself to sleep in your arms. it's breaking your heart.

watching shimmer die was hard enough. you were never much of a horse person before meeting sevika's trusty mare, but shimmer converted you. before sevika settled down with you; one of your greatest comforts when she was out wandering the desert was that she had shimmer there with her. the horse was so in tune with sevika, and they'd been riding together for so long, that they practically moved as one. you worried less about sevika losing her mind when she had shimmer to listen to her rambling. you worried less about her losing her life when she had shimmer to run her back home to you if she ever got too beat up.

and as sweet as sevika is when she claims you're her best friend-- you know that title really belongs to shimmer.

"we should do somethin' for sev." vi mumbles one night. jinx is fast asleep between the pair of you, after insisting she wasn't tired for an hour straight.

"like what?" you ask.

vi shrugs. "cait and her dad go hunting sometimes."

you giggle. "you're crazy if you think we're giving jinx a gun."

vi laughs. "no, no, we wouldn't hunt. we could just, y'know, go camping or something. there are some cold springs thirty miles west of here."

"and how would we get there without a horse?"

"we could borrow one of grayson's." vi suggests.

you smile and turn to face her. "you've been planning this?" you ask. she smiles guiltily.

"sevika's just been so sad. i wanna cheer her up."

your heart bursts with love and you dart forward, squeezing jinx between your body and vi's as you attempt to hug her. vi giggles. jinx wakes up with an annoyed groan.

so, a week later, you, your wife, and your girls set out with a horse drawn wagon and one of grayson's newest additions: a young colt named 'teddy.' grayson was happy to lend you the horse, muttering something about him being a pain in the ass to train. "if there's anyone i know who can get through to a stubborn horse like teddy, it's sevika." she sighed.

the ride out to the springs is rocky and bumpy, sevika getting used to riding a horse that isn't shimmer-- teddy being an ass just for the hell of it. at least the girls find it fun. their giggles and squeals are the soundtrack for your entire ride to the springs. even with all the curses she's spewing at teddy, sevika looks more relaxed than she has in weeks back on top of a horse.

"what're we even gonna do once we get there?" jinx asks. you snort and ruffle her bangs.

"well, i'm going swimming. you losers can do whatever you want." you say. the girls giggle.

"do you think there are cliffs we can jump off of?" vi asks. you shrug.

"i'm sure we can find some. we've got a whole river to explore."

"none of you are doing any exploring until we set up camp and get a fire going." sevika huffs from on top of teddy's back.

"boo! boring." jinx whines.

'setting up camp' ends up being sevika building the tent and jinx feeding teddy while you and vi attempt to make a fire the old fashioned way.

"how did the cavemen ever do this?" vi huffs as she rubs two sticks together. you snort.

"i'm sure they had tools. blubber to make it catch better, or something."

vi rolls her eyes. "i don't understand why she won't just give us her lighter."

you laugh and look up at sevika as she wipes her sweaty brow. "she doesn't trust us not to burn down the whole riverbed."

"or she's just bossy." vi mutters. you cackle.

"i think you're right, kid."

you don't make it into the river on your first night, but you don't mind much. when the sun sets, the heat of summer fades and the cool dark forces you all to squish together on a log in front of the fire while sevika cooks up beans and weenies on the fire.

"is that a planet or a star?" vi asks. jinx looks up and hums.

"i think it's venus."

"yeah?"

"i think so. sev?" jinx asks.

sevika glances up at the sky, smiling proudly and ruffling jinx's bangs. "you nailed it, kiddo."

"what constellations are out tonight, sev?" jinx asks, tucking herself under your wife's arm. sevika hums, leaning back to study the sky.

you don't bother to look at the sky. pretty as the stars are, they're nothing compared to the sight of your three girls, cuddled together and illuminated in the firelight.

"follow my finger. you see those three stars close together?" sevika whispers, her voice melding with the crackle of the fire and the roar of the river.

"yeah." vi whispers. jinx nods against sevika's shoulder.

sevika drags her finger across the sky. "see how they lead into a cross? there?"

"is that the northern cross?" jinx asks. sevika nods, her smile growing.

"you know it. anyways, the cross is in the center of cygnus the swan. backbone of the milky way." sevika's eyes flick down and catch yours, and she smiles shyly. you grin. there are more stars in her eyes than in the whole night sky.

you spend the next day in the river with the girls, laughing and splashing and squealing when fish nibble your ankles. vi and sevika ride upriver to try to find cliffs to jump off of, and you teach jinx how to doggy paddle. when the girls return, they're soaking wet and cackling.

that evening, with the girls fast asleep in the tent, you and sevika smoke a joint and go skinny dipping.

"did you have fun with vi?" you ask, your arms and legs wrapped around your wife. sevika giggles against you.

"i shouldn't tell you." she says. you giggle.

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"means she almost jumped onto some rocks several fucking times. gave me a heart attack."

you groan, shaking your head. "no, you shouldn't've told me." you agree. sevika giggles.

"but, we both lived, didn't we?" she asks. you laugh.

"y'know we're gonna have to adopt teddy from grayson?" you ask. sevika snorts.

"what makes you say that?"

"jinx is obsessed with him. braided and un-braided his mane like six times today. calls him 'teddy bear.' plus..." you trail off.

sevika darts forward to kiss you. you hum against her lips. "plus?" she asks, her lips brushing yours.

"plus, you need a new horse. you look good in the saddle."

sevika hums and kisses you again. "you take such good care of me. how am i supposed to keep up my bandit appearance when i got a wife that talks me into adoptin' horses and takes me out on vacation?"

you laugh. "you haven't been a bandit in half a decade. and the vacation was violet's idea. she was worried about you."

sevika sighs and leans forward to rest her forehead against your shoulder. "you still take good care of me." she says. you kiss her scalp.

"well... y'know. you're my dingus the duck."

"your what?!" sevika asks with a cackle. you groan and shrug.

"i dunno, those stars you were talking about last night!" you whine.

"cygnus the swan!?" she asks. you nod.

"that's the one."

"what the fuck are you talking about?" she asks though her laughs. you snort.

"y'know. you're the backbone of my galaxy, or whatever."

sevika's teasing expression melts, stars sparkling in her eyes. "that's awfully corny, darling." she whispers, her voice shaky with emotion. you smile.

"what the-- what are you two doing?!" vi squawks from the riverbank. you and sevika giggle guiltily, caught by your kids canoodling in the cold springs.

"go back to the tent!" you shout.

"awe, gross, are you guys naked!?" jinx whines.

sevika snorts. "we all bathed together three hours ago!"

"yeah, but you guys weren't all up on each other-- vi, let's go before we overhear something nasty." jinx groans, tugging on her sister's arm.

violet laughs and stumbles behind jinx. "don't drown!" she calls.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part one)

part two (soon)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, very indirect subtle mention of sexual activities (no actual scenes), mention of drug usage (no actual scene)

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him.

word count: 2144

a/n: i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt like it now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any smut in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. and kelce's last name is statter bc apparently it was never mentioned in the show. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be little freaks) <3

*****

Fuck my life.

That was the only thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week art project. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him. You didn’t even know why he'd chosen this class. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA. Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe Cameron made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/N, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice. You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, like he was waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Okay, then let’s meet after the fifth period." Before you could ask where you should meet him, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach.

You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant—he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statton was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that was what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to know why he was the way he was.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him. But he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems at right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

----

The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe Cameron? Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out—only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious meeting place, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong, freshly showered—boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining why you were standing there if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t. Great.

When Rafe saw you, something flickered in his gaze that you didn’t want to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you—with Kelce and Topper right behind him.

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "I didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

Blushing, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Right," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment. G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though. The faster we get this project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/N Y/L/N, right? Your mom owns Y/L/N Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just laughed.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t blush. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a pretty model."

Your cheeks warmed, and either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to comment on it.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You allowed yourself a small smirk.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a tired smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate? It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The cafeteria has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny? Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who… uh…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„No, no, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave. You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, warm, which somehow made it worse because it only made you more nervous.

„No, no, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „I guess I need to work out more if I’m giving off ‘fries guy’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming—in the best way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

[galactic-rhea]

I love how you missed the entire point of the post! <3 I will give you the benefit of the doubt and don't just think you're a troll

1- No, Idk where you got that his visions were just Padmé giving birth or if you just took seriously that one joke someone made about him just being too stupid to know how giving birth looks like. He had reasons to believe the visions because this happened before with his mom, etcetc.

2- The Tusken Massacre is quite a narrative odd choice by George Lucas, buuuut it's supposed to show Anakin's start in a dark path. However, after that, he did good and was quite ashamed of it. I'm not saying he was a stellar person, but he was kind at heart and still able to do good. Idk if you even saw my tags about Little Ani, lmao. Sure, the kid, the slave kid is eeeeviiiiil, sure sure, got it. Alright, Master Yoda, go take your aspirin.

Anakin did become known as a war hero for a reason, lol. He did try to do better after that and wasn't going around killing kids every other sunday.

If you want to argue that Anakin pre-AOTC was a monster then congrats in getting your Obi-Wan impersonator 5th place.

I can't believe I have to say this but Padmé isn't racist, her grayest moment of morality is the AOTC scene and it does give her deep. You missed the part where she still offered Anakin to run away with her in ROTS, oh and also the Jedi younglings weren't just humans. They most likely had to show them as humans in the movie because there are people who wouldn't find it as shocking if it were baby aliens.

Padmé' says she can't follow him when he starts talking about ruling the galaxy. Stop blaming her for something you wouldn't blame,idk, Luke.

How is any of this hard to understand.

Anakin Skywalker’s story is about a flawed but still genuinely good person falling to the dark side. It is NOT about a bad person becoming worse.

[covenofagatha]

just realised that on Saturday supposedly the FFF (finger free february) started so now I'll make it my own personal goal to not touch myself for the whole month (ignoring the fact that I already lost the challenge lmao) and its gonna be so hard because you'll be writing and posting so many delicious filth and its gonna ruin me

ALSO, would you THINK reader would make it until the end of the month with g!p Agatha teasing them and making them squirm... 'innocently' brushing he cock against reader's ass, pressing gently against her and making her hiss almost in pain

Or also just being horny and dirty talking all day, for example during breakfast as they both take their coffee and maybe Agatha says "do you like how I made your coffee dear" and reader's like "of course, did you add cream today? It tastes a little.bit different?" And Agatha is smirking and shes smug and her eyes scream i need to bend you over the kitchen island while she says "yeah added MY cream" and you see her palming her cock though her pants and you just gulp and whine as you rub your legs together to get some friction but Agatha puts her hands firmly on your thighs and tuts "oh no darling, you're not supposed to touch yourself, in any way. First of all, it's because we both know that is only mommy's place to touch; second, it's February and it was you who told me you wanted to do this challenge"

She says all that as she gets up from her seat and nears you and whisper in the ear "You told me, no begged me to let you go through this, but never said anything about me teasing you to make you break. And I will break you. Like I always do, cause your role is just to be a whiny little puppy for mommy to use, isnt it?"

And then she just kind of lean and sucks a mark on your neck

btw this is not a request ask, I'd love to know if you had any headcanons about how this ^^^^ could work, because I personally think it would be so hot and frustrating and would be a clear example of how edging worksss and why it is so used

- ✒

I didn't know FFF was a thing (have we all failed?) but I absolutely love this idea and I would be MORE than happy to add some thoughts

It's January 31st, and you're scrolling on your phone in bed after Agatha just thoroughly fucked you, and you see a post about Finger Free February. Before you can think about it, you show Agatha and ask, "Think I could do it?" Agatha smirks and says there is no way you could last an entire month without her touch, so of course you have to commit

However, just the next day you come to regret it when you wake up and find Agatha jerking off next to you, staring at you. You can't resist trying to slide a hand into your pants to relieve some of the heat because watching her touch herself is just too hot, when she tuts and reminds you of the challenge. It's fucking torture when she has you take your shirt off and cums all over your tits and licks herself off while you're squirming underneath her and wondering if it counts if you cum without being touched

It seems like Agatha is just being mean on purpose now, grinding her cock into your ass each time she steps behind you (even when there is MORE than enough space where she doesn't have to touch you at all), pinching your nipples, sucking on your neck and whispering how much mommy misses your cunt in your ear

It's about eight days in when you start purposefully moving away from her whenever she comes near you because you physically can't take it anymore, and of course Agatha is by no means okay with this, so she bends you over her knee and spanks you until you're a sobbing, wet mess and apologizing profusely

"That's my good girl. I'm sorry that mommy is trying to get you to break - I just need you too bad. Come on, honey, let mommy touch you," she purrs and you almost give in right there, but you're ultimately too proud and too stubborn to give in

Not having your cunt available whenever she wants it is making Agatha really struggle too, so she ramps up her efforts to get you to break because at this point, she is also too horny that she can't think straight

She begs you while stroking her cock in front of you, telling you "Look how hard mommy is for you, mommy's cock needs you so bad, baby, please" and fuck, you've never been more wet and needy in your life but you're determined because it's been over half a month and you can't give in now

So you suck her off and she cums down your throat with a loud grunt and you should just throw out your pair of underwear because there's no coming back from how badly you just ruined them

The closest you come to breaking is when you're in the shower with three days to go (even just the thought of Agatha now has you soaked and aching to be filled) and she gets in too. You gasp, already dizzy with need at the proximity of her naked body and hard cock, and she pins you against the wall and kisses down your body and slides her cock in between your pussy lips to just grind her length against you and you think you might just be able to cum from how it feels to have her sliding against your clit and opening

Just before you give in and let your orgasm wash over you, she pulls back and you actually cry out. "You're so close to the end, honey. You can't quit now," Agatha says with a wink and frustrated tears sting your eyes.

On the 28th (thank god it's not a leap year), you start a countdown with a minute until midnight and the moment the clock strikes 12 on March 1st, you practically pounce on Agatha, who has also been eagerly waiting. She shoves two fingers inside you and strokes your clit and you instantly cum, having been on edge for an entire month

She makes you cum until you have to beg her to stop, and then just one more time for good measure because it's been too long and she wants to make sure that you're completely satiated

"Think you'll do it again next year?" she asks teasingly and you shake your head immediately because you know there's no way you could survive that long without her touching you again

But you absolutely cannot wait for No Nut November to turn the tables on her