#I’ve turned on my out of office message | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lockefanfic · 2 months ago

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Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night?

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly.

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room.

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing.

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch.

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body.

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need.

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers.

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did.

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed.

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked.

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain.

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire.

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you.

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does.

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation.

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it.

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs.

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take.

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission.

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you.

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain.

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

#twice #tzuyu #twice tzuyu #kpop smut

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5sospenguinqueen · 6 months ago

Text

Take A Break | Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: Toto has been pushing himself too hard trying to get the upgrades sorted. As his concerned wife, you plan a surprise visit.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Bad writing

Requested: Yes by Anon (Hope I did this justice)

2024 season. There's a little blurb halfway through as well.

F1 Masterlist

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by ynwolff_official, lewishamilton and others

mercedesamgf1 boss man hard at work

1,198 comments

ynwolff_official you better be looking after him

→ mercedesamgf1 yes, ma’am. we’re doing our best

→ ynwolff_official tell him if he doesn’t stop working late, he’ll be in trouble when he comes home

→ mercedesamgf1 stop making the admin team threaten me, schatz. they keep coming into my office shaking and you’ll get me into trouble with hr - toto

user1 tell him to make an insta

georgerussell63 he looks like a sith lord

→ ynwolff_official i think you mean, very handsome

→ georgerussell63 i’m not going to say that about my boss

→ alex_albon why not? you were telling me the other day that you think he looks much better in the white shirt than the black zip up

user2 anyone else think he looks tired lately?

→ user2 he’s been working extra hard to get the upgrades ready, i’m guessing

→ user3 plus wifey and jack haven’t been able to make a race in a while so he’s probably missing them after that triple header

user4 george won’t be getting those upgrades once yn tells toto that he wouldn’t admit he was handsome

→ mickschumacher i’ve already told

→ georgerussell63 betrayal

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Strolling through the Hungaroring paddock, you kept a tight hold of your son’s hand. Bustling bodies brushed past, paying the the pair of you no heed, which worked well with your surprise.

Over the past few weeks, Toto had been working tirelessly to ensure the upgrades were ready and working in time for the Hungarian Grand Prix, albeit to the detriment of his own health. He’d been sleeping less, running himself ragged to ensure Mercedes didn’t remain fourth in the constructors. After winning at Red Bull Ring and Silverstone, he knew the potential was there. All he had to do was unlock it. But that had meant shorter calls with his wife and son, fewer responses to messages and a growing distance that he hated feeling during the season. And so, arranging a surprise visit during race weekend had been the most obvious solution.

Mercedes hat sat atop his dark hair, Jack babbled about everything he could see as the tall form of George Russell guided you towards the garage.

“Hello, stranger.” Lewis’ voice met your ears when he caught sight of you. “Toto didn’t tell me you were coming. What’s up, little man?”

George vanished into the back of the garage, searching for the Team Principal. Leaning over to the Brit, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the 7x WDC. Lewis gave your shoulders a squeeze before pulling Jack up into his arms, whisking him over to where the W15 was being polished.

“George, this better be important. I was in the middle of an analysis report-.” A disgruntled Austrian accent filled the garage, bringing a smile to your face. You could picture the deep frown twisting his handsome’s features without even turning to see it.

“Liebe?”

The silver arrows watched the tension seep out of their Team Principal’s face as he took in the appearance of his wife. Striding across the garage floor, he pulled you in for a tight hug, and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head. Aware of the eyes on you both, he had to refrain from pressing his lips to yours. Denying you both the deep kiss you truly desired.

“Surprise,” you whispered, slipping your arm around his waist. Your hand automatically rubbing soothing circles against his hip.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of home.

“You sounded like you needed us.”

“I always need you.”

“Well, then, let’s go rescue your son from Lewis.”

Holed up in Toto’s office, the Wolff family basked in their first moment of family time since over a month. Toto had ordered everyone to leave them alone until qualifying was due to start or somebody was dying. Thankfully, the team listened and so he spent the past hour listening to his son tell him about school and watching Lewis win a race on telly.

Fussing over the amount of coffee cups in the waste bin, you turned to lecture your husband on his inability to get enough rest but paused, mouth open. Curled up on the deep couch pushed against the wall, Jack was snuggled into his father’s lap. His iPad had fallen to the side, and soft snores escaped from his mouth. Glasses askew, Toto’s chin rested on his son’s head, eyes closed tight. Father and son, exhausted from the excitement of their day.

Taking a quick picture on your phone, you smiled at the sight of your family. Reaching into Jack’s backpack, you pulled out his blanket, draping it over your favourite boys.

“Ich liebe dich,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, mickschumacher and others

mercedesamgf1 our favourite family 🐺

1,554 comments

georgerussell63 admin, you used the same quote for a photo of toto with me, lew and mick the other week?

→ mercedesamgf1 we were paid to do that

→ alex_albon great now he’s crying

→ landonorris ha! at least our admin love us more than zak

→ mclaren don’t tell on us!

mercedesamgf1 inside scoop; toto asked us to print out the photo of yn and jack to put in his office

mickschumacher does this mean i can take the little wolff karting?

→ ynwolff_official only if you promise to come for dinner

→ georgerussell63 and me?

→ user5 poor toto can’t escape his drivers even during his time off because his wife adopted them all

lewishamilton nice to see you and jack in the paddock again, yn

→ ynwolff_official and you, lew. hopefully we can attend a few more now that the summer holidays are here

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ynwolff_official just posted

liked by valterribottas, mercedesamgf1 and others

ynwolff_official my favourite part of summer break is the view

1,003 comments

mercedesamgf1 tell boss man to bring that smile back with him

→ ynwolff_official don’t worry. i’ll be sending him back to work extra happy

→ lewishamilton yn, love, this sounds less than family friendly

→ ynwolff_official oops

user6 oh she’s FEEDING us

user7 has george joined you for a sleepover yet

→ ynwolff_official of course. he’s like the son i didn’t ask for

→ georgerussell63 but you love anyway?

→ user8 silence speaks volumes

user9 yn wolff thirst trapping her husband was not on my 2024 bingo

→ user10 silly season is extra silly this year so yn obvi thought she would participate

→ user11 and we love her for it

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Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Text

nicknames | S.R.

in which you meet the team for the first time, and receive your first nickname

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: reader is referred to as a girl. i have this headcanon where when reid's IQ gets slashed to 60, he'd get so distracted that he'd run on autopilot, hence the willingness to handshake.

word count: 591

a/n: happy finals szn! this fic has been rotting in my brain for weeks and i finally decided to flesh it out. and maybe you should like and reblog this if you enjoy it (no pressure tho)

You were still filtering through your entry paperwork when the rest of the team filtered into the bullpen. David Rossi, who had helped you land this job in the first place, nodded in your direction before disappearing into his office. “Hey!” Someone called from across the bullpen, “Y/N, right?” Emily asked, setting her go bag in the chair at her desk before making her way over to your desk.

Smiling in response, “It’s nice to finally meet you,” you responded, reaching your hand out for her to shake. It was nice to be in the BAU, complete with a promotion from Special Agent to Supervisory Special Agent.

JJ walked over next, waving, and introducing herself as the communications liaison. “I’ve heard a lot of great things from your old CARD team,” she said, “I’m sure your skillset will come in handy here.”

You nodded in affirmation, “That’s the hope!” You answered, smiling at the prospect of your old team singing your praises.

Next, Derek approached, reaching out his hand for you to shake. Of course, you obliged and grinned at him. Part of you felt like you were meeting celebrities, the BAU was a big deal in the bureau. “Derek Morgan,” he introduced himself, “How long were you with CARD?”

“Five years,” you responded, it was a long time for anyone to deal solely with child abduction, but your team had the best rate in the bureau. Besides, you found the work rewarding.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “that’s impressive.”

You nodded, “Thank you. I’m really looking forward to working with you all.”

JJ looked behind her, “Oh, have you met Garcia?” She asked, peeking around the corner to where the technical analyst's office was.

Glancing down at the cat-shaped stress toy that she had given you when you arrived this morning, you smiled, “Yes, she was the first to greet me this morning. I think I’m just missing Dr. Reid.”

As if on cue, the young doctor walked into the bullpen, he had a worn leather satchel over his shoulder and looked like he might be talking to himself, “Reid!” Emily called over, getting his attention, and causing him to change course, approaching your desk. “Come meet, Y/N.”

He adjusted the strap of his satchel over his sweater before you reached out your hand for him to shake. “Oh, he doesn’t…” JJ began, but her voice trailed off when Dr. Reid shook your hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Reid,” you said, smiling at him. It felt good to know you had finally met the entire team.

He gave a close-lipped smile in return, “Reid is fine, or Spencer.” He said as you each dropped your hands to your sides.

Noticing everyone looking back and forth between the two of you as if you had already managed to do something wrong, you gathered all of your paperwork in your hands, “I should get this to Hotch.”

The rest of the team got the message and started to disperse to their respective desks, Reid’s being adjacent to yours. “Welcome to the team, pretty girl,” Morgan said to you before turning to his own paperwork.

You hugged your paperwork to your chest as if you were protecting it. Quietly, you muttered, “I really hope that nickname doesn’t stick.”

Across from you, there was a short laugh, almost a scoff. “It will,” Spencer responded in the same reverent tone. For a second, you thought it might be a joke, but you could tell by his facial expression that he was serious.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #david rossi #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #written by margot #spencer reid x fem!reader

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joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

Text

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this.

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?”

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it.

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends.

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

“Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds.

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—”

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does.

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you.

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.”

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

“That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that.

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzsche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 month ago

Text

Yandere Streamer Boyfriend//////

Rules | Kofi | Masterlist

Streamer boyfriend who on the first date is really upfront about what he does. What seemed like a preview of transparency turns out to be a warning for the erosion of your privacy. As you begin to spend more time with your Streamer Boyfriend you’ll find just how much it’s beginning to bother you.

“Chat you guys are so mean! Their bathroom is a little messy but it’s not a red flag!”

Off-screen and whispering you ask, “Why are you filming in my bathroom?”

“Because chat wanted to take a look at your place? Why what’s the matter?”

“I don’t want these random people knowing the layout of my house!”

“Oh….well you can stay at mine if you want...for safety!”

If it weren’t for his impossibly good looks and otherwise male wife behavior you would have left him then and organizing your schedules so that you’re not forced to be a part of his vlogging. It’s a little tiring because sometimes he ‘forgets’ or ‘slips up’ putting more of yourself on the internet than you were ever okay with doing.

“Everyone be sure to tune in four hours by then I’ll have eaten, slept, and finally get to tear up that cute jumper my baby’s got on.”

“Wrath!?”

“Sorry guys signing off! See y’all later!”

You give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s his livelihood, his business, his community, his hobby—you wouldn’t want to take that away just cause it occasionally makes you uncomfortable. So you excuse them all. His mistakes, his overreaching. It doesn’t really hit you in the face until something terrible has happened.

“Are you (Y/n) (L/n)?”

“Is there a problem officer?”

“I’ve been told to inform you…about your cousin's passing.”

“Oh my gosh!? No!”

“We’d also like to know when’s the last time you spoke to them…we suspect this is likely a homicide.”

Your poor cousin who you recently reconnected with has violently perished. Unfortunately because the majority of your family is out of the country or otherwise indisposed, it’s up to you to handle most of their investigation. Identifying her mutilated body and telling the detectives what you knew about each of their friends. For a while, the investigating officers are relieved to know you have a loving boyfriend to support you during this rough time only for that relief to turn into disgust when your boyfriend whips his phone out in the morgue….

“I’m going back to mine. I’ll have my friends come pick anything else I need.”

“B-but babe weren’t you worried about your place getting exposed? I-I’m okay if we take the break at mine–”

“No. I’ll be staying with a friend.”

“Who?”

“None of your business. Thanks for the…memories.”

It's a shame you are no longer dating the infamous WrathWarrior according to your more distant friends who ignore the reason you left in the first place. Thankfully a few good friends are all you need, you take on the funeral preparations, and the rest of the homicide investigation smoothly. When you aren’t crying your eyes out, brainstorming with a detective, or crying in your bed you occasionally venture to your ex-streamer boyfriend’s stream.

“Hey everyone it is Day 11 of being without the love of my life….Let’s have fun, with this game today.”

There he is still smiling and streaming as if he didn’t do this to himself. You figure it’s better off this way. If he had the camera in your face during moments of crisis, he may have never come to respect your desire for privacy and would one day cross a line that would change everything forever. It really was better off this way.

‘Go back to him. You don’t want anyone else to die.’

The cryptic message on your social media came a month after your breakup. Still recovering from your loss and suffering the sting of an unsolved investigation, you are puzzled over the message from what looks like a newly created account. Knowing better than to click on some scammer's link, you blocked the message, thinking that would be the end of whatever weird new scam this was. But alas, a newer account sent the same thing on everything, including your direct messages.

“See detective? Isn’t this weird? It wouldn’t let me take a screenshot but it’s in every app!”

SNAP

“Well, we’ve got a record of it now. Don’t click the link until I can get the team to hook up to this. Go home stay safe.”

Doing as you're told, you return to your temporary home. Waiting for your friend to return you end up looking at the message again, filling the hours with your theorizing at the mysterious link and the ominous tone of the words itself. Narrowing down who it could be there’s only one man you can think of needing to ‘go back to’ is none other than Wrath. When you think about it that way this makes sense that it’s some dedicated and deluded fan probably some mining link to get more of your private info. You sighed exiting the app and attempting to relax again while waiting for your friend to return…they should of got off work hours ago…

Ring. Ding.

Your phone rings with a new message and reading it makes your blood run cold.

‘You need to see this. It’s about your friend.’

It feels voyeuristic that this unknown person would have the answers to your creeping anxiety. The urgency of the message makes it that much easier to ignore the detective’s warnings, finally clicking on the link. Expecting to see your phone flash with a threat for your information you aren’t prepared for the video that loads. Seeing a blurry video of some incredibly familiar pixels squirming in a chair slowly becoming clearer.

“This is Day 34 of being without the love of my life and we’re getting ready for a very special night where we break-in some of our new arrivals. Especially this one.”

It’s Wrath unmasked and pulling at the hair of what is definitely your friend crying behind a ball of cloth. It’s horrifying and you almost don’t believe what your seeing is even real. The continued ramblings of Wrath fogging your brain as you try and piece everything together. The controls to interact were darker than the streams you’d looked at before, the url for the website was different, and most glaringly different was the oddly opulent room with furniture restraining your friend.

“On top of this thing,” he poked at them aggressively–no doubt puncturing with his nail.”We’ve also got an entire group. Silly little investigators looks like they’ve never heard of Wrath’s Colloseum! Guess we’ll have to show all of them what kind of fun we get down to chat!”

The familiar officers and the detective being wheeled in on chairs matching that of your friend’s. It looked like a row of electric chairs attached to one another, wood and dotted with the blood of what you guess must be from past ‘guests’.

Your phone rings again. It’s the anonymous user.

‘It’s up to you. If they live.’

The message was your last wake-up call. Wrath had pulled out a tray of tools, showing them off to the camera as he spoke about what gruesome bloody acts he could do. He kept turning back to your friend who wiggled in protest everytime, he decided to model what the tool would do. It’s then that you were finally able to do something about this.

RING–

“Hello?”

“...Hey, I really missed you and I was wondering if you could come over. Like right now.”

You tried to silence your trembling breath. Watching the man on his stream kick his foot up.

“Awww so cute! Are you drunk calling me? Ugh you’re just as precious as before!” You let out a relieved sigh, thankfully you could save your friend and the investigators tied on screen. “But Daddy’s got a wrap something up so I’m going to make it as soon as I get finished okay?”

No that was not okay! If he finished what he wanted to you wouldn’t have a friend or any local police dedicated to solving your case. So with bated breath you reveal your only card.

“Wait! Please don’t kill them! I’ll get back with you! I’ll do anything just don’t hurt them!”

You watched the wistful kicking from your streamer boyfriend stop slowly turning to the camera. Completely unmasked and wearing a leaver trenchcoat stained with dried crimson spots, he saunters over to the camera lens. Staring into your soul through the lens he smiles. Just like he used to when you’d chat from your alt account, or when you agreed to hold the camera for a cooking stream or when you told him you loved him even though he was a streamer. But it turns out that was the least of your worries when it came to your exboyfriend. In truth, your ex-boyfriend was the worst kind of monster–an untouchable one. A monster that can abduct and torture people without needing to cover his face. An entertainer who was so coonsumed by his career that he had no problem letting the talons of his lifestyle suffocate anyone who tried to impede it.

“So your watching, huh?”

The voice echoes from your phone and the stream playing on your computer. You barely have half a mind to see what the chat says firing off so incredibly fast.

‘Is that them?’

‘ is honey bun back’

‘KILL THEM ALREADY’

‘aw is this the end of the series’

Your exboyfriend giggles at chat’s messages, turning to look over his shoulder openly sneering at all of his victims. He quickly snaps back

“Alright sweetie, I’ll save one just for you. Even better I’ll give them the antidote to a little concoction of mine if you come and join us on stream!”

“But I don’t know where you are and–”

“I’ll come pick you up in a bit, after chat votes on what we’ll be doing to the unclaimed meat. Like that chat? A big bang to wrap up the worst series of my life? I think that sounds like a great idea, chat!”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere original character #yandere ocs x reader #yandere oc #male yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere original character x reader #yandere streamer #yandere streamer boyfriend #Yandere streamer x reader #Yandere original character #yandere drabble

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yourmidnightlover · 8 months ago

Text

control

(forever? pt 2)

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader (arranged marriage)

summary: after a rough night with bucky, you wake up alone and get some frustrating news from your beloved husband

warnings: reader is insecure/doubts, not eating for 24 hours (out of protest), kind of controlling bucky, violence, if i missed anything, please let me know!

w/c: 2.7k+

a/n: hiii! this is the second part that was in high demand after i posted forever? i hope y'all like it! this has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever and i finally have had a chance to share it with you all! i hope it's worth the wait :)

part 3 -> the story

you woke up alone, just like every morning in the past two months with the exception of the smell of his cologne only a whisper on your bedsheets.

maybe you shouldnt have expected anything else from him. he had just felt bad about what happened, about making you cry, that’s all. he couldn’t have you running out on the deal that was made. he just had to save face. it was all business…

there was another knock on the door. two days in a row, which was rather surprising.

opening the door, you come face to face with bucky’s right hand man, steve. his kind blue eyes shone with a hint of remorse, likely knowing at least a bit of what happened last night from his boss.

“hi,” you smiled, your hand remaining on the doorknob.

“hey,” his eyes examined your face, probably to report back to bucky on how you were doing. as if he couldn’t check on you himself. “are you hungry?”

you turn around to look at the clock that reads 12:30.

“i didn’t realize how late it was,” you shook your head as he chuckled.

“you probably needed the rest after…” he inhaled a sharp breath. “anyway, bucky wants you to head up to the office. told me to make sure you ate too.”

why couldn’t he show you how caring he was?

maybe that’s why he left so early… because he had stuff in the office to take care of. that was what your mind would assume to save your own ego, at least.

he took you by a mom and pop diner around the corner from their office, let you eat as many waffles and pieces of bacon as your heart desired until he discreetly paid the bill and then you made your way to the office to meet with your husband.

stopping outside his door, you heard his voice ringing angry and raging.

“i said to find him. i don’t care if you have to work all day and night to do it. i’m gonna find out where he is. nobody touches what’s mine and gets away with it.”

was he talking about you? or was he talking about another one of his many possessions or assets. either way, with the tone he was talking about everything, even if he was talking about you, he made it seem as though you were merely an object that was in his trophy case. if he was looking for john in order to reprimand him, it was likely to send a message to everyone else that dared look at him. to ensure they didn’t see him as weak.

he would never do anything for you out of the kindness of his heart, surely.

“do whatever needs to be done. end of discussion.” you heard a dial tone end, followed by steve knocking on the door.

“glad you made it safely,” bucky nodded towards steve before glancing at your form tucked behind him. “how’re you feelin’?” you shrugged.

“fine, i guess.”

“thank you, steve,” seemingly dismissing steve, he left the room promptly. “i wanted to talk with you about something.” you remained quiet; he sighed before continuing. “i’ve made some arrangements to get you your own personal bodyguard, for when i’m not around to ensure your safety. they would be ‘round the clock unless approved otherwise or when i’m available to be around you.”

“so i would be watched 24/7?” you finally piped up. “like a child?” you voice was still meek as you mentioned your objection.

“it’s for your safety.” he stepped closer to you, not missing the way your body tensed at the movement. “so that something like what happened last night doesn’t happen again,” his jaw tensed, seemingly at the mention of what happened.

so someone doesn’t touch his precious trophy again, you thought to yourself.

“i’m a grown woman. i barely even leave the house, and you think i need more surveillance?” your brows furrowed together as you shrunk into yourself, your shoulders deflating at the thought of losing even more of yourself to this marriage.

“it happened at our house,” bucky reminded you.

“it happened with you right around the corner, too. y’might as well have a drone following me around at that point,” you scoffed quietly. “what? next i won’t be able to shower by myself.”

“if that’s what it takes to ensure your safety, then that’s what’ll happen.” there was no playfulness or sarcasm in his tone.

“i was joking, you can’t be serious,” you looked at him, feeling stubborn tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“deadly,” he assured you, his brows raised and his serious tone piercing your heart. “whatever it takes.”

you shook your head as you turned to the door. “no.”

your hand reached the doorknob before he added, “i was running this by you as a courtesy. not to get your permission.”

you froze in your steps, turning to him with a questioning look. a couple tears finally broke free from the dam before you responded, “then what was the point?” with that, you walked out of his office, turning to steve. “is it you?” after seeing the tears streaking your face, the choked sobs leaving your throat, he looked to the ground in defeat. you had your answer. and bucky had your freedom in his hand.

you really were just a device for him at this point. you play the part of a loving, devoted wife while he probably does whatever he pleases to maintain his image to the public.

you understood that their businesses were in the public eye and that the news of a finance business being absorbed how it was would draw a lot of attention, but nothing made sense right now. he was being so serious about it all. 24/7 surveillance, a fucking bodyguard… for a finance business merge. it was disheartening, to say the least.

it’s not like you had a say in the matter, anyway. so, steve escorted you safely from the premises back to your gated house, where you locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night.

you didn’t open the door when he tried to ask what you wanted for dinner, or when he tried to give you a sandwich.

you didn’t even open the door when bucky tried to knock himself once he got home at 11p.m.

or in the morning when they tried to give you breakfast.

or at noon when steve insisted on lunch.

“it’s been almost 24 hours since you’ve eaten,” steve sighed from the other side of the door as you sat at your desk, pen doodling meaningless lines in your notebook as you stared at the blank word document. “bucky’s not gonna be happy if he finds out you haven’t been eating or talking or… anything. you know i have to tell him.”

and you stayed quiet.

if he wanted a polite little trophy wife, he would get one. but last time trophy wives were a thing was in the 40s, and they weren’t really allowed to say much, so you figured you’d follow suit.

kind of like your own version of a peaceful protest.

apparently bucky wasn’t very happy about that.

he showed up knocking on your door not 20 minutes after steve tried to insist on lunch again. at least he wasn’t busting the door down, much to your surprise.

“it’s bucky, but i’m sure you’ve figured that out,” his voice rang with a certain softness he had with you only two nights ago. “i told steve to go for a little walk so i could talk with you. i was hoping you’d maybe respond?” he tried to open the door, finding it remained locked. “sweetheart, please just eat something. you haven’t even had water since yesterday. you know you have to drink something.”

you suppose it would look pretty bad for him if his dear wife went to the hospital for dehydration, or starvation for that matter. has the bucky barnes been treating his wife as less than? or has he simply forgotten about his wife? perhaps she’s a weak point for him?

although he probably wouldn’t admit you to the hospital, he’d probably hire someone to come to the house themselves, sworn to secrecy of some sort.

you heard rustling on the other side of the door, not footsteps, more like clothing being rustled followed by a thump. his voice rang out lower on the door when he spoke, “i know you’re not happy about having a bodyguard. i understand, i do. you think your freedom is being tarnished and threatened and this is you trying to control what little you can because of that.”

how can he act like he knows you so well? the man who made it seem as though the marriage would be at least a partnership before the words ‘i do’ were uttered. after the honeymoon a flip must’ve been switched in his brain, telling him you were a little toy for him rather than the partner you had agreed to be.

but, after plenty of time to think, you’ve come to realize that you were being rather selfish. as much as you wanted your freedom. you wanted to stick it to the man and tell him that you deserved respect, because you did.

you also had a duty to your family, to keep them safe. being in this marriage was the only way to do that. and if any questions arose, like bucky’s care for you, then your family would be in danger.

with a click, you unlocked the door. he must’ve heard it because he slowly opened the door and took a step inside your room, a few feet from you.

“i’m sorry,” you looked at the collar of his suit rather than his eyes. “i’ve been acting rash and immature. i apologize for that.”

“i didn’t-”

“i won’t question your authority again,” you were picking at your nails. “i understand that you need steve to make sure nobody harms me to maintain your image. i respect that. i respect your decision.”

you couldn’t bare to look at his face. your gaze shifted to the floor as he began to nod.

“does that mean you’ll eat something?” you nodded, chewing on your lower lip before responding.

“i’m sorry for taking time away from your business,” you moved the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears, doing anything you could to distract yourself. “i now how valuable your time is.”

“you’re more valuable than all the time i have,” he took a step closer to you before you felt his index finger and thumb gently holding your chin, nudging your head up to look him in the face. “do you understand?” his blue eyes were full of emotion, a mix of them, at that. if you squinted it was almost like there were tears building at the corners of his eyes. but you weren’t squinting anymore. you saw the full picture quite clearly with your eyes wide open.

“i understand,” you nodded curtly.

you did understand.

you understood that he had an image to maintain. that image, for you and your family, was for him to be a devoted, loving husband to his equally loving and devoted wife.

his image is his reputation, and no money in the world could buy the reputation he has.

he let go of your chin, cupping the sides of your face before he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, “i brought your favorite with me. steve’s warmed it up in the microwave for when you’re ready for it. just… eat whatever you can. if you’re still hungry i’d gladly go and grab some more for you.”

“aren’t you going back to the office?” you, voluntarily this time, looked into his eyes with furrowed brows.

“no, my love,” he shook his head before dropping his hands from your face. “i told them i needed to spend the rest of the day with my wife.”

of course. if steve knew about last night, people at the office probably did too. it would look pretty lousy if he didn’t look after his wife after an incident like that.

“oh,” you nodded as you broke eye contact once more. “that sounds nice.”

you followed him downstairs, where steve had already set your food aside for you to start on. not eating for so long truly did affect you more than you thought. you didn’t even realize how hungry you were, finishing the entire meal in less than 15 minutes.

bucky was sitting beside you, eating his own food as he made sure you ate and drank, and noticed when you made a happy plate, and cup, might he happily add.

“wanna go get some more now?” he let his hand float to your hair, raking through your messy locks with a smile growing at the corner of his lips.

“no, that’s okay,” you shook your head, not wawnting to bother him more than necessary.

“if you’re still hungry, then that’s not okay,” you looked to see him shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the dining room table. “c’mon,” he stood from the table, holding his hand out for you to take. “we’re going to get s’more food.”

“will we be going alone?” you let your eyes gravitate to where steve stood in the corner of the room, having not been dismissed by bucky yet.

“steve,” bucky called him over. “you can go home now. i’ve got her. thank you.” he released him from his duties. “now will you come with me?”

you took a second to think. maybe he was a controlling asshole, but what he was doing was for your safety, whether you agreed with it or not. “okay,” you nodded, figuring it was also best you went along with whatever he said. he seemed to get whatever he wanted anyways. “can we just go through a drive through somewhere?”

“if that’s what you want…” he nodded, surprisingly agreeing to your proposal. “where to?”

“... mcdonalds?” you suggested once more.

“of course, my love,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, oddly affectionate since nobody was around. “when we get back i’ll arrange hiring a chef for you, as well. i won’t have you going hungry if i can help it.”

“you don’t have to-”

“i will.”

you knew better than to argue. you wouldn’t poke the bear if you could help it. sure, he’s told you he wouldn’t hurt you. you were his wife and if news came out that he had hurt his wife in any way, his reputation would be threatened.

you couldn’t help but remember every warning your friends told you about going into a relationship with this man. warnings about being on your toes, watching your back, never letting your guard down.

in your mind, this was just one more reason you wouldn’t have to leave the house. another little piece of freedom taken from you in a roundabout sense.

“okay,” you nodded, accepting your fate as someone who would eventually be trapped in their house forever.

he took you through the drive through at mcdonald’s, getting you whatever you wanted and an oreo mcflurry. on the way home, eating the mcflurry before it melted, it was a silent ride. and not a very comfortable one, probably due to your suspicions about him wanting to control you.

maybe him controlling you wouldn’t be so bad… he was kind to you, provided for you, made sure you didn’t want for anything. but with that, went a lot of your heart, freedom, and control.

TAGS:

@nefri-black

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes smut #sargeant barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky au #sargeant bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky x you

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harmeu · 8 months ago

Text

GUILT

(HSR MEN X READER) (ANGST)

(GN!READER)

Synopsis: You and Sunday were dating but then you overhear him talking to those who work with him about how you’re just a pawn for his games.

SUNDAY:

Soft footsteps echoed as you walked through the halls of where your beloved boyfriend Sunday lived. Though a feeling of unknown dread crawled onto you as if warning you of something soon happening.

Click. Click. Click.

Your eyes lit up as you heard your boyfriend speaking to those who worked under him and you couldn't help but eavesdrop. The curiosity of how he acted when he wasn’t around you dwelling in your mind.

“It’s simple. I’m using them. They are just one step closer for me to get closer to my goals.” Sunday said with a calm smile, hands gently tracing his desk looking down at the men who were talking to him.

You were confused.

What were they talking about?

“Sir..are you sure? Aren’t they attached?”

“My so-called significant other is definitely attached. Though that benefits me. Much. More. Easier. To manipulate.”

You paled.

He was using you.

Tears bubbled up in your eyes and you held your hand to your mouth to stifle any noises of sadness that were threatening to come out.

Hitching and turning on your shoe you make a dash for it unaware that Sunday caught a glimpse through the slit of the door open with his eyes. His wings twitched in surprise and soon lowered as a disgusting feeling of shame hit him.

It was an oddity for Sunday.

“Oh dear.” He murmured out making his way out to find you.

Synopsis: Aventurine and you dated but when he bets you in a game everything goes downhill.

AVENTURINE:

You catch your boyfriend, the renowned gambler betting as usual. You told him his hobby wasn't good. But as if that would stop him. Eventually you gave up and just let him do what he wanted despite worry filling you each time he pushed a chip forward with his iconic trademark smirk.

“Babe..” You murmur out unease written all over your face.

“Oh! Hey darling~ this man just won’t seem to give up..even after I basically drained his savings. He’s penniless and now putting bets on things he doesn't even own!” Aventurine chuckled, holding his head amused.

“Maybe you should stop? It's getting intense, no.?” You worriedly whisper out.

“Oh no no no sweetheart. Once you go in. You can’t come out.”

“Huh?” You fluster.

“In gambling! What were you thinking of?” His smirk grew and became more toothly as you spluttered but it soon died down as Aventurine noticed that the man he was gambling with was slowly earning his chips back.

“You pull up a tough fight.” Aventurine spoke and you just knew he was going to pull an impulsive move.

“Seems my chips have vanished. What a shame. Yet I do not intend to lose. I bet..my darling sweetheart right here.”

You flinched at his words staring at him with a ‘did you really just say that’’ look making Aventurine smack back into reality.

“Oh..doll wait I didn’t mea-”

He got cut off by you walking off.

Ping! New message!

(AVENTURINE HAS SENT $1,000,000)

Synopsis: Dating Dr. Ratio was nice. Though he puts more time with other matters, neglecting you.

DR RATIO:

You hadn’t seen your boyfriend Veritas in a while because of him either studying, working, teaching others, or doing something other than hanging out with you. You're aware of his passion to join the Genius Society but he can work on that while hanging out with you too right?

You felt left out.

So you decided to make your way to his office excited to see him but also a bit nervous due to the thought of him brushing you away to work on something else.

You knocked.

“Come in.” You hear his British pompous voice making you crack a small smile not hearing it in a while.

“Veritas..” You open the door smiling but it broke as you saw him writing down something in his notebook not bothering to spare a glance at you.

“What is it? I’m quite busy.” He whispered out, still looking engrossed in his work.

“Do..you want to hang out? It’s been a while and I’ve been worried about you overworking yourself. And I miss seeing you.” You blush at your own words staring at him.

Veritas sighed, dropping his pen and rubbing his temples.

“Dear how many times must I have to tell you that I am busy?” Annoyance is apparent in his tone making your eyes droop in defeat.

“Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to ask..since it's been such a long time.” Another sigh left Veritas as he ran a hand through his hair and finally made eye contact with you.

“I’m doing work at the moment so please leave me to it.” He picked up his pen again taking a glance at you but his eyes widened as he saw your vulnerable expression of defeat. You nodded softly and shut the door leaving.

Veritas stared at the door, his heart clenching in what he just did. Guilt poured onto it.

“My lord.” He murmured holding his now aching head.

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yaut-jaknowit · 5 months ago

Note

Thinking about 'Galactic order brides' lol

Starts off as messages, pictures then meeting and marriage? Me full of giggles thinking about some bad ass yautja male who's highly respected but wants a soft little human to warm his bed and have his pups. (A dream 🩷)

Strangers

Pairings: T'a'yta (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 8674

Summary: With T’a’yta, reader was recommended by a friend to contact him. It started off small. Messages. Then it turned to pictures and facetime, then finally meeting. When you meet him, he’s thick and hulking beast. For such a big creature, he was soft.

Author Note: Okay, I may have a bit more indulgent on my end. I hope that’s okay! I really loved this idea even though I’ve never read those books before.

Masterlist

Ao3

In an office job, nothing much happens. You are used to the ins and outs that happen every single day. It’s always the same old, same old thing. You crave for something different, a different scene in your life. Then, the opportunity came.

Ze’se heard about your cry for help, this need for something or… someone in your life. Anything for a change.

“Oh, tots, he’s a doll. Super sweet. A lovable hunk, I promise you that, love,” Ze’se raves about and sends the contact information to you. She has her wrist flopped over in front of you with a knowing look on her alien features. The Yautja was a dark yellow, like spicy mustard. “He’ll see you and wanna take you home in an instant. A lot of the folks that I know wanna. But I know he will take care of you.”

A bright smile eased your features. “Thanks, Ze. I owe you one.” You greatly appreciated her help. Without her, a lot of things in your life wouldn’t be where they are right now.

The towering female Yautja barked a laugh then pulled you flush into her torso with a single hand. “Nah, sweetheart. You don’t owe me a thing. You deserve happiness and a hunk like himself will give you plenty. You know the whole shebang with how males woo us females. I have to fight them off of you when you come visit me.” Heat rushed to your cheeks. She lets you go. Your head is craned further back to find her dark green eyes.

You couldn’t stop from rolling your eyes and a huff. It seemed that way when you would visit her on her mothership. A lot of the males did look at you, nearly oogling you from a safe distance away. Ze’se didn’t let you walk the ship alone. There is controversy about oomans still within some clans. Unfortunately, hers included. That didn’t stop you from making great friends with her.

Some of those males look at you some sort of meat. You were thankful Ze’se always meets you at the docking entrance. If you want to go somewhere, she’s attached to your hip.

“Is he part of your clan?” you asked, needing to know if he was like many of her clanmates. Meaning, to be mindful of how to act around him. You trusted her and knew she wouldn’t put you in harms way. That didn’t stop you from being cautious and mindful at the same time. It wouldn’t hurt. Yautjas and oomans will forever have their differences.

She shook her massive, dome head. “Nope. I know him from a hunt a few years back. Kept in contact with him since then. If I was looking for a permanent mate, he would be first on my list. A recently turned elder. Plenty of scars.” She wiggled her brows at you. “Big muscles. Sweet talker. Great in bed.” At this point, you shouldn’t be surprised. Your eyes jumped open. “That male knows how to please, let me tell you that.”

A groan left your throat as you pushed away from her. The dark mustard yellow Yautja laughed and snorted. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. Mostly. But like I was saying. Great male. He’s got lots of good offspring. High on the pole. His name is well out there, even on Yautja Prime. If you want to be cared for and pampered, I can see him taking that roll. I should know.” You dragged a hand down your heated face. God, this woman was going to be the death of you.

This is what you loved about your relationship with Ze’se, the easy going with her. “Okay, okay! I understand. He knows how to fuck. I get it!” Another groan. She giggled again and pushed against your shoulder.

“You’ll know soon enough. He’ll… oh, what’s that saying? Wine and dine you to the fullest before he’ll-“ You reached up and clamped your hands over her moving mandibles. Anything to get her to stop talking about sex! Right in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Ze! I sweat to everything unholy. Please, I get it. He’s good. I got it. I think everyone on this street knows how good he is!” you scold her and while pleading with her to stop talking about that. Some heads turned your way but they all kept going their own path. Thankfully.

Both of her upper mandible quirked up. “Eheh, good. I’m glad. You have the info. I’ll get out of your hair and let you have some special time with him.” She rubbed her temple against yours. You smiled at the gesture and watched her spin on her heel. Ze’se struts away from you, hips swaying with each step. It gathered a lot of attention from the surrounding people. A move you knew was purposeful.

With a roll of your eyes, you turn around as well. The day was getting late. After a long day of work, all you wanted was to go home and rest. The resting would have to wait. You would shoot this new Yautja a text before falling asleep. In the morning, you get to see what his response is. You really hoped Ze’se was right about this guy. There has been something missing from your life. Maybe it was someone special, that’s all you need.

Once the front door was closed and locked, shoes came off. Your keys were hung up on the rack. The warm atmosphere of your apartment greeted you like any other day. You strolled in and head towards your bedroom for a change of clothes.

Your work clothes had been replaced with a comfortable pair of shorts and a oversized shirt. Then, you collapsed onto the bed, arms spread wide. Today had been eventful. Not only from Ze’se, but from the amount of work they put onto you. Ze’se, bless her heart, has tried countless times to get you to come onto the mothership with her. Become a hunter like herself. But, you liked your room, your job, the comfort of humanness. There’s none of that on their ships or even their home planet.

It's always kill or be killed. You weren’t about that life.

But… with the way that Ze’se explicitly talked about T’a’yta, he was different. To pamper you? God, you could only wish for that. For a man to kneel before you was a wish come true. You really hoped he was somewhat like that. Not like the other ravenous males you’ve seen up close and personal. Far too many time to count.

You took out your phone and stared at the few notifications on the screen. Nothing of importance. Ze’se had sent his contact number. You saved it as a contact then went to the section to message.

And that’s where you faltered. You didn’t know how to start the message. Oh my god, you didn’t know how to text a random guy! Were you this hopeless?! You thumped your head against the bed with a groan. It had to be simple. Introduce yourself, ask about the weather, tell him stuff.

Yeah… you were hopeless.

An entire hour passes by. Text box was empty. You’ve tried to type out quirky greetings, polite ones, even just a simple introduction and who gave you his number. Each time, you’s quickly gone back. The main reason you think you’re struggling was you didn’t know him. You didn’t know his personality. If he likes funny jokes or something serious. All you got was his name and how well he was in bed.

A sigh of defeat left you. How could you advocate for yourself? How can you even put yourself out there for him? Male Yautjas like a confident female? All the females know their worth is high. They strut their stuff. And here you were, mauling over how to send a greeting to him.

In frustration, you thumped the edge of your phone against your forehead. You took in a few deep breaths before typing out a simple introduction and that Ze’se gave you his number. Then, you told him you were interested in getting to know him. You sent it. No regrets. You swallowed hard. Okay, maybe a little regret.

Before you could get overwhelmed, your phone buzzed. The screen lit up. You jolted out of your thoughts to look at the screen. T’a’yta had messaged back. Holy shit, that was quick.

“It’s good to finally hear from you. Ze’se has not stopped talking about you. I, too, would be interested to getting to know you,” T’a’yta messaged. You flipped onto your stomach and squealed, legs kicking the bed. This was finally your chance. With the phone, you could have tons of confidence compared to in personal.

From there, the two of you texted far into the night. Despite the knowledge of having work in the morning, you continued to text. This was an opportunity you weren’t going to pass up. A hunk of a Yautja to bend over backwards for your needs. Okay, that sounds bad. All you want is to be cared for. Is that a bad thing?

Right off the bat, the two of you were chatting. You started off by talking about your hobbies. What you liked to do in your free time. You hoped it interested him. The hobbies maybe boring but they made up you. What made it all the better was him digging further into those said hobbies. He wanted to know more about. He wanted to find out what made you tick from the inside out. You were giddy like a school kid with their crush. But after so long without a lick of luck in this vast universe, you could say you were desperate. Could you be blamed though?

When it came to his turn about hobbies, he didn’t jump straight in the stereotypical hunting for Yautjas. You felt a little bad about thinking he would only talk about that.

One of his favorites was watching nature. That seem similar to hunting. But, he appreciates nature at his core. He maybe a hunter but he is more than a trophy hunter. Another thing he enjoys doing is visiting museums, mainly human museums. He wants to know more about humans – or oomans. T’a’yta likes history. He likes learning. Even in his older age, he acts like a sponge. There is no one who knows everything. There is always something to be learned. Even to the ancients in his cultural.

You glanced at the time and gasped. There was only four hours before you had to report back to work. That meant less than three hours for sleep. Worst of all, you didn’t to stop. The talking, er messaging, had gone so well. You felt bad when you texted him you had to go to bed. Or else you might lose your job in the morning.

That’s when you got to see a glimpse of what Ze’se was referring to this entire time.

“If you lose your job, you can always come and stay with me.” My god. The butterflies in your stomach went wild. Ze’se maybe crazy but, you glad she wasn’t lying about his innuendos.

Of course, you had to fire back with something of the same line. “Is that an offer?” If he was already willing to take care of you right from the get-go, you were falling in love. He’s such a sweet talker.

“I would love to take care of such an adorable thing such as yourself.” He was so cheeky! Your cheeks were heated with the fire that raced through your veins. Your thumbs shook, unable to type out a message quick enough. “Have I flustered the sweet, little human?” A shaky breath passed your dry, cracked lips. You were in it now.

It’s like he could see through the screen and read your expressions. You lowered your head and pressed it against the screen for a moment.

When your phone buzzed again, you lifted up your head, eyes snapping open at the message. “Paya, I wish I could see the look on your face. Since you can’t answer me. You clearly are a fluster mess. I would love to know what my words could do to you in person.” You may have never heard his voice before but you knew that last part was meant as a growl.

Still, you didn’t know the proper response was. The time above the messages screaming at you to go to bed. You ran a hand through your hair before finally finding words. “Maybe one day we can. I’d be more than happy to see the effect too. Good night!” The phone was tossed off to the side. You screamed into the mattress and kicked the bed.

That was a cringy way to end the conversation, but you couldn’t handle it anymore. The texting should’ve kept you safe, a nice façade since he can’t see you. Clearly, that had failed. He still got to you.

Now, you were more desperate to talk to him. There wasn’t time left in the night though. With one more glance at your phone, you got settled down in bed to get whatever sleep you could make up.

For a few weeks after that, every moment you had free, the two of you texted each other. Fleeting seconds while at work to pull out your phone and shoot a message back to him. Anything to keep him on the hook. You were really liking him so far. All green flags.

On one night, you became a little risky. For the occasion, you decided to dress up. You put on all the gimmicks to look as presentable as possible. The best clothing was pulled from the back of your closet and thrown on. A little dolling up had you picture perfect.

In front of a mirror, you put on a small pose with a smile to brighten your features. The picture was snapped. You were swift to send it to him before you could decide to back out. From there, you sat down on the couch, still dressed up, and played on your phone.

It was less than a minute when you got a response back. “By Paya’s name, you looked wonderful, little one.” You squealed and loudly cheered to yourself for getting another win. Both of your fists pumped into the air. It was working. You were actually getting a guy to be interested with you. And, he was staying interested in you.

“I think it’s your turn.” And boy, aren’t you glad you asked for a picture of him in return.

You must have caught him in the middle of hunt. The fact he was letting himself be distracted by you while hunting was another thing you’ll think about later. He took it from an angle looking down at himself. Condensation built up on his dusty brown scales. He looked to be panting, mandibles flared wider to allow the extra air into his lungs. Like any other Yautja, he was built strong. But, like Ze’se had mentioned, he was bulky, a hunk of muscles. He could easily lift you up.

Your bottom lip was caught between your dull teeth. The taste of blood flared on your tastebuds but you didn’t care. Your eyes roamed over the picture far too many times to be respectful. This made you no better than a dog on the street. But, you couldn’t help it. There was something about him both physically and mentally that you were heavily attracted to. This only solidified it more.

Plenty of scars lined his scales. Stories of past hunts that always lead to his triumph of not meeting their god of death. You bite your lip harder.

“Seems like I caught you in the middle of something.” You couldn’t believe the courage to make an innuendo to this man!

Conversations and pictures like this continued on as well. Three weeks passed of friendly talk and some talk of hidden messages. Neither of you coming out to say it straight to the other’s face. A little dance the two of you enjoyed happily.

It was him who offered it. He wanted to finally meet you in person. For someone who was rarely around other Yautjas besides Ze’se, you were nervous. There wasn’t a way to hide behind your phone this time. You couldn’t dance around this. It was bound to happen. You knew it.

So, you swallowed down your nerves and said yes. The meeting place became a little shop a few blocks away from your apartment. Close to comfort. Anything to give you the confidence you needed to face him. It wasn’t a game to you. Far from it. But, you could play a good façade over the phone. When it came to meeting someone personally, it was… that’s where your courage goes right out the window.

When the day came, your nerves were jittering your entire body. It was hard to stand still in front of the mirror to see if your outfit looked perfect. It had to be perfect. You needed to be perfect. This is where everything could go wrong. You card a hand through your hair then glanced down at your phone.

About five minutes were left before you had to go out that door and meet him face to face. There was no backing out of this now. You made a deal, a promise to go there. With a deep breath to fill your lungs, you marched out the front door early. It was best to be early than late. Who knows if there’s traffic. Plus, you can pick out the seat you want in the small restaurant. That way, you can look professional.

The streets of the city you lived in weren’t the best. Every corner you took wide and carefully watched your back. Once you made it to the safety of the restaurant, you find the place empty of patrons. There are a few employees meandering around though. Your brows furrowed at the sight. This place was busy everything time you tried to come here. T’a’yta said he would make the reservation for the two of you. But this was strange.

Someone noticed your entrance and came up to you with a smile. He said your name in a questioning tone. You dipped your head, unsure of the whole situation. “Follow me,” said the host. He didn’t take a menu with him and began to walk away. You were timid to shadow him before scampering after him like a scared puppy.

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by any means but it was still nice. On the inside, every chair and seat all besides one had been shoved to the side. The lights had been lowered to a romantic setting. Flowers and balloons were decorated the space. You stopped in your tracks and took in the area. It was more than anything that anyone has done for you. Did… oh my god. T’a’yta did this for you! Your jaw dropped. You looked like an fearful, cornered animal. What kind of Yautja was he?

Ze’se said his name was up there on the totem pole but… you weren’t expecting this! He had to have bought out the entire space. That had to cost at least a thousand dollars. Did he seriously have that kind of money to fork over? All for you too.

The call of your name snapped you from your scrambled thoughts. You shook your head and looked over at the source.

In the middle of the room was a lone table and two chairs. One chair was already occupied by the familiar sight of T’a’yta. Despite being feet away from you, he was still a massive form that easily consumed the chair. A smirk graced his handsome features. He gracefully stood from his seat and walked around it.

By god’s grace. When he got close to you, he towered over you as the average height of a Yautja. You reached his midriff and had to tilt your head back to find those bright eyes. They glowed lightly in the dark, nearly a beacon to find the alien.

Your heart thundered loudly in your chest. It was on the verge of leaping out and landing straight into his hands. The sound was so loud to yourself, he had to hear it himself. You swallowed hard and pulled on a brave smile. T’a’yta offered a single hand to you, palm facing up. You gingerly placed your own into his and watched the way it was consumed. He’s massive.

T’a’yta eyes you for a second longer before gently leading you towards the table. With no other option, you let him guide you. The dusty brown Yautja pulls out the chair for you. You glance at him for barely a heartbeat before taking a seat. He easily pushes you in then returns to his own seat. Your tongue darts out to lick at your dried lips.

The Yautja is dressed in somewhat normal clothing. He’s not in full blown hunter gear, something you had thought about him being in. A sight you’ve seen a few times already from the pictures of him he’s sent. His clothing seemed to be meant for celebrations or gatherings. Causal clothing. The type Ze’se would be seen wearing as well.

And he looked good in it.

Both of your hands were placed in your lap, head slightly tilted down. Being in his presences was a one-eighty from causally talking to him over the phone and messages. There was no hiding from that piercing gaze he roamed over your form.

A chuff came from the male. He laxed back in the too small of chair that squeaked under the shift of weight. “There is no reason to be tense, my dear.” If it wasn’t for your locked muscles, your jaw would’ve dropped at the deep rumble of his voice. You already knew Yautjas voices, no matter the sex, were a low timbre. His though, was thick as honey and drew you in instantly.

He didn’t miss the way your breath hitched when he spoke, the way your eyes twitched slightly more open. One of his upper mandible quirked up. You noticed the move and swallowed down the lump in your throat. A deep breath was pulled into your lungs.

“S-so, I not-tice the place is-is empty,” you attempted to start off the conversation for the night. T’a’yta stayed in his relaxed position, head tilted off to the side. He watched you lazily with an adored look in those vibrant eyes of his.

His head dipped down. “Yeah. Did that myself. I didn’t want us to be interrupted by anyone. I wanted to see you all alone.” Words that shouldn’t been a red flag by anyone else but the way he says in that voice of his. It made it sound like he was wanting to protect you from prying eyes. He wanted you safe.

That meant you were right. He had bought out the place for the night. How could this man have that kind of cash lying around? Who did Ze’se set you up with? A millionaire? Did she seriously think you could pull someone like that? A small and frail human in the presence of a Yautja. Humans were ninety-nine percent of the time seen as such to these massive hunters of the universe. That included yourself.

Maybe you really had gone way over your head.

Your hands played with each other, hidden underneath the table. It helped you from the rest of your body from fidgeting and letting him know how much of a mess you were. The way his eyes narrowed slightly already told you he knew.

“That m-must have been a-a lot.” If he wasn’t in front of you, you would’ve smacked yourself silly for such a stupid comment. This is why you preferred texting. It allowed you to think of the words before they came spilling from your lips.

He chuckled. A deep, timbre sound falling from his alien mouth. His hips shifted. Your heartrate picked up again. The sight was enticing. He brushes off the comment with a flick of his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad we get to finally meet in person. I’ve been waiting to catch your scent.” After being around Ze’se for some time, you’ve learned that scent to a Yautja was important. You didn’t take it in a weird way. Instead, you simply nodded your head. With the change of subject as well, you were thankful. There wasn’t a chance you could fully steer this ship without his aid.

“Y-yeah, me too-too. Not the scent part!” You were quick to cover that. “Humans don’t do that. But, I don’t find it weird. I know it’s a thing for Yautjas. I’m fine with it!” Oh my god, the word vomit that came spilling from your loose lips. Worst of all, you hadn’t even had any alcohol in your system. Here you were, acting like a complete fool. You wished for the floor to open and swallow you hole.

Heat blazed to life on your cheeks. You groaned and covered your face with your hand, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. “I’m so sorry.” That’s all you can say to cover up your failure.

The chair groans under his shift of weight. The table dips slightly in his direction. You felt the heat of his palm cupping your jaw. Another hand wrapped thick digits around your wrist. With a gentle tug, he pulled your hand loose, but you found every other surface in the place more interesting. There was without a doubt you had ruined this first meeting with him.

A soft purr-like sound came from his massive bulk. You weren’t expecting it. Your eyes flickering up in surprise for a moment. The second they met his though, they were back down to the ground or the table or your lap. The purr increased in volume. It vibrated the air and sent tingles racing up your arms. It was a powerful weapon against you.

All of your tense muscles began to loosen as if he commanded it. Both of your arms rested on the table. He gently held up your head and gave a soft tug towards him. Your gaze found his again. But, you didn’t look away.

“There’s that sweet, little ooman I’ve been wanting to see,” he cooed to you and kept your attention on him. T’a’yta was a master at calming you down from the height of your embarrassment. “Keep those lovely eyes of yours on me. I want to see every expression you make, little one.” You melted against his touch and let yourself be nearly controlled by him. All you could do was dumbly nod.

“Good, such a good ooman. Now, I want you to pick out anything on the menu. Anything you want. I don’t care the price or whatever.” Your tongue darted out lick at your lips before nodding again. T’a’yta hummed and paused for a second before letting go of your chin. You leaned back to a normal sitting position, eyes still on him. The dust colored Yautja smirked then gestured at the menu.

That shook you back to your normal mindset. Your face felt like it was on fire. The way you had just melted at the velvet of his words and soft touches. You took the opportunity to glance at the menu. His gaze had done the same. Relief flooded your system afterwards.

There were only a handful of times you’ve been here over the years. One, it was hard to get in due to how busy. Two, your limited time with your job. Three, a lot of the items on here weren’t something an office worker could easily afford. You came here when all three of those things lined up. That’s once a in blue moon. But now, he was offering you anything on the menu. Including the most expensive steak you’ve ever seen before. Not that you go out very often.

Who was he? A question that kept popping up throughout his whole interaction with him.

As you grazed the menu, your eyes kept flickering up to look at him. The darker lighting gave him an aura that was nearly scary. Yet, there was something deep inside of you that knew this man would never, in a million or trillion years, harm you in any sort of the way.

Money may no be an issue but you didn’t want to seem like a gold digger. The reason you chose this place was because had lined up perfectly. You could pay for your regular meal. Yet, it seemed like he was more than willing to cover every cost.

There was a nagging thought in the back of your mind though. Surely, you weren’t going to make him pay for your food. You liked it when things were equal to the best of everyone’s abilities.

To play it safe, you decided on a simple salad. Plus, eating healthy was a good thing too.

The menu was set down onto the table again. In time for a waiter to come to the table with a pen and paper. “Hello! Welcome to our establishment. And many thanks to you sir T’a’yta for this. We appreciate your company!” He’s cheery with a bright smile on his face while talking to the dust colored Yautja across from you. “Is there anything I could start the two of off with?” The waiter glances between the two of you.

T’a’yta gestures for you to start off. Suddenly, you feel on the hot seat all over again. You bite at your tongue, eyes flickering down to find the drinks. Pepsi products. You tell him what kind of soda you are wanting then peered at T’a’yta. The Yautja had a brow arched.

“You are more than welcome to appetizers. Like I said, you can get anything you want. My treat.” Seriously, you should take his word and go out. There was that same nagging idea in the back of your head that prevented you. You shake your head and busied yourself with looking at the menu for the moment.

His eyes were still on you for a few beating seconds as he ordered his own drink. “Bring every appetizer you have as well.” Your head jerked up, eyes snapping wide. He did not!

The waiter’s own eyes showed off the whites of them. There had to be about ten appetizers. T’a’yta just ordered all of them!

“It will take some time for the cooks to prepare that big of an order. If that’s alright with you?” he asked the gentlemen across from you. A lax look was plastered to T’a’yta’s features. Like the time or the price was the last thing on his mind. His eyes were glued to your fidgeting, surprised form. His inner jaw muscle tightened to hold back his need for action.

“Yes, I understand.” T’a’yta doesn’t care. He’s polite to the worker though. Jesus Christ. You were starting to regret this whole meeting at a semi-fancy restaurant. What if he expects you to pay the bill after he rents the place out? It would take a small loan to pay all of this off. No, you wouldn’t take a bite. All you were having was your salad. Cheap and healthy. The last thing you wanted was to be seen as a gold digger or a slob for junk food. Not that you pig yourself out on them, but you still have them as snacks.

With one more look at T’a’yta, the waiter takes his leave with the notes of drinks and thoughts of every appetizer on his mind.

Once he retreated to the back part of the building, you leaned forward. “I’m honestly fine! I-I don’t need to eat that much,” you argued with the hunk of muscles. He laughed from his throat and rested an elbow on the table before leaning forward. T’a’yta placed his chin in his palm.

“If you won’t let me spoil you the way I want, I will do it myself. I’m a Yautja of my word. Eat, get, ask for anything you want. I will get it for you.” Is this normal for a Yautja? You knew the males like to woo the females with trophies and prowess. Since you were human, it was different. Clearly, he had done his research and changed tactics to get the same results.

You let out a shuttering breath and sat up straight. Once more, your gaze dropped to the table. The tips of your ears burned. Your lips were pressed into a tight line for the time it took you to maul over your thoughts. “Fine. Only a little. I’ll only have a little,” you relented to his forwardness. When he wanted something, he got it by the looks of it. Man, was he stubborn in ways you weren’t expecting.

That same smirk returned to his smug features. “Good. I’m glad to see you’ve come to reason, little one.” T’a’yta picks up his head and lets both of his arms rest on the table, one resting on top of the other. “Now, how was your day? I hoped this morning’s weather wasn’t dab on your mood.”

It shocked you a little. You didn’t expect him to know this morning’s weather. From what you know, he lives on his own ship and traverses the universe, loner style. Maybe he had come to check out the city before coming here for dinner.

At the same time, you were thankful for a change of subject. Something to ease you back into a comfortable atmosphere.

“It was good.“ You nodded your head. “I only had to run a couple of errands this morning.” From there, the two of you talked about whatever you could get your minds on. Day-to-day stuff from this last week, even to his latest hunts and the skull he brought back. He showed you the latest scar that said creature had given him. It was small but had nicked an artery. T’a’yta could’ve died.

Thirty minutes passed before three waiters showed up at your table. One had pushed together two other tables to yours and gave amble room for every plate. A few small extra plates were given to you. Then, they were off back towards the kitchen.

Eleven appetizers. There was more than enough for a family of twenty to enjoy. Yet, there was only the two of you.

T’a’yta didn’t move and kept his eyes on you. “Go on and enjoy, little one. Do not be shy.” He returned to his lax position and decided to take in the space finally in your presence. You were thankful not to have his overbearing, all seeing gaze on you.

Everything before you looked so good. You hungered for it all. Yet, again. That same thought. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek while carefully plucking pickings from a few plates. Not even half of the small plate had been filled. That’s when his gaze returned to you. T’a’yta gave you a deadpanned look and positioned himself to sit up.

Deadly, sharp, black claws plucked some sort meat off of an appetizer and offered it to you. He held it directly in front of your mouth. You nearly shrunk away before opening your mouth and taking the meat between your teeth. Once it was gone, he swiped a thumb along your bottom and wiped the cooked chicken juices along the soft skin. It forced you to lick away the excess. “Good, good. How did that taste?” His tone was teasing, nearly taunting you.

You swallowed the piece down after chewing. “Um, it’s-it’s good. I like it,” you answered truthfully and looked at him with timid eyes. The giant hummed then picked up a different appetizer that you hadn’t placed on your plate. Once more, he brushed the piece against your lips and coaxed you into eating it as well.

This continued to happen until every single plate had been tried from. He was satisfied then. T’a’yta used a napkin to wipe his fingers cleaned and made his own plate up. You were slightly dazed and watched him without much of a thought in your head. He grinned.

“How was everything?” His deep voice brought you out of your thoughts. You blinked away the haze and truly looked at him this time.

“Amazing. Their food is always phenomenal!” you explained with a happy alit tone to your voice. A hum tumbled from his chest. T’a’yta takes his own bite.

“I do have to agree. This is very good.” A few more pieces are thrown into his mouth. You were used to the way Yautjas eat with their lack of lips. “Is this place your favorite restaurant to go to?” he questions once the last bite was swallowed.

Your head nodded. “Yeah, when I can visit that is.” Some more of the food on your plate was consumed. Today was pure luck to get the day off from work. Your work rarely likes to give time off. Despite that fact, it was decent pay. All the necessary things were paid for. Which meant you had nothing to complain about.

The Yautja paused and looked at you. “And what’s stopping you?” A sip from what looked to be an expensive drink tilted his head back slightly. Yet, his eyes didn’t find something else. “This place is great.”

That’s a statement you could get behind of. “Well, it is.” Your hands became animated with every word you said. “But, I’m a hard worker. What time I do have, I don’t like to spend it waiting in long lines for a seat here. I didn’t even think you would be able to get a reservation here when you had asked for a place to meet up at.” Those were truthful words. Since the universe had been kind enough to let you find a man such as himself, you had tested your luck. It came evident there was more than meets the eye with T’a’yta.

His mandibles tighten over his inner jaw. “Are you happy you were able to visit the place?”

“Yes, I am. I’m beyond thankful for this opportunity. I didn’t say it before but thank you.” You smiled softly at him and reached across the table to grab his hand. His warmth was a stark difference compared to your own body. He would make to be a perfect heater in the dead of a Montana winter. He squeezed your fingers back in the same gesture.

“There is no thanks needed. I’m glad to have met you and have this opportunity to do this,” he spoke in a low tone,

Before either of you could speak again, the waiter came back. “Are we ready for the main courses?” he questioned and got out his pen and paper again. This time, he didn’t seem as ready to write things done.

“We are.” T’a’yta looked at you again to start off the process. Oh, shit. Right. You let go of his hand to tilt the menu up towards your face.

You cleared your throat and gaze up at the waiter. “I’ll just have the house salad.” Despite his constant reassurance to get whatever you wanted, you still went with the cheapest thing. You couldn’t stop from peeking at T’a’yta. Another deadpanned look was plastered to his alien features. He blinked at you slowly then pointed down to the menu.

“Don’t make me order the entire menu, little one.” You made a small, high pitch squeak at the hidden warning. Clearly, he wasn’t joking around. You huffed and placed the sheet back down on the table.

“Sorry, scratch that. I would like the salmon please.” T’a’yta grunted his approval at the change.

“Hm, for myself…” he trailed off and let his gaze roamed the page. “I’ll go for the steak, the special soup, and some pasta. I’ll let you choose what type. Oh, and bring some Moscato, please.” The waiter scratched everything down on his paper then grabbed the menus from you. Then, he was gone, scampering to the back of the house.

A quiet scoff left your lips. “There was no need for that,” you pouted and crossed your arms. T’a’yta laughed in amusement at the sight before him. His hand reached out to pinch your chin between his thump and pointer finger.

The alien held you there for a breath’s moment. “Yes, there is. I will show you there is no need to shy away from letting me spoil you. I crave to show you that I can take care of you. Such a sweet, little ooman in my grasp.” That’s when you tucked your head to the side, embarrassment flooding your system. He hummed again but let you be.

All of the appetizers were pulled away to make room for the incoming plates of dinner. The same waiter from before dropped off the ordered plates. Your salmon looked delicious sitting in front of you. Steam was wafting off the slab of meat.

“Aren’t you glad you got that instead of a meek salad?” T’a’yta teased you with a smug glint in those bright eyes of his. You bristled at his words and pressed your lips into a tight line. He may be right but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of your agreement. He can’t blame you for being nervous. Who wouldn’t be in your shoes?

Only a shrug was your answer. You dug into the salmon and attempted to savor the wonderful flavor that burst to live over your taste buds. This had to be the best salmon in your entire life. A hum left you while you smiled happily. Yeah, he was right. He knew it as well. Smug little dick. You kept your gaze down casted to the plate in front of you the entire time.

From the edge of your vision, you watched him eat his own three plates of food he ordered. At least he wasn’t shoving any of those down your throat the same way he was with the appetizers. Not that he was in the wrong. You did want an appetizer but felt like you shouldn’t. T’a’yta showed you he didn’t care. Not one bit.

This time around, there wasn’t any trouble. He consumed his three platefuls while you ate your own without his assistance like the first time.

The entire plate was finished off. You sat back a little and sipped at the wine he had shoved your way. Another pointed look in your direction. Again, he’s not afraid to show his cards and what he can do. It wasn’t abusive or wrong or a bad way of forceful. Actually, it was sweet. He wanted you well fed and dined in a romantic, caring manner.

Wined and dined.

Exact words Ze’se had used earlier. How right she was.

T’a’yta had consumed his portion as well and relaxed back into the creaking seat. You were still surprised it was holding up to his massive size. The muscles that lined his body thick from years of training and hunting. His own hand dwarfing a wine cup filled halfway with the red liquid. The same wine you sipped as well. You weren’t a wine drinker by any means but it was delicious nevertheless.

When the waiter came over to clear the plates, T’a’yta handed his card then whispered something to him. The poor man’s widened and flickered down to the Yautja. He rapidly nodded his head and thanked T’a’yta. Then, his sped nearly doubled. Everything was pulled away and left the table with just your glasses.

A short purr poured from T’a’yta’s throat. A mechanism you learned quickly helped calm your racing heart all over again. He smirked when you leaned back into the seat. The Yautja himself rested his elbows on the table. “How was that, little ooman? Did it meet your expectations?” The purring stopped but it already had done its job.

In a slightly dazed mindset, you nodded your head. “Uhuh. Lots. This place is the best,” you reiterated your likeness of the place and took another sip of your wine. You’ve never been pampered like this in your life. This man, this male had treated you better than any man, woman, or person ever. “I’m glad you agreed to this place.”

“I could care less about the meeting place. Money isn’t a problem. What matters is if you had a good time and you’re full.” He leaned in over the table to enter your space. “I won’t tolerate you trying to skimp out of on eating. In my presences, eat what you want until you’re full, alright? I’m more than capable of taking care of you.”

Shit, he really was pulling out the whole wooing thing that male Yautjas do. But he had changed to woo a human instead.

“But-“ you raised your finger to argue with him. The Yautja narrowed his eyes on you, mandibles pulling tight over his mouth. Immediately, you pressed your lips tightly together and looked down at the dark wood of the table.

He grunted then rose to his feet. Right as you were about to follow suit, he walks around and pulls out your seat. A hand is offered to you. You take it and let him guide you to your feet as well. This was another reminder of how large he was compared to you. He easily towered over your human form. You couldn’t help the bite on your lower lip, eyes roaming up and down his figure for only a moment.

“Shall we?” T’a’yta motions towards the door in a grand gesture. You giggled and nodded your head. The argument leaving your system.

The two of you go to the front of the building. The waiter from before was there and finishing up the transaction just in time. He looks a little nervous before handing back the card and receipt. Your curiosity got the better of you. You attempted to peer at the numbers on the receipt but T’a’yta was quicker and smarter than you. The paper and card are tucked away in one of his pockets. You two bid the waiter a goodbye and head out into the slightly chilly air.

T’a’yta gingerly curls his arm around your shoulder and tugged you close to the warmth of his body. You sighed in content at the feeling. He rumbled his amusement, thumb rubbing against your shoulder.

One thing you noticed on the way back. For a city that’s dangerous at night, not one person gave you a second glance. Many didn’t even look either of you in the eye. The dust colored Yautja kept at your pace the entire time. He was glued to your side.

It only happened once but someone had walked a little close to the two of you, nearly shoulder to should with you. A threatening growl erupted from the elder’s throat. Thundering and powerful. A warning to get away from what he possesses. You could moan as the sound traveled down south and sat in the pit of your belly. You had to hear that more.

Your key fits into the door of your apartment. T’a’yta is at your back, guarding you from the dangers that may appear at a moment’s notice. You don’t mind. Actually, you welcome the comfort and protection. It hasn’t been something you felt in a long time. You craved the need as much as water for a dehydrated person at the sight of an oasis.

The door opened with a welcoming squeak and let him see what conditions you lived it. It wasn’t bad. It was an apartment that was well lived in though. A slight mess but that’s what made it home.

“Well, this is it.” You had spun around to tilt your head back to look the male in those bright eyes of his. They were gorgeous to the point you could get lost in them. You timidly played with your hands between the two of you. “I-I appreciate everything today. It was an amazing date. And-and if you… want, we could go on another?” It was you who had taken the responsibility to offer up a second date. “I’ll pay for it next time.” Of course you had to. It was your turn.

A growl left his towering frame. Not a threat like before but an easy warning. T’a’yta stepped into your space which forced you to take one back. This happened two more times before he crowded you against the closet door at the entrance of the apartment. A whimper fell from your softly parted lips.

One hand rested above your head while the other gripped your chin. The touch forced your head back. This close and personal with T’a’yta allowed you to see all the tiny details of his face. A face of an elder who’s fought his battles and won his wars. A life well lived. The Yautja who began to purr, tongue flickering out to taste the air.

“I had a wonderful time myself, little one. But, if you think I’d ever let you pay for a single thing while on a date, you had me wrong from the beginning.” The course pad of his thumb dragged across your lip. Your tongue darted out and lapped once at the sharp talon on the tip. His grip tightened nearly painfully. “Paya, it’s taken every single ounce of will to hold back. You are perfect. The little ooman who I’ve been needing to have.”

“Someone to warm my bed and bare my pups in my olden age. I’m letting you know now of my wants. If you don’t wish to continue, tell me now. I will disengage. But… if you give me every right, all the power. I will make it my duty that you will never have to lift a finger again. And the only time you’ll break a sweat is when I breed you and you give birth. Any other time, you will be pampered like royalty,” he promised to you directly.

Your breath got caught. His words. They were so dark, so beautifully crafted. He wasn’t afraid to state his wants. There was no dancing around the bush. T’a’yta was a Yautja would knew what he wanted in his life.

That want was you. The perfect human to bed with, make his royal partner and treat them as such. He growled and inched closer. “Answer me, little one.”

The lump in your throat was swallowed down. “Yes, I want that too.”

Relief sagged his shoulders. He nearly dropped his weight against you. Instead, he buried his mouth into the crook of your neck and took in the source of your scent. “I’m beyond glad you agree. It would be hard to rid my mind of every little thing I love about you. I will cherish you the way you deserve.” T’a’yta pulled away to find your gaze once more. “But I will do this the ooman way. I have the patience of a seasoned hunt. I can take my time and win you over in the manner you’re most comfortable in.”

If there was anyway to love this male anymore, you would find the way. He was beyond respectful of you and letting you have all the control in the world. This was just your first face-to-face meeting with him. This was how he was acting in the first place? Call it too soon, but you were already in love with him. There wasn’t a single red flag you could find throughout the whole getting to know him process.

For the first time, you reached up and cupped his jaw in your hands. The texture of his scales wasn’t rough or scratchy, yet there was a clear difference between the two of you. A difference that didn’t matter to you.

You may not be the same species, but love will always find a way.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #T'a'yta

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sushiyuzu · 5 months ago

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bodyguard’s duty

bodyguard!sylus x reader

a/n: big thanks to @obahajimarkkeu for tagging me and requesting this fic! not the best but i tried lol. i had a blast writing it, and i hope you all love it. your support really means a lot! <3

- do check out my sylus fic book on wattpad if you haven’t already!

your father was always a man of control. every decision, every move he made was calculated, especially in his political career. as one of the most powerful figures running for office this year, he wasn’t just careful—he was cautious to the point of paranoia. so when the threats started rolling in—anonymous messages, rumors of danger—he did what he always did. he took action.

and that’s how sylus entered your life.

he wasn’t the first bodyguard your father had hired, but he was certainly the most intimidating. tall, broad-shouldered, and deadly silent, sylus was a man who carried an aura of danger around him like a cloak. from the moment he was assigned to you, his presence became impossible to ignore. he followed you everywhere, his eyes always scanning, always searching for any hint of trouble.

it was suffocating at first. you weren’t used to being shadowed so closely. and, more than that, you didn’t want to be. you hated feeling like a prisoner, your every move watched, your freedom stripped away because of something as abstract as “danger”. but no amount of complaining to your father helped. he simply insisted that sylus was the best—someone who would keep you alive when no one else could.

“he’s not just any bodyguard,” your father had told you. “he’s the best the market has to offer. you’ll be safe with him.”

you weren’t sure if you believed that at first. but there was something about sylus—something that made you pause, that made you think there was more to him than just a hired gun. something deeper.

you weren’t sure what to make of him at first. his presence was unsettling—there was something about the way he moved, always so precise, always so quiet, like a predator stalking its prey. he was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, powerful frame. but it was his silver hair and crimson red eyes that stood out the most, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. he was unlike anyone you had ever met, and from the moment he arrived, you knew that things would never be the same.

at first, you tried to keep your distance, telling yourself that he was just another bodyguard, someone hired to follow you around and make sure nothing happened. but it didn’t take long for you to realize that sylus wasn’t like the others. he didn’t just follow orders. he watched you—closely. too closely. every move you made, every word you said, you could feel his eyes on you, studying, calculating.

one evening, after a particularly tense day, you found yourself standing on the balcony of your room, staring out at the city lights below. the cool breeze did little to ease the heat that had been building inside you over the past few weeks. you couldn’t stop thinking about sylus—the way his gaze seemed to burn through you, the way his presence lingered even when he wasn’t around.

you heard the door behind you open, and your heart skipped a beat. you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. his presence was unmistakable, his footsteps silent as he approached.

“you think i’m just some hired muscle, don’t you?” his voice was low, rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

you turned slightly, leaning against the railing, trying to keep your voice steady. “aren’t you?” you asked, half-joking, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest.

he was close now, too close, his tall frame looming over you, his crimson eyes locked on yours. “i’ve been watching you for a long time,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “i know every little thing that makes you tick.”

your heart raced at his words, and despite yourself, you smirked. “sounds like you’re obsessed.”

in an instant, sylus closed the distance between you, his hand gripping the railing beside you, trapping you between him and the edge. his breath was hot against your ear, and when he spoke again, his voice was a dangerous whisper. “maybe i am.”

the closeness of his body, the heat radiating off him—it was overwhelming. your pulse quickened, and every nerve in your body seemed to come alive. you told yourself you should be scared, that you should pull away, but all you could think about was how much you wanted him closer.

his hand brushed lightly against your waist, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. you inhaled sharply, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control.

“you should be careful,” sylus murmured, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “because once i have you, there’s no going back.”

his words were a warning, but they only made you want him more. the tension between you was unbearable, the air thick with desire and danger. you could feel his breath against your skin, his body pressing ever so slightly against yours, and it took everything in you not to pull him closer, to close the gap entirely.

but before you could act on the impulse, something caught his attention. his entire body tensed, and in one swift motion, he pulled you back into the room, shutting the balcony door behind you. his eyes scanned the darkness outside, his crimson gaze sharp, focused.

“stay here,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. but you hated being treated like a delicate flower, hated feeling helpless. you took a step forward, determined to stand your ground, but sylus was faster. before you could even blink, he had you pinned against the wall, his body shielding yours.

“what did i just say?” he growled, his breath hot against your skin, his hand firm around your wrist. “next time, you stay behind me.”

your breath caught at the intensity in his voice, the way his eyes blazed with barely contained anger. and yet, despite the danger, you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you at his protectiveness, at the way his body pressed so close to yours.

“and if i don’t?” you challenged, your voice barely a whisper.

for a moment, sylus said nothing, his gaze locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. then, with a swift, almost violent movement, he gripped your chin, tilting your head up so that you were forced to meet his eyes. “then i’ll remind you who’s in charge of keeping you alive.”

the raw dominance in his voice made your pulse race, your skin tingling under his touch. his grip was firm, possessive, but it wasn’t painful. if anything, it sent a wave of heat through you, making your heart pound even harder.

just as quickly as he had grabbed you, sylus released you, stepping back with a clenched jaw, his eyes still locked on yours. “don’t test me,” he warned, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you stood there, breathless, your body still buzzing with the adrenaline of the moment. you wanted to push him further, to see how far you could go, but something told you this wasn’t the time.

days passed, and the tension between you only grew stronger. every glance, every accidental touch, felt like a spark waiting to ignite. you knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn’t help it. there was something about sylus, something dark and magnetic that drew you in, despite your better judgment.

one night, after another close call, you found yourself alone with him in your room. the danger had passed, but the adrenaline still surged through your veins, leaving you restless. sylus stood near the window, his back to you, his posture tense. the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words and desires.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “i didn’t mean to make things difficult.”

sylus turned to face you, his crimson eyes softening ever so slightly. he let out a low, humorless chuckle. “you think i’d complain? watching over you is the only thing keeping me sane.”

his words sent a thrill through you, and without thinking, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm. his skin was warm, the muscles beneath it tense, and the moment your fingers made contact, you felt the familiar surge of heat between you.

“you’re a constant risk, you know that?” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “you make my job impossible.”

you looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “then why stay?” you asked, your voice challenging, though there was genuine curiosity behind it. why did he stay? with all the danger, the constant threats, why didn’t he just walk away?

“i’m not just a job to you, am i?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sylus’s eyes darkened, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you against him, his lips crashing down on yours with a hunger that left you breathless. the kiss was searing, possessive, and filled with all the tension that had been building between you for weeks. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his body pressed hard against yours.

every inch of you was on fire, your skin burning with the intensity of his touch. his lips moved against yours with a fierceness that made your head spin, and when he finally pulled away, you were left gasping for air, your heart racing.

“because i’d die before i let anything happen to you,” sylus muttered, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

his words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you stared at him, speechless, unable to process the depth of what he had just said. sylus, the man who was supposed to be detached, professional, had just confessed something far more personal, far more intense.

and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about a job for him. this wasn’t just about protecting you because your father paid him to. this was something more. something deeper.

backup acc: @sushibelle

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forhappysake · 5 months ago

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Late-Night Talking

Author's note: This can be read as part 2 of "Never Forget a Face," or it can be read as a stand-alone. 5k words, not proofread xoxo.

Summary: After you get to know Spencer, the team starts believing you may be more than friends. Despite pushing back against their jokes, you and Spencer quickly realize they may not be wrong.

Warnings: fem!reader, spoilers for season 12/13, mentions of typical BAU-level violence, age gap mentioned, one bed trope that i LOVE, no smut just some heavy fluff/making out at the end

“Checkmate,” Spencer said.

You groaned.

The soft glow of an antique lamp illuminated your surroundings. You sat cross-legged on an old leather armchair, resting your head in your hands. Spencer, across from you, looked a little too amused. The pair of you had been at this for roughly two hours.

“I’m not sure why you decided to make that last move. If you want, I can show you some additional strategies and what I would have done in your place,” Spencer rambled. If it were any other man, you likely would have rolled your eyes and told them to shut up. Something about the way he spoke was entirely genuine, and he knew he had your best interest at heart.

“No thanks, Spence. I think I’ve met my match for the day,” you said, rising from your seat. You stretched your arms above your head. “I could go for some coffee, though.”

He smiled as you turned to walk toward his kitchen. In the three weeks since the two of you had spent the evening talking, the two of you had only become closer. This was the third night this week that you had found yourself enjoying his company.

“Do you want a cup?” you called behind the counter.

It was quiet for a second, and you could imagine his eyes narrowing in thought as he weighed his options. “Sure,” he said. “Could you make it with-”

“Lots of sugar and a little bit of coffee,” you finished for him, appearing from behind the island with two cups in hand. “Here.”

Spencer thanked you, taking a small sip before setting the steaming cup on the side table. “Perfect,” he acknowledged.

“Oh really? Maybe I should pursue a career as a barista,” you joked, whirling the mixture around in your mug with a small red stirrer.

Spencer let out a small laugh before he grew quiet for a moment. He looked at you thoughtfully. “Not that I think you wouldn’t be good at it, but I think I - or uh - we prefer to have you on our team.”

As you opened your mouth to respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You set your coffee on the side table next to Spencer’s and pulled it out, unveiling Penelope’s name and face buzzing across your screen.

“It’s Penelope,” you said. Spencer shot you a knowing look.

You raised the phone and answered her video message request. Her face filled the screen.

“Hello, my lovely,” she said to you in her usual bubbly manner. The bright pink bows in her hair and the way they matched what you could see of her dress made you smile.

“Hey, Pen,” you greeted. “What’s up?”

“That’s the less lovely part,” she said, her smiling turning to a frown. “I need you in the office in an hour or less. We have a case.”

You sighed as you shot a glance at Spencer who was staring at you from across the chess table. “Right, I’ll be there. Thanks.”

You were about to hang up when she spoke again. “Oh, wait! Y/N!”

“Yes?” you asked her, a bit confused by her sudden urgency.

“Have you talked to Spencer? You’re the last one on my call list and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him for twenty minutes.”

Rather than respond, you flipped the camera around to unveil Spencer sitting on the edge of the armchair. “Yeah, I think I can get ahold of him for you,” you quipped.

Penelope gasped. “My two favorite BAU babies spending time together? Be still my speckled heart.”

Spencer groaned, looking directly at the camera. “Penelope, we’ve been over this. I’m 36. I’ve been with the team for over a decade. I’ve done time in a maximum security prison. I haven’t been a BAU ‘baby,’” he made air quotes with his hands, “for ten years.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, causing you to giggle and causing Spencer to furrow his brow. “Oh, Dr. Reid, your wit is charming but I fear you’ll always be a BAU baby in my mind.”

Spencer huffed.

“Regardless, it’s nice to see my babies together,” she said, her cheery disposition fading as she began clacking on her keyboard. “Anyway, I’ll see you lovebirds in an hour. Peace!”

You and Spencer had both frozen at her final statement as her face faded from the screen. Lovebirds?

In an attempt to diffuse the awkward silence that had fallen over the room, you cleared your throat. “I have to run home and grab my go-bag.” You rose and made for the door. Spencer remained seated, a perplexed look on his face.

“I’ll see you in an hour?” you half-asked.

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts, finally noticing that you were standing with your hand on his doorknob, ready to leave.

“Y-yeah. Of course. See you there,” he said, offering a small yet sincere small.

You drove home and grabbed your things, Penelope’s statement still ringing in your ears. Lovebirds.

Sure, you enjoyed spending time with Spencer. In the month since you’d met him, you’d gotten to know him quite well. You knew how he took his coffee, what books he was working through at the moment, and how his therapy was going. However, you didn’t think that qualified you as lovebirds.

You shook your head as you pulled into your parking spot at work. You were overthinking it. Penelope called people questionable names all the time. Just last week, the HR department was forced to give a seminar on workplace conduct after some of Penelope’s most famous lines were brought to the attention of the department.

Spencer had leaned over to you during the presentation, nudging you with his elbow. “Last time they gave one of these, Penelope got in trouble for calling our friend ‘dark chocolate thunder,’” he whispered. You had widened your eyes at him and looked appalled as he offered a small, mischievous smile, turning back to the front.

You paused for a moment before entering the building and thought about how that interaction had made you feel. The butterflies in your stomach took flight when he nudged your arm, the tingling sensation running through your veins as he whispered in your ear. Maybe Penelope wasn’t as far off as you thought.

Regardless, you had a job to do. So did Spencer, for that matter. Based on the worried glances your coworkers gave you when you walked into the roundtable room, you could tell it was going to be a doozy.

Emily and Spencer walked in moments later, taking their seats around the table. He offered you a small smile, which you kindly returned before focusing on Penelope’s presentation at the front of the room.

Another serial killer, another flight that was going to take you across the country.

For three days after touchdown in California, the team worked around the clock. On the third day, the team went out in pairs to keep watch over the local parks in town, from which women were being kidnapped and subsequently murdered. Emily had asked you and Spencer to stay behind at the police station in case any new developments came about.

By the time night fell, you weren’t sure when the last time you’d slept or eaten was. You were sitting on a couch in the meeting room assigned to the BAU for your time in California. You’d zoned out at the images of the victim’s bloody bodies before you on the coffee table, your eyes glazed over and bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

When someone placed a hand on your shoulder, you jumped in surprise.

“Just me,” Spencer said, putting one hand up in surrender. He’d walked in through the open door, you hadn’t even noticed his entrance.

You rubbed your eyes. “Sorry. What’s up? Any news?”

Spencer shook his head, sitting down next to you. He cleared his throat. “You could sleep, you know? I can always wake you if something changes.”

You yawned. “I appreciate the offer, but don’t you think that’s unfair? You haven’t slept either.”

He shrugged, glancing sideways at you. “I didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time for three months of my life. This is nothing.”

You looked at him in that moment. Truly looked at him. The small scar on the side of his neck where a few stray curls ended. The stubble on his cheek, getting longer each day you worked this case. Finally, your eyes met his.

“Alright,” you relented. “Just promise you’ll wake me up if something changes.”

Spencer nodded. “I’ll be right here next to the phone. Rest for a little bit.”

Without another word, you sunk further down on the couch and laid your head back, falling into a dreamless sleep.

SPENCER’S POV

I developed this habit of staring at clocks while I was away. Some might think that makes the time pass slower, but on the contrary, I found that the minutes flew by faster if I could zone out at something for long enough.

I found myself practicing this same habit as the night passed. The only thing that pulled me from my daze was Y/N’s body shifting on the couch next to me.

I turned to look at her. She rested her head on the back of the couch. Her hair had fallen haphazardly over one side of her face. The black top she wore was dangerously close to slipping off her shoulder. I leaned forward to strip off my suit jacket and gently lay it over her, the thick fabric wrinkling. As if on cue, she subconsciously pulled the jacked around her figure, burying her face in the material.

I felt my heart warm at the sight and bit back a smile. She was still too innocent for the job. Probably too innocent for this world, frankly. But the pleasure of getting to know her had made Emily’s decision to place her on the team a no-brainer. She was, by all intents and purposes, a ray of sunshine.

“You two look cozy,” Luke spoke from the doorway.

My eyes shot up to face him. I tried to act casual like I wasn’t just oogling over my coworker. “Oh. Yeah, she is.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Jig’s up, Reid,” he started, leaning against the doorway. “You’ve been looking at her like that for weeks. Why don’t you just ask her on a date?”

I cringed. “Why does everyone keep insinuating that we’re somehow romantically involved?”

“Well let’s see,” Luke held up his fingers to count as he spoke. “You guys talk to each other like, all the time.” One. “You didn’t tell her to move when she accidentally sat in your seat at the conference table.” Two. “I know for a fact that she’s been out with you at least three nights a week, hence why she didn’t come out with Garcia and me last weekend.” Three. “You actually laugh when she tells you a joke.” Four. “You keep staring at her-”

“Alright, I get it,” I interrupted, holding up a hand to quiet him. I sighed. “You’ve forgotten some pretty important details in your explanation.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

It was my turn to do the counting. “She’s roughly eight years younger than I am. I haven’t the faintest clue if she’s seeing anyone. She’s only known me for a month and she happens to know about… my history.” Luke glanced up at me, a touch of sympathy in his gaze. “Prison time is not exactly a turn-on to most women,” I admitted.

Luke took a deep breath. “Well, I hope it works out however you want it to, Reid. I can say this for sure, I haven’t seen you this happy in a year.”

I watched him begin to walk away before he turned to look back over his shoulder. “By the way, we caught the guy. Wheels-up in thirty.”

With that utterance, he was gone.

READER’S POV

The next thing you remembered was Spencer gently shaking your shoulder. “Y/N,” he said your name quietly.

You rolled over, groggy as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah, what’s up, Spence?”

“The case is closed. We’re going to get ready to go home.”

Your eyes shot open. “Really? I can’t believe we missed it,” you said, sounding somewhat disappointed.

Spencer shrugged. “I think I would prefer the comfort of this place than being out there.” He pointed out the window where a steady rain had begun falling over the parking lot.

You groaned, peeling the blanket off your body. It was just then that you realized it wasn’t a blanket, but Spencer’s jacket.

“Oh. Uh. Here you go,” you offered it back to him.

Spencer took it from you, immediately beginning to overexplain himself. “Sorry, I just thought you looked kind of cold and your shirt was hanging off your shoulder so I thought it would be better if I-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off. “I was just going to say thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. Let’s just get out of here and back home.” You offered him a warm smile, reassurance that he hadn’t overstepped your boundaries.

You found it quite endearing, actually- him having covered you up. When he smiled back, your stomach did a backflip. God, you were screwed.

The two of you hurriedly packed up the files strewn about the precinct and drove back to the hotel. The flight home was relatively uneventful. You did, however, notice Luke giving you one of his mischievous smiles. Halfway through the flight, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Luke, what is your deal?” you asked quietly not to wake JJ, seated next to you. Spencer, who sat across from the table on the jet’s couch, sneaked a glance up from his book, slyly listening in to the conversation you’d started.

“Did you have a nice nap earlier this evening, Y/N?” Luke asked jokingly.

You rolled your eyes. “As a matter of fact, I did. Why are you asking?”

Luke glanced over at Spencer. “I saw loverboy went out of his way to keep you warm.”

It was your turn to glance at Spencer, whose cheeks were turning pink as his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked back down at his book, acting as though he wasn’t listening.

You leaned forward across the table. “Look, Luke. I’m not sure what delusions Penelope is feeding you, but Spencer and I are just friends. Just like me and you. Just like me and everyone on this team.”

“Uh huh,” Luke said, unconvinced. He popped a piece of candy into his mouth. “When’s the last time you spent three evenings at my apartment?”

“Maybe I would spent three evenings at your apartment if you were intelligent and mature enough to keep up an adult conversation,” you shot back.

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Touched a nerve there, did I?” he joked.

“It isn’t funny, Luke,” you scolded. “And for that matter, I happen to be seeing someone.”

That caught everyone’s attention. You saw Spencer twitch out of the corner of your eye, his brow furrowing has his grip on the book in his hands became firmer. Luke laughed.

“You have been going out with someone?” he asked, somewhat incredulously.

You took offense to his reaction. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. I just hadn’t heard about this before.”

“Well, I don’t exactly go out of my way to talk about my personal life. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you tapped the empty coffee cup in your hands. “I need to replenish my supply.”

You made your way to the back of the jet. Seeing the coffee pot empty, you began the task of brewing more.

“Was that true?” Spencer asked from behind you.

“Jesus,” you said, trying not to jump out of your skin, “You’ve really got to quit sneaking up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” He stood awkwardly in the doorway, blocking your view of the rest of the jet. “But was it true?”

“Which part?” you challenged, watching the dark liquid fill the pot.

“The part about you seeing someone.”

Your cheeks reddened. “No. It wasn’t true. I just wanted to get Luke off my back,” you admitted.

Spencer sighed what almost sounded like a sigh of relief. “Was the rest of it true?” he continued.

“What do you mean?” You looked at him, genuinely confused as to what he was referencing.

Spencer took a step closer to you, and you could feel the heat coming off his body as he looked down at you. He lowered his voice to a near whisper, “The part about us just being friends.”

Oh.

“Well, I- you know we haven’t really ever discussed if we would even… I- I don’t know,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded and the serious expression on his face faded to his normal friendly facade. “Right. I just wanted to check,” he said casually before making his way back to his seat.

You were in shock regarding the conversation that had just occurred and remained that way for the rest of the flight. You found yourself glancing at Spencer often and occasionally, you’d catch him looking at you too.

You put your headphones in, in an attempt to take your mind off of it. The reprieve of the music in your ears was short-lived as JJ nudged your shoulder. “Did you hear Emily?” she asked.

“What? No, what did I miss?” you looked around, confused, before Emily appeared beside you.

“Sorry, I should’ve checked to make sure everyone could hear me,” she apologized. “Change of plans. We’re stopping in Tennessee. I just got a call from an old colleague. They need some help.”

You tried to hide your disappointment. All you wanted to do was get home to go to bed. Not to mention, you needed time to think over this whole Spencer thing. However, it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

Two hours later, you were on the ground in Nashville.

The team stumbled into a hotel lobby. It was 2 a.m. You could tell you all looked terrible, and you weren’t sure you all smelled much better.

“Alright,” Emily said, coming back from the check-in counter. “Here’s the deal. Since I booked last minute, I could only get four rooms. We’re going to have to double up.”

You watched as pairs were quickly formed. JJ and Emily stepped to one side. Tara and Luke to another. Rossi and Matt even joined up. You and Spencer stood awkwardly next to each other.

“Right, well, here are your keys,” she handed you the room keys for yourself and Spencer. You sighed and took off for the elevator, Spencer in tow.

The elevator ride and walk to the room passed without a word. When you stepped into the hotel room, you immediately flopped your bags on the ground and dropped to the floor.

For the first time in two hours, Spencer spoke. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t get up, still lying prone on the floor. “Relaxing.”

“Do you know how many germs are on the floor of a hotel room? If I had to estimate, based on research-”

“Spence, please,” you cut him off, “I’m getting up, I’m getting up.” You rolled over and sat up, looking up at him.

It was also the first real glimpse you’d caught of the room since arriving, and you felt your stomach drop when you grasped one key detail.

There was only one bed.

Oh. Oh.

Spencer followed your eyes to the single bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said sincerely.

You scoffed. “Spencer, that’s ridiculous. You’ve told me time and time again how your back bothers you because of these terrible hotel beds. I can’t imagine what state sleeping on the floor would leave you in. I’ll do it.”

He shook his head. “I would never expect you to do that.”

“I know." you weighed your words carefully. “We can share the bed, you know? It won’t be a big deal. As long as you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Spencer looked between you and the bed for a moment. “Okay,” he said simply, throwing his bag on the ground. “Do you prefer a certain side?”

You hummed, standing up from the floor. “Do I want the slide closer to the AC or the side closer to the window?”

Spencer smiled, raising his eyebrows. “These are some tough decisions.”

You nodded. “I’ll take the window. You can have the vent.”

“How thoughtful,” he quipped.

You bent over and began going through your bag. “You can go ahead and shower first, Spence.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be quick.”

Grabbing his bag, he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. You heard the click of the lock and sighed in a mix of relief and disappointment. He hadn’t brought up your previous conversation. Maybe he hadn’t meant it or maybe he meant it differently than you interpreted.

Pulling your pajamas from your bag, you resigned yourself to sit on the edge of the bed and wait. Minutes later, Spencer reappeared. His hair, slightly damp, hung down over his eyes. He wore a pair of plaid pajama pants and a loose t-shirt that clung nicely to his biceps.

He looked good. Really good.

You were lucky you didn’t start drooling right there. Spencer caught your gaze. “Is there something on my shirt?” he asked seriously.

You shook your head, averting your eyes. “No! I mean - no. Not at all. I’m just tired.” You stood up from the bed and without another word, shut yourself in the bathroom in an attempt to get yourself under control.

SPENCER’S POV

It had been five minutes and seventeen seconds since Y/N went to take a shower. I laid back on the bed, head propped up by some pillows, and thought as the time passed.

It had been five minutes and forty-five seconds of me thinking about how to approach this conversation with her.

I knew after our exchange on the plane that I’d have to come to terms with my feelings eventually. Even if I’d only known her for a month, I couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. I loved her smile, the way she laughed at my jokes, and how she genuinely listened when I talked.

Most of all, I was starting to think I loved her.

When I heard the bathroom door open, I tried to be nonchalant. I reached for my book on the side table and quickly began reading through it, flipping pages as I finished them. I felt a dip in the bed and saw her sit on the edge out of my periphery.

She was slipping her socks on, facing away from me, her damp her hanging loosely in front of her face. I wanted to do nothing more than tuck it behind her ear and kiss her right then and there.

I had to be logical, I told myself. I shook the thoughts away and tried to focus on the book in my hands.

READER’S POV

Spencer didn’t speak to you when you came out from the shower, offering only a glance and a small smile as he skimmed through the book in his hands. After slipping on your socks, you tucked yourself under the covers next to him, turning off the light next to your side of the bed.

It was silent for a moment before you heard his book thud down on the side table. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, flipping the lamp off.

“Night, Spence,” you said back. You rolled to your side so your back was to him, trying to minimize the amount of space you took up in the bed.

The two of you stayed that way for twenty minutes. You breathed slowly, trying not to think about the man in the bed next to you. Just when you thought you may have relaxed enough to drift off to sleep, the lamp next to Spencer’s side of the bed flipped on.

You kept your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep as you felt him shift in the bed. You wondered if he was just restless, struggling to wind down after working so many cases back to back. Seconds later, he spoke.

“I know you’re awake. I think we should talk,” he said quietly.

Your eyes shot open. You rolled over to face him, trying to remain calm. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested. Your eyebrows shot up. You did enjoy a good competition. “I’ll ask you a question, you ask me a question. How does that sound?” Spencer asked.

You searched his eyes for any hint of mischief but found none. Who were you to say no? You sat up in the bed, crisscrossing your legs as you faced him.

“Shoot,” you challenged him.

“Does it bother you when the team suggests we’re romantically involved?”

You hadn’t quite expected that one. You looked around the room, taking a deep breath as you pondered. “Not as much as it probably should. Does it bother you?” you countered.

Spencer shook his head. “Only when I thought it made you uncomfortable. Now that I know it doesn’t, no.” He paused for a second, narrowing his eyes at you as he tried to pick out his next question.

During this lull, you reached for your water bottle on the side table and took a quick drink. “Do you find me attractive?” he asked.

You nearly spit out your water.

You sat up a bit straighter, trying not to let him see just how attractive you thought he was. “Well… that’s quite a direct question. But, yeah. Yeah, I think you’re attractive.”

Spencer nodded, satisfied, though he didn’t look smug. Just content.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” you asked.

Spencer glanced up at you, his hands folding and unfolding in his lap as he tapped the tips of his fingers against his thigh. “Very,” he admitted.

The two of you were quiet once more, not sure what to do with this newfound information.

Spencer cleared his throat and you could hear the doubt and concern seeping into his voice when he spoke again. “Does it bother you that I’m older than you are?”

You figured that was coming. “No. You’ve never made me feel younger or dumber for it. I often forget we aren’t the same age.” You shrugged before continuing. “Does it bother you that I’m younger?”

Spencer thought for a moment. “No, it doesn’t bother me. I was just afraid you’d think I was strange for finding you attractive since you are younger than I am.”

You laughed. “Spencer, I find you strange for many reasons, but our age difference is not one of them.”

Spencer smiled shyly at you. He seemed to appreciate the endearing way you used the word “strange” to describe him.

“Can-” he stuttered for a moment, you could tell he was nervous about his next question. He took a breath, building confidence. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening immediately. He turned a bright shade of crimson, his confidence seemingly wavering. “You can say no, of course. I’m sorry if I made this weird, I just thought-”

“You can kiss me,” you interjected. He looked at you, his crimson blush fading away but his eyes still uncertain. “I’d like for you to, actually,” you reassured.

Spencer sat up straighter on the bed, his earlier expression gone serious as he moved closer to you. He gently placed one hand on your cheek, holding you in place as his lips met yours.

His lips were soft. In fact, everything he was doing was soft. The way he gently cupped your face, the way his other hand had come up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way his mouth moved against yours. His tongue probed your mouth open, a small moan eliciting from him when you allowed him access.

The tenderness disappeared quickly as he kissed you with more urgency. The two of you fell back on the bed like teenagers.

His hands moved from your face to your waist, holding you firmly against him. You tested the waters by moving your hands up his back and into his hair, earning a sigh of approval on his part.

You slipped a hand under the front of his shirt, trailing your fingers across his chest. He pulled away from you, gently grabbing your hand.

“Too far?” you asked in a small panic, quickly withdrawing your hand from under the fabric of his shirt.

“Not at all,” he shook his head sincerely. “I just don’t want to get carried away.”

Spencer sat up, his hand on your waist bringing you up with him. You both leaned back against the bed, your head resting on his chest.

“I want to do everything with you,” he said lowly. You could feel his voice rumble through his chest as he spoke. “I want to do all of this and more. However, I do believe you deserve more than some random hotel with the guy who has only known you for a month.”

“You're not a random guy," you corrected. You were a bit disappointed, but you understood and appreciated his sentiment. It was silent for a moment. "So where do we go from here?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Spencer smiled, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. “I think I should start by asking you on a date. How do you feel about Vietnamese food?”

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. “You know I am very passionate about pho,” you joked.

“Yeah,” he rested his chin on the top of your head, “How about when we get back, we go out on a real date, in a real restaurant that isn’t my apartment, and we make this something real?”

You lifted your head up to meet his gaze at eye level. “I’d love to,” you said with a smile. “On one condition,” you added.

It was his turn to act surprised. “What’s that?”

“That you don’t refrain from kissing me until then. I do enjoy being close to you,” you answered.

Spencer grinned at you. His arm around your waist pulled you in for a soft kiss on the lips. After a moment, he pulled away. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered.

You laid your head back on his chest as he flicked off the side table lamp, the two of you quickly falling asleep wrapped in each others' arms.

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rafescvntyclubgf · 6 months ago

Text

Mine - JJ Maybank One Shot

+18 Minor DNI Fluff & Angst

JJ x KookExGirlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 warnings: language, name calling, child birth and it’s side effects.

📖 JJ’s ex is pregnant and the baby is his 💕

Reader’s POV:

JJ has come by every day since the breakup, never at the same time. His beautiful blue eyes still find a way to catch mine. I iced him out completely, ghosting him only a few weeks after we made it official.

We had been pining after each other for years, rushing into everything when we finally got what we both wanted. We never once thought about playing it safe, fucking raw in the back of his Bronco that night, and every chance we got after that. We couldn’t get enough of each other… Every time we were alone, our hands were on each other, clothes thrown across the room, tangled up in sheets.

“Fuck that,” was the last thing I heard him mumble to John B before he and his friends disappeared for weeks. They talked about hooking up, girlfriends, and how the last thing they want to deal with is a pregnant one after John B. and Sarah had a scare of their own. ‘We’re too young. They’re too expensive. I’m not ready for that shit. Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? There’s no way in hell’.

And here I stand.

Nine months and five days along, hiding it from him because, at this point, I’d instead go at it alone. I didn’t know where he went, and when he came back, something had happened. I could tell something was going on with him and Kiara. The longer I was away, the closer they got. He seemed happier with her. I can do this myself… even though I don’t want that. Not at all.

He still calls me from time to time. Usually late at night when I’m already asleep. JJ doesn’t always leave a message, but when he does, it’s a jumbled mess of drunken words.

I’ve shut out all my friends. The only people that know are my parents and the little old lady next door. They think it’s some random tourists. My parents kicked me out on my ass after I decided to keep the baby. 'You think you’re so grown? You think you can handle this pinching pennies? What kind of life is that?’ They gave me up that day. 'If you want to act like trash, you can live like trash.’

But who’s the actual trash here?

As much as I wanted to return to my simple life, I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t bring myself to get the abortion they were more than willing to pay for. I went from a Kook to a Pogue in a matter of seconds. And, at my twenty-week appointment, when I saw that little boy in my tummy, I knew I made the right choice.

I snagged an office job pretty fast: a beautiful spot, a real-estate agency close to the beach. The clientele is great, Pogues with just enough money to hire someone to sell their little shacks instead of doing it themselves. Work, community college, sleep, rinse, and repeat. I’ve saved enough to buy a crib and some basics… Stopping by the thrift store just off Figure 8 to nab some Kook’s hand-me-downs. I want to give this little boy the life he deserves… I want to prove my parents wrong.

I’m sure they’ll have a change of heart after the baby is born, rushing to plunge that silver spoon straight into his mouth and 'save him from all this.’ But, come to find out, this life saved me. An existence under their thumb is not where I wanted to be. I don’t want to raise a Kook. I want to raise a Pogue. I just wish I knew what I was doing. I really wish I had Jayj.

You look out the large front window, watching as he passes by, surfboard looped under his arm as he steps toward beach access. His eyes drift your way, turning ahead before he disappears again. Shit. You look down at your stomach, watching the baby turn, your round tummy rolling with the baby’s movements.

Like clockwork, you’re hit with a braxton hicks contraction. Your belly squeezes taunt, breathing strained, causing you to draw little breaths, blowing them slow. You look up at the wall, watching the clock strike 5. Yes. Grabbing the armrest, you struggle to stand, pressing yourself up. You waddle toward the door, turning the open sign to close before nabbing your keys.

The warm summer air kisses your skin as you pass through the door; the sunset paints the sky in the west. Fuck. Your stomach contracts again, a contraction so intense you have to grab the brick wall for support, eyes screwing shut as you breathe through it again. “Hey…” Your heart sinks, eyes flashing open as you meet JJ’s wide gaze.

“Hi,” you force the word through tight lips, still clutching the wall.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently. JJ’s stare falls down your body, landing on your bump, your hand cradling the bottom out of sheer practice.

“M'fine,” you whimper as you turn quickly, clipping toward your shitty little car before he can ask anymore, tears brimming in your eyes.

JJ’s POV:

I watch her car slow-roll over the speed bump, steering through the parking lot into her tiny carport. My muscles are tense; emotion pooled in my eyes as I watch her battle to get out of her car. I know she’s pregnant. I didn’t ask. It was the first thing I wanted to blurt out. Even though my dad’s a grade-A asshole, he still taught me that shit ain’t polite. I just didn’t think she would disappear that fast. She grabs the handrail, heading up the steps, pulling open the apartment door before falling out of sight.

Everything was fine until I left… And, when I came back, she was gone. She fuckin’ vanished, dropping me for no one, from what I’ve seen, at least. She’s shut herself in completely, never coming out.

I couldn’t help but check on her every chance I got. Make sure she’s okay. I should have known something was off. Her family’s loaded. There’s no reason that Kook Princess should be hanging out around here. She should be off at some fancy-ass college, living the dream. The second I saw her in that office, red flags should have been waving left and right, but they didn’t.

She didn’t want to talk. I could tell… The look in her eye was enough to let me know to stay the hell away. That, paired with the fact that she never called me back. Most of the time I wasted… I can’t lie. It was probably for the best. But she saw my number and chose to ignore it; decided to leave it unanswered. Somethin’s goin’ on… Maybe she’s gotta new boyfriend. There’s no reason why she’d be here otherwise… Unless there’s more to the story.

Maybe all this is 'cause I told her I loved her. I don’t know, but that’s the last thing I said before I left. And I still feel it. I still love that woman. Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe she was ready, and I left, and she started to second guess everything. I mean, how could she not? I vanished, then she did… Can I really fault her for doing the same exact shit?

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My body jumps, chills running down my spine as headlights flood my rearview mirror. Goddamnit. I’ve gotta make a decision, in or out; am I gonna do this or not? I stomp on the gas, speeding ahead, barreling away as my tears break free.

She was a good girl before she met me. I wasn’t a virgin, but she was. She gave that to me. I don’t think she was sleeping around with anyone else.

That baby’s mine. I know it.

Reader’s POV:

DING.

You drag your body over to the microwave, snagging your TV dinner. The apartment is quiet, just the lull of the evening news playing in the background. Plopping down on the weathered couch, you snag the remote, flicking through the channels aimlessly until you find your comfort show, snuggling in a little more as you swirl your spaghetti on your fork.

Grabbing the remote, you turn it a little louder, trying your best to drown out the thoughts raging in your head. The interaction with Jayj, the horror in his eyes, the way you left, fleeing the scene altogether. I miss him. Every part of him. God, he is so fucking beautiful. Those goddamn eyes, and that perfect face, his voice. I - DRIP. DRIP.

You look between your thighs, a wet spot gathering on your sweatpants, dribbling onto the floor below. You pinch the bridge of your nose, expiring a frustrated breath. As if this day wasn’t mortifying enough, let me add pisses your pants to the list… You close your eyes softly as a tinge of nausea sets in as well.

Maybe if I take a shower, I’ll feel better… You rise to your feet, liquid continuing to trickle its way down your leg.

Shit…

Is this it? It wouldn’t be far-fetched. I’m past my due date. Did my water just break? You feel your bottom lip wobble, muscles stiffening as you face reality that that might be the case.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You look down at your soaked pants. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“One sec, Dot,” you call out for your neighbor.

“Umm… Hey. I-It’s JJ,” you hear his muffled voice behind the closed door. Everything stops; your body, frozen as you watch him through the little kitchen window, just a crack of sight through your curtain. No. You shuffle toward the bathroom, clutching your stomach, a new sensation of emptiness you hadn’t felt before.

“Ow… Ow… Oh my god,” you gasp, holding the bottom of your stomach. “It’s fucking happening… No. Fuck!” You scream, another contraction rocking you. The soft knocking turns into a loud bang. “Let me in, y/n. P-Please. Are you okay? What’s going on? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You grip the doorframe tightly, trying to center yourself, to no avail. The room starts to spin around you, stomach churning, mouth salivating. Am I going to throw up? Why am I gonna throw up? You trip slightly on the rug, falling to your knees, crawling the rest of the way toward the toilet.

“Y/n?” JJ yells as he frantically fiddles with the doorknob, knocking at the glass trying to open that as well.

“Ja-” You go to answer, letting out a cough instead, emptying your stomach into the bowl. Then you hear it: metal on metal as the doorknob twists.

“Y/n?” JJ stutters, his boots bounding toward the bathroom. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” you cry as you see a look of sheer panic in his eyes. “Why are you here?” You whisper.

“I-I… Umm… I don’t know?” He spurts as he moves a little closer. “Do you want me to c-call your parents?”

“No!” You shout. “Don’t. Please. I don’t want them here,” you yell. JJ’s eyes open wider.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, Jayj. Don’t apologize.”

He kneels close, rubbing your back softly. “Did you need me to clean up out there for you? Do you want me to get you a new pair of pants? Or maybe a glass of water? A rag? You want a rag? Yeah?” You throw up in the toilet again, causing JJ to release a sympathetic gag.

“Jayj… you can’t do that,” you groan.

“I’m sorry. M'sorry, y/n,” he sighs, trying to compose himself. “Here.” He grabs a scrunchie off the counter, gathering your hair in a ponytail.

“Thank you.” You grip the toilet tightly, trying your best to calm down, but it’s simply momentary. “Fuck,” you howl, your pain wrapping around your back to your front.

“Y/n, s-shit,” JJ whimpers, dropping his head in his hand. His own personal panic setting in. “Are you - fuck,” JJ tries to speak, but the words aren’t easy. “Are you pregnant?”

“Is that not clear, Jayj,” you cry. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to go to the bathroom, JJ!” You scream, voice bouncing off the walls as you feel pressure building between your thighs.

“O-Okay. Of course. Do you need help standing?”

“Will you get me a bucket first?” JJ nods at you rapidly. You let out a loud cry, whole body pain, indescribable hurt. “Fuck!” You scream.

“Should I call 9-1-1?”

“The bucket, JJ. Please!”

“Okay. Alright. Sorry. S-Sorry!” he panics, running out of the bathroom. You hear him bang around in the kitchen, talking himself into a frenzy.

“Grab anything, JJ! Please!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Jesus Christ. It’s fucking hot in here.” You rip off your shirt, tossing it to the side.

“This! Okay… This will work,” he cheers breathlessly, running back into the bathroom with a pot. You quickly tug your pants down, taking a seat on the toilet. You draw the pot under your chin, breathing deeply.

“Fuck… this feels so much better.” You moan, feeling slight relief in this new position. A new heat rises in your cheeks, humiliation brewing as you feel the weight of JJ’s gaze on you. The last night he saw me, I was in a paisley sundress, his arms around me, lips locked on mine. I felt beautiful. JJ always made me feel that way. He told me he loved me. That girl. Not this one. I can’t believe he’s seeing me this way: tummy round, naked, sweaty, sick, and in pain. All I can do is cry.

JJ walks over, kneeling before you as his beautiful blue eyes search for yours. “Y/n, we gotta get you to the hospital. Okay?” His voice is gentle and calm. JJ tucks some sweaty strands of hair behind your ear as you match his watch. You can see his eyes getting glassy; he’s also completely and utterly overwhelmed, still trying to stay calm for you.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” you mewl.

“Hey, s'okay. You’re gonna be alright. We just gotta go, baby.”

Baby. The guilt hits you next, hard and fast. How would I feel if roles were reserved? How would I feel if this secret was kept from me?

“JJ… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

JJ swallows thickly; the tears pooled in his beautiful blue eyes break free as he looks back at you. “The baby’s mine?” He fights the words past his lips.“This is amazing… I just - I. Fuck. It’s okay, honey. But, why - Why wouldn’t you just tell me, y/n?" He whispers, his voice hoarse and broken with emotion.

"I didn’t want to ruin your life, Jayj. We had just started dating-”

“Ruin my life? Why would this ruin my life?” He cuts you off in disbelief. Your muscles tighten, a sharp pain radiating as you try to remain in the moment with him. You can see his face change with yours, seeing the pain in your eyes. “Let’s go. Let’s get you to the hospital,” he whispers as he rests one hand on your cheek, the other set lightly on your tummy.

“I can’t move, J,” you whimper.

“I can carry you. Okay? The hospital is only five minutes away. I can get you there in three. Fanciest driver in The Cut. You know that. Yeah? We’ll be there in a heartbeat. Everything’ll be fine. We’re okay. Okay?” He sniffles, lifting the neck of his white tee shirt to wipe the emotion out of his eyes. “Let me get you some clothes, sweetheart.” You nod in reply, gripping the counter tightly as you battle through the pain of another contraction.

JJ races back into the bathroom as fast as he came out, handling you carefully as he tugs on your oversized t-shirt and shorts. He guides you to your feet, helping you into your Converse sneakers, tying them tight before lifting you into his arms. You clutch onto him as you ride out another contraction, burying yourself in the crook of his neck. Your tears wet his shirt as he walks with you toward the door, stepping out into the night. “You’re okay, baby. You’re alright," he soothes, kissing you gently on the temple.

JJ tugs open the door of the Bronco, setting you inside before sprinting around the front. JJ flicks the keys, making the engine roar. He throws it in reverse, peeling out of the parking lot before skirting onto the main street, making you clutch the grab rails for support. "Shit. Sorry, princess,” JJ winces as he sees the fright in your eyes. He thrusts his hand into his pocket, thumbing through his cell phone as he dodges through traffic.

You can see the tears still sparkling in his stare; JJ’s jaw coiled tight as he listens to the ringing on the other end of the line. He’s terrified, just like you, his phone trembling in his hand. “Hi. Uhh… Shit. My girlfriend and I are on our way in. She - she’s…”

“In labor,” you whisper, helping him along.

“She’s in labor. We’re about two minutes away. Uh… Umm, let me ask,” he breathes, eyes snapping your way. “How far apart are they? Have you been timing them?”

“Timing what?” You ask sheepishly, watching as JJ’s eyes lighten on yours.

“Your contractions, baby.”

“I don’t know,” you whimper, cheeks hot with shame again, your ignorance on display. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I should know this. Why don’t I know this?“

"S'okay," he whispers. JJ looks down at the dash, eyeing the little clock.

"Fuck, Jayj,” you sob, the pressure of another contraction setting in.

“Shit. Sorry - sorry, I’m here. Umm… Like four minutes tops? Yeah. Mhmm… She’s close,” he whispers, making your heart skip a beat. “Yeah. Yeah - The front. We’ll meet you out there.” You try your best to keep your eyes open, vision blurry as you see the hospital sign glowing like a beacon in the night. JJ stuffs his phone back in his pocket, reaching for your hand instantly, weaving his finger in yours before drawing them up to his lips. He kisses your hand, lingering on your skin, hiding his quivering lips.

“Motherfucker!” You scream, driving your heels into the floor of the SUV; yet another contraction barrelling through your body as you pull up to the curb. JJ grits his teeth as you squeeze his hand tight, surely drawing blood.

JJ’s POV:

“Take a deep breath for me, y/n,” the nurse aids. Y/n’s eyes slam shut, her beautiful face scrunching in discomfort as the nurse checks her further. “Okay… 10 centimeters,” she says calmly. “I see some hair.” Y/n’s eyes remain shut in fear as she nods her head frantically. Her little hand squeezes mine again; the only relief she can get this far along. I can’t believe she almost did this alone - all by herself. What if she couldn’t have made it to the phone?

Why can’t she call her parents? Why is she alone in the first place? Why wouldn’t she just tell me? I feel my thoughts start to race with the beating of my heart. “Y/n,” I whisper. Her gaze matches mine, sending me into a spiral as I see the speckles of red against the whites of her eyes, popped blood vessels, and tears pooled in the corners. Heat rises behind my eyes again as I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re doing so good, y/n.”

“M'not,” she hiccups, hand clutching her little bucket as she waits for her tummy to turn again. “I let you down, Jayj. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared. M'not fucking ready-”

“Y-You’re ready,” I stammer; the stutter in my voice deceives me, but I mean every word. “You didn’t let me down. I went into your room, y/n. I saw the crib, all the clothes you have hung in your closet, the baby book with all the Post-it notes sticking out. You’re ready. 'Course you’re scared…” My voice fades to a hush as she tucks herself in my neck. I’m instantly struck with Deja Vu, thrown back into the night that changed everything. The last night she was mine… I clear my throat, beating my lashes shut.

“The baby’s a boy, Jayj,” she whispers gently.

“Yeah?” I ask happily as I choke back tears, feeling her nod against my shoulder.

“M'sorry, Jayj. I-” Y/n fleeting words turn into a wail, nails digging into my forearm.

“Please don’t apologize, y/n,” I soothe, kissing her head. “You’re so strong, baby girl,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her muscles contract.

“We’re going to need you to start pushing, y/n.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers.

“You can, baby. You can.”

“You know how you feel like you need to go to the bathroom? Push like that. Okay?” Y/n shakes her head no.

“You’ve got to, baby. A'ight? You’re amazing, y/n,” I breathe, moving closer. She presses her forehead against mine, gritting her teeth. “You’re safe. Okay? You’re safe.” Y/n presses her quivering lips against mine, taking my breath away. Those lips… Holy shit. My hand wraps around the back of her neck, drawing her even closer. “I missed you," I whisper shakily.

"I missed you too, JJ,” she echoes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jayj,” she whimpers.

“M'not goin’ anywhere. M'not leavin’ you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she sobs.

“Y/n?” The nurse calls. “What’s your pain level when you have a contraction?”

“10,” she soughs.

“You’re going to have a contraction in a few seconds. We’re going to need you to push hard. When you feel it coming on, take some deep breaths. When you hit 10, push. Okay? JJ, we will need you to count to ten for her. Y/n, we want you to push all 10 seconds.” I can see the shift in her face; her pain, increasing. Her grip on my hand gets tighter. Y/n’s eyes shift to mine, giving me a nod.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”

“F-Fuck!” She screams, her eyes slam shut as her body trembles in pain. “S'not working,” she snivels.

“It’s working. You’re doing a great job. Just a few more pushes,” the doctor assures. “This next one might be it, but you’ll have to push really hard.”

“Did you hear that, baby?” I breathe, my lips resting on her forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

“You’re doing a great job, Y/n,” the nurse whispers. Y/n’s eyes flutter shut, wincing in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t believe a word of it.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6…”

“Ow… Ow… No. It burns,” she wails. The words catch my throat as I push back tears.

“We have him. Keep pushing.”

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”

She lets out a guttural scream; the doctor catches a baby, drawing him out. “Oh my god,” I breathe.

“Oh… H-Holy shit,” she whimpers. “Is the baby okay? Is he breathing?” I hear the baby’s high-pitched cry. A wave of relief crashes over me. Y/n dissolves in my arms as we look out for our little boy.

This was the last thing I expected, the furthest thing from my mind when I woke up this morning. But, now, here I am. Here he is. Here she is, my beautiful fucking girl. We made him… He’s ours.

“I’m so glad you came, Jayj,” she cries.

“Me too, baby. Holy shit.” I grab a towel from the nurse, blotting the tears and sweat from Y/n’s face. “You did so well, y/n. Fuck. You okay, honey?” I mumble before meeting her lips.

“M'okay." God, I can’t stop. I kiss her deeper, making y/n smile against my lips. "I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so damn much,” I sigh.

“You’re going to be such a good dad-”

“You’re going to be such a good mom. The best mom. The baby’s so lucky to have you as a mom,” I babble, kissing her forehead and cupping her dewy cheek. I hold y/n tightly, watching the nurse cradle the baby in her arms. She sets him on the towel, cutting and clamping the umbilical cord.

She walks over, resting the baby on Y/n’s chest, and in that moment, I feel a shift. Everything seems a little clearer: her, him, and they’re both mine. My heart feels like it could fucking burst as I look at him in her arms. He’s so tiny, so small and fragile. I just want to keep him safe.

Y/n’s lips rest on his tiny head, a pink and blue striped bonnet covering a mess of blonde hair, just like mine. “Jayj,” she whispers, extending him to me. I draw the baby close, blinking, my tears gone. He’s so peaceful; his eyes shut tight. I can feel the warmth of his little breaths against my skin.

“Wow,” I sigh, looking up at the ceiling as tears fall. Y/n rests her head on my shoulder. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.

“You look beautiful,” I breathe.

“You’re a liar, JJ Maybank.” Her nose scrunches, eyes rolling away. Fuck. I missed her.

“I’m not. I promise.”

“You’re never going to want to have sex with me again,” she chuckles through a sigh, hands resting on her once-rounded tummy.

“You jokin’?” I scoff. “Been dreamin’ about that for the last, what, nine months now? S'the first thing we’re gonna do when we get outta here.” Y/n chuckles as she raises an eyebrow, making me double back.

“6 weeks, Jayj,” she whispers as her flushed cheeks blush even more.

“No…” I gasps. “You sure? I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doin’, princess. Gonna need to fact-check that shit.” I give her a taunting look, making her roll her. “M'just kiddin’, sweetness.” Taking out my phone, I flick to the calendar, checking the dates. “The 24th, baby girl.” Y/n lets out a sleepy little laugh, tucking herself in my arms again.

“Babysitter?”

“Mhmm… Whoever you want,” I soothe.

“Sarah and Pope.”

“Ah, Cameron and Heyward. Couldn’t agree more, baby.” She snuggles in a little closer, her eyes on the little bassinet, watching the baby sleep. “So…” I sigh as I take a deep breath.

“You wanna know why I’m officially a Pogue, Jayj?” She asks weakly.

“Yeah… I’ve got a few questions, princess. That’s a good start,” I mumble, resting my lips against her temple. She takes a deep breath, expelling a laborious sigh.

“Umm… Well, my parents didn’t want me to have the baby-”

“Stop,” you whisper, shaking your head 'no.’ “I think I know where you’re goin’ with this, and I can’t hear it. Alright? I don’t want you to say it either. Please.” Y/n bites her cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry - m'so, so sorry.” I cup her cheek, kissing her lips. “You got me… You got all my friends - you’re friends. This baby will be so loved, y/n. I swear.”

“Okay, Jayj.”

“Thank you for not doin’ that, baby. I just - I can’t even imagine that now,” I breathe, feeling my throat tighten as I watch his little chest rise and fall.

“It was never an option, Jayj,” she whispers.

“Why didn’t you tell me, y/n? Why did you think it would ruin my life? Why did you break up with me-”

“JJ,” she breathes as she rests her hand on my chest, grounding me again. “That was a huge fucking mistake. I’m so sorry. We had just started dating, and then you left. And, right before you left-”

“I was talking to John B about what a nightmare this shit would be…” I cut her short, dropping my head, nodding as I put the pieces together.

“When you came back, Jayj, I didn’t know what to do. And, I saw you with Kie, and you looked like the two of you had somethin’ goin’ on. Between that and my parents, I felt it would be easier for everyone if I went at it alone.”

“Kie is just a friend. Alright? She always has been. And life isn’t easy, y/n,” I whisper. “You know that just as well as me. Doesn’t mean that the hard isn’t worth going through. I swear I will be here for you both if you’ll let me.”

“Really?” Y/n asks shakily.

“Please, y/n.”

“I need you, J. I want you in my life,” she whispers, an unease in her tone like you may say anything but the apparent 'yes.’

“I need you too, princess.”

“I wasn’t lying to you, Jayj. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she warns. “I have read books, sure, but if today showed me anything, it let me know I’m not fucking ready.”

“S'not true, honey. I’ve seen you with him already, and you’re a natural. We’ll figure this whole parenting thing out together,” I smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jayj.”

The lights are low; the sky is dark, only the glow of the television casting light in the room. Drawing back the blankets, I climb inside, pulling her back into my chest. I focus on the sound of her breathing, the way she fits in my arms, just like I remembered, just like I dreamt about. Her soft, supple skin and the sweetness of her perfume surrounds me.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she calls. A hospital worker walks in with a bouquet. Y/n smiles brightly, setting them down on the counter. Reaching over, I snag the card from the top and pass it to her; a little smile stretches on her lips from the sweet gesture alone. “To our newest little Pogue. Welcome to the family, baby boy. Love, Aunt Sarah, Uncle John B, Aunt Kiara, and Uncle Pope.”

Y/n reaches up, brushing the tears from her eyes as I do the same. “Your friends are pretty special, Jayj,” she whispers.

“Our friends, baby,” I smile. “They’re gonna be so happy to have you around again.”

She smiles and nods before tucking the little note back into the bouquet. Tonight was horrifying… a stark contrast to this moment. The woman I love is no longer in tears, no longer in agony, no longer scared. She’s my light… My safe place.

“What were you gonna name him, y/n? I’m sure you already have something in mind.”

“Jaxon James.”

“JJ?” I hum happily as I pull her in tight. Her sparkling eyes match mine, a blissful smile setting in her perfect lips.

“He looks just like you, Jayj; your nose, your hair, your eyes,” she sighs dreamily. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s so damn cute. Oh my god,” I whisper; catching a glimpse of his round cheeks and pouty lips.

“Can he have your last name, Jayj?”

“Oh wow,” I breathe, her question alone conjuring up yet another round of tears. I flutter my lashes, doing my best to keep it together. “Of course, baby. Thank you. That means a lot to me… You mean a lot to me,” I whisper.

“You two mean everything to me, Jayj.”

I hold her cheek in my hand, brushing her buttery-soft skin with my rough thumb. “We’ll start with him, then you, of course. When the time’s right.”

“Yeah, Jayj?” She whimpers through tears.

“I never stopped lovin’ you, y/n. Of course, I wanna be with you forever. Let’s start with the first step. Huh? Will you be my girlfriend, y/n?”

She grabs my face, lips crashing into mine as her body language alone screams 'yes’. My hands fall down her body; the familiarity of her in my arms feels just like home.

“Of course, Jayj.”

“6 weeks. Huh?” I tease, peppering kisses on her beautiful face through a gravelly laugh as she giggles and smiles.

“I love you, JJ.”

“I love you too, baby.”

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

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