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missadangel · 1 day ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 8: Trick or Threat

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Chapter Summary: You and Harry are officially together, and everything’s going really well. However, something else is on the horizon… What could it be? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,5k, SMUT & ROMANCE & INTRIGUE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle, intrigue, funeral, mention about death, car, racing authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

"When I returned from France, I took the reins of the business. Gerardo, Maria's husband, had managed things in my absence, but I could tell it was tough given their divorce. We're still piecing things back together."

In the morning, you two were lying in bed, just chatting and trying to unearth the smallest secrets lingering between you and Harry.

“So, was work really the reason you went to France or was it all about Lucy?”

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, looking deep into your eyes. “I can’t deny it; I was hurt. That much is true. But it didn’t last long. I threw myself into work to keep the melancholy at bay. But then I realized how unfair I was being to myself. Why should I mourn someone who wasn’t worth it?” His hand glided over the cream satin sheets. “So, I decided to move back to New York, even though Maria was always pushing me.”

“What about the matchmaker thing? What prompted you to feel such pressure to get married immediately after returning?”

He smirked. “Maria... You see she has always been like a sister to me since I was a kid. She was convinced I needed to tie the knot ASAP and organized everything. I went on five blind dates before I met you, and trust me, they were all disasters. It seemed like all they cared about was what I could offer them for a comfortable, luxurious life—totally loveless and insincere. Maria and I agreed to one last date, and if I didn't find what I was looking for, she promised to cut me loose.” He gently stroked your cheek. “When I saw Melanie Johnson’s profile, I was so relieved; it felt like just the evidence I needed to convince Maria. But when I came across your photo, something felt off about the information. Your appearance warmed my heart. I felt like there had to be a mistake, so I took a chance and wanted to meet you in person.”

You laughed. “Wow, looks like your instincts were right.”

“I think it was the best decision I’ve ever made,” he said, smiling as he slid his hand down your shoulder and along your arm, finally cupping your hand and leaning in to kiss it.

Your fingertips danced delicately across his lips, tracing their curves. "What about that Stella, the girl in the photo Maria baited me with?"

He sighed, a hint of a frown crossing his face. “I promise, it was nothing serious. That lasted just a week. She was always caught up in the modeling world, and honestly, I think I was too old to keep up with her glamorous lifestyle.”

“Well, now you’ve got me wondering—how many women have you been with? I’m almost afraid to ask,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He tilted his head, clearly thinking it over.

His thinking phase made you tense.

“Too many to even remember.”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror. “Slut,” you teased again, nudging him with your shoulder.

Well, he was a really handsome guy—why would that surprise you?

He chuckled. “Okay, your turn, baby. Spill it.” His voice was low and teasing as he traced his nose along your cheek to your chin.

“Hmmm, way too many to count; it’s like counting grains of sand on a beach.”

Suddenly, he stopped, looking at you with a serious expression. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at how intense he looked. “Stop giving me that look. I’m just joking with you—relax.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his temple.

“That was worse than I thought,” he murmured with curiosity in his tone. “So how many?”

“Only three,” you admitted shyly. “All back in Atlanta—if you count high school. The second was a summer fling gone wrong. And the last one, three years back, was just toxic—emotionally draining, like an automatic routine... It felt like there was something essential missing. It had zero—”

“Passion,” he cut in for you, finishing your sentence.

You locked eyes, an electric connection sparked between you. “Yeah, exactly,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to his lips.

At that moment, he pulled you in closer and kissed you, pouring all his hunger and desire into it—just the kind of passion you’ve been talking about.

Yeah, passion was the word.

What a powerful force it was.

It felt like you were meant for each other, completely in sync. Being with him brought a sense of happiness you’d never experienced before. He didn’t just want your body; he craved your voice, your scent, every little part of you. It was like he found a piece of himself he thought he lost, and he was beyond thrilled about it.

What more could he ask for?

“So you're a chaste little kitten, huh?” he said, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Considering the dirty sounds you make with me, I was expecting something different.”

“Mmm, like what?” you teased, playing with his curls.

“I kind of thought many guys from your past would pop up.”

You chuckled lightly. “Nope. I’ve been so caught up with work that I barely have time to think about love. And let’s be real, I’m no beauty queen or model or anything—I’m not exactly turning heads everywhere I go.”

He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes alight with sincerity. “Are you kidding? You’re heartbreakingly beautiful. I’ve never told this to anyone before, but the first time I laid eyes on you, it felt like I was struck by lightning.”

You giggled, a playful spark fluttering in your chest. “That sounds like something straight out of a movie, or maybe even a cliché.”

“I know it does, but it’s the truth, believe me. I really appreciate the real Melanie for bringing us together, even if it was in a pretty strange way."

Your smile widened. “Same here. And about those sounds I make, I have to admit, no one has ever made me feel this alive before.” His lips tugged into a teasing smirk. “Now I’m the one sounding like a cliché, right?”

"I’ll gladly accept that as a compliment.”

"You should," you laughed and pressed your lips to his ear. "Because in my previous experiences I have often "pretended". But with you it's all real you slutty ol'man."

He laughed darkly. "I fluttered, baby," he said as he lifted the sheet off you, exposing your body to the sunlight flooding the room. He pressed you down on the bed with his weight, pinning your wrists over your head with one hand and holding your chin in the other. You swallowed hard, blinking repeatedly as waves of ecstasy and exhilaration surged through you. "I really hope you won’t be mad at me for doing my best to make you this old man's little slut." He leaned down, grabbed your lips, and sank forcefully into your mouth, spreading your legs with his knee.

"Harry." Fluttering your eyes open you searched his face silently pleading with him to ease the bubbling sexual tension built between you.

Pinching hard on your stiffened breasts he listened to you yelp. “Be a good girl and tell me.” He rubbed the tip of his hard cock against your slit, causing you to writhe and moan with ecstasy. Your body on fire, your breath filled with heat. “You wanna be my little slut?” He whispered sweetly.

With your body trembling, cheeks burning with heat, back arching, biting your lower lip you nodded frantically. “Yes,” you breathed harshly. Your body shuddered and flushed in anticipation at the thought of being filled by him.

And you were out of patience.

Your eyes flashed with a glint of mischief, pulling down your teeth crashed hard into his neck as you sucked roughly on his skin until you felt his hand leave your chest and clasped around your throat.

“Naughty kitten,” he purred with delight.

The sound of you moaning and mewing like a real kitten into his ear sent a churning sensation through his stomach, sending him dangerously over the edge.

Not so soon, he thought himself, eager to make it last longer.

He turned his head to find your lips once more and pulled them close to his, devouing your mouth eagerly, passionetly. Grabbing your thighs tightly, he plunged himself deep with your dripping pussy. “Fuck-” he groaned “-that never gets old.” He started into a pulverizing rhythm of pulling himself almost completely out and then pushing himself as deep within you as your bodies allowed.

It was that moment of struggle again, he felt incredible inside you, he felt alive, indestructible, but he couldn't wait to get to the grand finale, eager to spill himself inside you, desperate to feel your walls close around him, and once again, he was caught in the middle.

It felt like he could never get enough of you, not at all.

Egged on by your gasping for breath he switched his hand positions from your waist to your hips to bring you both closer to the edge.

Your eyes glazed over with ecstasy watching the muscles on his arms and chest flex as he pounded into you mercilessly. You loved the way his brow furrowed in concentration as you made love. His body was perfect, like a statue sculpted by the many hours spent.

“Mmmh—I don’t mind being your slut—if this is the view,” you choked between his brutal thrusts, gripping his biceps wildly. “Fuck your little slut harder!"

“You’re so—mmh—you’re so fucking dirty, baby. I love it. Gonna come—.” Letting out a loud groan he felt your walls contracting hard around his throbbing member. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the bed, pulling your body close to his.

“Me too,” you replied breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck, your nails dug into the back of his neck. Hopping onto his lap violently up and down caused your nails to graze his skin painfully, and he groaned loudly.

However, he didn't even mind if you almost made him bleed.

You could do whatever you wanted with him; he was yours to take.

Ragged breathing halted as he poured himself into you. His movements slowed as you held onto one another. He leaned your bodies back down to rest against the bed.

Your lips sucked softly against his flesh, tasting the glistening salty tang that coated his body. Gratefully, he returned the favour, licking your neck up to your chin, biting, sucking, savouring your sweet taste and the moment itself.

Feeling his heart beat returned to its normal steady rhythm you looked up to see his face looking down smiling at you. "I love you, baby," he purred.

"I love you too, Harry."

He smiled before leaning down to kiss you. “Shower?”

“Count me in,” you said, laughing.

His mouth broke into a playful, cheeky grin this time. "How about a hot shower?"

He asked as if you hadn't just had incredibly hot sex.

You widened your eyes in surprise. "Seriously? It’s been like 5 or 6 times since last night, and you're still being greedy, mister."

He buried his nose in your hair, breathing you in. “You bring it out in me, baby.”

"Okay, but let’s make it quick; I need to be ready for work soon."

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms. "It’ll be the fastest and hottest shower ever—buckle up!"

You both giggled all the way as he carried you to the bathroom.

As Harry dropped you off at the hotel around noon, a wave of relief washed over you. Alan wasn’t lurking around, and that was a small victory. You couldn't bring yourself to share the weight of what Alan had told you last time—not yet. The prospect of creating unnecessary tension made your stomach churn. Besides, he would surely come to understand the seriousness of your relationship in time, and he would give up, wouldn’t he?

Before saying goodbye, Harry mentioned he had a special event to attend that evening and invited you to join him. Your instinct was to decline—after all, you had a million things to do—but his persistent charm won you over. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you reluctantly agreed. That meant you had to cut your work short to prepare, which sent you rushing into the hotel, straight to the kitchen.

In the midst of the chaos, Bruno reminded you about the upcoming fair. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he explained that if you launched your own bakery brand in time, it could be the perfect opportunity to promote it. That news felt like a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had promised Harry you would leave your cleaning job behind, meaning you’d spend the entire week at the hotel—including those dreaded Mondays and Thursdays. Your internship was finally nearing its end. But on the flip side, the thought of starting your own brand meant you’d need to open a shop soon, which required financial support. Harry was eager to help, but you felt a deep sense of obligation that made accepting his generosity uncomfortable.

And, of course, with your renewed schedule, you’d definitely run into Alan more often.

Just what you needed.

Shaking off the worry, you reminded yourself that you were close to achieving your dreams; patience was key. But the moment you spotted Alan in the dining room, anxiety flared up again. The memory of your last conversation haunted you, and just seeing him sent your nerves into overdrive. Then you noticed Maria seated across from him, her expression growing increasingly troubled. Each time she glanced at him, her frustration deepened, and when she abruptly stood up, you felt compelled to go after her.

“Maria!” you called out, sprinting after her. She turned around, and your heart sank—she looked on the verge of tears.

“Are you okay? What happened?” you asked softly, touching her shoulder gently.

“It's nothing, really,” she replied, pulling a handkerchief from her bag, but her eyes revealed a different story.

“Come on, Maria. You look awful. What’s going on between you and Alan?”

Her lip trembled as she fought to mask her anger. “He’s an asshole—a truly wicked, evil man.”

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

“Just forget it, okay? I’m begging you, please don’t tell Harry you saw me here, especially with Alan.”

“But if he asks me—”

“Please,” she interrupted, almost pleading.

Seeing her like this was shocking; she was usually so strong and fearless. “Okay, of course, I won’t say anything,” you assured her softly.

She pulled out a compact mirror, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll catch you at the reception tonight,” she said, turning towards the exit.

You watched her leave, your mind swirling with questions about what had happened to upset her so deeply.

After work, while waiting for Harry to pick you up in the hotel lobby, you decided to give Zoe a call. Thankfully, her ankle had fully healed, and she told you she'd be back at work on Monday.

“Oh my God, I can't believe you two are finally official!” Zoe's excited voice rang through the phone.

“Yeah, it's about time,” you laughed. “So, how did everything go with John?”

“It went amazing! Just so you know, we're officially a couple now. Our first date is lined up for next week.”

“That’s fantastic, Zoe! I’m so happy for you.”

You couldn't help but wonder if John had shared everything with her. You knew you should ask her in person instead of over the phone.

“Since you’re at your boyfriend’s place now, when do you plan to pick up your things?”

“Whoa, I’m not moving in just yet. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Wait a sec... Are you trying to rush me or something? Or is John thinking about moving in?”

She fell silent for a moment.

“Babe, don’t you think this is all moving a bit too fast? It feels kind of early, right? I mean, does it really make sense to move in together when you’ve just started dating?” You were running your fingers through your hair when you suddenly noticed someone next to you. You hung up just as you caught Alan giving you this awkward smile. “Call you back…”

What the hell?

How long had he been standing there, and did he hear any of that?

Avoiding his gaze, you got up, acutely aware of his eyes on you.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk today. How have you been?”

The jerk acted as if nothing had happened.

Why would you want to talk to him anyway?

That was the real question.

"Fine," you replied coldly, looking away, your tone sharper than intended, fingers tightening around your bag's strap. Just then, he reached out, his hand clasping yours.

“What happened to your hand?”

Oh right, when you were rushing around in the kitchen, you accidentally splashed hot oil on yourself.

Bruno had treated the burn, it wasn’t serious but still.

“It’s nothing,” you said, trying to pull your hand back, but he held on tight.

You looked away as he examined your hand, and your heart nearly stopped when you caught sight of Harry through the glass windows at the entrance. Panic surged through you, and you tried to tug your hand free from Alan's grip with all your might. Immediately, you regretted it—the sudden burn stung painfully against his skin, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan.

At that moment, Harry spotted your expression and strode through the revolving door toward you, shoving Alan away.

Alan stumbled back, initially shocked but then laughing angrily.

"What the heck are you doing to her?"

"Harry, calm down."

But he didn’t hear you; the two men were locked in a tense, unwavering stare. Alan casually adjusted his tie. “Don't be so dramatic, Castillo.”

Harry turned to you and stepped protectively in front of you. “Why are you always lurking around her? What's your problem?”

People in the lobby were watching intently, all eyes glued to the unfolding scene.

“Don’t be ridicolus. This place is mine. It’s my hotel, and she’s my employee.”

"I wonder if you’re equally concerned about your other employees?”

You grabbed Harry’s arm, “Harry, please, let’s just go.” You tugged at him as the curious gazes around you felt more pressing.

But seriously, he wouldn’t even look at you.

What the fuck?

“I warn you. Stay away from her.”

“And if I don’t?”

Harry was fuming, and you gripped his arm tighter.

"Alan, cut it out!" you snapped at him. With all your strength, you pulled Harry toward the exit. “Let’s just get out of here. Everyone's staring at us.”

“Keep away from my girlfriend, Finnigan,” he warned, pointing his finger at him, his voice low and threatening.

“Did you bother to mention your family background to her? I’ll bet she’ll walk away the moment she finds out.”

That crossed the line for Harry. He grabbed Alan by the collar, his fury erupting. “You say one more word, and I'll make you regret it.”

Alan shot back with a smirk, “Ooh, I’m really scared, Castillo.”

You stepped between the two men and pushed them both apart with an assertive shove. “Enough! Just stop it!”

They turned to look at you, along with the doorman and a few others. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But I’m not going to stand here and watch this nonsense,” you declared, pivoting on your heel and striding toward the exit.

Harry shot Alan a glare, pushed him aside, and quickly followed you outside. “Wait, please,” he said, reaching out to grab your wrist and turning you to face him. “Let me see your hand.”

You turned away from him. “Oh, now you’re concerned? I guess you were too busy bickering with Alan to notice.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, but when I saw he was touching you, it really ticked me off.” He examined your hand. “What exactly happened?”

“It’s just a little burn,” you replied with an exasperated huff.

But as you saw the worry on his face while he tended to your wound, your anger began to wane. “This is becoming really tiresome, Harry.”

He looked straight into your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to explain what’s going on between you and him. It clearly goes back a long way.”

He glanced at your hand again. “There’s nothing to explain.”

“Oh yeah? It certainly doesn’t look that way to me.”

He brought your hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss over the bandage. “Baby, I promise I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, we really need to go. Come on,” he said, taking your other hand and leading you to the car.

Harry stood behind you in the softly lit dressing room, carefully helping you zip up your dress. The fabric clung to you perfectly, and as you turned to admire yourself in the mirror, you felt a rush of excitement. He stepped closer, his presence both calming and electrifying. He gently brushed your hair back, a tender gesture that made your heart flutter. He fastened a delicate pearl necklace around your neck, the cool beads contrasting with the warmth of his kiss on your cheek. “You look absolutely stunning, darling,” he whispered, his lips brushing tantalizingly against your shoulder. His gaze locked onto your reflection, and he frowned slightly. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “This is our first formal event as a couple, and there will be many more to come, so you might as well get used to it." His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. “Maybe someday you’ll be attending as Mrs. Castillo?” He grinned at your reflection.

You turned to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I would love that."

With a grin broadening across his face, he leaned in for a kiss that ignited a fire within you, passionate and consuming. His strong hands slid from your waist down to your hips, pulling you against him, trapping you between his body and the wardrobe door.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your heart racing. “Harry, we really should stop, or we won’t make it to the reception at all.”

He chuckled, his laughter rich. “Right,” he said, reluctantly releasing you and stepping back.

“It’s a good thing my lipstick is waterproof,” you joked, shooting him a playful smirk.

He licked his lips. “I loved the taste.”

“Strawberry,” you said, linking your arm through his.

“Mmm, that's nice,” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But nothing beats your own taste; you’re ever so much more delicious.”

You covered his lips with your hand, giggling softly. “Shut… up,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You’re about to get me dangerously wet, ol' man.”

He kissed your palm before gently removing it from his mouth. “So, we’ll continue where we left off later?”

“Deal,” you giggled once more.

Before leaving the room together, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and whispered in your ear, “Can’t fuckin' wait, baby.”

“Everyone's staring at me,” you murmured, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you stepped into the hall where the event was taking place, with Harry right beside you.

“Of course they are; you’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered in your ear. It was sweet, but it didn’t do much to calm your nerves.

The room buzzed with chatter, the light baroque music playing softly in the background, glasses clinking, and the upper crust exchanging eye rolls. Harry was right—it was a scene you’d have to get used to being with him.

But it was a struggle...

As you and Harry made your way to the center of the hall, heads turned and eyes lingered on you. Some of Harry's friends approached, chatting you up. Harry beamed with pride as he introduced you, one hand gently tracing your back, warmed by the exposed skin of your dress. His touch calmed you, reminding you of his presence. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him as he spoke earnestly to the others; he looked so handsome and charming in his suit. You could feel the jealousy of the other women in the room directed at you.

“Where could Maria be?” Harry murmured, his eyes darting through the crowd.

She said she was coming, you thought, almost speaking out loud before recalling that you had to keep quiet about seeing her at the hotel earlier. Just then, a familiar face approached—his friend from the last wedding, the groom himself.

“How’s it going, man?” Harry greeted him with a hug.

“Hey Harry,” he replied with a smile, then turned to you. “Aren't you the waitress from my wedding?”

“Yes,” you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“I owe you one. I heard from Lucas that you saved the wedding cake. Harry, you’re lucky to have such a diligent, versatil girlfriend,” he laughed heartily.

Harry turned to you, “I really am.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth at his words.

“So, are you a chef or something since you're so talented?” he asked.

“Kind of. I'm doing an internship to become a pastry chef right now,” you said with a smile.

“That’s awesome. I bet you make some really tasty scones.”

“She totally does. They all taste amazing; you wouldn't even believe it,” Harry added with a proud smile. “My amazing girlfriend will have her certificate soon and plans to open her own shop.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and you smiled shyly.

Suddenly, a figure caught your eye—someone famous. Excitement surged through you as you recognized him. “It’s Sebastien Loeb, oh my God!” You turned to Harry, “Can I meet him, please?”

Harry squinted in that direction. “He’s a rally driver, right?”

“Yes! Nine-time WRC champion. His iconic car: The Citroën Xsara, but I can’t decide between the C4 and the DS3. I have to ask him how he aced that course in his last race.” You started moving toward him, leaving Harry momentarily behind.

His friend, clearly impressed, leaned in close to Harry. “She makes great desserts, watches rally racing, and knows about cars? Harry, you'd better marry her.”

Harry chuckled. “I absolutely will.” He winked at him before maneuvering through the crowd to catch up.

“Hello,” you greeted when you reached Sebastien.

“Hello there,” he replied, offering a friendly handshake. You gave it a squeeze. Just then, Harry showed up behind you, and he and Sebastien did the handshake thing too.

“I’m a huge fan, Mr. Loeb. It’s too bad you’re no longer racing. We need more talent like yours,” you said admiringly.

Sebastien laughed shyly. “I was surprised to see a lady watching the races; I’ve been surrounded by men all night,” he said, glancing at Harry, who smiled but seemed a bit uneasy. “May I ask what your favorite race is, ma’am?”

“Rally de France, bitche 2—your 60th victory and 7th championship, of course. What an incredible finish, passing Dani Sordo at the last moment. Racing in all that mud must’ve been challenging.”

“It certainly was; it was a memorable yet tough rally—I’ll never forget it,” he leaned in closer. “Between you and me, that race is my favorite too,” he said with a wink.

"What was your setup at that race btw?"

He rasied his eyebrows in surprise but continued. "Well for the alignment (Rear) Camber Angle -1.00 °. And brakes, force was 3030 Nm. And gear..."

"6th I presume?"

"Exactly."

"Perfect."

"Wow, I've never encountered a woman so enthusiastic to learn about car setup," he laughed.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

Harry forced a smile, but inside, he was drowning in jealousy.

Was Sebastien flirting with you?

“Darling,” he said, pulling you closer. “How about we grab a drink over there? I’m sure Mr. Loeb has plenty of people to chat with, right?”

Sebastien nodded. "Meeting a woman who knows so much about cars and is genuinely excited about them is a rare treat. You’re quite fortunate, Mr. Castillo."

Harry's grip on you tightened. “Absolutely—it’s fantastic to have such a unique woman. You can’t imagine how special she is to me."

You sensed the rising tension and extended your hand to Sebastien. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Loeb. You’re a legend and always will be,” you said, shaking his hand again, but Harry was pulling you back toward him.

“The honor is all mine. Just call me Sebastien next time we meet, and I really hope it’s soon.” He gave your hand a friendly shake.

“All right, Sebastien,” you replied, waving goodbye.

As some guys walked up to him, you turned to Harry while Sebastien was still chatting with them. “What's up with you, ol' man?” you asked.

“Are you seriously just going to talk to him all night?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous.”

He shrugged and grabbed a couple of champagne glasses from a tray held by a waiter. “I'm not.”

You took the glass he handed you. “Harry, he’s a 52-year-old married guy with a kid.”

“Good,” he replied, looking away while taking a sip.

You laughed, took a sip yourself, "I can't believe it." Then leaned in a bit closer, your fingers lightly brushing his collar. “You know... That’s actually kind of hot,” you said playfully, giving him a flirty look.

Harry met your gaze. “If you keep looking at me like that, baby, I might just scoop you up and dash out of here without caring who’s watching.”

You chuckled playfully and leaned in closer to him, bringing your lips near his ear. "And if you keep talking like that, mister, I'll get so wet I'll might have to take my panties off."

He swallowed, and you grinned at his look. "Fuck," he said quietly, realizing he was becoming hard. When you noticed what was going on, you put your hand to your lips and giggled. "Oops I didn't mean that."

"Naughty kitty," he said, laughing. "I have to punish you when we get home."

You playfully brushed against him with your thigh, a teasing smile on your lips. "Hmm, I can’t help but wonder what kind of punishment you have in store ol' man."

He reached back and squeezed the part of you that was touching him, his voice low and sultry. "I’ll be thinking about that all night long, baby." He followed up with a lingering kiss on your cheek, sending your heart racing.

Fortunately, people began to approach, chatting and mingling, which helped ease the sexual tension between you and him a bit.

Melanie and her mom made their way over, and even though you tried to tune them out, they invited you to join them. You decided to go along while Harry caught up with some friends for business. Still, even from a distance, you and Harry exchanged smiles and playful winks, the sparks between you never quite fading.

Melanie's mother, as usual, didn’t hold back in her uncouth and disrespectful manner, leaving your pride wounded as she continuously pointed out that, among other women, you worked as a housekeeper in her home. After excusing yourself, you stepped into the women's restroom, glanced at your reflection in the mirror, sighed deeply, and muttered to yourself that you had seen this coming, reminding yourself to stay calm. This was simply how the world worked, and it always would be; nothing truly mattered as long as Harry was by your side. Yet, your pride still stung—after all, there was no shame in earning a living through hard work.

Did they truly build their fortunes through their own hard work and determination?

Nope.

Some got lucky by being born into rich families, while others just married someone wealthy.

Those ruthless bitches.

Just then, the last person you'd hoped to see approached the sink next to you—Lucy. She turned on the faucet and caught your eye in the mirror, her expression a mix of complexity and calm. “You must be having a tough time,” she said while washing her hands.

“Excuse me?” You refused to meet her gaze as you dried your hands off.

“Those women—they're all about high society, luxury cars, opulent homes, and designer clothes. Their conversations make it feel like you come from a different world, right? It must be hard for you. Even though you dress like them, you don’t quite fit in,” she remarked, glancing at your dress and necklace while opting to dry her hands with a paper towel.

“Nothing changes with what you wear or where you live; it all comes down to who you are. If your heart is in the wrong place, you can drape yourself in the most beautiful outfits and still be ugly inside.”

She let out a laugh, one filled with disbelief. “You can preach all you like, but that doesn’t change reality.”

“I’d rather hold onto the truth I believe in,” you replied.

“There you are!”

You both turned to Melanie’s voice. She was glaring at Lucy, fury radiating from her. “You little snake! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Melanie, what are you doing?” you interjected.

Ignoring you, she zeroed in on Lucy. “This bitch is trying to set Nate up on a date. What is it? ‘Perfect match’? Now I'm going to make your face perfect match with my palm!” she shouted as she lunged at her.

You quickly grabbed her arm.

“Are you out of your mind? Your parents are right here! You need to snap out of it. Whatever issues you have with her, just try to talk it out.” You attempted to calm her, but she remained agitated.

Lucy quickly shook off her shock. “I’m just doing my job, helping my client, Miss Johnson,” she explained.

“Really? He’s my boyfriend, you bitch! Do you honestly believe he wants to marry? He’s just looking for a hookup!”

Well she had a point, it was Nate after all.

Lucy tucked her purse under her arm and glanced back at her before stepping out of the restroom. “I don’t know; he seemed sincere to me. Besides, he’ll definitely want to get married when he meets the right match I’ve found for him. I’m confident in my skills,” she said with a smug smile.

"You bitch!" she barked.

You grabbed her again but she was hard to restrain.

"Don’t yell! People will hear you. Do you really want to make a scene?"

She looked at you and asked, "Why are you covering for her?"

"I’m just looking out for you and your family. I don’t want you to embarrass your dad."

"Right. That girl you're defending was just talking to your boyfriend."

You stopped and pulled your hands away as she laughed, adjusting her dress. "Oops, huh? I heard they used to date. You’re mad at her, aren’t you?"

"There has to be a reasonable explanation," you insisted, though your frustration was hard to hide. "Keep on being reasonable, polyanna, but I'm gonna kick her ass," she said it and took off after her.

“Melanie! You really…” you called out, chasing after her.

Despite all your efforts, Melanie, as immature as ever, lunged at Lucy from behind, grabbed her hair, and yelled, acting like a cheap prostitute. At that moment, everyone turned to look at Jack and his wife. Anger, annoyance, and frustration were etched on his face, matched by the condemnation in the gazes of those around them. He didn’t deserve this.

Just as you were about to intervene with Melanie, a hand grasped your arm and pulled you back.

“Stay out of this; let her parents handle her,” Harry said, his voice as firm as his gaze. But it softened when he turned to you. "I think the night is over. How about we head out now?"

You looked at him and nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed. He wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked together toward the exit, but your eyes were still on Jack, Melanie, and her mother.

The people who had been focused on them were now absorbed in their drama, and you couldn't help but feel a little sad for them.

As the driver took you to Harry's house, a comfortable silence filled the car, even though your hands were intertwined. You were about to break the quiet and ask him about his conversation with Lucy when he turned to you at the same moment, both of you beginning to speak simultaneously.

"Lucy—"

"Why—"

You both chuckled at your coincidental timing.

"You go first."

"No, you tell me first," he replied, flashing a smile.

"Alright, I was curious about what you and Lucy talked about," you said, pressing your lips together, pressing your lips together, feeling a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

"Actually, that’s what I was gonna say."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so?"

‘Look, I generally brush her off in situations like this, but this time, it was about you, and I let her speak.’

"What did Lucy say about me?"

"She said there was something going on between you and Alan, and that it was messing with their relationship." He looked at you, his face serious.

"Harry, I—" You tried to argue, but he interrupted you with a gentle touch to your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything like that, and I get that he’s got this weird interest in you, but I really wish you would’ve said something."

"Harry, there’s nothing to say. He’s my boss, and I’m just putting up with it until I leave his hotel—nothing more."

"What do you mean, 'putting up with it'?"

Oops, wrong choice of words.

Damn it.

"So until my internship is over—"

"Did he say something inappropriate to you?" His tone turned angry.

You took his hands in both of yours, "No, don't worry, it’s nothing like that."

He seemed to search your eyes for the truth, remained unconvinced.

“But it’s not fair.”

"What’s not fair?"

"You want me to spill my secrets while you keep yours hidden. You said you're gonna tell me everything between you and Alan."

He let out a deep sigh. "You’re right. Alright, then I’ll share. Our families have known each other for a long time—our fathers were good friends until some tension grew between them." His expression shifted, as if he dreaded what he was about to reveal. "His father had feelings for... my mother, or at least that’s what my mother has said. She doesn't want to talk about it much. My father passed away when I was ten, so I never learned the whole story from him and I'm not sure about the details."

"Alan’s father had feelings for your mother? Was he married at that time?"

"Yeah, I was six—I have only faint memories of his father, and Alan was around my age."

"Well, that certainly clears things up."

"Every time we crossed paths at family gatherings, events... whatever they were, there was this fragile veneer of civility, yet beneath it, the tension simmered, thick and palpable. The gossip—my mother weathered so much of it. That’s why she hasn't stepped outside since my father passed. And since..." His voice quivered, breaking as shadows of the past lingered in his eyes.

In that moment, your heart ached for him. "Since what, Harry?"

He released a long, shaky sigh as if trying to exhale his sorrow. "Since my sister's death."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a chill running through you. "Harry, I... I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry."

He looked fragile, a storm of emotions battling just beneath the surface, and without thinking, you slid closer, wrapping your arms around him, offering solace. He bowed his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your hair, grounding you both in that moment. "It’s alright, baby. I was young; it’s been a long time." His fingers grazed through your hair, a comforting gesture, before he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. A faint smile broke through the sorrow. "I should take you to meet my mother. She can’t leave the house, but we can go see her."

You froze, feeling a rush of tension. "Don’t you think it’s too soon?"

He caressed your cheek with his knuckles. "Too soon for you, perhaps, but late for me. I’m an old man remember? I don’t want to miss a single moment with you, darling. We should embrace everything life has to offer, fast and fully as a couple.” His voice lowered to a whisper in your ear, filled with sincerity, before he leaned down, capturing your lips with a soft kiss. "You’re my everything.”

The week flew by, and at last, Chef Bruno announced that you would be able to wrap up your internship the following week. A wave of relief washed over you—not only would you finally be free from the daily trek to the hotel for work, but you also hadn’t seen Alan in days.

Now, the focus shifted to working hard until the fair, where you planned to build your brand by creating original desserts and baked goods to showcase. Thankfully, your billionaire boyfriend Harry had a spacious kitchen that you could use. Since you were planning to move in with him anyway—especially after Zoe and John's relationship sped up your decision—the transition felt exciting.

The day you left home with your suitcase to move into Harry's penthouse could easily have been the happiest day of your life. Both of you seemed thrilled that your relationship had reached this milestone, and everything was going smoothly.

Throughout the week, while Harry was at work, you were busy at home, baking as many desserts and pastries as possible. When he returned, he devoured them all and offered his critiques.

On the weekend, you realized you were low on supplies and had to hit up the supermarket for a big grocery run. Harry stepped in to help, and you both went to the mall together, like a married couple.

He also mentioned that he wanted to try baking cupcakes for the first time, which you found cute and encouraged him to do. While you were busy whipping up the cream, the oven timer chimed. Harry slipped on his oven mitts and carefully pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the oven. “Here’s my first solo batch,” he said with a proud smile.

As you looked at the cupcakes, you noticed they were a bit too light in color. “Hmm, babe, don’t you think they look a little undercooked? They probably need more time in the oven,” you suggested.

Dipping your finger into one of the cupcakes, you lifted it up to find the batter still runny. Licking your fingertip, you joked, “Here’s a little advice: if it’s still runny, it’s not a cupcake; it’s a beverage.” With a chuckle, you returned to whipping the cream on the counter.

“Alright, I’ll pop these ‘runny’ amigos back in the oven,” Harry said, putting the tray back.

“And please increase the time,” you said without looking at him.

But he couldn't help but gaze at you from behind, admiring how you looked while cooking. Out of the blue, he wrapped his arms around you and showered your cheek and neck with quick, playful kisses.

“Harry, stop! You’re going to make me spill the cream. What are you doing?”

He gently swept your hair to one side, revealing your shoulder, and you felt his lips caress your skin. “I can’t resist; you look stunning, whipping up delicious treats in my kitchen, like you're already my wife,” he murmured softly, making you giggle.

His hand slid up your thighs beneath your skirt, lingering just above your hem. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands to myself when you’re wearing that dress?"

Your heart began to race. "Harry..." you murmured.

He lifted the hem of your dress and pressed himself against you. You gasped as you felt how hard he was. You almost dropped the cream container.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, spun you around, and lifted you onto the counter. Before you could even process what was happening, he pressed his lips against yours. What started as a sweet kiss quickly turned into something much more passionate, and without thinking, you instinctively draped your arms around his neck, spreading your legs for him. He leaned in closer, drawing you to the edge of the counter. One hand rested on your hips while the other gently traced its way along your thighs. He let out a soft moan as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his clothed cock teasing you in a delightful way.

Now you were as eager as he was, consumed with a sudden desire.

What a beautiful persuasion, what a beautiful surrender.

"All right," you said, breaking the kiss with difficulty. "But let's hurry, there are lots of cupcakes and desserts to make." you said as you tried to take off your kitchen apron, but his fingers had already reached behind you and untied the apron string.

"We've got 15 minutes."

His hands reached under the skirt cupping your ass, picked you up, then turned you around, reset the timer, and turned the heat down a bit. "Make it 30," he said with a smirk

You raised one eyebrow, "Slow cooking... Hmm, that could totally be a new way to get a better crust. I can’t wait to try these."

"Me too but first, I want to relish on that sweet pussy of yours," he said kissing you again, sending delightful shivers through your spine.

His words were enough to turn you on.

It was hot... so damn hot..

With that, he carried you in his arms to the bedroom, taking your panties off and throwing them only-god-knows-where on his way.

Your moans and giggles echoing around the hall.

“Now, get ready guys… here comes the red velvet cake—the angel on the outside, the devil on the inside.” You proudly presented your dessert to everyone gathered around Harry's large table in the dining room, where Maria, Mia, Oliver, Zoe, John, and Harry were all eagerly tasting and voting on the treats you had whipped up throughout the evening.

Maria was the first to raise her hand. “I’m giving this dessert an 8, darling, I’m not a fan of the sweetness from the white chocolate.”

“I’ll try adding agave next time; I’d love for you to give it a shot,” you replied with a smile. “How about you all?”

Oliver chimed in, “I’d give it a 9.”

Zoe followed, saying, “I also give it a 9.”

"I think it’s a 9 for me too," John added, sharing a smile with Zoe.

You turned to Mia. “What about you sweetheart?”

“I think it’s a 9 as well,” Mia said.

All eyes shifted to Harry, waiting for his verdict. “I’m giving it a 10, it’s fantastic. Can we even go higher than that and give it an 11?” He grinned at you, and you laughed, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

Maria rolled her eyes. “You’ve been giving everything a 10 that your girlfriend has made tonight. I’m not sure how objective you’re being.”

Shrugging, “But she did make everything amazing,” Harry said, lifting your hand and kissing it softly. “You’re going to shine at that fair, baby.”

"Yeah, I know you’ll do great," Zoe added supportively.

“Did you find the brand name?” Maria asked. “Mia and I put together a list for you, didn’t we bunnie?”

“Yeah, here it is,” Mia said, pulling out her tablet and setting it on the table. You quickly glanced at it.

“Wow, this is all fantastic, ladies. Good job, It's tough to choose, though.”

“Honey, we should probably get going,” Zoe said as she stood up.

You looked at her, “Okay, thanks for coming, guys,” as you hugged both her and John.

“Good luck at the fair,” John smiled at you.

“Thank you John."

“Good night, everyone! See ya,” Zoe called as the others waved goodbye.

“See you later,” Harry said as you followed them towards the door.

“Thanks for being cool about John coming along,” you said to Harry as they stepped into the lift.

“When I say ‘let me into your world,’ I mean that John is part of it since he’s your cousin’s boyfriend. It’s all good. Besides, everything between us is just a minor blip from the past,” he said.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi amor,” he said softly, pulling you close and kissing you.

Just then, a throat clearing interrupted the moment. You both pulled back and turned to see Maria standing there, her phone in hand.

“Harry, you need to see this,” she said, handing him her mobile.

The smile faded from Harry’s face as he glanced at the screen before returning it to her.

“What happened?” you asked, feeling a knot of worry forming.

“Alan…” he mumbled.

“His mother has passed away,” Maria added.

Silence hung in the air as you studied Harry. “Are you going to the funeral?”

“No, it wouldn’t feel right for me to go,” he replied.

You gently touched his arm. “But you’re not responsible for what happened in the past, Harry. Besides, it’s a funeral.”

“Still, I don’t think I’d want to see him if I were him,” he said.

“Harry is right, I’ll go,” Maria suggested.

Sensing an undertone in Maria’s voice that left you uneasy. She was somehow keeping something from Harry about her conversation with Alan earlier that day, and it made you feel uneasy.

Finally, the day you had eagerly anticipated arrived. It was the end of your internship, and Chef Bruno was set to hand you the letter for your certification. Harry had been called away from the company early that day, so you decided to go on your own.

The walk wasn’t far anyway.

Upon entering the hotel lobby, you were taken aback by the sight of a crowd gathered there. You recognized the doorman and approached him. “What’s going on? Why is everyone gathered here?”

“Mr. Finnegan,” he replied, his voice laced with distress. “He’s declared that no one can enter the bar or dining room, and the customers are absolutely furious.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, remembering he had just lost his mother. You understood the pain of loss all too well.

“Honestly, I've worked here for 20 years, and I’ve never seen him like this before,” the doorman replied.

“Is Bruno around?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright, I’ll wait in the kitchen, thanks.”

As you made your way toward the kitchen, murmurs of anxiety rippled through the air, the tension palpable. You pulled out your mobile phone, scrolled through your contacts for Bruno’s name, and pressed call. As it rang, you took off your coat, draping it casually over a chair, while casting glances at the other waiters, whose faces mirrored the stark worry that filled the room. They were nervous about Alan, how he had secluded himself in the dining room for hours, demanding solitude. When Bruno called to say he would be late, your anxiety heightened.

What a last day at the hotel!

It was supposed to be a celebration in the air, but instead, there was worry, sadness, and frustration.

You started to feel bored waiting in the kitchen with the other waiters. You decided to glance through the door to the dining room, and it shocked you. Alan sat at a table, his clothes disheveled, hair in disarray, and clearly upset. Despite your previous feelings toward him—you clearly didn't like him—a wave of pity washed over you.

Marvelous.

After a while, he called out to the waiters, who exchanged worried glances. No one seemed brave enough to approach him in his current state.

You made a decision that you suspected you might regret later. “I’ll go,” you said, trying to reassure them while putting yourself in a highly tense situation.

As you stepped into the dining room and walked toward his table, he didn’t look up initially, but once you stood beside him, his gaze met yours, surprise evident on his face.

“I’m really sorry for your loss,” you said softly, barely above a whisper but sincerely.

You felt uncomfortable under his intense stare and quickly looked away.

“Please, sit down,” he urged, almost pleadingly.

Usually, you wouldn’t have done so—after all, he wasn’t your boss anymore. But given his distress, you took a seat.

“Alan, you really need to gather yourself,” you said coolly.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be alright soon. Don’t worry.”

“Not that I’m worried, but your actions are really causing a stir among the customers, and the staff are starting to feel uneasy. And let's not even get started on the reporters hanging around."

“Do you really think I care about them? I’m done caring about anyone or anything,” he said, his tone stern as he focused on you. “Except you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, don’t start that again.”

“Oh, honey, I haven’t even begun yet, trust me.”

Your arms crossed defensively. “What in the world are you talking about?”

He leaned in closer, his face getting serious. “Just end things with Harry.”

What the fuck?

What on earth was he saying?

“Alan, I think you should—”

“You won’t? Fine. Then I’ll ruin him.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you tried to comprehend his words. “What are you even talking about?”

“My mother died because of his mother.”

“Harry isn’t to blame. This is something that happened ages ago.”

“My mother fought cancer for years; she couldn’t cope with my father’s betrayal. She meant everything to me. Now I’ve lost my mother, my all, and he will lose everything too.”

You stood up abruptly. “Look, you’re clearly too upset and possibly drunk to understand what you’re saying.”

“No, I’m completely clear-headed. I’ve waited years, held back by my mother’s presence, but that’s over now.” He rose, taking a step toward you. “I’m going to make the Castillo family pay for what they did to mine.”

Anger bubbled within you; this was too much. “Alan, snap out of it. You aren’t solving anything this way. I get your pain, but this is excessive.”

He laughed hysterically. “Excessive? Is that what you think?” Then he grabbed your shoulders. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like to watch my mother suffer in the hospital for all those years?” he shouted, startling you.

Just then, Bruno entered the dining room. "Mr. Finnegan."

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you said nervously.

Bruno took in the situation with a disapproving look but nodded and returned to the kitchen.

But Alan wouldn’t let you go, gripping your wrist tightly. “Let go of my arm, now,” you said through gritted teeth.

Instead of releasing you, he tightened his hold and leaned in close to your ear. “Don’t forget, every moment you choose to stay with him only brings more trouble for him. I’ll make sure of that.”

You jerked your arm free from his grasp. “Your eyes are clouded with anger. You’re not thinking clearly. I love Harry, and nothing will come between us. I'm not leaving him, no matter what you do, understand?”

A wicked smile crept onto his face. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so confident, honey. You have no clue what I’m capable of.”

“Do your worst,” you shot back.

“I will,” he replied ominously.

You couldn’t despise him more at that moment.

Throwing him a disgusted look, you turned away and strode out of the room with quick, determined steps.

Yet, deep down, an unsettling worry clung to you like a shadow, gnawing incessantly at your thoughts about Harry and his family.

After you left, Alan took his cell phone out of his pocket and called someone. “Start foreclosure proceedings.” After hanging up, he let out a soft, almost sinister chuckle to himself.

“You’ll have no choice but to come to me, sweetheart.”

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luvvcho · 2 days ago

Text

❅・PARTY 4 U

SYNOPSIS —If there’s one thing Gojo Satoru knows how to do, it’s throw a party, the kind that becomes campus legend by Monday morning. With the grades, the girls, and the frat house loyalty, he seems to have it all. But maybe the real reason behind his biweekly ragers isn’t the crowd or the chaos — maybe it’s the one girl who never showed up.

WC — 5.7k

CONTENT — college/university au, gojo yearns a lot, use of y/n twice, mentions of drugs and alcohol, implied sex, implied hookups, fratboys (ew), i didnt know what to name the frat so we’re using alpha beta sigma, highkey a self insert if you squint :p, readers a year older than Satoru, 100 million time skips

a/n: in case you couldnt tell this is inspired by the great gatsby and party 4 u by charli xcx! im also about to hit exam season so i will be less active ;( huge shoutout to @taomyou for beta reading once again!

masterlist | divider 1 | divider 2 | read on ao3

fratboy!Satoru was whipped.

It all started at the middle of fall semester in his first year.

He’d always been attractive, sure, but after ditching the glasses the summer before highschool, something shifted. By the time senior year rolled around, girls were paying attention. A lot of attention. And it definitely went to his head.

By the second month of university? Satoru was a menace. Flirting with anything that breathed, flashing that stupid smile like it was currency, and always, always showing up at parties like he owned the place.

He’d secured his spot in one of the university’s top social fraternities within the first week, like it was second nature. By then, rejection had become a foreign concept; he hadn’t heard a “no” in years, not from professors, not from party invites, and definitely not from girls. He strode through campus on confidence alone, all charm and winks, always knowing exactly what to say to get what he wanted.

Unfortunately, Satoru only realized the consequences of skipping half his data lectures when midterms rolled around and suddenly he was cramming in the library at midnight, surrounded by highlighters and half-empty cans of energy drinks.

He was completely unaware of just how unprepared he was. Sure, classes had been in full swing for weeks now, but somehow, between skipping lectures and partying three nights a week, he’d never gotten around to buying the damn textbook.

So here he was, sleep-deprived, dressed in a shirt he didn’t remember owning, trudging into the campus bookstore with the vague hope they still had a copy in stock.

"You got Data and Stats?" he asks the cashier, nodding toward the textbooks behind the counter.

The cashier points a thumb toward the back of the store. “Think there’s one left in the aisle by the back wall,” he says. “But no promises, it might’ve been snagged already.”

He rounded the corner too fast, eyes scanning the shelves, and collided straight into someone—hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

“Shit—sorry,” he said, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, textbook already clutched to your chest.

Of course. The last copy.

You raised a brow at him, arms tightening just slightly around the book. “Watch it.”

“My bad,” he grinned, gaze flicking from the textbook to your face. “You a stats major?”

You looked unimpressed. “No. Just reviewing some concepts from first year.”

Satoru’s grin widened. “Smart and older,” he said, almost to himself. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” you said flatly, stepping to the side.

He followed. “I’m Gojo, by the way. Satoru.”

You didn’t offer your name. Just adjusted your grip on the textbook and said, “Nice.”

“Listen,” he tried again, leaning against the shelf casually, “I’ve been out of the loop, but I’m a fast learner. If you’re already reviewing this stuff, maybe you could tutor me a little? We could grab coffee. I’ll pay.”

You blinked. “You want to bribe me with overpriced caffeine to do your studying for you?”

“Well, when you say it like that,” he said, laughing, “yeah. Pretty much.”

“No thanks,” you said, already turning away.

But Gojo never was the type to take no for an answer, not without trying at least one more time.

“I’ll let you quiz me while I’m shirtless,” he called after you, hands cupped around his mouth. “Strictly for motivation, obviously!”

You didn’t even look back. “Keep the shirt on, Gojo.”

He smirked.

Game on.

Midterms came and went, and for once, Satoru didn’t care about his grades.

He found himself drifting through campus with one thing on his mind…you.

It had been two weeks since the bookstore. You’d turned him down with more ease than most people say hello. For some reason, that only made him more interested.

So, he started asking around.

“Yo, you ever seen a girl on campus? She’s a second year, kinda sharp, kinda scary?” he asked Suguru one night, nursing a red solo cup and leaning on the couch in their frat house.

Suguru squinted at him. “That describes half the RAs on campus. Be specific.”

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She had the data textbook. Met her in the bookstore. She made me feel like I was failing a class I wasn’t even enrolled in.”

“Ah.” Suguru looked mildly amused. “You mean the one who told you to keep your shirt on?”

Satoru perked up. “You have seen her?”

Suguru shrugged. “No, you just can’t keep your mouth shut.”

He moved on to others, anyone who might’ve seen you at a party. But none of them had. Not even the quieter, more observant guys who tended to remember faces.

Which only made you more intriguing.

You weren’t a party regular. You weren’t in his classes. You weren’t showing up in any of the circles he ran through, which for a smaller, prestigious university, was definitely odd. It was like you’d vanished.

And Gojo Satoru, for once in his life, was losing his damn mind over someone who hadn’t given him the time of day.

Finals came about, and Satoru was no closer to finding you than he had been two months ago.

At this point, he’d practically become a fixture at the campus bookstore, enough that the cashier, a second-year named Haru, barely blinked when Satoru sauntered in with his usual energy and zero academic urgency.

“Hey,” Satoru leaned on the counter, spinning a pen from the stands between his fingers. “Did she stop by?”

Haru didn’t even look up from their phone. “Dude, I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You know,” Satoru insisted, pushing a hand through his white hair. “She’s like this tall. Smart. Had a data and stats textbook and an attitude problem, ringing any bells?”

Haru finally glanced at him, deadpan. “Do you know how many people in here have an attitude and a stats textbook?”

“She told me to keep my shirt on.”

Pause.

A snort escaped before Haru could stop it. “Okay, that I remember. You were sulking for , like, three hours after that.”

“She was mysterious,” he defended. “It’s different.”

“She rejected you.”

Satoru huffed, flopping over the counter like a kicked puppy. “And now I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Please,” he said dramatically. “If you see her, just text me. I’ll pay you in eternal gratitude. And snacks.”

Haru raised a brow. “You already bring me snacks.”

“Exactly. So now it’ll just be… slightly more motivated.”

They rolled their eyes. “Fine. But you owe me if she’s real and not just some rejection-fueled hallucination.”

“She’s real,” Satoru grinned, standing upright again. “And when I see her, I’m gonna make her fall in love with me.”

“If you say so.”

There was a café about a mile off campus that Satoru had been meaning to try ever since his frat brother and roommate, Suguru landed a part-time job there. Not because he craved overpriced oat milk lattes or wanted to support local businesses, Satoru just liked free things, and free pastries via a friend behind the counter were reason enough to visit.

He had his laptop open, a half-finished spreadsheet glowing on the screen in front of him. To anyone passing by, he looked like the picture of productivity: earbuds in, brows furrowed, iced americano sweating beside his elbow.

In reality, he’d spent the last thirty minutes switching between Excel and an online quiz titled “What type of bread are you?”

(He was sourdough. Apparently because he “looks crusty but has depth.” He wasn’t sure if he should be offended.)

Suguru was behind the bar, sleeves rolled up and hair tied into a messy bun as he wiped down the counter with the kind of slow precision that said I get paid minimum wage. It was a normal, uneventful afternoon.

Until Satoru looked up… and nearly knocked over his drink.

You.

You were here. At this café. Talking to his roommate. Laughing, even, like you two knew each other. Like the universe had some sick sense of humour and decided to drop you into his life again when he least expected it.

He scrambled, nearly choking on his straw before yanking his earbuds out and hissing, “Suguru. Suguru.”

Suguru didn’t even glance up. “You’re not supposed to talk to me when I’m on shift.”

“I’ll Venmo you twenty bucks.”

“You still owe me thirty from last time.”

“Fine. Fifty. Just—who is that?”

Now Suguru looked up, eyes flicking over to where you stood at the register, wallet in hand. “Who? Her?”

“Yes, her. The girl with the nice hair and the resting bitch face… my bookstore girl.”

“Bookstore girl?”

Satoru groaned. “The one who you were just talking to.”

Recognition finally dawned on Suguru’s face. “Ohhh. You mean Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue like he’d been waiting to learn it his whole life. “Oh my god, Suguru, tell me everything.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my fate, obviously, and I need a way in.”

Suguru looked unimpressed. “You mean a way to flirt with her again even though she very clearly rejected you?”

“That was foreplay.”

“That was you being annoying.”

Satoru leaned forward, whispering like it was a matter of national security. “Does she come here often? Is she seeing anyone? What’s her major? What’s her coffee order? Do you think she likes sourdough?”

Suguru blinked slowly. “You are so unwell.”

“Suguru, please,” Satoru whined, clutching his iced coffee like it might soothe the ache of desperation in his chest.

Suguru didn’t even bother to hide the exhaustion in his voice as he wiped down the espresso machine. “Send me my fifty bucks, and I’ll tell you what you want to know when I’m on break.”

Satoru blinked. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s backpay.”

He groaned but immediately reached for his phone, opening Venmo and aggressively typing in his information before sending the payment.

“Done,” he said, shoving the screen in Suguru’s face.

Suguru glanced at it, then shrugged. “Alright. I’m off in ten. If you’re still here and not dramatically passed out from yearning by then, I’ll spill.”

Satoru leaned back in his seat with a grin that could’ve lit the café. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You never do,” Suguru muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes had never felt longer, but eventually, Surguru sat in front of him, his own coffee in hand. He didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“She’s a bio major,” Suguru said flatly, taking a long sip from his drink. “Wants to be a dentist.”

Satoru blinked. “That’s so hot.”

Suguru sighed, already regretting this. “Of course it is.”

“I mean, come on, she’s smart and she might give me free Invisalign one day?”

“She wouldn’t touch your mouth with a ten-foot pole,” Suguru deadpanned. “She’s focused. Doesn’t party much anymore. Commutes from downtown. No time for idiots.”

Satoru’s grin faltered. “Wait, what do you mean anymore?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “She used to party?”

Suguru smirked over the rim of his cup. “You asked for info. I didn’t say I’d give it all away for free.”

“Please, Suguru,” Satoru practically begged, lowering his voice and leaning over the table. “I’ll restock the mini fridge this week.”

Suguru didn’t even look up from his drink. “I’d rather not open it and find nothing but melted sugar cubes again.”

“That was one time.”

“It was three times.”

“Suguru.”

He sighed like the weight of Satoru’s desperation was physically exhausting. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing around before lowering his voice. “She used to. But she got caught by a cop in the middle of freshman year.”

Satoru’s eyebrows shot up. “Doing what?”

“Dunno the full story. Something about a bottle and the wrong parking lot. No charges, but she got real quiet after that. Keeps her head down now. Doubt she’d come out again.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, mind already racing. “Damn.”

Suguru gave him a look. “Don’t get any bright ideas.”

“Too late.”

Satoru’s gone before Suguru even finishes his 10 minute break.

Second year rolls around, and Satoru’s carrying a massive duffel bag up the cracked pavement of his fraternity’s front steps, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the overcast sky. The house is already buzzing with the chaos of returning members—someone’s blasting music on the second floor, someone else is yelling about a missing tub of protein powder, and the front door keeps swinging open with the screech of badly-oiled hinges.

He pauses at the threshold, taking in the scent of old beer and whatever candle someone’s mom insisted on leaving behind.

This year, he’s not a freshman sleeping in storage in the basement. He’s got a real room this time, second floor, corner window, just enough space for a larger mini fridge and his questionable collection of graphic tees. He drops his bag with a dramatic sigh and stretches like he’s been through war, not a 15-minute Uber ride.

He had an idea. A stupid one, maybe. But Satoru Gojo wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

If the girl wasn’t coming to him, he’d create a reason for her to show up.

So he pitched it—loudly, obnoxiously, and with a whiteboard diagram no one asked for—at the weekly frat meeting.

“A party to start the year,” he declared, slapping the side of the board like it was a car hood. “Biggest of the year. We invite everyone. First-years, second-years, even that weird kid who sells meth outside the math building.”

From the couch, Suguru raised a brow. “Is this about that girl again?”

Satoru didn’t even blink. “No.”

“It’s definitely about the girl,” Suguru muttered, lowly to him.

“I mean, yes,” Satoru admitted, flopping into the armchair. “But it’s also about unity and brotherhood and throwing an insanely sick party.”

No one questioned it, so within three days, the plans were set. DJ booked, lighting rig rented, flyers printed (badly), and kegs on order. The party would be held Friday night, the first real weekend back, perfect timing for people still running on syllabus week energy and free drinks.

The night of the party arrived like a storm.

The house rang with music, lights bouncing off the walls, the bass heavy enough to shake the picture frames in the hallway. Students spilled into the yard, red solo cups in hand, laughter echoing over the sound of cheap EDM and even cheaper vodka.

Satoru had made his rounds. He high-fived half the finance department, danced with someone from the cheer team, and even took a tequila shot with a professor who definitely should not have been there. But , now, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping water, eyes flicking to the door every time it opened.

Still no sign of you.

He wasn’t surprised, not really, but he still felt that tiny sting of disappointment settle under his skin, gnawing quietly.

“Why the long face, Gojo?” a voice purred beside him.

He glanced over. A girl in a too-tight crop top with too-red lipstick batted her lashes at him. She stepped closer, just enough that her perfume hit him in a wave.

“You’re not usually the brooding type,” she said, finger trailing along the hem of his shirt.

Satoru gave her a lopsided grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just waiting on someone.”

She tilted her head. “Well… I’m someone.”

He chuckled, soft but genuine. “Yeah, you are.”

She leaned in, clearly expecting him to meet her halfway, but he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back, lifting his water cup in mock cheers. “But I’m kinda holding out for a different someone tonight.”

The disappointment on her face was fleeting, quickly masked by a shrug as she wandered off toward the living room.

Satoru stayed there for a moment, alone with the distant thrum of music and his own stubborn hope.

Because you hadn’t come tonight. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t eventually, and he was willing to wait.

That was the beginning of the social event(s?) of the year.

Every second Friday of the month, Satoru Gojo threw the wildest, most chaotic, most talked-about parties on campus. There was always a theme—90s rave, ski lodge in spring, blue (he never explained that one)—and the house was always packed. Students from all majors, all years, would pile in through the doors, spill out onto the lawn, and stay until sunrise.

At some point, rumor had it a few of the older frat brothers tried to rename the kitchen The Lean Lab after an incident involving what guests thought was purple punch, three freshmen passed out on the back porch, and Suguru handing out electrolytes, still clad in a bonnet and a bathrobe. Satoru never denied the allegation. In fact, he seemed kind of proud.

But no matter how loud the music got or how many people screamed his name when he walked in, Satoru’s eyes always scanned the crowd for you.

He never said it out loud, but his friends knew. Suguru definitely knew. Shoko teased him about it constantly, usually while stealing sips from his cup.

“You know she’s not showing, right?” she’d say, halfway through the second party of the semester. “She’s probably at home doing flashcards and drinking chamomile tea.”

“Let me dream,” Satoru would grin, tossing back his drink anyway.

In January, Satoru saw you again.

He had made a rare, out-of-character decision to actually study for his upcoming tests, a choice motivated less by academic responsibility and more by sheer boredom. Wandering into the campus library, he scanned the rows of private study rooms without much hope…until he saw you.

There you were, seated alone in a glass-walled room, completely absorbed in your notes, highlighter uncapped, earbuds in. The same girl he hadn’t seen since that day at the bookstore. The one he’d lowkey, maybe even highkey, thrown multiple house parties for.

His feet moved before his brain did.

He rapped his knuckles gently against the door, watching as you glanced up in mild confusion, one earbud popping out.

You blinked at him. “Can I help you?”

Satoru smiled, all charm and false innocence. “Hey. So… I’ve got a huge test coming up and apparently everyone and their mom decided to study today.” He tilted his head toward the other rooms, which were, admittedly, mostly full. “Yours is the only room with space. Mind if I join you? I’ll be quiet. I swear.”

You looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then your eyes flicked to the empty seats beside you.

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing the door open wider. “Just don’t talk.”

Satoru grins, slipping inside like he’s just gotten away with a heist. “Scout’s honor.”

You don’t look at him as he settles into the chair across from you. You just go back to your notes, highlighter in one hand, pen in the other. The silence stretches—ten seconds, then twenty. You can feel his eyes on you.

“Are you actually studying?” you mutter without looking up.

“Yup,” he says, cracking open a textbook that still has the price tag on it. “Absolutely.”

You glance up, just in time to catch him upside down trying to read the index. “You’re holding it upside down.”

“Right,” he nods solemnly, flipping it around. “That’s why I wasn’t learning anything.”

Despite yourself, a laugh pushes its way up your throat before you can stop it. You glance at him again, more curious now than annoyed.

“Do I know you?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

He leans back in his chair, tossing his pen onto the table with a smug little smile. “You might. I’m unforgettable.”

You roll your eyes and go back to your notes.

“Biochem?” he guesses, nodding toward your open binder.

“Yeah.”

“You wanna be a doctor?”

“Dentist,” you correct, automatic. Then, softer, “Hopefully.”

Satoru’s quiet for a second. “That’s really hot.”

You don’t respond. But this time, when you look up at him, your lips are twitching just slightly.

“You said you wouldn’t talk,” you mutter, shooting him a glare over your notes.

“Hey,” Satoru says, holding his hands up in mock defense. “You talked to me first.”

His eyes lock with yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything. The room is still, save for the distant hum of the lights and the muffled turning of pages from somewhere down the hall.

And even though you’re clearly annoyed, Satoru feels his heartbeat pick up, his mouth suddenly dry. There’s something about the way you look at him, like you’re trying to decide whether he’s worth the energy it takes to deal with him.

He kind of hopes you decide he is.

“I’ll be quiet,” he says again, voice softer this time, less cocky. “Promise.”

You narrow your eyes one last time before turning back to your notes.

“Thanks,” you murmur, scribbling something in the margins of your textbook.

Satoru doesn’t speak after that. But his eyes linger on you just a few seconds longer than they should. He gets up to leave an hour later, stuffing his untouched notes into his bag and already mentally rearranging his schedule. If he moved next week’s party up by a solid seven days, he’d have just enough time to plan something big. Something loud. Something that would, hopefully, catch your attention for more than an hour in a study room.

“Thanks,” he mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

You glance up from your notes and nod, more out of politeness than anything.

Satoru hesitates at the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he’s suddenly not sure if he should say what he’s about to.

“Um… if you’re interested,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “my frat’s throwing a party on Friday. Alpha Beta Sigma house. You should come.”

You blink at him, eyebrows raised just enough to show surprise. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

He adds, “There’ll be music. Drinks. Free pizza?” Then, quickly, “No pressure.”

You don’t say anything right away, just look at him for a moment too long, like you’re trying to figure out if this is a setup.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, voice unreadable.

Satoru smiles anyway, that lopsided, confident grin that’s gotten him in and out of trouble more times than he can count.

“I’ll save you a slice.”

And with that, he walks out, already pulling out his phone to text Suguru.

[Satoru]: partys on friday. need lights and sound set up. theme ideas???

Your typical Friday in your best friend’s dorm had taken a sharp turn from pizza and Netflix into something straight out of a high school coming-of-age movie. One second it was just the two of you, and the next, a swarm of girls had poured in, arms full of makeup bags and curling irons, shouting over each other about outfits and last-minute costume swaps.

To your dismay, your best friend had caught wind of Alpha Beta Sigma’s Great Gatsby-themed party, and ever since, it was all she could talk about. Apparently, the only way she wanted to ring in her 21st was by flouncing into a frat house full of plastic champagne flutes, men in suspenders, and gold streamers taped to the ceiling.

She'd even lent you a dress, something slinky and glittery that you wouldn’t have picked out yourself, and insisted you had no choice but to come. “You’re my emotional support introvert,” she said, grinning as she tugged a brush through your hair. “If I’m going to get blackout drunk and scream-sing Lana Del Rey on a stranger’s balcony, I want you beside me.”

You sighed, but didn’t fight her. You owed her at least that.

Still, you weren’t expecting to be nervous. Not until you caught sight of your reflection, makeup done and outfit clinging in all the right places.

It’s louder than you expected.

Bass-heavy music pulses through the floorboards, vibrating through your heels and the hem of your borrowed dress. Gold streamers flutter like dying stars in the hallway, and someone spills half a drink as they stumble past you, laughing like the world is ending and that’s the best news they’ve heard all week.

It takes you right back to your partying habits of freshman year. You know that you don’t belong here the moment you slip into the party and feel yourself retreat into the corners of the room, the ones not drenched in strobe lights or attention.

You're tucked into an armchair in what must’ve once been a living room, watching silhouettes dance in slow-motion through the haze of a fog machine someone thought was a good idea. You sip flat soda from a red plastic cup. You told your friend you’d be fine alone for a while—and honestly, you meant it.

That is, until you hear his voice.

“You know,” Satoru says, appearing like some careless daydream beside you. “I think this party was missing something until now.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Me?”

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “You get it.”

You roll your eyes.

He doesn’t sit too close, but he does sit beside you, shoulders angled just slightly toward yours.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he says after a beat, voice quieter now, soft in a way that cuts through the music like it’s meant just for you.

You shrug. “My best friend dragged me.”

“Good friend,” he murmurs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance at him sideways, the smoke from a fog machine catching in your lashes. “You don’t even know me.”

He smiles, slow and honest. “Not yet. But I’ve been hoping to.”

That makes your stomach flutter, annoyingly so. You look away, focusing instead on the rim of your cup. “You’ve got, what, half the school in your DMs? You sure it’s me you’re hoping to get to know?”

“I’m not interested in half the school,” he says, not missing a beat. “I’m interested in you.”

You continue to glare at him.

“I’m interested in the girl who told me to shut up in the bookstore like I wasn’t the most charming guy on campus.”

You snort. “You were being loud.”

“You were being cute.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re finally talking to me,” he says, voice dipping low with something fond behind it. “So, impossible’s working out for me so far.”

You meet his gaze this time, steady. “You always flirt like this?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Only when I really mean it.”

You go quiet at that. Not because it’s awkward, but because you feel the tension shift, slightly deeper, slightly heavier.

Satoru notices too. He leans back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, knees brushing yours. “So… what do you actually like doing? When you’re not running from frat parties and causing lost boys to fail their exams.”

You smile at that. “Stuff that doesn’t involve basslines that make my brain rattle.”

He pretends to gasp. “So you’re telling me this isn’t your scene?”

“You’re surprised?”

He shrugs. “A little. Thought maybe you were just elusive.”

“Try allergic.”

“Gotcha,” he says, his smile soft now. “So next time, I’ll skip the party and ask you somewhere quieter.”

Your heart skips once. “Next time?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “If there’s a chance for one.”

You’re quiet again, but you don’t look away this time.

“…I’ll think about it.”

“You, know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he says suddenly, before you can respond. “Since I first met you.”

You glance at him, surprised, and he laughs under his breath.

“I don’t know. There was something about it. About you. I didn’t think it’d stick with me, but it did.”

A part of you wants to ask if this is just more of his usual lines, but something about the way he’s looking at you—less like a dare, more like a confession—stops you.

“Is that why you keep throwing these parties?” you ask, half-teasingly.

He pauses, smile turning sheepish. “Kind of.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You both sit in silence for a second. Satoru’s afraid he’s said the wrong thing.

“I don’t really do that. Think, I mean. About anyone. Not like that. And I kept thinking I’d just see you again eventually if I kept showing up, if I kept being loud enough or... visible enough.”

You stay quiet, watching him. The party hums on in the distance, but it’s quiet here. Just him and you and the truth beginning to unravel.

“But then I started wondering about you. Like, what kind of music do you listen to when you’re sad? Or if you have a weird food combination you eat when you’re stressed. I want to know if you read the backs of shampoo bottles in the shower or if you sing with your whole chest when you’re alone in the car. I want to know what your laugh sounds like when you really mean it. What kind of drunk you are. If you’ve ever broken a bone. What your childhood best friend’s name was.”

He leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “And it stopped being about getting your number or proving anything. I just—I started caring. About you. About the kind of day you’ve had. About whether you ever felt alone even in a room full of people.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty. He shrugs, eyes flicking to the cup in your hand before returning to yours.

“I guess I just wanted a chance. To know you. And I get that maybe that’s weird, or a lot, but I’m not really good at pretending I don’t want things when I want them. And you? You’re the first thing I’ve wanted in a long time that isn’t temporary.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, more to himself than anything.

“God, I sound insane. Like a rom-com stalker. But I swear, I’m not. I just… really, really like you.”

You look at him fully now, really look, and you see the way his leg bounces just slightly, the way his hand flexes around his own cup. He’s nervous. Gojo Satoru is actually nervous.

His voice dips, softer now, less performative.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention,” he says quietly. “And I thought—maybe tonight, I finally would.”

The music shifts to something slower, a synth-drenched beat washing over the room like a lull in a storm. Someone’s laughing down the hall. You swear the whole world softens for a moment.

“So?” he asks, voice low. “Can I take you out sometime? Like, actually out. No frat houses. Just me and you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, watching him.

Then: “Okay,” you say.

His grin grows, eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest flutter.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “But only if you actually study next time you’re in the library.”

“Deal,” he laughs. “Swear on my GPA.”

Six months later, you roll over in your bed, expecting the cool brush of your sheets against bare skin, only to be met with warmth.

Your cheek presses lightly against Satoru’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat the first sound you register as sleep slips from your body. His arm is already around you, tightening slightly at your movement, like even in sleep he can sense you trying to leave.

You let out a small sigh, content, and burrow closer.

“You’re awake?” he murmurs, voice gravelly and still thick with sleep.

“Barely,” you whisper.

He hums, the sound vibrating beneath your ear. “Good. Stay.”

You smile against his skin, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along the curve of his ribcage. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Mm,” he mumbles, one eye cracked open now. “Didn’t dream about anyone else, right?”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Whatever,” he says, half-asleep. “I love you.”

You glance up at him, his snowy lashes fluttering as he begins to open his eyes.

“I’ll allow it,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chest. He tugs you in tighter, his arms sliding lower over the curves of your bare body until there’s no space left between you. His breath grazes the top of your head as he murmurs, half-lost in the haze of sleep and morning light,.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The quiet admission makes your heart skip. You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze.

You blink slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m the one who should be saying that,” you whisper.

Satoru huffs a laugh but doesn’t let go, fingers tracing lazy patterns down your spine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I’ve had dreams like this before.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “They’ve never felt this good.”

“Whatever you say, Satoru,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just hums, his chin resting on top of your head, arms still wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

It hits you then, how much he’s changed.

Six months ago, Friday nights meant house parties that started with cheap drinks and ended in chaos. A different girl on his arm every week. His name always floating in the air, always said with a giggle or an eye roll. But now?

Now Friday nights mean falling asleep tangled in your limbs, shared takeout containers, and quiet conversations over shows neither of you finish because you’re too busy listening to each other. His phone is always face down. His texts are fewer but more thoughtful. And when someone brings up the next frat party, he waves them off with a shrug, saying he’s already got plans.

Plans that usually involve you, a hoodie that probably used to be his, and a quiet night at home.

Still, it’s hard to resist teasing him, especially when his past is so easy to poke fun at.

“So,” you whisper, cupping his face with both hands, thumbs brushing the corners of his mouth, “what’s the theme of tonight’s party?”

He groans softly, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, you know I only threw those parties for you.”

You snort. “Sure you did.”

pls do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own :) if you have any issues with what i wrote or noticed any mistakes, let me know privately. thank you for reading <3

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peachessndreamss · 2 days ago

Text

Home is You

Summery : Bob's home from a mission and he's got something he needs to share.

Characters : Robert "Bob" Floyd x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings : Mention of canon typical threat and injury

Word count : 1.6K

A/N : I watched Topgun Maverick because I was sad and then I found my old TGM google docs and, well, here we are. Also, pleased to see Lew getting so much love after Thunderbolts *

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

For the thousandth time that morning you checked your phone, sighing softly when there were no new notifications. With frustration, you flipped your phone over so you couldn't see the screen, hoping that would stop the constant anxious gnawing in your stomach.

You weren't usually one to stare longingly at your phone but today was different. Bob was due home, but he'd, and the rest of the returning service personnel, were put on no contact until they arrived back on the base, meaning, although you knew he would be home soon you had no way of knowing when that would be, and if he was still in one piece.

The minutes of that day seemed to crawl by as you waited, waited and waited some more to hear from him. Although you weren't in a romantic relationship with Bob he was still one of the most important people in your life. He was your best friend and your love for him was so deep that you never wanted to think of your life without him in it.

The morning had quickly flowed into the afternoon, and the hours of the afternoon were passing rapidly, every tick of the kitchen clock feeling like a hammer blow against your heart. You had been reading the fridge when his call finally came through, the vibration against the tabletop had you slamming the fridge door closed and dashing toward your phone.

You managed to answer after only a single ring, your whole body flooding with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, it's me," he said when you answered the call.

"I know," you said softly, “I’ve got caller ID,”

"Yeah sorry, I know," he replied with a soft laugh.

A silence fell between the two of you as you struggled to work out what to say. Weeks of no contact always made space for a few awkward silences but it wouldn’t take long for the ice of time and distance to thaw and for things to be back to normal.

"Are you free to pick me up?" He asked after a few seconds.

"Of course,” you replied quickly, already moving toward the front door, car keys in hand, “I can be there in about 30 minutes,".

"Alrigh' I'll give the gate your details, see you soon,".

The call ended as you stepped out of the door, the anxious feeling in your stomach had turned into butterflies as you sped toward the base, your hands trembling with the surge of adrenaline now coursing through you. It seemed no matter how many times he went away and came home again, the effect on you was the same.

You managed to calm your breathing and your erratic heartbeat before you arrived at the main gates, you were let through the gate and drove up to the main block where you knew there would be others collecting loved ones.

You parked and got out of your car, all around you there were families being reunited, children being hugged and swung around, wife's, girlfriends, boyfriends and husband's being held and kissed by returning service personnel and you felt somewhat out of place as you stood, alone, looking for him.

You recognised a few faces from previous pickups, and you couldn’t stop the burn of tears in your eyes as you watched happy families coming together.

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt as you scanned the crowd for him, finally catching sight of him, the late afternoon sun flashing off his glasses as he stepped out of a door off to the left hand side of the block, around his neck was the arm of a taller officer and the two of them were laughing.

He saw you and his smile broadened, he waved, pulling away from his friend and breaking into a slow jog toward you, as soon as he was close enough you threw yourself into his arms and hugged him tightly.

"Hey," you said softly, taking a deep breath and drawing the smell of him deeply into your lungs.

"Hey yourself," Bob replied, giving you an extra squeeze.

He heard you sniff as you fought harder against the tears burning eyes and forcing your throat closed.

"No tears," he said softly as he released you from his embrace and looked at your face, noticing the wobble in your bottom lip and the glassy look in your eyes, "me being home is supposed to be a happy thing".

"I am happy,".

"Okay so no tears or I'll get a complex,".

You let your eyes roam over his face, each of his features as familiar to you as your own face in the mirror. You noticed a scar on his forehead that hadn’t been there when he’d left, you reached up and brushed your thumb over the mark.

"What happened?" You asked.

Bob laughed softly, "I, uh, got on the wrong side of some cables and ended up on my face on the flight deck," he said, touching the silvery mark on his forehead.

"As long as that's all it was," you replied, your whole body shivering at the idea of the type of risks he ran every time he went up in his jet.

"I'll tell you about the near miss over dinner huh?" He teased, elbowing you gently.

"No thank you," you replied with a smile as the two of you started to move in the direction of your car.

"Not even if I'm the hero of the story?" He asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"Especially then," you said, "I like to imagine all you do when you're away is sit about and take no risks,".

Bob laughed as you started the engine and pulled out of your parking space. On the drive back to your home you caught Bob up with anything and everything he missed while he'd been away and Bob told you a few things that he'd been up to, although a lot of details needed to be left out.

You asked if he wanted to get a drink in town which he declined, you knew the local town would be full that evening with the returning crew, and understandably, Bob wanted a quiet evening.

Once back at your home Bob stripped out of his boots and went to take a shower. The spare room of your home was always made up ready for him and a few comfortable outfits were hanging in the wardrobe. Once he’d changed into a faded blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants he came to find you in the kitchen.

"You want me to cook or shall we order?" You asked as you got two bottles of cola from your fridge.

"Uh, what would you cook?" He asked as you handed him a bottle and he popped the top off easily.

"Well you know me," you joked, "pasta or, uh, pasta?".

"I love pasta,".

Bob almost ate himself into a coma before curling up on your sofa and dozing off, his head cushioned by his hands. His eyes were closed and there was a small smile on his face.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked, not opening his eyes.

"Sure, knock yourself out," you replied from the other sofa where you were feeling sleepy after all the hours of worrying you'd done earlier in the day. You had your own eyes closed, your head propped up on your fist.

"We went down, me and my pilot, something went wrong and we lost control. We were crashing into the water so we ejected, it was pretty textbook stuff but in those few seconds when I wasn't acting on pure instinct I think I realised something,".

As he was talking you'd felt yourself getting more and more tense, each one of your muscles seizing up as you pictured him in a failing jet, working purely on instinct and adrenaline. Too scared to move but the only person who could do anything. Bob stifled a yawn before continuing.

"I was bobbing around in the water, waiting to get picked up, freezing cold but also getting burned by the sun and the only thing I could think about was you," Bob's eyes opened slowly and fixed his gaze on you.

Although your eyes remained closed, he could see the tension in your body.

"And then I thought to myself, if I died here, who would I leave behind? And it was you. You were the only thought I had out there, how much I wanted to see you one more time, tell you a joke and hear you laugh, that's all I could think about,"

Your heart was pounding in your chest and the sound of your blood pumping in your ears was almost deafening. Bob spotted the tremble in your hand that you wouldn’t have been able to hide if you’d tried.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, finding it sleepy but also clear, like the exhaustion was giving him clarity of thought. And while Bob could still feel the sleep pulling on his mind, he needed to get his thoughts out while he had them in his head.

"Can you come here please?" He asked as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

With an uncertain step you stood and moved toward him, coming to stand directly in front of him, in between his knees. He placed his hands on your hips and you touched your hands to his cheeks.

"Out there I realised something," he said softly, looking deeply into your eyes, "I love you, and not just as my friend, as my everything,".

For the second time that day you felt your throat closing up as tears burned in your eyes and your bottom lip wobbled. Bob smiled as he reached up and touched his thumb to your trembling lip.

"Don't cry," he whispered, "you'll give me a complex,".

A/N : There's more where this came from, as well as some Rooster stuff if anyone still cares about Topgun 😆💀

#lewis pullman #topgun #topgun maverick #robert floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x gn!reader #topgun fanfic #topgun maverick fanfic #lewis pullman fanfic

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anisangeldust · 2 days ago

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May the 4th be with you, here’s some Vader smut!

The mechanic whoosh of DARTH VADERS durasteel suit echoed through the room as he took a seat in his bedchambers. Two of his clunky fingers gestured you over while he leaned back and tried to quell the constant pain that gnawed at him.

Silently, your feet patter against the cold tile of his quarters as you walk over to him. The only sounds in the room were the constant hum of the ship and his heavy vocoder breathing. Coming up behind him, you gently unhook the clamps of his helmet, a soft hissss ruching through the room.

“Master.” You mumble as his scarred and burned body come into view. Over the years you’d become something of a caretaker to the Sith Lord, originally put in place by Sideous -who did so clearly to further humiliate him- though now you almost enjoyed taking care of the tyrant.

Coming over to his front, you kneel and start to unhook his chest plate. Looking up, you meet his brilliantly yellow eyes. Though most of his face was mangled in burn scars, he was still almost.. handsome? You pushed that thought away for now. Each piece of his suit coming off meant more metallic clunking and gentle hissing.

As you moved to take off his boots, he moved his hand down and gently cupped your face “Little one.” He coos. Farley did he talk ever, it was clearly painful for his throat, but something about you always made him soft. “You’ve been too good to me.” He gestures you up to your feet. “You treat me like a man, though I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” He sighs.

“You’re evil. Not a monster.” You hold his heavy metal hand. “And you are a man. Despite everyone else having some sort of prejudice.” You smile. Something shifts in his eyes, almost like you’d said something unbelievable.

He pulls you down to his lap and looks over your face and body, examining you. “You stun me, little girl” he tsks “you do all for me with no wants in return” he let out a weak huff.

“I like helping y-“ he cuts you off by pulling v you against his tough-skinned chest “shh. I don’t care of your motives”

It felt weird. Vader swore he’d never touch another woman, but it had been so long, and even a Sith Lord needed to have some sort of relief. Your body was so soft and plush in his metal hands, so warm. There was a gentle stirring in his groin as you accepted his touch.

“You’ve proven.. loyal.” He starts, hoping to lure you into pleasing him. “If I asked you to do something.. would you?” He dares to look you in the eye.

“Of course.. yes.. anything” you nod almost immediately. You could see the way his eyes trailed hungrily over your body, something so human about the way he wanted you.

“I..” he starts “take my pants off.” His command is clear, though his weak voice made it sound almost pathetic.

As you climb off his lap, your Brian seems to be in overdrive. Obviously he wanted some sort of sexual favor, and obviously he didn’t ask just anyone. This was a weird dynamic you had found yourself in. As you took off his under armor pants, you were met with a, surprisingly, in tact cock.

Vader had almost the same expression. It wasn’t often he saw his own genitals anymore. His dick was about the only thing gang mostly survived Mustafar, though now it was a tad scared and mangled, with some ribbed skin running up the shaft. His balls were fairly okay, though they were in a metal cup that kept them from getting too exposed. And he was.. hung. Vader looked almost shocked at how hard you’d gotten him, no one turned him on, not since Padmé.

Carefully, you stand up. Unhooking your imperial uniform, you drop your skirt. Vader let out a mangled groan, it had been years since he’d seen the body of a young woman, and he found you tantalizing. “C’mere little on. Ride me. Show me how loyal you are to your empire.” His voice was substantially more hoarse than usual as he patted his thigh.

You gently walked toward him, he looked so real, so.. normal. Despite his fiery injuries, he was so mundane right now. Climbing onto his lap, you gather some of your own arousal and start to rub it up and down his cock. You felt a pair of invisible fingers tease your pussy, gestating you ready for him.

“Good girl..” he coos “go on..” the Sith urges you to sink down on him. After some positioning, you move down, he let out and low growl, it was embarrassing how good it felt to have a tight, willing cunt. As his cock stretched you out so deliciously.

“Oh.. mmph..” you bit your bottom lip “Vader…” his eyes shoot open as you moan his Sith name “No..” he growls “call me Anakin.. don’t..” he shakes his head.

Still bounding and gasping, you nod “Anakin..” you force out, so overwhelmed with the situation that your voice was small and quiet.

“Good girl… kriff..! Good- fuck..” he groans as you move up and down on his pulsing shaft. It was strange to hear is actual name, let alone have it moaned. But at the same time it turned him on to no end.

“I’m.. Anakin.. I’m..” you whine and finish on his cock, squirming in his lap. He was quick behind you, a strangled moan leaving him as he finishes in you.

After a few moments, he speaks “you e done good. I might make this a regular thing, little one.” He praises.

You dare to giggle “I can’t say I’ll hate that.”

#anisangeldust #hayden christensen #darth vader smut #darth vader #darth vader x reader #Vader smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #˚₊‧꒰ა angel writes! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#may the fourth be with you

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yunaversalluv · 3 days ago

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⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

Just another night, another gig, another band — or so you think. A new assignment hits your inbox, and something about this one feels different. The name Ellie sticks with you, and you don’t know why yet. But you will.

cw for this chapter// none!

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion

♡˗ˏ🍰໒ Hello everyone! welcome to the first official post of my series “Focus pull!” i’ve had this living in my brain for months now so i’m super excited to finally be writing it. hope you enjoy reading as much as i’m enjoying putting it together <3

PROLOUGE

Being a freelance concert photographer isn’t always the easiest gig. It’s a constant grind — chasing leads, juggling weird hours, competing with a dozen other people who are all trying to catch the same wave before it crashes.

Still, you manage. You’ve built a decent footing in the scene, even gotten to shoot for a few bigger names. Not arena-level artists, but enough to keep you just above broke. It’s not glamorous, but it’s yours.

Tonight, your laptop screen flickers across your cluttered desk, casting weird shadows on coffee cups and crumpled receipts. The only sounds in your apartment are the soft clicks of your mouse and the low hum of the fridge.

You’ve refreshed your inbox three times in the last hour. Nothing new. Just the usual — local shows, underpaid gigs, indie bands trying to break through but never quite making it. It’s all a blur of "maybe next time."

Then you see it.

SUBJECT: Photoshoot Opportunity – Violet Thorns

It’s from one of the zines you’ve worked with before. Small, niche, kind of scrappy — but they’ve got a good eye. They always seem to catch the bands right before they blow up. There’s a weird kind of thrill in that — like being handed a front-row seat to something nobody else has noticed yet.

You open the email.

Hey [Your Name],

We’re covering a Violet Thorns show this weekend. Their frontwoman, Ellie, is making waves locally, and we’d love to get some shots for the feature. We know you’ve got an eye for raw emotion, and we’d love for you to capture the energy of the band’s set.

Let us know if you’re interested.

– Maya

Ellie. The name jumps out at you. You’ve heard of her band — underground, rough around the edges. Definitely grunge. The kind of sound that gets under your skin, even if it’s not your usual taste. You’ve seen their name around. Flyers, blog posts, snippets of basement-set live videos. You’ve never shot them before.

You hover for a second.

The venue’s a dive bar — probably loud, probably too dark, probably a nightmare for sound techs. But honestly? Those are the best shows. That’s where the real stuff happens — up close, raw, messy in the way that matters.

You type out a reply.

I’m in. Can you send over the details?

You set your phone down. There’s a little pulse of something in your chest — excitement, maybe. Or just nerves.

The email might be small. The venue might be falling apart.

But this could be something.

Maybe even the something.

You won’t realize how right you are until it’s already happening.

#⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams

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whumpsday · 20 hours ago

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Hallucinations

@medwhumpmay Day 5

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: recovery, past pet whump, older / middle-aged whumpee, comfort, psychological whump

Stocking shelves was a simple job with clear tasks. That was what the social worker told him. That wasn’t to say stocking was easy, especially not on Whumpee, even after he’d put the meat back on his bones. It was physical, and the boxes were often heavy, and he almost never stopped moving his whole shift.

But he could handle it right now, and that was all he needed. He needed this.

“Could always go for cleaning or food service. You were good at those,” Whumper purred.

Whumpee pushed his cart through him wordlessly, his expression unchanging. He was getting better at that, just staring straight ahead so his coworkers wouldn’t think he was crazy. Though that ship had pretty much sailed months ago.

He pushed the cart, unloading its contents and placing them on the shelves where they belonged. Twisting things around so the labels faced forward like they were supposed to.

Whumper reappeared, sighing contentedly as he reclined to watch Whumpee work. “Good boy. What a good pet you are, following your orders.”

Whumpee shook his head with a grumble, just barely keeping himself from muttering I’m not a ‘good boy’. I’m forty-six. Even without that added tidbit, he was already getting an odd look from the new girl working beside him, a kid about half his age. He gave her an awkward smile to try and save it, but she quickly looked away, and he dropped the effort. Whatever. She was seasonal anyway, just some college kid trying to earn something over the summer.

Maybe if things had been different, he’d have a daughter her age. That ship had long since sailed, too.

Despite his internal protests, Whumper continued to coo at him about being a good boy and a good pet as he did his damn job. He’d learned to mostly ignore it by now. Better that than… the opposite.

“So, uh, what are you studying?” he asked, just to distract himself.

The girl startled. “Oh! Social work. Yeah. About halfway through. Junior year around the corner.” She spoke a little too quickly.

Whumpee couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” the kid demanded, somehow seeming a little more comfortable then.

“I just know a lot of social workers. Nothin’ against it, just thought it was funny. It’s good people, most of ‘em.” Most.

“Oh.” The girl relaxed a little, walking with him as they moved to unload more product. “And they… help?”

“What, with the talking to myself? I mean, not enough, I guess.” Was that rude? He’s been way too rude during this conversation. He’d let himself slip in Whumper’s absence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

He raised a hand in peace. “It’s fine. It takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“Bad pet,” Whumper admonished with a tsk-tsk. “You know better than to interrupt.”

Whumpee flinched, just barely managing to stop himself from dropping the box he was unloading to grovel. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

There. Normal thing to say. Not so hard.

The kid eyed him curiously, not that Whumpee could figure out what it was this time. “It’s fine.” And lightly, with a smile, “Takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“She’s cute,” Whumper whispered in his ear. “I’ve been needing a new pet, ever since you left me. You were getting older anyway. Maybe she could take your place.”

Whumpee whipped around so fast his head spun. “Shut up! Don’t you dare say that about her! What’s wrong with you!?”

The girl gasped, dropping her box. Something shattered inside it, spilling red through the cracks, just like him.

Whumper trailed a finger up Whumpee’s throat to his chin. He could swear he could feel it. “You don’t talk to your master that way, pet. You know what comes next.”

“Mr. Whumpee?” the girl asked, voice small, tears in her eyes.

Whumpee dropped to the ground, cowering on the floor with his arms over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

By that point, others were rushing over, a cavalcade of coworkers pushing themselves between them and all talking at once so he could hear none of them.

“Just give me a minute,” Whumpee begged. Whether it was Whumper or the real people he was begging, he wasn’t sure. “I just need a minute. Please. Just a minute.”

“I’m fine, give him some space,” he distantly heard the kid say among the rumble.

After a couple minutes, he dared to uncover his face. She was still there, though everyone else had left. She crouched as soon as she could see his eyes. “Hey,” she said, gentle. “You alright?”

“I guess.” He pushed himself up to sitting, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Sorry you had to see that.”

She shrugged. “Sorry you had to experience it.” And then: “I also know a lot of social workers. For the record. It’s why I decided to go into it.”

“Ah, a kindred spirit.” Though he doubted it was for the same reason. At least, he damn hoped so.

“Thanks for defending me from the voice you were hearing. That’s what you were doing, right?” She offered him a hand.

Whumpee took it, getting back to his feet. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”

The girl laughed. “I bet.”

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

#medwhumpmay2025 #whump #my writing #recovery whump #pet whump #psychological whump

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dissolvedprincess · 2 days ago

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‘need papa frank so so bad him telling you you’re his good little baby 😢’

- Anon

• ┈ • ┈ • ┈• ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ •

This was actually an anon req that i accidentally posted an unfinished version of and had to quickly take down. Didn’t know if anon wanted smut or comfort stuff, so i just went with the latter. Also dbf! Frank bcs i can. Enjoy!

Open Arms

✷ CW : angst, afab reader, hurt, plenty of comfort, dbf! Frank Castle, reader has an emotionally absent father, 20+ age gap, reader is in her early 20s

(Not proofread)

━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ✮✮✮ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━

The line rang exactly five times when he finally picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Frank—“

You swiftly let out the breath you’ve been holding at the sound of his voice. As if on cue, the tension in your body instantly unfurls. Frank has always had that effect on you, ever since you were younger. Maybe the whole reasoning behind it was the fact that your father was never really there for his only daughter. No matter how many times you try to convince yourself with the lavish gifts he gets you, the big house he bought for the three of you, the expensive college he chose for you.

You’ve always lived with the fact that a good husband doesn’t always come hand in hand with being a good father. Even after losing his wife, your mother, the only good part about your messed up little family. He never stepped up to take any weight off your shoulders.

Even so, at least he brought one good thing into your life.

Frank.

The first time you met Frank was when he suddenly appeared at your doorstep. You had just arrived home from college to lounge out for spring break when a set of three knocks on your front door echoed through the house.

The first thought that crossed your mind when you opened the door was how handsome he was; tall and well built under the black hoodie he had on. You’ve never seen this man before, he looked to be around your father’s age.

“Hi. Sorry to bother ya.” He briefly paused to comb his fingers through his thick locks. “I wanted to know if uh- Richard still lives here?”

You were surprised to hear your father’s name. “Yeah, he still does. Don’t think we’ve ever met though— I’m his daughter.” You reached out to offer a hand. A smile crept up your face to mirror his, trying to be as nonchalant as possible when you looked into his eyes.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, i’ve heard about you. I’m Frank.” Your heart stuttered when his hand clasped around yours. His touch was grounding and the way he smiled was so sweet, you were immediately smitten.

“Nice to meet you, Frank. Come in, please. He’s out right now but he should be back in 15.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” You ignored how your stomach flipped at the pet name. It felt like your were doing something innapropriate when you inhaled his cologne and burned the scent into memory as he moved past you.

The both of you sat at your dinner table when he starts to tell you about the friendship that him and your father used to have. They were childhood bestfriends that sadly lost touch when Frank moved away for a job opportunity and only recently moved back here for a different job. The last thing they talked about through the phone was the news of your arrival into the world and Frank couldn’t have been happier for him.

Though you found it hard to imagine them being anywhere near each other when they were such polar oposites. The stories he told seemed to have showed you a different side of your father, a side that you’ve never seen or experienced before.

You briefly wondered of the possibility that your life could’ve been entirely different if only Frank had stuck around. Maybe your father wouldn’t have been as absent. Maybe Frank would’ve been there to talk some sense into him when he was being a horrible parent. Maybe you could’ve had someone to run to when things got too much for you to handle.

In the following years, the two of you have grown quite attached to one another. He took the responsibility of helping you with things that your own father was too caught up to do. You like the fact that Frank was now a prominent fixture in your life, a person that is always steps ahead of you; hands always ready to catch you if you fall.

Even as the time read ‘02.37’, he still came to pick you up. Unbeknownst to you, he had rushed out of his house the moment he heard you sob quietly into the phone. Before you even had the chance to ask him to come pick you up, he had responded with a brief ‘Already on my way sweetheart.’

That’s how you found yourself in Frank’s living room. You weakly wrap your arms around your midrift as you sat sideways on the couch, facing Frank’s tired form that practically collapsed into it.

“Sorry if it’s not what you’re used to honey.” The exhaustion is apparent on the man’s face as he turned his head towards you, and the sight caused an anxious pit to form in your stomach. You felt helpless to stop the tears from welling up again.

“I apologize for calling you so late Frank. I just- i needed to get out of there. I can’t be around him anymore, for just one night. I promise i’ll go back home tomorrow, just— please let me stay for one night. I promise i’ll be good, i’ll just sleep on the couch and—“

Your frantic and panicked rambling is put to an abrupt stop as Frank wrapped his hand around your arm. Anything that resembles fear or doubt is swiftly wiped away from your mind with every stroke of his thumb on your bare skin. You missed his touch as soon as he lets your arm go.

“Come here.” You see his arms open for you to climb into his lap. On shaky legs, you hesitantly waddle on your knees and straddled his waist. Hugs have always been often between the two of you, but this one felt too— intimate.

He gently pulled your head to lay on his chest and more tears escape you as he lovingly stroke the back of it while the other one wraps around your back. You felt your body relax as you wrap your arms around his while nuzzling your face on his chest.

You lift your head as you felt a kiss on the top of it, taking in how dark eyes scan your face. His hand leaving your back to push stray strands of hair out of your face and smooth them out.

“I hate to see you cry sweetheart.” He mumbled, swiping away a tear, you leaned on his palm and kissed it.

Frank hesitantly leaned in and trailed kisses all over your heated face. From your cheeks, your nose, your still wet eyelids, to your forehead. All while whispering little praises, ‘my good girl’, ‘you’re the best thing in my life sweetheart’, ‘sweet girl’, ‘you’re so easy to love’.

Emotions were high, and you understand that completely. You weren’t in the best position to do anything impulsive, but you couldn’t deny yourself of this anymore; not when all you could’ve done was yearn for years.

Without letting yourself think any longer, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. It felt like the right thing to do. Frank gasped at the feeling, but he eagerly returned it. His lips were much softer against yours than you expected. The way he moved was careful and sweet but you wanted more. You wound your fingers through his hair, tugged him deeper into your mouth and licked at his lips against yours.

But the kisses ended as quickly as it started and you attempted to chase his lips again, even as he put a gentle hand between the two of you, pressing lightly against your chest. “Why’d you stop.” you whined.

Frank closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch. He let out a staggering breath, seemingly struggling to hold himself together.

“Sweetheart i— i can’t take advantage of you like this. It’s not right.” He looked sincere and honest, all of the things that he’s always been for you.

Sadly, the only word that came to mind was ‘Rejection’. Your mind ran to do what it does best, to sabotage and quiet down any external voices, be it positive or negative ones. The only focus was on you, you, you and what you think.

“Do you not want me?” You let out quietly, almost a whisper.

“No, no, no honey don’t— please don’t say that. You know i do.” His hands went up to envelop your cheeks, not giving you the chance to look away.

“I just…i don’t think we should be doing this right now. You’re vulnerable and you might think that it’s what you need, but trust me..it’s not.”

You were quiet and intently listened.

“I love you and fuck i’d do anything to take the pain away, like i always do. But i would never. You hear me? Never let you do anything you might regret, not when you’re all up in your head like this.”

The flood of emotions felt different this time. You openly sobbed as you buried your face in his neck.

“Shh…It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here for you sweetheart, i’m here.”

Frank nuzzled into your hair as he held on to you like you were going to slip away from his arms, like he always does. You’ve always liked that about him, you’re never too heavy for his hands to hold. He’s good at taking whatever pain you have to turn it into something else entirely.

“I got you baby. I got you.” He whispered.

━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ✮✮✮ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━

Sheesh! I know anon’s request was very short and to the point, sorry that i had to ramble on and on before we actually got to the point of the request lmao…Dbf! Frank is such a delicate topic that should be handled with care and i needed to build up the relationship between reader and Frank first to fully delve into it.

Still, hope you guys had a blast, and please do stay tuned for the next Dbf! Frank fic! We’ll fuck the dilf in the next one don’t worry.

Love u guys.

-Z

P.S

Thinking of making a taglist for my Frank Castle fics. Let me know if you want to be added into it!

#frank castle #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #the punisher x reader #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher smut #frank castle smut #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal smut #jon bernthal #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fluff

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backtothefanfiction · 12 hours ago

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No One Like You | Manny Alvarez Imagine

Summary: He always just wanted to be a good soldier and survive… until he met you.

Warnings: 16+, show typical violence, angst, fluff, reader insert, complicated relationship, a little trauma, spoilers for Season 2 Episode 2 if you still haven’t watched it

Word Count: 3.3k+

A/N: I’m still not fully sure I’m happy with where I’ve ended this but I wanted to keep the ending ambiguous. Do they stay together? Don’t they? Maybe one day I’ll decide and write more but for now, that’s entirely up to you.

Be a good soldier. Follow orders. Be a part of the team- and you might just survive. Those were the only things that had been drilled into his head since this all started. And it was going well for him too. The only thing that ever made him contemplate straying from those three easy steps was you.

You were a great shot, easy on eyes (even in your 3 day old uniform all dirty and sweaty from hunting down infected) and you always had his back.

His heart rate would always pick up when he found you were out on rotation with each other. He should have reported it to his superiors. Told them he struggled to look out for the whole team evenly when you were around. That it made him a liability. But he didn’t.

It was just a crush, nothing serious. It’d pass within a month, he told himself. But it didn’t.

“Yo Manny?” You said getting his attention, “You okay there?” You asked. He had been staring off into space again.

You were both on break, taking a moment to chill out on the top floor of the training building.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said coldly, trying to get you off his back. You knew it was an act. The ‘I’m a tough guy, I don’t have feelings’ act. But you knew there was more to him than that. Seen the few times he’d hesitated on mission. Seen the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” you asked him.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he affirmed, but you knew from the way he shuffled in his seat there was something eating away at him.

“Okay then,” you sassed him lightly as you moved your attention back out to the view, but you could sense him bristling out the corner of your eye- he was clearly stewing about something.

“Do you ever question it?” he suddenly asked, his voice low so no one else would hear you, but the only other Fireflies that were up here were way on the other side of the room to you both.

“What?” You asked, turning to him intrigued.

“All this,” he said, faintly gesturing to your surroundings and the other people in the room. “What we do?”

“Having second thoughts about what side you chose?” You asked him.

“No!” he said adamantly. “I just…” his voice faltered as he struggled to put his thoughts into the world. “I know this is better than being in the QZ,” he said.

“But?” You asked him, dragging out the word as you encouraged him to continue.

“What if there’s another way of living? Away from all this,” he said as your eyes narrowed on him.

You never would have put him down as a thinker like this. He had always been so assured of himself as a soldier. A survivor.

“A way to actually live?” he questioned hopefully.

“Isn’t that what we’re fighting for?” you asked him.

He looked around at the fellow rebels that surrounded us. Fellow soldiers just following orders for self elected higher ups with a vision that was still fully unclear. “I think I’m just fighting for the sake of fighting,” he finally replied. “Because it’s all I’ve ever done. I was just a kid when all this started. My parents didn’t even survive day 1. I was all on my own. I was 8 years old. I learnt pretty quickly how to fight and fend for myself. I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped,” he confessed.

“Do you want to?” You asked, intrigued by this new vulnerable side he was showing you.

“I don’t know,” he replied before he hesitated, his eyes raking up and down the full length of your body, from your pulled back hair all the way down to your boots as he seemed to be making a decision. “But it would be nice to have the option to decide,” he finally said and you sighed.

“Y/N,” a rookie called out to you as you were both leaving the room to go back out on patrol. “Doc wants you downstairs for some tests,” she said.

“What sort of tests?” Manny asked for you, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“I don’t know, just routine ones I guess. All the women are getting tests done,” she informed.

“You too?” he asked.

“I guess so,” she replied. “I mean I haven’t been asked yet but I’m new so my name’s probably near the bottom of the roster.”

“Okay,” you agreed steadily, but you couldn’t deny the small dose of fear that flooded your veins. Tests usually meant needles- and you fucking hated needles. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute,” you said and the younger recruit nodded before beginning her descent back down to the labs.

“What do you think it’s for?” Manny asked as you both began to slowly follow the recruit down at your own pace.

“Who knows? Probably just some routine health check,” you said optimistically.

“Then why isn’t everyone getting called in?” Manny asked skeptically.

“Maybe they will. Maybe they’re doing it this way to spice it up. They’ll probably go through all the men next week or something,” you replied.

“You want me to wait for you?” he asked when you both landed on the floor that held the labs.

“Nah, who knows how long this is gonna take. You guys go without me,” you said, encouraging him to go back down to the barracks without you.

“I’ll see you later though, yeah?” he said, already two steps down the next flight of stairs.

“Dinner at 7?” you joked as if it wasn’t at the same time every day. “Wouldn’t miss it,” you said, shooting him a smile and he quickly shot you one back before he hit the bottom step and pivoted to move down the next ones.

Little did he know, he wouldn’t see you again at 7. He wouldn’t see you at all. After that afternoon you just disappeared like you hadn’t existed at all.

When he asked his superiors about you, they pretended like they didn’t know. Maybe they had found part of the cordyceps in your system and had to put you down. Maybe they transferred you out to another branch of the rebellion. Maybe you had heard his words and just run off. Who knew? He certainly didn’t. And he doubted he’d ever get an answer either.

Without you around he became jaded. You were the only person who made him feel hope for something more. So when that Joel guy came along a few days later and massacred the majority of the fireflies in the building, he had nothing left to lose when Abby asked him to go with her to track him down. After all, it’s what he did best right. Working as a team. Following orders. Killing things. That’s all this life could ever be if he wanted to survive. And he wanted to survive.

It was a long journey. For ages they felt like they were going in circles, looking for any sign or evidence of where this Joel guy went. It felt like the blind leading the blind. They searched and they hunted. They took down infected and did anything and everything to find this Joel guy.

It took years, but eventually they did.

Abby was mostly mad by the time they all found him. She was so lucky he just fell into her lap the way he did. There was something twisted knowing he had just saved her life for her to take his, but at the end of the day, that was the mission and Manny was a good soldier if nothing else.

They left before anyone else could find them, headed back west towards Seattle. They had found a new group of rebels that way, a new group to join. After all, there was strength in numbers.

It wasn’t too long a journey, but with the snow storm they needed to find a place to rest again until it all blew over. They thought the town was deserted. There was no one on the streets. That’s because they were all bunkered down together in the old school.

He wasn’t sure who had started to fire first, all he knew was that he’d already killed three people. It was just instinct at this point, shoot first and ask questions later. Protect your team, no matter the cost.

It was a fire fight through the halls, the group of them slowly pushing the civilians back- but one of them stood out amongst the rest. He couldn’t get a good look at her, but she was clearly a good shot and was taking point on their defence. He could just about make out her voice over the sounds of gun fire. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“I’m going after the leader,” he informed Nora who was taking cover in a doorway across from him. She gave him a brief nod, providing him a small amount of cover as he quickly began to move down the hall.

“STOP SHOOTING!” the familiar woman’s voice suddenly shouted. “STOP SHOOTING!” she cried again before she boldly stepped forward from her hiding place.

“DON’T SHOOT!” she called out as she walked out with her hands raised into the middle of the hall and Manny froze. He felt like he was seeing a ghost.

“Y/N?” he asked tentatively, his weapon still aimed at you defensively but you didn’t show fear.

You both heard the clicking sound of a bullet being moved into the chamber of a gun behind him.

“DON’T SHOOT!” he quickly turned and shouted as he spotted both Abby and Nora stood a few paces behind him with their weapons raised. “Don’t shoot,” he said again, his weapon lowering as he turned back to take you in.

It had been so long. He thought you were dead.

“Who is this man? Who are they?” A gruff older voice came from behind you as a man in a red flannel and braces stepped into the hallway behind you.

“They’re okay,” you quickly told him, “I know him. He’s an old friend,” you said, your eyes turning back to Manny fondly. “I mean, we are okay right? We can talk this out like adults,” you almost pleaded as you searched his eyes for just a hint of the man you knew he had been deep down.

He knew the rest of his team wouldn’t understand. Knew he would have to do all he could to keep them from doing any more damage, but you were here- standing right in front of him- alive and well and thriving and he had to know. Needed to know what had happened to you. How you had ended up here? Why you left him without even a word.

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Give us your weapons as assurance,” the older guy said and Manny willingly dropped his weapon for the first time in 20 years.

Reluctantly the others at his back did the same, sliding their weapons across the floor with their feet so the old guy could collects them.

“Can we take shelter from the the storm with you?” Manny asked you as you stepped closer to him.

You gave him a nod, “But your friends have to mind their manners,” you informed him.

He gave you a small nod before turning back to the rest of his team, ushering them forward to follow the other guys at your back towards the gymnasium where everyone else was hunkered down with food and blankets.

You could feel him hesitate in the doorway at your back before he reached out his hand for your arm.

“We need to talk,” he said lowly into your ear, his eyes scanning the full length and width of the room behind you. You quickly did the same before you gave him a silent nod and began to guide him back in the other direction towards one of the open science labs.

When you were both inside you closed the door, not wanting anyone else to be privy to this particular conversation.

“What happened to you?” he immediately asked racing forward to crowd your space. He was still as good looking as ever- even if his curls had grown out a bit more and were now getting into his eyes where they’d been on the road so long. “I tried to ask, I was so worried. They made me think that you were dead,” he said frantically.

You hesitated, unsure of how to tell him what had happened that day. What had happened to you in the days after. You had been relegated from loyal soldier to prime test subject in a matter of hours. They knew that girl was headed there. Knew there was a living human being who was immune.

“It wasn’t just a routine check up,” you told him, your eyes growing sad at the memory. “They were looking for prime candidates to test their little vaccine on when it came in,”

“What vaccine?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“There was a girl. She was found by one of the fireflies out in Boston. She was immune Manny. That guy who came and killed everyone. He did it because of her.”

Manny continued to frown as he processed that information. Usually when he thought like this he liked to pace a little, it helped him focus, but he didn’t want to stop looking at you for even a single second now he knew you were here and alive.

“Manny, they injected me with some of her blood,” you said earnestly, holding his gaze. He was the first person you had ever told this. It had been eating you alive for years keeping it a secret, but you knew you had to.

“They didn’t know what they were doing,” you said, your words coming quickly now, like breaking a hole in a damn and now everything was spilling out. But he was the only person who would understand. The only person who had known you before. “But it worked,” you whispered to him, so afraid that anyone would listen in and hear you.

“What?” he asked confused.

“It worked,” you said again, fighting to quickly lift your shirt and push down your trousers to show him the bite mark on your hip.

“Wait, you got bitten?” he urgently said in a hushed tone, his body quickly moving forward to crowd you further and hide you even though there was no one else around.

“But nothing happened,” you insisted, quickly trying to cover yourself up again, but you froze at the feeling of his thumb moving over your skin.

“When?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced his thumb backwards and forwards over the raised scar.

“Nearly five years ago,” you said shakily, your breathing becoming shallow at the feeling of his touch and the closeness of his body. “I thought everybody was dead. I thought…” you hesitated as you tried to confess to him the thing that had broken you the most. “I thought you were dead,” you said to him bravely. “I just- ran.” you told him as his thumb came to a stop, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

“I remembered what you said over lunch that day. Figured there had to be something more. So I ran. Moved across the country and back again until I landed here.”

“Does anyone know about…?” His voice hesitated, not wanting to say the words out loud just in case.

“No.” You shook your head.

“Why are you telling me?” he asked curiously.

“Because you were my best friend,” you confided. “Despite everything we went through, there’s no one I trust more,” you said and he finally stepped back, his hands rubbing at his eyes in what you feared was frustration.

“And what do you expect me to do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but- Manny please,” you said stepping forward, your hands reaching out for him. He froze. “I thought you were dead. Had I known I would have come back for you.”

“What does that mean?” he frowned, irritated and defensive.

“This place, here. You don’t have to fight anymore. We could live- together,” you insisted.

“What?” He said confused, feeling like this whole conversation was spiralling off the rails, before he’d had a chance to grasp it.

“Manny, I’ve found a place here where I can truly live, not just fight and survive all the time. I can relax. Do other things. Be a part of an actual community. We- we could-“ You didn’t know how to say it. “We could have a life together!” You finally spat out. “Oh come on,” you said confidently when he looked at you perplexed. “I know you liked me. I saw the way you looked at me back then. I wasn’t an idiot. I just never said anything because I didn’t see the point. We were soldiers, not just people back then. But now- here- we could live. We could be something.”

“I can’t just abandon my friends!” He said enraged. “And after everything that just went on out there, I doubt we’d be very welcome here in the long run.”

“Okay, then let’s go to Jackson. I hear there’s a large colony of people there.”

“We’ve just come from Jackson,” he said dejectedly and suddenly he couldn’t seeem to meet your eyes.

“What were you guys doing in Jackson?” You tentatively asked him, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“We were hunting down that Joel guy.”

“And did you… find him?” you asked. He nodded. “And?” you presssd.

“Abby killed him.”

There was something about that statement that didn’t sit well with you. You weren’t sure why. I mean, they had been well in their own right to get revenge for what happened to the Fireflies- to your friends- but there was a feeling in your gut, that stemmed from the look on Manny’s face, that told you there was something more.

“What is it?” You asked him. There was clearly something eating him up about the whole thing.

“There was this girl. She gave me this,” he said shifting his hair out the way to show off the cut on his head that had scabbed over. “She seemed to be very stressed about the fact that Abby tracked him down and killed him.”

“You think she’ll come after you all in revenge?” you asked.

“All the more reason for us to get back to the group we found in Seattle. Strength in numbers and all.”

“So that’s it then?” You said to him. “You’re just gonna live the rest of your life as a soldier?” You asked him as he settled himself back on the edge of the desk in front of you.

“It’s all I know.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” you said to him earnestly, stepping forward and he hesitantly placed his hands on your hips. Slowly he lowered his head until his forehead was nearly resting against yours.

“I missed you,” he confided.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you said breathing slow. “I would imagine you were at my side, talking to me. Protecting me. Having my back like you always did. When I got bit, it was your voice in my head telling me to get up. To keep going. I thought you led me here. Because you wanted me to live,” you confessed with tears in your eyes. “You were all I ever wanted. There was no one else like you.”

Suddenly his lips were on yours. They were chapped from days trekking through the cold, but they still set you on fire. You had dreamt of this so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

“You were the only thing I have EVER wanted,” he stressed, your breaths mingling with your closeness. “You were the only person who made me want more in this life.”

“Then stay,” you insisted, your eyes searching his desperately now you finally had him in your arms once again. “Please... Stay.”

#manny alvarez #manny Alvarez x reader #manny Alvarez imagine #the last of us imagine #manny the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou #Danny Ramirez characters

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ohwellp · 3 days ago

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Hello everyone! This is my first time writing a story, be warned that it is NOT FINISHED. This is just what i have right now of what is going to be a very long story and maybe eventually a book. I was hoping to get some feedback from those in the fandom, those who write and those who read. Constructive criticism is encouraged and simply saying something is bad will be ignored. I appreciate actual advice. This is the introduction to the story, very rough draft, will end up heavily edited. THANK YOU FOR READING! <3

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Silence. Right on cue, like clockwork, ever since I’ve moved here, as soon as it strikes midnight. The town falls quiet, save for the chirps of crickets and occasional dog bark. Everyone in town falls asleep simultaneously. Except me.

For some unknown reason, I'm not affected. Maybe it's related to my bouts of insomnia I've had only once I entered town. Sleep has never found me easily, but here even less so. This is why I'm up right now instead of peacefully snuggled into the warm duvets of my queen sized bed. I watch as the clock ticks by the seconds, the minutes.

12:01.

12:02.

12:03.

12:04.

12:05.

Just like the odd silence, a void purple fog rolls into town from the outskirts. I’m not sure where it comes from or why it appears, the same as everyone falling asleep. It’s confusing and yet intriguing at the same time. I’ve always been curious by nature. Not much happened in the city that I hadn’t seen before. This, however? Definitely new.

Always at 5 past midnight. Night after night, it hasn’t changed since I moved here. Without fail, not a second too late or a second too soon. I’ve seen it happen time and time again yet it remains a mystery to me.

Always followed by him. A tall brooding figure. At first I wasn’t sure what he was. Human? A creature? A monster? Or something entirely different? I haven’t got a clue. But what I do know is that “he” isn’t normal. I’ve taken the liberty to assume it’s a male. His figure is masculine even if I can’t see his face. If I’m wrong I’d apologize, but it’s not like I’ll ever speak to him anyway.

I’ve nicknamed him Ghost. It seems to fit him. Always emerging from the fog in the silence, not a noise from him, as if a vacuum sucked up all sound from the small town. He always leaves around 3 a.m. No sooner, no later.

Always. I’m not sure what it is with time and punctuation, but he’s always spot on. Maybe it’s some weird instinct he has. Hopefully I’ll find out by studying him.

Over the short month that I've lived here, I've grown used to his arrival. He never enters any houses, just roams the barren streets, looking at seemingly nothing, his purpose unknown. Efforts to converse with neighbors are quickly thwarted by confused and judging looks. They’re clueless to his presence or the way sleep takes them at the same time, that or they choose to be ignorant.

I, however, cannot.

I moved here from my life in the city, hoping to find some peace in a more solitude lifestyle. The night here, despite the silence, has become my home,but the gnawing urge to find more about this mysterious figure claws at the back of my mind. My cat, Nub, named for her amputated front right leg, spends her time at night either curled in my lap while I work on my laptop, or when the time comes, staring at Ghost. Often, I'll be up late either from my insomnia or from projects I have to finish, typing away on my screen to adjust the designs I've meticulously created for my clients.

Occasionally, I’ll glance up from my spot in the nook on the window sill of my room and I'll see him, wandering the streets, stoic. He’s always dressed the same: Deep brown bomber jacket over top a black hoodie that hides his muscles under the layers,Navy blue jeans worn from use and muddy tan Merrel Moabs. His face is covered by a black fleece balaclava with the upper portion of a human skull connected to it. The faded ivory color contrasts the darkness that surrounds him. He’s tall too. Hard to tell from afar, but I'd guess about 6'- 6'5.

From my knowledge, he seems to be dressed in military type clothing, possibly special ops. I remember seeing similar getups on soldiers who fought this crazy russian guy, can’t remember his name much, Morkov? No, maybe Makav?

Whatever, he was, he disappeared. But the tv showed the soldiers who fought him; although there wasn’t much screen time since they clearly didn’t want to be recorded for obvious reasons, one of their comrades had been KIA. Though the disgusting rat reporters didn’t seem to care much, they managed to catch a glimpse of the soldier's tag on his vest. Mactavish.

I couldn’t resist searching it up, I was bored. Couldn’t find a full name but I did find out the poor lad had been from Scotland. He had given his life to his team and to the safety of everyone.

I’m snapped from my thoughts when I hear Nub squeak at me, turning my eyes to the clock. Time went by quickly, I started work at about 9:00. I’d only been sitting here for what felt like an hour at most, engrossed in my designs. Yet the hour and minute hand stood vertical.

12:00.

I sigh and shake my head with a small smile as I get up from my spot. She has a habit of wanting to eat a late night snack right before he appears. I think she’s taken a liking to the mysterious man, always watching him from the comfort of her cat tree by the window. He’s never acknowledged our presence either; then again, neither of us have gone outside.

I hoist myself to my feet and pad to the kitchen, grey sweats hang from my hips and my lilac hoodie blankets me as I open a cupboard. Spotting the can of catfood, I grab and pop it open, dumping it into a small blue dish before setting it down, Nub immediately digs in, as if worried she’d miss her favorite show. I make myself a cup of coffee, the whirr of the Keurig fills the silence and then the familiar smell of roasted coffee grounds, caramel, my favorite. I plop a few ice cubes in and follow Nub to the window, her orange tabby coat vibrant in the dim lighting. I have to admit, it’s cool watching him appear.

I glance at the clock, seeing the minute hand tick.

12:05.

I sip my coffee, the warm liquid providing comfort as we watch the fog roll in, then Him. I chuckle to myself.

“Right on time, big boy.” Nub lets out a happy chirp, pleased her favorite entertainment has arrived once more. We sit there for a few moments, watching his usual routine, and then it happens. Nub jumps down from her cat tree and paws at the front door. I cock my head to the side at her.

“There’s no way you actually have the audacity to want outside NOW,” a hint of exasperation in my tone. I look back to the figure wandering the streets, my own curiosity growing. I know I moved here for a more peaceful life but…. My gaze moves back to Nub.

“You’re a bad influence.” I move toward the door; my mug in my left hand, warming my palm, my right hand hovering over the brass handle.

“I can’t believe I'm doing this. We better not get killed.”

‘Click.’

The handle turns and I crack the door, peering my head out. My gaze lands on Ghost, a few houses down, staring at some flowering shrubs. He hasn’t seemed to notice us yet which is good I suppose.

‘Meow.’ Nub pushes past the door, making a cringe worthy loud meow as she prances out toward the sidewalk, her own beady eyes fixated on him.

“No! Nub! You dumb little shit, get back here!” I yell in a hushed voice, eyes locking onto her as I set my mug down on my side table, rushing out the door, forgetting shoes as I hone in on my fuzzball. I dart after her, scooping her up in my arms as she reaches the neighbors yard, cradling her as I scold her.

“You dumbass! Have I taught you nothing?”

My lips curled into a frown at her, seeing her innocent furry face and letting out a sigh.

“Never mind, you’re lucky you’re cute-” My voice halts, feeling my arm hair stand on end. My hindbrain firing off danger signals as I feel the gaze. My eyes dart to the figure standing 20 feet away from me, locking onto the deep brown irises that gaze right back. I feel my heart starting to race. Shit. I forgot about him.

Ghost stares right back, silent as ever, the balaclava giving away not a hint of emotion. His eyes seem to be studying me. It feels as if time stops until Nub squirms out of my arms, jumping across the distance and to his feet. Rubbing against his legs and purring as she finally makes contact with the man she’s been watching for a month, her tail curling behind her, letting out a high pitched and girly squeak.

My heart drops in fear, expecting him to react negatively; my mind flashing with images of her getting stepped on, thrown, strangled by this entity. I’m snapped out of my thoughts by a deep rumble, a chuckle, smooth like whiskey. The emotions behind it are masked, but Nub seems to preen at the noise, continuing to purr and rub against his legs as she puts on her cutest act. The realization hits me. This little shit is tryna woo him.

I turn my attention to him, he’s no longer looking at me. This man–? entity? Creature–i? Is focused on Nub; he reaches down and I tense, preparing for the worst. Instead of harming her, he scratches the top of her head with a gloved hand and a gentleness I wasn’t expecting from such an intimidating being.

Nub continues to rub against him–seemingly ecstatic from his attention until he gives in and picks her up, cradling her in his arms; she immediately takes advantage of her new height and gently headbuts his masked chin.

I’m stunned. I wasn’t expecting him to pet her, more or less treat her with such care; my tension eases a bit as I witness the tenderness in his actions, though I stay wary. He may be nice to her for the moment, but he’s still a stranger that's intertwined with this strange town and I haven’t seen his reaction toward a human yet.

As if sensing my thoughts, he finally looks back at me, his emotions still hidden. I feel my breath hitch, caught in my throat, my muscles preparing for an attack. His shoes thud on the ground with each slow step he takes as he starts his approach. My mind races with ways to distract him to reach my home; Nub is clearly fine on her own.

He stops just two feet away from me, his form towers over mine, dwarfing me in comparison, my eyes widen now that I see him up close. He emanates danger; his presence suffocating. The voice that comes from him is rough, heavy, filled with pre-warning by default.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

His thick British accent shocks me, catching me off guard as he holds Nub in his muscular arms. I’m at a loss for words, trying to process how he can sound so….Normal. His unique appearance and the situation in which he appears are so bizarre, but he seems so human.

I finally manage to find my voice, though my brain hasn’t quite caught up as I stumble over my words.

“I- you’re- she-” I suck air in and shake my head slightly, snapping out of my daze. Pull yourself together,you’re embarrassing yourself.

“Yes. She’s mine….she’s very curious.” My gaze holds his, feeling like I’m being scrutinized.

“Quite the dangerous quality. Especially when out late at night.” His tone laced with amusement and implied questions as his stare bores into my soul, searching.

I scramble for an answer. Why was I out here with Nub. The reasoning seems stupid now in hindsight.

“Ah- well uhm, we’re usually up late and she likes to watch you and wanted out this time.” I hurry through an explanation, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment; Nub mewls in agreement.

His eyes narrow through the holes in his mask, judging. There's a flicker of curiosity in his chocolate orbs as he speaks.

“How…are you awake?” His question is blunt and reminds me that I'm the only person who doesn’t fall asleep at 12:00.

“Oh- I- uh-” My mind blanks as I fight for some semblance of competence. How am I awake? I had never thought about it too much before. Yeah it crossed my mind but I didn’t dwell on it because it never seemed too important.

“...I suppose…I’m not all that sure,” I cringe at how hesitant I sound. God, I’m pathetic. “I never really questioned it….not like it changed anything for me.” My eyes focus back on him, trying to gauge his reaction. He lets out a small grunt in return before speaking.

“My fog tends to knock everyone out, not you though. You’re the first to resist it.” He steps closer, leaning in as he examines me. His voice gruff, almost annoyed at his own confusion. I suddenly feel like an amoeba underneath a microscope, my every move being accounted for. I can smell him now, he’s so close. Sandalwood and gunpowder.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #military #drabble #new writers on tumblr #drafts #advice #constructive critism welcome #eventual smut #send help #mind filled with men

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lcvejjoong · 2 days ago

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pairing : ceo! hongjoong x ceo! fem! reader

synopsis : Rivals in tech. Partners by force. Lovers by surprise.

genre : enemies to lovers, slow-burn

warnings : none

author’s note : got inspiration through a drama i watched and thought hongjoong would fit the role so well 😍 anyways hope you guys enjoy this 😘

word count : 3.2k

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In your career, you only had three rules.

Never get personal at work.

Never show your emotions.

Never lose your temper in front of clients.

And you were about to break two of them right now.

The Seoul Tech Summit was the kind of event that could change your career—or ruin it. Hundreds of CEOs, investors, and innovators packed the sleek glass convention hall. The hum of conversation mixed with the sharp click of heels on polished floors, and the buzz of gadgets being demoed. The scent of expensive suits and the cool sharpness of designer colognes filled the air.

But for you, it was just another battleground.

NovaTech had recently made waves with an AI-driven healthcare app, and you were here to show the world you were only getting started. You weren’t interested in the flashy panels or the eager investors. You were only here to build something real, something that mattered.

Midway through your third glass of overpriced sparkling water, someone caught your attention.

Kim Hongjoong.

You didn’t need the introduction. The buzz around the room made sure that no one ever forgot his face. He was younger than most of the tech giants You were used to seeing, with the kind of good looks that made photographers swoon. His jaw was sharp, eyes dark but calculating. He exuded that cocky, effortless charisma that came naturally when your company was worth billions. His presence seemed to fill the room like smoke, dangerous and inescapable.

He approached your table with that smile—the one that always looked like he knew something you didn’t. And it made your stomach tighten. Not in admiration, but in the challenge it presented. You weren’t going to be another notch on his belt, another “up-and-coming” company he could buy out and brand as his own.

You didn’t even look up when he sat across from you, just set down the folder he’d been holding with a soft thud.

“We should talk,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet, the kind that made you feel like he’d won before he even started.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him immediately. You kept your eyes on the small holographic display of NovaTech’s upcoming product—your flagship, and your pride and joy.

“You know, I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors about you,” you said, finally glancing up. His face hadn’t shifted, still that same confident, unfazed expression. You didn’t like how easily he could remain unruffled.

He leaned back in his chair, like he was settling in for a long conversation. “I’m sure you have.”

“You’re quite the… businessman,” You said with a thin smile. “I hear Cortex is already planning on buying out half the competition in the next year.”

His eyes flickered, just for a moment, but his smile didn’t waver. “I don’t buy out competition, Y/n. I partner with them. It’s far more profitable.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “I’m not interested in being a partner. I don’t need someone to hold my hand while I create something meaningful.”

“I don’t see it as holding your hand,” he said, voice lowering just a fraction. “I see it as giving you the resources to make your vision a reality.”

You wanted to snap back at him, to tell him you didn’t need Cortex’s resources, that you could make NovaTech a household name on your own. But there was something in his eyes that made me hesitate. A quiet certainty that suggested he wasn’t just offering to buy you out, but that he genuinely thought you needed his help.

But you weren’t here to get by on handouts. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small.

“So, what? You came all the way here just to hand me a proposal?” You kept your voice cool, trying to hide the twinge of frustration threatening to slip out.

That’s not my offer,” he said. “I’m proposing a partnership. Cortex has the scale, the infrastructure—”

“And I have the ideas,” You cut in, leveling your gaze at him. “The ones you’ve been ‘coincidentally’ mirroring in your last two product launches?”

He didn’t flinch. “Great minds think alike.”

“No,” You said coolly. “Lazy minds steal from better ones.”

“You think I’m just going to sit here and let you convince me to throw everything I’ve worked for into the hands of a corporate giant?” You asked, your voice colder now. You could feel your pulse quickening, anger bubbling under your skin.

He didn’t flinch. “I think you’re smart enough to recognize opportunity when it’s in front of you.”

You almost laughed. “You don’t know anything about me, Hongjoong. You just know how to turn every situation into a business deal.”

“And you know how to turn every situation into a battlefield,” he countered, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked onto mine. There was something dangerous there—an undercurrent of challenge, like he was daring me to admit the truth.

Your chest tightened. You weren’t repared for this—his quiet intensity, the way he could get under your skin without even trying.

“I’m not interested in being your next conquest,” You said, your voice sharp.

“I’m not trying to conquer you,” he said, his voice steady, yet something in the way he said it made my heart skip a beat. “I’m trying to build with you.”

Something shifted in that moment. You don’t know if it was the confidence in his words or the raw honesty that seemed to slip out unbidden, but you felt it. A small shift. The first crack in the wall you had so carefully built around myself.

He was a threat. But you couldn’t deny that there was something in the way he spoke that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the enemy you had built him up to be.

The thought lingered for a moment longer than you cared to admit.

You didn’t take the folder. You didn’t say anything more. Instead, you stood up, lifting your glass of sparkling water like it was the weapon of your choice, and walked to the edge of the conference room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Seoul’s skyline. The city looked untouchable from up here, so far beyond the petty squabbles of tech moguls and startups.

But maybe that was the problem.

You could feel Aiden’s eyes on you as you stood there, the noise of the summit still buzzing around us. You could almost hear the gears in his head turning—he was calculating something, trying to figure you out, just like you were.

“You’re not going to make it easy for me, are you?” he asked, his voice carrying just enough humor to tell me he wasn’t backing down.

You didn’t turn to face him. “You didn’t come here for an easy ride. If you want someone to roll over and hand over their ideas, you’ve got the wrong person.”

He was quiet for a beat, and you finally glanced back at him. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look like he was about to leave. He looked… pleased.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think that’s why I’m here.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Means I like a challenge,” he replied, his tone smooth as silk. “And I think you’re worth it.”

You clenched your jaw. The nerve of him. He was infuriating. Everything about him screamed privilege and control, and yet, there was something that kept pulling you in, something that made you wonder if he wasn’t just another slick businessman trying to manipulate you.

But you refused to admit that you were intrigued. You couldn’t afford to be.

“Save the flattery, Hongjoong,” you said, turning back toward the skyline. “I’m not interested in your games.”

“I’m not playing games,” he said, standing up and walking closer, his footsteps light but purposeful. “I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity for both of us to build something bigger than what we could do on our own. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

You felt a spike of irritation. “I don’t need your opportunity.”

He was standing right behind you now, just close enough that you could feel his presence without him actually touching you. Your pulse quickened despite your best efforts to remain unaffected.

“Funny,” he said, his voice low. “You’re the one who came here to talk business. You’re the one who’s been gunning for the top spot for years. But now that someone offers you the chance to make it happen, you’d rather go it alone.”

“I’m not desperate,” you shot back, my voice a little sharper than you intended. “I’ve built my company from the ground up without anyone’s help.”

“I know,” he said, the tone of admiration in his voice making you feel unexpectedly exposed. “But you don’t have to do it all alone. You don’t have to fight every battle by yourself.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. You weren’t used to letting anyone close, certainly not anyone who could undermine you so easily. But there was something in his voice—a genuine understanding, maybe—that made you hesitate.

And then, just like that, the moment was gone. Hongjoong took a step back, and you could finally breathe again, though your chest still felt tight.

“You’ll think about it,” he said casually, like he wasn’t leaving until you did.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you focused on the skyline again, trying to regain your composure. You hated how he’d gotten under your skin so easily, hated how much you were thinking about him already.

“You’re stubborn,” he added, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t need you to give me anything,” you said coolly, finally turning to face him fully.

Hongjoong smiled, the same confident, cocky smile that had started it all. “We’ll see about that.”

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The following weeks passed in a blur of conference calls, strategy meetings, and press conferences. But no matter how much you buried yourself in the work, your thoughts kept circling back to Hongjoong. To his challenge, to his words, to the way he seemed to understand you in a way no one else did.

You tried to push him out of your mind. You even threw yourself into a new project—one that you knew would help NovaTech leap ahead in the AI space, just to prove that you didn’t need a partnership. But no matter how hard you tried, you you couldn't escape the fact that Hongjoong was everywhere. His company’s launches, his social media, even the headlines about his “disruptive” new product—it all felt like a constant reminder of the one thing you didn’t want to admit.

You were drawn to him.

But you couldn’t let him know that. Not yet. Not until you could figure out what game you were really playing.

Then came the leak.

It wasn’t a surprise that the breach had happened. In the world we lived in, data was as valuable as gold, and just as easy to steal. But the timing was disastrous. The confidential code from both NovaTech and Cortex had been released to the public, and suddenly, everything you’ve worked for felt up for grabs. Investors were skittish. Consumers were confused. And our internal teams were scrambling to contain the fallout.

Hongjoong and you were forced into a partnership of sorts—at least on the surface. You began meeting daily, trying to trace the leak, patch up security flaws, and salvage your reputations before this could become a full-blown scandal.

You hated every second of it. And yet, you couldn’t help but be impressed by the way Hongjoong handled it. He wasn’t just the golden boy; he was smart. Strategic. Calculating. It was no wonder his company had grown so rapidly. He wasn’t just a businessman. He was a force.

The nights started blurring together. Long hours at the office. Even longer hours on video calls, trying to get ahead of the damage. But somehow, through it all, you found yourself slipping into a rhythm with him—unexpectedly in sync. And though you didn’t talk about it, there were moments. Small ones. The kind where you caught him glancing at you for a second too long. Or when you finished each other’s sentences, both your thoughts moving faster than your words could keep up.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he showed up at your office one no night, unannounced, with two cups of coffee.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, setting one cup down on your desk and looking at you with something akin to concern.

You shot him a glare. “It’s called working.”

He didn’t back down. “We’re in this together, Y/n. We always have been.”

And for a moment, you let the words settle. You let yourself wonder if it was true. If maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the enemy you had thought him to be.

He wasn’t the kind of person to simply check in. He was there—always—hovering around in the periphery of your life, offering support where it was needed and pushing forward relentlessly. And no matter how much you told yourself that he was still the enemy, still the corporate shark circling NovaTech for a way in, you couldn’t help but notice the way he showed up. How he always had your back in the most unexpected ways.

But soon, it all came crashing down.

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It was the night of the Tech Gala—the grand event that both NovaTech and Cortex were headlining. After weeks of crisis management, everyone needed this gala to be perfect. The media, the investors, the analysts—all of them were watching. This was supposed to be the night where we showed the world that we were still in control, that we could handle the storm. But as soon as you walked into the event, you felt the weight of the pressure pressing down on you.

You hadn’t seen Hongjoong all night. And honestly, you hadn’t expected to. Not after the frantic energy of the past few days, where bothe your focuses had been on nothing but damage control.

But when you stepped onto the stage for the evening’s presentation, there he was, standing near the back of the room. His gaze locked onto yours from across the crowded floor, and for a moment, the noise, the flashing cameras, everything seemed to fade away. The connection was instant—impossible to ignore. It was the way his dark eyes fixed on you, intense and unwavering.

You swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. You couldn’t afford to get distracted—not tonight.

But you couldn’t help it.

As you spoke to the crowd, explaining the new direction for NovaTech, your thoughts kept wandering back to Hongjoong. You were painfully aware of his presence, like a shadow that followed you wherever you went. And when you glanced back over my shoulder after the presentation, there he was, still watching. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at you — something deep that made your heart race.

The gala continued long into the evening, and as the night wore on, you found yourself mingling with investors, team members, and other industry leaders. But every time you passed through the crowd, your gaze inevitably flickered to Hongjoong. He wasn’t far, but he was always keeping his distance. Observing.

Finally, as the clock struck midnight, and the energy in the room started to shift, you spotted him again, this time standing near a secluded balcony, looking out over the city. The cool night air brushed against my skin, and without even thinking, you found yourself walking toward him.

When he saw you approaching, he didn’t smile. He didn’t even move. He simply waited.

“Having a quiet moment?” you asked, your voice a little more biting than you’d intended.

He turned toward you, eyes locking onto yours with that unnerving intensity. “Just getting some air. The spotlight’s never been my thing.”

You glanced around at the crowd below, feeling the weight of the attention. “You and me both,” you muttered, leaning against the balcony railing beside him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the city’s hum below you filling the silence. You could feel the tension, thick and palpable. But tonight, there was something different in the air. It wasn’t the usual rivalry. There was an understanding—an unspoken agreement that the past few weeks had altered something fundamental between you. And yet, you still wasn’t sure what it was.

“Do you think we’re ever going to be able to fix this mess?” you asked, not looking at him, your voice softening despite yourself .

“We will,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm. “We always do.”

You finally turned to look at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark with determination, but there was something else there. It wasn’t just business anymore. It wasn’t just the endless string of meetings and calls. There was an earnestness in his gaze, like he wasn’t just trying to make things work for the sake of the companies anymore.

It was personal.

“I think… I think we’ve already started something. Whether we like it or not.” he said quietly.

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but the weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, you weresilent, contemplating the implications of what he was saying.

“Hongjoong…” you started, but you weren’t sure how to continue. What were you supposed to say? That you couldn’t stop thinking about him? That you hated how much you wanted this to work?

Before you could find the words, he stepped closer.

His presence enveloped you, his warmth undeniable as he stood inches away, the faint scent of his cologne almost intoxicating. His eyes softened just a fraction. And for the first time in a long time, you felt the breath leave your lungs, the air thick with something other than competition.

“Maybe it’s time we stopped pretending we’re just business partners,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

And that was it. The walls I had spent so long building up shattered in that instant, crumbling beneath the weight of his gaze. All the tension, all the anger, all the denial—it all melted away.

Without thinking, you reached for him, your hand brushing against his arm. It wasn’t a grand confession. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. But it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you standing on that balcony, with the city lights twinkling below you.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

He reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with the kind of tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I know. Me too.”

And then, without another word, he leaned in.

The kiss was slow, almost hesitant at first. But it didn’t take long before the floodgates opened, and the kiss deepened, taking you both by surprise. The emotions you had buried for so long rushed to the surface—frustration, fear, and the undeniable pull between you two.

For the first time in weeks, you weren’t worried about the next crisis. You weren’t thinking about Cortex or NovaTech or any of the lies you had told yourself. You were just here, in this moment, with him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Hongjoong’s smile was softer than you had ever seen it. “I think we might have just started something even bigger than what we planned.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over you.

“Maybe,” you said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we can handle it.”

And for once in your whole entire career, you were glad that you broke all three rules.

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sickskz · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! So I’ve never done an ask before so I hope I’m doing this right. Can I have something w/ Chan where he gets an extremely high fever from overworking himself, not eating or drinking, and has to go to the hospital? Like I’m talking 104-ish fever, chills, headache, throwing up, cramps, hallucinations, all the works. And can it be all the boys, but mostly Minho or Hyunjin taking care of him, please? That would be great thanks!☺️❤️

Hello! Your request was great, truly, and it got my mind grinding its gears 🤣🙂‍↕️

And now, here I am, back with more 😎 This is actually my first story that is going to be divided into parts, chapters if you will.

This story is also combined with some of the maaany other requests for sick Chan and Chan angst (mainly surrounding feelings of inadequacy, being too hard on oneself, self-neglect, you know the drill) 🙂‍↕️🔥

I’m both nervous and excited to post this, and I sincerely hope to hear your thoughts/feedback as I go along (cause I have no idea what I’m doing) 🤣

Enjoy!

Breaking point: Part 1

Sickie: Bang Chan

Caretaker/s: Mainly Lee Know + Hyunjin, eventually OT7 (?)

____________________________________________

He had really done it this time.

Bang Chan was no stranger to overworking himself, to pushing so far beyond his limits that his body eventually crumpled under the weight of it all.

A few years back, that was all he knew.

Pushing until he broke, confusing burnout with dedication, and mistaking self-harm for resilience.

These days, he tried to be better. He tried to rest when needed, to find balance, to pace himself and let others shoulder the weight with him. But when the pressure swelled, when the noise of his responsibilities became deafening, Chan found himself slipping...

Right back into those old patterns he’d fought so hard to leave behind.

Consumed by the kind of self-destructive habits he’d never, ever let any of his members fall into. Not on his watch.

For the past few days, he had been holed up in his studio, working on tracks, chasing perfection at the expanse of everything else. Most of all, himself.

Pouring every ounce of his being into music wasn’t just a passion; it was a form of catharsis. He loved it, he always had. But like anything pushed too far, it had its breaking point.

Reaching across his desk, Chan barely registered the tremble in his fingers as they curled around his coffee mug. The porcelain was cool against his fingers, smudged with brown stains that clung stubbornly to the ceramic after days of constant reuse.

The remaining coffee inside it had long since gone cold, but he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t planning on drinking it, he was just holding the mug, as if it was the very last thing tethering him to the world outside his own head.

Chan blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the screen in front of him. Everything blurred together; lyrics, track notes, layers of music stacked over each other in a chaotic disarray.

Producing was something he’d mastered for so long, it was almost like second nature to him. But right now, none of it made sense at all.

Each click of his mouse was hesitant, as if his hands knew what they should do, but his mind couldn’t make sense of it as the pointer moved across the screen. He watched the small, angled arrow intently, hoping it might move on its own and reveal the answers he needed. Of course, it didn’t, but maybe- just maybe, he could get through it on muscle memory alone.

Because, truly, nothing made sense.

Not the way his body felt, heavy and numb, as if filled with sand instead of flesh and blood. Not the way the screen before him swirled and flashed in bright colors when he stared too long without blinking. Not even the coffee cup in his hand made sense anymore, so cold it felt almost frigid.

Was he even awake? He honestly couldn’t tell.

Chan couldn’t recall the last time he slept either, at least not properly. A nap here and there, maybe, mostly when he simply couldn’t force his eyes to stay open anymore. But a full night's sleep? That felt like a luxury he simply couldn’t afford.

And, well, maybe something he didn’t quite deserve.

Pathetic.

It had been three whole days, and yet he’d barely managed to finish a couple of the many songs that were supposed to be finalised by Friday.

The list was long, overwhelmingly long, but like everything else lately, it no longer made sense to him.

It was just noise on a page, letters with no meaning.

The blanket wrapped around his shoulders did little to soothe the chills that had wracked through him since sometime around day two, hugging helplessly onto his frame as his mind fought to stay alert.

His whole body shook, fine tremors starting from deep in his core and radiating outwards, likely made worse by the ungodly amount of caffeine he’d consumed. He didn’t care, he hardly registered it at this point.

Chan pulled the blanket tighter around himself, trying to chase away the chill that had seeped so deeply into his bones. It didn’t help, of course. His skin was slick with sweat, soaking through his clothes, dampening the collar of his hoodie, but even with the AC shut off, the studio felt too cold.

A voice echoed from the corner of the room.

“Christopher.”

Chan whipped his head towards it, his head spinning and his shoulders tensing to where they reached his ears. There was a fleeting shadow on the wall, distorted and shapeless.

“Get it together. Why can’t you do anything right?”

He felt his chest tighten, his eyes stinging as the words echoed inside his head. It was true, Chan was running out of time and yet he kept floundering. He had to focus. There was no time to dilly-dally.

A soft whimper slipped out before he could stop it, and Chan squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in frustration. When he opened them again, the shadow was gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

“What…” Chan whispered hoarsely, his voice trailing off as he absentmindedly turned back to the screen. His eyes widened in alarm as he saw the words he had so carefully crafted began to melt off the screen, dripping slowly onto the desk below.

“Hey- no..” he protested weakly, wiping a shaky hand along the bottom of the screen in a futile attempt to stop the apparent leak. “No, no, no… please..” his voice cracked as he recoiled, pressing his hand over his face.

God…This didn't make sense.

On every display surrounding him, the reminders loomed, impatient and judgmental. There were deadlines, so many deadlines that they blurred together into one overwhelming nightmare, a cacophony of expectations he couldn’t seem to meet.

His stomach clenched, a sharper cramp twisting through his gut, and Chan doubled over with a pained gasp, slamming his forehead into the desk with a dull thud.

Somehow, he barely registered the pain.

Nausea struck him like a tidal wave, and he barely managed to grab the small trash bin under his desk before he was dry heaving into it, the veins in his neck bulging from the strain. Only a thin stream of bile came up, laced with faint, bitter traces of coffee.

Nothing else. Of course not, he hadn’t eaten in almost two days.

The last thing he’d had was a cup of instant noodles, and the empty container still sat at the edge of the desk. Some of the noodles had already made their reappearance a couple of nights ago, along with half a Red Bull.

At least he'd managed to make it to the bathroom that time.

Once the heaving subsided, Chan let out a shaky sigh and cradled his head in his hands. His forehead throbbed with relentless heat, and his mouth felt weird, like it had been stuffed full of cotton, his tongue too large to fit.

He was burning up, his blood boiling beneath his skin.. and yet, somehow, he still felt like he was freezing.

The shadows were dancing around him again, flickering in and out of existence, too fast to catch, too real to ignore. They darted like phantoms, peeking in from the corners of his eyes, distracting him, taunting him.

Their whispers swarmed his ears, a storm of overlapping voices that didn’t belong to anyone.

A chaotic, merciless chorus born of his own subconscious.

“Get up.”

“Apologise.”

“Why do you persist?”

“Pathetic.”

“You ruin everything.”

“S-stop it..” Chan shook his head again, trying to clear them out, but they only grew sharper, more accusing. He was so nauseous, so dizzy, so sick. His body felt like it was shutting down bit by bit, no longer obeying simple commands.

So when his vision tipped, Chan had no strength left to stop his body from slipping out of his chair, slumping helplessly to the floor. Breath left his mouth in weak, uneven pants as he sank down, one arm draping around his chair in a last desperate attempt to keep himself upright.

His mind was reeling, but none of the thoughts were stringing together anymore. There were all disjointed fragments of his delirious mind, scattered across like leaves in a storm.

Deadlines. Friday. Gotta finish the chorus. What bridge needed adjusting? The harmony levels. Water. Did I drink water? Han said something about the key… I should write it down. Write what down? The fuck is going on?

Chan groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead as if he could somehow hold his thoughts in place and keep his brain from melting out of his ears.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket. He ignored it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

With a weak huff, Chan fumbled for his phone with trembling fingers. He squinted at the screen, willing his mind to focus as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. His thoughts were sluggish, slipping through his grasp, but even in his haze, he saw them…

Missed calls.. and messages. A flood of them, filling his screen, almost all from the other members.

Hyunjin’s name lit up at the top.

Hyunjin: Hyung, please.

Chan furrowed his brows and swiped his thumb across the screen, opening the chat between the two of them.

The conversation stretched endlessly in a flurry of short, urgent messages that, together, mapped out a narrative.

Hyunjin: Hey, are you okay? Hyunjin: Innie says you haven’t been home in a while…. Hyunjin: Three days?!! Hyunjin: have you been staying in the studio this whole time? It's literally wednesday Hyunjin: Helloooooo???? Pls don't be dead Hyunjin: HYUNG!!!!! Hyunjin: you’re kinda scaring me..

A longer pause.

Hyunjin: Are things getting bad again? Hyunjin: I’m here for you, you know that. Hyunjin: You have to answer. Pick up Hyunjin: Please talk to me. Hyunjin: Should I get someone??

Then, the most recent..

Hyunjin: Hyung, please.

The messages from the other members were a varied assortment of words conveying the same sentiment as Hyunjin.

They were worried.

About me? Chan thought numbly. Why?

As he stared dully at the screen, another message popped up, bringing an end to the one-sided conversation between him and Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: We’re going to break the door down if you don’t answer me. We’re all worried sick.

Chan felt guilt coil in his chest, a bitter taste settled at the back of his tongue that he couldn’t blame on lingering bile. His eyes blurred again. Tears, maybe, but he wasn’t sure if his body had enough moisture to produce any. He blinked hard, trying to move his fingers, to skim them across the screen and type a response.

But he couldn’t, he was shaking too much.

With a weak groan, Chan hesitated, a trembling finger hovering just above the call button.

As much as he didn’t want to be seen like this, he couldn’t bring himself to let his members worry. His mind was slipping, but deep down, through the thick fog clouding his thoughts, he knew he was in trouble.

Things had already spiraled beyond his control, and he had crossed a line that there was no coming back from.

Hyunjin picked up after the very first ring. There was some scurrying, some scratching and hushed whispers in the back before his voice finally carried through the phone.

“Channie-hyung..” Hyunjin’s voice trembled, thick with concern. “Where are you? Why haven’t you been answering? We’ve all been worried sick-“ the dancer sounded like he had more to say, but reigned himself in at the last minute.

Chan swallowed hard. “Hey, Hyunjinnie …” His voice didn’t sound like his own, it was raspy, breathless, and raw. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t used it properly in days.

“‘M sorry..” his voice slurred, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and making it hard to get the words out. “I’m here…”

Hyunjin let out a soft gasp at the other end of the line, almost as if he was startled by the sound of him.

“God… you sound.” Hyunjin sucked in a breath, then exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. His voice softened, almost like he was speaking to a frightened child. “What do you mean ‘here’, hyung? Are you at the studio?”

Though Hyunjin couldn’t see him, Chan nodded his head faintly, humming a soft ‘mhm’ in response.

There was more shuffling on the other end of the line, followed by crackling noises that made Chan cringe and pull the phone away from his ear.

Then, Hyunjin’s voice again, distant and no longer directed at him. “Yeah- he answered. At the studio. I think it’s bad. Lino-hyung, get the car.”

Chan pressed his cheek into the seat of his chair as the sounds from his phone grew fainter. The leather felt cool against his skin, and it was a welcome sensation.

His hand was tired from holding his phone, so he let it slip from his grasp, the device thumping softly beside his head.

“Sorry, Hyunjinnie… I’m fine..” Chan whispered, the lie thin and slipping off his tongue far too easily.

He wasn’t even sure what he was apologising for, but before he could hear Hyunjin’s response, his vision flickered with dizzying lights, a high-pitched ringing in his ears drowning out the world around him.

It felt as though he was sinking into a hot spring, the heat soaking into his skin until all he could feel was overwhelming warmth.

And then, as his vision faded to black...

He felt nothing at all.

____________________________

To be continued...

____________________________

Stay tuned for pt.2 y’all, I promise the wait won’t be too long 🫡

Then, you'll gain insight into Hyunjin and the others' reactions as they finally reach Chan, realising just how deep of a mess he’s gotten himself into this time 👀 it’s gonna be a lil angsty, but I’m hoping it will turn out to be a good story 🤠🤞🏽

#stray kids sickfic #skz sickfic #kpop sickfic #stray kids sick #stray kids angst #stray kids hurt/comfort #skz angst #skz hurt/comfort #bang chan sickfic #sick bang chan

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lilhoneybeesworld · 2 days ago

Text

Such a Good Girl

Pairing: Mid Honor! Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings/Need to Know: AFAB Reader with she/her pronouns, porn with very minimal plot, Corruption kink, PIV, Vaginal Fingering, looooots of teasing, Arthur's filthy mouth

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: This did have multiple rounds, but I was like..... idk. If there's enough demand, I could release the extended version, but I felt this was a good way to start and reintroduce myself to fic writing.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

The campfire crackled in the distance, the warmth of the flames licking the cool night air. Arthur leaned against a nearby tree, his hat tilted low, casting shadows over his rugged features. His eyes, usually steady and calm, flickered with something deeper tonight—something not quite so familiar.

You, sitting by the fire, felt it too. The way his gaze lingered on you, the tension thick between the two of you as the others faded into the background. The usual teasing, joking, and casual conversations had quieted, leaving room for the unspoken, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain. The connection between you and Arthur always held tension of some sort, but you could never quite place it.

You had decided to also turn in for the night, rising up from the log you were perched upon. Even as you began making your way to your tent, you felt an almost predatory gaze on you. It wasn't the uncomfortable one Micah often gave, it didn't feel the same. It was softer. Arthur began making his way towards you, hoping to stop you by his tent before you had passed it to get to your own, and by the grace of God or some other divine power, he did.

“Y’know,” Arthur said, his deep voice low, just above a whisper, “I don’t usually do this kinda thing.” His words hung in the air, his eyes studying you like a prized jewel, every inch of you, yet there was something warm, almost comforting in his gaze. The dynamic between you two had shifted recently, but in a way you never could explain. One day you were normal camp mates, then you did a job together that you really bonded on, and now the tension between you both could be cut with a knife.

Your breath hitched slightly, unsure if you’d heard him right. You shifted, the firelight casting a soft glow over your features. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely audible. Arthur took a step closer, his boots crunching softly on the ground.

“I mean... you’re different.” His fingers brushed against yours, the subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I don’t wanna run you off, but I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you a lot since we came back from that job a few weeks ago.”

The air around you seemed to heat up as your heart raced in your chest. His words, combined with the warmth of his hand, made something inside you stir, a curiosity, a desire you hadn’t quite allowed yourself to acknowledge. The sweet innocence you’d held onto started to falter, a crack in the wall you’d carefully built around your heart and mind.

Arthur’s lips curved into a half-smile, noticing the shift in your posture. “You’re not like most women here, y’know? Too sweet for your own good sometimes... But that don’t mean you can’t learn a thing or two from someone who’s been around.” His voice was low, coaxing, his lips just inches from your ear now.

You swallowed hard, caught in the pull of his presence. “I... I’m not sure what you mean,” you said, though your body betrayed you. Every instinct screamed to inch closer, to explore that forbidden path you’d always wondered about. Arthur chuckled softly, his fingers now trailing down the side of your neck, sending a jolt of heat through you.

“I think you do. Just let go a little... I promise, you’ll enjoy it more than you think.”

His lips found yours then, tender at first, but soon deepening, coaxing a soft sigh from deep within your chest. His hand slid down your back, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool night air. He began backing you up into his tent where the flaps had already been pulled down. You werent entirely sure what he meant by his words, but you trusted him fully.

There was no room for hesitation now, just the thrum of desire, the urgency of something unspoken.

Arthur broke the kiss, his breath ragged against your lips. “You trust me?” he whispered, his hand resting at your waist, fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip. You nodded, your heart hammering harshly in your chest.

“I do,” you replied softly.

His eyes darkened, that familiar mischievous glint dancing in them.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m about to show you what it means to really let go.” He rumbled, pushing you onto his cot in a less than graceful fashion.

Arthur’s kiss grew rougher as he climbed on top of you, demanding, but never careless. Despite the intensity, he still made each brush of his lips feel special. His hands roamed with purpose, fingertips tracing patterns into your skin as though he was branding you with the sensation alone. You gasped against his lips, each touch burning hotter than the last. Each one sending a new shiver up your spine.

He pulled back only enough to look you in the eyes, holding your gaze intently as his fingers slid lower—testing how far you’d let him go. He began bunching your skirt up around your thighs, his fingers beginning to tease further and further along your legs until he's right at your heat.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice low and wolfish. His hand dipped between your thighs, cupping you through the thin fabric that's barely concealing your leaky cunt through its shear visibility.

“This is what I do to you. This is what need feels like.”

You whimpered at his words, your body trembling and pliant beneath his touch. His words—so confident, so sure—sent a thrill through you. You had never felt so exposed, so known, and yet, in his care, it wasn’t frightening. It was liberating.

“I ain’t gonna stop,” he murmured in your ear, “not till you’re cryin’ for it. You hear me, Darlin'?” His fingers pressed more firmly, teasing you through the fabric, the pads of his caloused fingers now getting damp.

“So sweet and shy on the outside… but this?” He leaned in, his breath hot on your neck. “Oh, Sugar, this tells me everything. You like bein’ touched like this. Like bein’ ruined by my hands.”

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your hips rolling against his hand involuntarily, chasing the friction you didn’t even know you needed, craving more.

“That’s it, good girl,” he said, that praise like honey pouring right into your bloodstream. “You listen real well, don’t you?”

The sound that escaped you wasn’t a word—it was the sound of pure arousal. Arthur’s mouth returned to your neck, biting and kissing his way down, dragging the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders and down your body. He made a show of it, moving torturously slow, letting you feel the weight of every passing second.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you like the way I'm 'bout to, have you?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, but no less intense.

“N-no,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Only you.”

His groan was low, almost primal.

“Damn right. And I ain’t lettin’ anyone else have you after this.”

Then he was stripping the last few garments you wore from your body, leaving you bare beneath him, laying you out like something precious—something his. His hands splayed across your thighs, spreading you open as he settled between them, and the way he looked at you then… it wasn’t just lust. It was reverence, like you were the first woman he’d ever really wanted to keep.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna do to you. But you’re gonna learn. And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

And you believed him—because your body was already singing under his touch, surrendering to every word, every kiss, every command. He didn’t need to force anything. He simply led, and you followed willingly, breathlessly, as he pulled you deeper into the kind of pleasure you never knew existed.

Arthur’s calloused fingers slipped inside you, slow and deliberate, stretching you, filling you, and your back arched off his worn down cot with a broken moan. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you open, watching the way your body responded to every curl of his hand.

“So damn tight,” he muttered. “ Gotta stretch this pretty little thing out, gonna make a mess of her.... Gonna be even prettier when I’m inside you.” His blue eyes flicked up to your face as he said it, feeling you clench around his fingers at his words. His promise.

His fingers pumped painfully slow inside your aching pussy, pulling out to the tips of his fingers, then stuffing them deeply inside your pussy with long languid motions. His thumb slowly came to your little bundle of nerves, gently circling. He could feel each little flutter of your walls around his long digits.

His pace stayed slow, teasing you to the edge over and over, never giving you quite enough. “You want to come?” he asked, watching your expression twist with frustration and need.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—Arthur—please—”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned down, lips brushing your ear again.

“Then beg.”

Your words caught in your throat as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing you higher but never quite letting you fall. His words had your face flushing and ears running hot. Arthur’s voice was right at your ear, all gravel and heat.

“Come on now,” he said, his lips brushing your skin. “Theres no more room for embarasment, sugar. I wanna hear you say it. Ask me nice.”

You were trembling beneath him, hips rocking with every stroke of his fingers, but the way he was holding back—teasing, toying—made your head spin. You’d never begged for anything like this before, never imagined you could. But with him—under him—it felt so natural. So right.

“Please, Arthur,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please let me come. I need it. I—need you.”

That was all he needed. His eyes lit with a dark sense of pride as he pressed his forehead to yours, the rhythm of his fingers deepening, curling just right.

“That’s my good girl.”

The praise hit you harder than you expected, warmth blooming in your abdomen and spiraling straight to your weeping core. Arthur knew exactly how to undo you—how to pull apart your shyness, your modesty, and replace it with something raw and blasphemous.

Your moan broke free as your body finally tipped over the edge, thighs clenching around his hand as pleasure surged through you. He didn’t stop—he worked you through every pulse and shudder, eyes on you the whole time, watching the way you came undone on his fingers.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice full of heat and something dangerously close to affection. “Did so good f' me.”

You were still trembling, breath shallow as you blinked up at him, dazed and spent.

But Arthur wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

He kissed you again, slower now but deeper—possessive in a way that made your toes curl. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to the way your body still twitched beneath him, legs still open, still wanting.

“You’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he said, sitting up just enough to unbuckle his belt with one hand. The clink of metal, the sound of leather sliding free—it made your stomach tighten all over again. “I’ve been real patient with you. But now it’s my turn.”

You watched, heart pounding, as he slid his pants down just enough to free himself. The sight of him—hard, thick, heavy in his hand—made your breath catch in your throat. He grinned at the way you looked at him, your eyes wide and full of that same mix of awe and innocence that had been driving him wild the past few nights.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Gonna learn how to be mine. Gonna learn how to take my cock. Every. Single. Inch.” That earned a whine from you.

He leaned in close again, dragging the tip of himself slowly through your slick heat, teasing your entrance, just like he had teased every other part of you. “And once I’m inside you, sweetheart,” he growled, “there ain’t no going back.”

Your body responded before your mouth could—hips lifting, thighs spreading wider, your need laid bare. You wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted his cock. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but the anticipation, the way he made you wait for it—it was just as mind numbing.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want you,” you whispered, dazed and desperate. “Ruin me, Arthur. Please.”

And with that, he pushed forward—slow, steady, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping, your body stretching to take him.

“That’s it,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “Takin’ me so well. You feel that, sugar? That’s what bein’ mine feels like.”

Arthur buried himself fully inside you with a deep groan, his arms braced on either side of your head, holding himself back with a tension that trembled through his shoulders. You gasped, eyes wide, mouth parted in silent shock at the sheer fullness—how he stretched you, how he filled places you didn’t know could feel this much.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, breath hot on your cheek. “You’re doin’ perfect. Just breathe for me.”

You tried—but every breath caught, your body frozen in the haze of sensation. It was too much. Not in a painful way—but in that incomprehensible way. The kind that shattered whatever quiet expectations you’d ever had about what this was supposed to feel like.

You’d only learned what sex was a few years back—fumbling explanations from other girls at camp, old overheard stories laced with shame and mystery. You were taken in by Dutch at a young age, and nobody ever explained the birds and the bees, so you had to find out everything on your own.

Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought of doing this had seemed far-off. Unreal. Something for women unlike you—more experienced, more confident. Not you, who blushed at the mere idea of being touched. Not you, who fumbled around cluelessly for your first and last time over a year ago.

But now Arthur was inside you, slowly moving his hips in shallow, careful rolls, watching your every reaction like he could read your mind. His gaze dropped to where your bodies met, groaning low at the sight. “You feel that, darlin’? How you’re takin’ all of me, so warm and tight—fuck, like you were made for it.”

You whimpered, your face burning at the words, but they struck something inside you. A switch. That part of you that had been hidden all your life—shielded, maybe even afraid of being known like this—was now wide open beneath him.

“I never thought…” Your voice trembled as your hands grasped at his biceps, needing something to anchor you. “I never thought I’d be like this. With anyone.” Arthur’s face softened—but his hips didn’t stop. The movement grew deeper now, more fluid, dragging another cry from your throat.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, then your temple. “Knew it the second I looked at you. All sweet and shy, like no one had ever shown you how good this could be.” Your head turned, your lips finding his in a kiss that was more desperation than technique. He groaned into your mouth, picking up his pace as your body began to yield, your hips instinctively rolling up to meet his thrusts.

“But I saw the way you looked at me,” he said between kisses. “Like you wanted to be taught. Wanted someone to make you feel things you didn’t even have names for.”

You let out a broken noise, fingers clutching at his back.

“I didn’t know it could be like this…” You whined, one of the prettiest sounds Arthur ever heard in his lifetime.

Arthur’s hand found yours, tangling your fingers together and pinning it above your head. “You don’t gotta be the good girl tonight, sugar,” he whispered. “You just gotta be mine.”

And with that, he started really moving—thrusts deeper, harder, rhythm steady and sure. The pleasure exploded, no longer a gentle simmer but a wildfire. You cried out, head tilting back, nails digging into the skin on his hands. Every stroke pushed you closer to something intense and terrifying and beautiful.

“You love this,” Arthur growled, his mouth on your throat now, biting gently. “All that innocence, all that sweetness—and look at you now. Spread out and takin’ every inch of me.” You whimpered, overwhelmed, overstimulated—and yet, needing more.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you love bein’ ruined.”

“I love it,” you gasped, dizzy and breathless. “I—I love what you’re doing to me.”

Arthur growled against your skin, thrusts growing ragged as your words spurred him on. “That’s my girl.”

Arthur was pounding into you now—steady, deep, relentless. The kind of rhythm that left no room for doubt. No room for innocence. Just the wet slap of skin, the heat of his breath against your ear, and the broken moans you couldn’t hold back if you tried.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he growled, voice rough with restraint, like he was holding back from absolutely wrecking you. “All wide-eyed and sweet a few days ago—and now? Now you’re takin’ my cock like a fuckin’ dream. Like you were born for it.”

You sobbed under him, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs and filling it again with nothing but him. His scent, his heat, the filthy things he whispered as his body claimed yours.

“You remember the way you used to blush just hearin’ folks talk about this?” he hissed, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling it up high around his waist so he could drive in deeper. “Now listen to you. Drippin’ down my cock, beggin’ for more like a goddamn angel gone rotten.”

You moaned, hands fisting into his shirt, your head spinning.

“Arthur—God—it’s too much—”

He chuckled darkly, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you feel every goddamn inch.

“Ain’t no God here, darlin’. Just me. Just this cock stretchin’ you open, turnin’ my sweet thing into a pretty little mess.”

Your eyes rolled back, the pressure building again with frightening speed. Arthur could feel it—he knew. His hand left your thigh and found its way between your legs, fingers circling that aching bundle of nerves, slick with your arousal.

“Oh, you’re close again, ain’t you?” he murmured, watching you fall apart. “Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl? Like the filthy little thing you’ve been hidin’ inside?”

“Please—please, Arthur—” You didn’t even know what you were begging for. You just needed something—relief, release, him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Come for me. Let it happen. Show me what I fuckin’ did to you.”

His fingers worked you faster, and when he slammed into you just right—deep and hard—you shattered again, your whole body locking up as pleasure hit like lightning. You screamed his name, your voice ragged, lost in the white-hot wave of release. Your walls clenched around him, and Arthur hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—shit, girl, I ain’t gonna last much longer—”

Still trembling, dazed from your second orgasm, you managed a breathless, “I want it. Inside. Please.”

Arthur cursed low under his breath, his rhythm faltering now, becoming erratic, desperate. “Goddamn it, you’re gonna make me lose it—fill you up real good, fuck it all into you—”

You felt the exact moment he came��his body tensed, his breath caught in his throat, and then he was spilling inside you with a groan so deep and raw it made your toes curl. His hips ground into yours, slow and forceful, like he was trying to bury every last drop inside you.

He collapsed over you, breath heaving, his weight heavy and solid and comforting. You were both slick with sweat, shaking, ruined.

And God, you loved it.

Arthur didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed buried deep inside you, his weight warm and heavy as he caught his breath. The world around you was spinning, your body boneless and soaked, the ache between your legs a delicious throb that hadn’t faded—if anything, it was building again. And he could feel it. Knew you weren’t done. He wasn’t done.

“You think I’m done with you?” he muttered against your neck, voice hoarse but hungry. “Not even close.”

#arthur morgan #rdr2 community #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan smut #fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan fanfiction #smut

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santaklausq · 11 hours ago

Text

04. the shallow end

pairing. dean winchester (s1) x fem! oc

notes.

The motel wasn’t much to look at — flickering neon sign, faded paint, the usual roadside charm. But after the long drive, it was good enough.

After checking in, Sam had retreated to his own room for the night, leaving Dean to his own devices. He’d figured Aza had done the same until he stepped outside for some air and spotted her by the pool.

She was sitting at the edge, legs submerged in the water, arms braced behind her as she leaned back slightly. The motel’s dim lighting cast a soft, warm glow over her figure. She looked almost at peace, her gaze drifting up to the moon overhead.

For a moment, Dean just watched, taking in the sight of her — something about her presence felt grounded, despite everything. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

Finally he cleared his throat and walked over, hands slipping into his pockets. “Hey.”

Aza turned her head at the sound of his voice, offering him a small, smile. “Hey,” Her voice was softer than usual, as if she hadn’t expected anyone to join her. “Can’t sleep?”

Dean shook his head, leaning against the metal railing that separated the pool area from the rest of the parking lot.

“Nah. Long day. Needed a breather.” He glanced at her feet, the water rippling gently around them. “And you? You’re not tired?”

Aza shrugged. “I am, but I don’t sleep much so… figured I’d come out here and think.”

Dean nodded, understanding more than he let on. He didn’t sleep much either. Not with all the things that ran through his mind when the world quieted down.

“You think a lot, huh?” he asked. Aza didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she stared out at the pool, eyes distant.

“Yeah, I guess. There’s a lot going on in this head of mine.” She gave a small, almost bitter laugh. Then, quieter, “Sometimes it’s too much.”

Dean studied her for a moment. There was something about the way she said it — offhand, like it didn’t matter, but heavy all the same.

“You ever talk about it?”

Aza met his gaze, her eyes a little more guarded now. “Not really.” She paused, then added, “What about you? You don’t strike me as the type to spill your guts.”

Dean chuckled softly, looking away. “I’m more of a keep-it-moving type. Don’t really have time for that kind of thing.” He shrugged, then glanced back at her. “But hey, if you want to talk, I’m here. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Aza simply huffed out a laugh, shaking her head.

He pushed off the railing and took a few steps closer, finally sitting down at the edge of the pool beside her. His boots stayed on the concrete, but he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

The stillness of the night seemed to settle around them, only the sound of the water and the occasional distant car filling the quiet space between them.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, both of them oddly content with the silence.

Dean exhaled, glancing sideways at her. “You know, I always wanted a pool growing up.”

Aza turned her head slightly, intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he said, staring at the water as if lost in thought. “Thought it’d be nice to have something normal like that. You know — hot summers, barbecue, maybe even a dog.”

“And now?” she asked softly.

Dean leaned back on his hands. “Now I take what I can get.”

Aza studied him, her gaze lingering on the subtle shift in his expression. He was usually so confident, so sure of himself. But now, in this quiet moment, there was something softer beneath the surface. Something almost wistful. Almost vulnerable.

“You know,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter, more thoughtful. “Sam’s lucky to have you.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. Compliments weren’t exactly something he knew how to take, especially when they hit a little too close to home.

He tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “Yeah, well… I’m lucky to have him too.”

Aza smiled faintly, turning her gaze back to the rippling water. “Yeah, you are.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Her fingers curled slightly against the rough concrete, debating whether to say more. Finally, she swallowed, “I had a brother too, you know.”

Dean glanced at her, noting the shift in her tone — the way her words carried the weight of something past. He didn’t press — but something in the way he watched her — attentive, patient — made it clear he was listening.

“Yeah? Older or younger?”

“Twin actually,” She paused, then added with a small smirk. “But if it counts, I was older by 5 minutes.”

Dean’s lips quirked at that. “Five whole minutes, huh? That’s a lifetime in sibling years.”

Aza huffed out a quiet laugh. “Right? I loved using the older sibling trump card at that time, whether it be for the last slice of pizza or who’s doing the dishes. But Aldren always insisted that it didn’t count.”

Dean chuckled, leaning a little closer. “Oh, it counts. Believe me, Sammy still complains about me pulling rank, and we’ve got four years between us.”

Aza’s smirk lingered, but there was something distant in her eyes now, like she was seeing something far away — something long gone.

After a beat, he nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. “So, what you’re telling me is, you were the bossy twin?”

Aza rolled her eyes at that. The atmosphere lightening as she let out a scoff.

Then, without warning, she lifted her foot and kicked a small splash of water in Dean’s direction.

Dean jerked back just in time, eyes narrowing in mock disbelief. “Oh, you did not just do that.”

Aza grinned, her smile so genuine and wide that it caught Dean off guard. It was the first time she smiled so freely, and he couldn’t help but notice the little details — like how she had dimples, or that her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Aza tried but failed to stifle her laughter, big blue eyes looking at Dean with feigned innocence. “What? It was an accident.”

Dean blinked, momentarily distracted by the sound of her laugh — a mix of lighthearted and unguarded. Cute. That’s all he could think, the word playing in his mind, though he didn’t quite have the guts to say it out loud.

He had to fight to keep the usual smirk on his face, because there was something about the way she laughed — the way it made her seem even more alive — that made him lose focus for a second.

“Accident, huh? I think you’ve got a pretty good aim for accidents.”

Aza, still grinning, shrugged nonchalantly, but the mischief never left her eyes. “What can I say? I’m just lucky.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Dean crouched slightly, his hand hovering just above the water as if contemplating his next move.

The grin on her face stayed but she quickly pulled her legs out of the water. “Dean–” she warned.

Before she could react, he lunged forward, sending a splash of water directly at her. Her eyes squeezed shut as the cold water hit her face.

She sputtered, wiping her face as she staggered to her feet. But as she took a step back, her foot slipped on the wet ground between them.

Dean moved fast. His hand shot out, gripping her arm just as her balance wavered. His other hand hovered over her waist, steadying her without quite touching.

“Woah, careful there.”

Aza’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze snapped to his. His sudden touch took her by surprise, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved. Dean could feel the heat of her skin under his hand, the softness of her arm. She didn’t pull away, and neither did he. The air between them seemed to thicken, a quiet tension settling in.

Finally, Aza broke the silence. “That’s not fair. I didn’t spray you in the face.” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, though her lips still curled in a small smile.

Dean met her gaze, his eyes flickering over her, taking in the way water droplets clung to her skin, how a few damp strands of hair stuck to her cheek. And the top half of the white shirt she wore — now soaked — clung to her frame in a way that made it damn near impossible to look anywhere else. From where he sat, the view was nothing short of distracting.

Dean forced himself to drag his eyes back up, meeting hers again. “Alright, alright — I’m sorry.”

He pushed himself up to his feet, letting go of her arm to reach for her towel hung on the back of a nearby deck chair.

But instead of handing it to her, he draped it over her shoulders. And then, tugged the edge of the towel up, gently wiping it across her face.

Aza froze for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. The movement was surprisingly tender, a simple move that somehow felt… personal. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Better?” Dean asked.

Aza blinked, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Dean gave a satisfied nod — then suddenly yanked the towel tighter around her, wrapping it snugly around her arms like a burrito.

“Hey!” Aza yelped, struggling against the fabric prison.

Dean leaned back, admiring his handiwork with a smug grin. “You look awesome.”

Aza rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face was undeniable. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

Dean’s smirk widened. Without a word, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and gave her a playful nudge, guiding her toward the motel. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you catch a cold from all that attitude.”

Aza shot him a look, but she didn’t pull away as he kept his hands on her shoulder, guiding her right to her doorstep.

When they reached, Aza stopped and turned to face him. “Good night.”

Dean met her gaze, his playful smile easing into something softer, more genuine. “Good night, sweetheart.”

She shot him a smile before turning to unlock her door. But just as she was about to step inside, Dean’s voice stopped her.

“For what it’s worth,” he began, his tone sincere. “I think your brother would be damn proud of the woman you are today, Aza.”

Aza’s hand froze on the doorknob. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could feel the weight of his words settle in. She swallowed, suddenly aware of the vulnerable space they occupied, her heart thumping louder in her chest. His words meant more to her than she let on.

With a small, almost imperceptible nod, she finally glanced at him. It wasn’t the usual flippant remark he’d throw her way. There was something unspoken in his tone that made her heart tighten just a little.

“Thanks, Dean.” she said softly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in her chest. “I hope you’re right.”

And with that, she stepped inside, leaving the door to close behind her.

The Impala’s engine rumbled to a stop, the low hum of the car fading as Dean killed the engine. Despite leaving early in the morning, it was already evening as they pulled up to the bar. The fading sunlight mixed with the glow of the neon sign above casted a warm, familiar light over the place.

Aza and Sam had been talking animatedly the entire drive. It had started as some casual banter about the case, but now it was all about music. Dean couldn’t explain why, but he liked that they were getting along well.

“You really can’t like that song, Sam.” Aza was saying, her voice light but with a teasing edge. “I mean, come on, there’s no depth. It’s just… elevator music with a beat.”

Sam gave an exaggerated sigh, leaning back in his seat, clearly amused. “It’s not about the depth, Aza. It’s about the vibe. There’s something about the rhythm. You wouldn’t get it.”

Aza raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “The ‘vibe’? Please, you’re talking about a song that could easily double as background noise for a dentist’s office.”

Dean chuckled from the front, glancing at them. “Alright,” he interjected. “What do you both think of classic rock?”

Aza perked up from the back seat, grinning. “I love classic rock.”

Sam scrunched his nose, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright that’s it. I need a drink.”

Aza laughed as the three of them got out of the car, making their way up the steps to the bar, the faint hum of music spilling out into the evening air. As they pushed through the door, the familiar scent of whiskey and old wood hit them.

Behind the bar, Alec looked up from polishing a glass, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Aza. “Don’t know how to pick up the phone, do you, kid?” His gaze sharp but with a hint of fondness as he watched them step in.

Aza shot him an innocent grin, shrugging dramatically. “Sorry Alec. I was busy.”

Alec narrowed his eyes. “Busy, huh? Well, you better not be busy next time. Or how else would I know if you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

She put on a mock-thoughtful expression, tapping a finger to her chin. “What if I was busy… being dead in a ditch?”

Alec gave her a pointed look, his lips pressing into a thin line. Without missing a beat, Aza held up her hands in mock surrender. “Kidding.” she said, her tone light, before darting past him and up the stairs to her room.

Dean let out a chuckle as he and Sam slipped onto the barstools, amused by the exchange they had just witnessed.

“Didn’t think she had this side to her when we first met.” Dean said, shaking his head.

Sam smirked, resting his arms on the table. “Yeah, well, first time we met, she had a gun to your head. Remember that?”

Dean scoffed. “Hard to forget.”

Alec leaned against the bar, sliding their drinks towards them. “You get used to it. She’s always been like that.” He paused, fingers idly tapping against the counter. “Keeps people at arm’s length but somehow still gets under their skin before they even realise it.”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, picking up his drink. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s got a good heart. Just… don’t let her fool you into thinking she doesn’t.”

Dean glanced toward the staircase where Aza had disappeared, his fingers rolling the glass between his hands. He’d already figured that much out — she had a way of acting indifferent, but there was something deeper underneath it all. Something she didn’t let people see too easily.

“She ever let anyone in?” Dean asked, lifting the glass to his lips.

“Not often. She’s selective.” Alec replied, giving him a knowing look but not saying anything else. Instead, he turned to another customer at the bar, leaving the brothers to their drinks.

Aza came down a little while later, when the bar’s buzz started to die down as the night grew later. She immediately busied herself by clearing the tables. Alec hadn’t ask her to, but she did it anyway, like it was second nature.

Dean noticed her the moment she stepped back into the room, though he kept his focus on his drink. She moved through the space with ease, weaving between tables, collecting empty glasses, wiping down surfaces — like she’d done it a hundred times before.

When Aza returned to the bar, leaning over to deposit the dirty glasses into the sink, Dean looked up at her. “Hey.”

Aza paused for a moment, her hands still resting on the glasses in the sink as she glanced at him. Her lips twitched into a small smile, but she didn’t say anything immediately, as though deciding whether to indulge in the moment or keep up her usual nonchalance.

“Hey,” she finally replied, wiping her hands on a nearby rag as she leaned her hip against the bar.

Dean studied her, his smirk forming slowly. “So…” He dragged out.

“So…” Aza mimicked him, quirking an eyebrow.

“Sam and I are heading out early tomorrow. Not sure when I’ll see you again.” Dean started.

Aza didn’t respond right away, her gaze steady, waiting for him to continue.

“So I was thinking… maybe we could do something tonight.” Dean continued, his tone slow, deliberate, and anything but innocent. “Something… memorable.”

Aza crossed her arms, amusement flickering in her eyes as she stepped closer, expression almost challenging. “Memorable, huh? You’re really not one for subtlety, are you?”

Dean chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. “Not really my style, no. But I figured with you being here and all, might as well make it count.” His eyes never left hers as he took a slow sip from his glass.

Aza laughed quietly. “Yeah? What exactly is it you want to do, Dean?”

Dean leaned in just slightly, his gaze lingering on her lips for a fraction of a second, as his smirk widened. “I think you know.”

She studied him, her eyes searching his as if trying to gauge something deeper, something unspoken. The teasing, the flirting, the cocky remarks — those were easy, natural between them. But this felt different. There was an edge to it now, something unsaid hanging between them, almost too intimate for the casualness they usually shared.

Dean noticed the flicker of something in her eyes. Something he couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Fear? He couldn’t tell. But it was there, subtle but real.

Hesitantly, Aza reached out, letting her fingers brush gently against his jaw.

Dean felt his breath hitch at the gesture. It was so gentle, so tender. He was no stranger to a woman’s touch, yet, this felt different. He stayed still, watching her, feeling the warmth of her fingertips against his skin.

She exhaled, her voice softer now. “Look, Dean…you’re cute.” A small, fleeting smile tugged at her lips. “But if you’re looking for someone to warm your bed and disappear by morning…”

She paused, her eyes briefly darting away before returning to his. “I’m not the girl you’re looking for.”

Dean’s chest tightened at her words — not just by the rejection, but by the way she was pulling away. He could feel the shift — the distance she was putting between them, whether it was physical or something deeper.

Aza let her hand fall from his face, flashing him a small, almost apologetic smile before turning on her heel and heading back upstairs.

Dean watched her go, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his skin.

He let out a quiet breath, reaching for his glass and taking a long drink, the burn of whiskey filling his throat.

He knew why she turned him down, and he couldn’t blame her for it. He hated how Aza had read him so damn well. That she thought he was just looking for something casual, something easy.

The problem was, he knew deep down that wasn’t true.

Because with her, it never felt easy. It had never felt like just a passing thing. And maybe that was the real reason he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. Because, he knew that if he let this go any further, it wouldn’t be something he could walk away from.

And right now? That was exactly the kind of thing he couldn’t afford.

So he stayed put, nursing his whiskey, pretending he wasn’t watching the stairs. The hum of the bar and the emptiness of her absence echoing in the pit of his stomach. It was safer here, he told himself. Easier to tread water in the shallow end than risk drowning in something real.

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