#Into the unknown: Case files | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shelovesosa · 1 month ago

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PATIENT 001. SUGURU GETO

patient!Suguru x f!officer!Reader

Contains : MDNI, Dark (?), personality disorder, SMUT, explicit sex, obsessive, possession, Fingering, oral ( f receiving), p in v, dirty Talk, Making out, mental institution.

cw:13.5k

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every so often like they were struggling to stay alive. You hated that sound—it reminded you of hospitals, of cold spaces where people were forgotten. This job wasn’t supposed to feel like that. But after five months at Ishimura Psychiatric Facility, you were starting to forget why you’d come in the first place.

You moved down the corridor, past rows of numbered doors with observation windows sealed shut. Some rooms were quiet. Others were not. Screams had become background noise. Whispers, too. The night shift had always been your assignment, but lately, it felt like something was watching from the corners of every hallway. Something unseen. Not ghostly—but human. Raw. Unstable.

Tonight was different.

A file had been handed to you at shift change, its tab labeled in thick black ink: GETO, SUGURU – WARD 12B. You’d never heard the name before. Unusual, given how closely the staff gossiped about patients—especially the difficult ones. But when you asked, they avoided eye contact. One nurse simply said, “He’s new. You’ll see.”

You didn’t like the way she said it.

Ward 12B was restricted to high-risk patients—those with unpredictable episodes, violent histories, or, in rare cases, special classifications. Suguru was marked as the latter. “Split personality,” the notes said. “Unknown trauma. One compliant. One... less so.”

You stood in front of his door now, clipboard pressed against your chest.

Through the tiny glass square, you saw him. Black hair hung loose around his face, long and unkempt. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the wall. His hands rested on his knees, fingers twitching slightly as if playing a piano only he could hear. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You knocked once. Firm, but not threatening.

His head turned.

You expected aggression. Or maybe emptiness. But his dark eyes met yours with a calm stillness, like deep water—quiet but capable of drowning you.

You opened the door slowly, stepping in with practiced caution. “Suguru Geto?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze shifted to the floor.

“I’m Officer Y/N. I’ll be assigned to monitor your behavior this week.” You kept your voice neutral. Not too soft. Not too firm.

Still nothing.

You checked the file again. 'Subject One: Reclusive, nonverbal, avoidant tendencies. Often presents first.' You wondered what that meant exactly. “Are you comfortable?” you asked.

He blinked once. Slowly.

You moved a little closer, cautious but curious. There was something magnetic about his presence—even without words. He had an elegance to the way he sat, an eerie calm that didn’t match the harsh lines of the institution.

And then, without warning, his lips moved.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

The voice was soft. Like a violin string drawn slow and low. You blinked, heart tapping against your ribs.

“Why not?” you asked.

He tilted his head to the side, expression unreadable. “Because he likes girls like you.”

Before you could ask what that meant, his body jerked. It wasn’t violent. More like a ripple passed through him. His posture shifted, relaxed. Then a slow smirk spread across his face.

And the second he looked at you again, you knew he wasn’t the same.

“Well, well,” the new voice said—deeper, smoother, cocky. “Finally. Someone worth looking at.”

You took a step back.

“Suguru?” you asked, more to ground yourself than him.

He grinned, pushing himself off the floor with too much ease. “Depends on who you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

His whole demeanor had changed. Gone was the quiet boy facing the wall. This one walked toward you with a swagger, a spark in his eye that dared you to stop him.

You should’ve pressed the emergency button on the wall. You should’ve called in backup. But something about the shift—something about him—made your breath catch instead.

“I’ve been bored out of my mind in here,” he said, circling you like a predator. “But you… you're interesting. Pretty. I like your eyes. Bet you’re fun when you’re off duty.”

He was close now. Too close.

And then just like that, he turned away, laughing as he threw himself back on the bed like none of it mattered.

“Tell the doc I’m fine,” he said. “Better, even. Now that you’re here.”

You watched him, unsettled. The way his energy flipped. The way your pulse raced.

Suguru Geto wasn’t a patient. He was a storm. And you were standing in the eye of it.

You requested the night shift yourself.

It wasn’t protocol for an officer to stay stationed outside a single patient’s room—but after what happened during your first encounter with Suguru, the supervisor made an exception. “Observe and document,” he said. “Only intervene if necessary. And don’t speak unless spoken to.”

You wondered how long that rule would last.

Ward 12B was quieter tonight. Most patients had been sedated after dinner. The hallway lights dimmed automatically after ten, casting everything in soft hues of green and blue, like the inside of an aquarium. You sat just outside his room, back against the wall, journal in hand. The door was closed but unlocked, observation glass at eye level.

Inside, Suguru was pacing.

Not the arrogant one. Not him.

This was the quiet version again.

His steps were small, calculated. He walked the room like it was a cage, tracing the same path over and over, fingers brushing along the wall as if feeling for something invisible. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were watching—but you felt like he did.

You wrote it down.

10:24 p.m. – Subject pacing. Silent. Facial expression neutral. Possible distress?

He suddenly stopped.

You froze mid-sentence.

Then he turned—slowly—and stared straight through the window. His eyes met yours with the same unreadable intensity as before, and even through the glass, it felt like his silence could crawl into your skin and rearrange something inside of you.

Your hand tightened around the pen.

He moved to the door.

Then he knocked.

Once. Twice. Three soft taps.

Your heart stuttered. You stood, hesitated, then cracked the door open half an inch.

“Yes?” you asked.

His voice was different now. Not the flirt. Not the mocking tone. Just a whisper.

“Can I ask you something?”

You stepped in cautiously. He was barefoot, standing near the wall where he’d been tracing his fingers. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he didn’t want to take up space.

“You can ask,” you said, “but I might not answer.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Do you… remember dreams?”

You frowned. “Sometimes.”

He looked away. “I think I had one. But it didn’t feel like mine.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak in his own rhythm.

“There was a garden. A white dog. It had something in its mouth… something bleeding.”

The room felt colder suddenly.

You stepped closer. “Was anyone else in the dream?”

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but then—something changed.

His body stiffened.

And then he blinked, and when his eyes opened again—

There he was.

The flirt. The player. The storm.

“Oh come on,” he said, a smirk curling on his lips. “You really bought into that tortured poetry thing? The whole bleeding dog in a dream act?”

You stepped back immediately.

“Did you fake that?” you asked, voice sharper now.

“Does it matter?” he said, tilting his head. “You came in. You’re here. That’s all I need.”

He stepped toward you, slow and unhurried. A hunter with time to kill.

“I get it, though,” he said, eyes raking over you like you were something to be unwrapped. “You like the broken ones. The quiet boys with sad eyes. But what about me, huh?”

He was in front of you now, so close you could smell the faint traces of lavender soap they made all patients use. “What if I’m the real one? What if I’m the part you should be scared of?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And then—

“Step back,” you said, voice firm. “Now.”

His expression flickered. Not with fear. Not even surprise. With interest.

Then he smiled.

“Mm. There she is,” he purred. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

He backed away without a fight, hands raised in mock surrender. But even as he retreated, his eyes never left yours.

“I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart,” he said as he dropped back onto the bed. “One of us will.”

You closed the door. Locked it behind you this time.

You leaned against the wall, pulse hammering in your ears. And though you were alone in the corridor, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still staring.

And somewhere deep inside your chest, a quiet question stirred— Which one of them was real?

The alarms went off at exactly 3:03 a.m.

Your pen dropped. A red strobe light blinked above the hallway. Loudspeakers echoed down the tiled corridor: “Code White. Patient absence detected. Sector 12B. All units respond.”

Suguru’s room.

You were already running.

The hallway bent like a crooked spine under the flickering lights, your boots striking hard against the ground. It wasn’t possible. You had locked the door yourself. You had checked it twice.

But when you reached Room 12B, the truth was staring you in the face.

The door was wide open.

Inside, the bed was empty. Sheets undisturbed. No signs of a struggle. The camera in the corner blinked a dead red light—offline.

One of the nurses skidded into the room behind you, pale-faced. “Security’s sweeping the floor,” she said breathlessly. “They think he triggered the breaker for this wing. Half the feeds are down.”

You swallowed hard. “No. He didn’t trigger anything. He planned this.”

Suguru Geto was not just another patient.

There was no time to wait.

You grabbed your flashlight, clipped your keycard to your collar, and moved quickly toward the East annex. It was a dead-end hall, closed off since the renovations last winter. Most staff didn’t go near it anymore. Too cold. Too dark. Too... off.

But something tugged at your gut. A whisper in your spine.

You found the door half open.

Inside, the lights were out. The smell of mold and dust hit you immediately. Paint peeled from the walls in long gray ribbons. Every instinct screamed to call for backup, but something kept your hand away from the radio.

Something about him.

You stepped inside.

“Suguru,” you called softly, sweeping your flashlight across the old rec room.

Silence.

Then a shadow flickered past the beam.

You turned quickly. “Suguru!”

A breath. A shuffle.

Then you saw him—sitting cross-legged on the floor behind an overturned table, like a child hiding from the world. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and for a moment… he looked small.

It was him again.

The quiet one.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he said softly.

You didn’t move. “Why did you leave your room?”

His eyes barely met yours. “He said he wanted to find her.”

“Her?”

He nodded. “The girl from the dream. With the bleeding dress. He said she’s here.”

You crouched slowly, careful not to get too close. “Suguru, there’s no girl. Just staff. You’re safe here.”

His fingers curled around the edge of the table. “He said she was hiding in someone. Wearing their face. And if we didn’t find her—she’d find us first.”

Goosebumps bloomed up your arms.

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and asked, “Is it you?”

You opened your mouth, but something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Before you could speak, he flinched. His hands gripped his temples. A pained groan escaped his throat.

“No, no, not now—stop—don’t—”

He lurched forward, body seizing briefly, then—

Gone again.

When he looked up this time, the smirk was back.

“Well damn,” he said, stretching his neck like a wolf waking up. “I leave for five minutes and you chase me down? I knew you’d miss me, sweetheart.”

You stood slowly.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, voice lower. “Disappearing. Playing games.”

“Who said it’s a game?” he murmured, standing up. “Maybe I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

He stepped closer. Closer than he had any right to.

“From him,” he whispered.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Aren’t you him?”

He smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The next morning, the order came down from the director himself: "Subject 12B will now be under direct observation for a 48-hour period. One-on-one assignment. No exceptions."

You didn’t argue.

No one else wanted the job anyway.

You sat outside his door again, only this time it was propped open. Two cameras were reinstated, one inside, one outside. Security was on edge, murmuring about how he could've slipped out unnoticed. But they didn’t understand.

He hadn’t slipped.

He’d chosen to disappear. And that was worse.

Suguru lay on his bed now, arms folded behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other like he didn’t have a care in the world. The flirt was awake.

“You know,” he called lazily, “I liked last night. You, chasing me through the dark. You looked hot holding that flashlight.”

You didn’t answer.

He grinned at your silence. “Still mad?”

“I’m not here to entertain you.”

“Ouch,” he said, mock wounded. “And here I thought we were finally bonding.”

You flipped a page on your clipboard, noting his behavior. “Why did you run last night, Suguru?”

He rolled his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “You’re not talking to the right me for that answer.”

“I think I am,” you replied quietly.

That stopped him.

He sat up slowly, gaze sharpening. “Interesting. You think I’m lying?”

“I think you know more than you pretend.”

He laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “That’s rich. You’re stuck with me for two days, and now you think you’ve got it all figured out?”

“I don’t,” you said. “But I’m not scared of you.”

He stood, and just like that, the air in the room changed.

Not violently.

But deliberately.

He walked toward you—not quickly, but with purpose, like every step had meaning. You held your ground.

He leaned in, so close his breath hit your cheek. “Maybe you should be.”

And then—like flipping a switch—he stopped. His shoulders dropped. His mouth opened slightly, as if startled by the distance between you. His hand reached out and hovered near your arm, not touching. Just trembling.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the soft voice said. The quiet one. “I didn’t want it to go this far.”

You froze.

“You’re back,” you whispered.

He looked down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. “Sometimes I wake up and he’s already done things. Things I don’t remember.”

Your voice softened. “Can you feel him before he comes?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s like… a shadow under my skin.”

You didn’t speak for a moment.

Then: “Do you want help?”

He blinked, then looked at you, truly looked. “Would you help someone like me?”

Your chest tightened. “I think you’re already helping yourself. You just don’t know how to finish.”

A pause.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed again, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly. “He likes you. I can feel it.”

“I know,” you said.

“But I think… I think I do too.”

You didn’t write that part down.

You stayed later than your shift required. Not because you were ordered to, not because anyone asked—but because something in Suguru’s eyes when he said “I think I do too” kept echoing in your chest. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it wasn’t nothing, either.

The night nurses noticed your silence. The way your fingers hovered over the call button just a second too long before retracting. One of them offered to take your place for the watch. You said no.

You weren’t ready to let anyone else in the room with him yet.

It was nearly midnight when you returned to his door.

Suguru was awake, curled in the corner of his room like a boy who had never learned to sleep properly. He was drawing something with the stub of a pencil—images of hands and mouths, abstract and jumbled, like memories he didn’t understand. You stepped inside without speaking.

He didn’t look up. “I knew you’d come back.”

“I told you I would.”

He set the pencil down, slow and deliberate. “Not everyone keeps their word around here.”

You sat in the chair by the wall. “I’m not everyone.”

He nodded once. “No. You’re not.”

There was a long stretch of silence between you, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt like shared breath. Like dusk pressed between two people who had nowhere else to be.

Then he spoke again.

“Sometimes, he dreams,” he said, voice low. “And I see the pieces when I wake up. He’s not just a monster, you know.”

You blinked. “He?”

“Him. The other me.” Suguru glanced up, hesitant. “He remembers warmth. A woman’s hands. A name he never says. I think… I think something happened to him. To us. Before all of this.”

Your throat felt tight. “Did you ever try asking him?”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “When he comes forward, I disappear. And when I come back, he’s already ruined something.”

You stared at him for a long time.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt you,” you said carefully. “I think he wants you to be seen.”

Suguru’s lips parted. He didn’t respond. Not with words.

But then, in the stillness of the room, he asked the smallest question yet:

“Can you stay?”

It broke something soft and trembling inside you.

You nodded. “For a while.”

He closed his eyes. For once, he didn’t twitch. He didn’t curl away from your presence. He just breathed, and for a moment, it felt like a ceasefire inside his chest.

You didn’t know how long you sat there. Time passed differently in the presence of someone fragile—slow, sacred. It wasn’t until you shifted in your seat that the air changed.

He stirred. But it wasn’t him anymore.

Not the quiet one.

The eyes opened sharper this time. Darker.

“Well,” the flirt drawled, lips curling, “you two getting cozy now?”

Your shoulders tensed. “Don’t ruin this.”

His head tilted. “Ruin what?”

“Whatever that was. The way he trusts me.”

He leaned forward. “Don’t get confused, sweetheart. You think he trusts you? That shy little part? He’s just a boy clutching at whatever light’s nearby. But me?” His grin widened. “I choose to want you.”

You stood. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s better.”

You walked to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, without looking back.

“You always do,” he called after you.

But his voice followed you out like perfume—sweet, thick, and dangerous. And for the first time since starting this job, you questioned if staying close to Suguru was saving him…

…or ruining you.

You arrived earlier than scheduled. You told yourself it was to check paperwork, review the footage, confirm medication dosages. But none of that explained why you brought coffee for two—one black, one with cream, the way he liked it when he was the one sitting in control.

Suguru was sitting on the windowsill when you entered.

The flirt was gone. You could tell before a word passed between you.

This was the quiet one—shoulders hunched, knees tucked to his chest, gazing through the reinforced glass like he was searching for someone outside. You gently set the coffee down beside his bed, but didn’t call his name.

You waited.

After a long silence, he spoke.

“I remembered something.”

Your heart skipped.

You crossed the room, crouched down beside him, your voice low. “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t a garden. Not really. The one in the dream.” His eyes stayed fixed on the window. “It was a backyard. Fenced in. Grass too tall. And there was a dog… It didn’t have anything in its mouth. It was just barking. Loud. Over and over.”

You said nothing, letting him unravel it on his own.

“I think… I was hiding. Under a porch or something. Small space. Dirt and wood. I remember the smell.”

His hands curled around the windowsill, knuckles pale.

“There were footsteps. Someone yelling. Not at me—at someone else. A man.”

You asked gently, “Do you remember the words?”

He hesitated. Then:

“You’ll ruin him.”

A chill crept up your spine.

Suguru’s voice broke on the next sentence. “I think that’s when it started. The split. The silence. One of us disappeared to survive, and the other one stayed to fight.”

You reached out slowly, hand brushing his sleeve. “You didn’t ruin anything. You survived.”

He turned to look at you then—and there was something raw in his eyes. Something real.

“I don’t know who I am without him.”

“You’re still Suguru,” you said. “Both sides are. You don’t need to choose between them. You need to understand them.”

You didn’t realize how close you were until his forehead touched yours, just barely, a soft press like a truce. You didn’t pull away.

But the second it became still—too still—you knew.

He was back.

The flirt’s voice brushed your ear like smoke.

“You’re making this harder for him, you know.”

You froze, breath caught.

“You think he needs your comfort? He doesn’t. He needs me. I’m the reason we’re still alive. I’m the one who fought.”

You pulled back, angry now. “You’re also the one who scares him.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I scare you, too. Don’t lie.”

You stood, jaw tight. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” His grin twisted. “Then why do you flinch when I smile?”

You didn’t answer. You walked to the door.

But before you left, his voice softened just enough to stop you.

“You can’t save him from me,” he said, quiet now. Honest. “You’re already choosing. And I don’t like to be second.”

You didn’t turn around. You just left the room.

But your hands trembled the whole way down the hall.

It started with a locked drawer. You weren’t snooping. You were looking for a form—routine, harmless. But when you found the drawer in Dr. Kaede’s office slightly ajar and a corner of Suguru’s file sticking out, something in your gut twisted.

You told yourself it was protocol. You told yourself you had clearance.

The folder was thicker than any other patient’s. Thick with redacted pages, notes scratched out violently, timestamps missing from observation logs.

And there, tucked between transfer papers and medication schedules, was a name.

Naoe Geto — listed under guardian/contact, then struck through.

No parent information. No emergency contact. No birthday. No photo on file.

But the handwriting on the back of one note caught your eye.

Split began after second incident. Patient exhibited knowledge of injuries sustained while in fugue state. Second personality claims responsibility. Violent protector instinct triggered. Suppress with sedatives until further review.

The date? Four years ago. At his last facility.

And scribbled at the bottom, almost too small to read:

He remembers more than he says.

You returned the file carefully, heart thundering in your ears.

That night, you didn’t sit outside his door. You stepped in and stayed.

Suguru was humming to himself, pacing. The flirt again—smirking, restless, aware of his own gravity. He looked over his shoulder when you entered, all arrogance and gleam.

“Back for another late-night confession?” he asked. “Or are you finally giving in?”

You locked the door behind you.

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

“I found your file.”

His smile slipped.

“I know about the second incident. About how he blacked out, and you took over. You protected him.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

You walked toward him, slowly. “You’ve always been trying to protect him, haven’t you? That’s why you act like this. You’re not just angry. You’re afraid.”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you stopped him from seeing something he couldn’t handle. I know you keep people away because if someone gets close enough to hurt him again, he won’t come back.”

His breath hitched.

You stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his skin.

“I know you’re not a monster, Suguru. Not this version. Not the other.”

He blinked. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because I see you. Not just the quiet one. You.”

The silence between you was sharp, trembling.

Then, so softly it nearly broke you: “No one’s ever said that to me.”

Your hand reached out—just a little. Not touching him. Just there. A choice.

And he made one too. He stepped forward. Not to tease. Not to flirt. But to press his forehead to yours, breathing hard, shaking slightly. No armor. No sarcasm.

Just him.

“If you keep this up,” he whispered, voice raw, “I don’t think I’ll want to give him back.”

Your heart cracked.

“I’m not asking you to.”

The letter arrived on your desk the next morning.

To Officer Y/N L/N: Your recent assignment to Patient 12B is being re-evaluated. There is concern of emotional enmeshment and compromised objectivity. Effective immediately, you are to cease direct overnight monitoring. —Dr. Kaede, Chief Psychiatrist

You read it twice, then folded it once and tucked it into your coat.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a warning.

You sat with it through the day—through stale coffee, through clipped conversations with other staff who now watched you a little too closely. The institution could always tell when someone got too close. It had rules for this.

“Keep your distance.”

“Don’t talk like they’re people.”

“Don’t get attached.”

But they didn’t know Suguru like you did.

They didn’t see what you saw.

That night, you returned anyway.

The nurse at the front desk barely looked up as you passed. You weren’t scheduled. You didn’t care.

You entered his room quietly. The lights were dimmed. Suguru sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers interlaced like he’d been waiting hours without moving.

He didn’t look up when you spoke.

“They’re trying to pull me off your case.”

A beat.

Then: “Figures.”

It was the flirt. He looked up slowly, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it was worn down now—frayed around the edges. Less armor, more exposed wire.

“You told me to stay away once,” you said. “But neither of you meant it.”

“No,” he said softly. “We didn’t.”

You sat across from him, closer this time. He didn’t pull back.

“They think I’ve compromised the boundary,” you said.

He leaned forward, eyes shadowed. “You did.”

Your breath caught.

“You’re not supposed to care about me,” he murmured. “Not either of me.”

You held his gaze. “But I do.”

He exhaled, like something inside him unclenched. “Then you’re more dangerous than I thought.”

You reached for his hand—not the quiet one’s, not the flirt’s. Just Suguru’s.

He let you.

And for a moment, he was silent. Utterly still.

Then he said, “He’s scared, you know. The other me. Scared if you keep coming back, I’ll disappear.”

You squeezed his hand. “And what about you?”

He met your eyes.

“I’m scared you’ll stop.”

The next morning, they moved him. Not far. Just a different wing. A different door. A new guard on his file. But they didn’t tell you. You found out when you showed up for the night shift and his room was empty. And on the whiteboard where his name used to be, someone had written in red:

RESTRICTED. DO NOT APPROACH.

You weren’t supposed to be in Wing D.

It required clearance you didn’t have anymore, a keycard that had been quietly deactivated the morning they moved him. But you were still wearing the uniform. You still walked like you belonged.

That was enough to bluff the new intern at the checkpoint.

You found his room near the end of the corridor—glass window, reinforced lock, nothing personal inside. Cold and clean, like he’d never been there at all.

He was sitting on the cot, knees drawn up, eyes glassy and still.

It was the quiet one.

But something was off.

You stood there for a moment, waiting. Expecting his gaze to shift, to lift at the sound of your voice. Waiting for recognition. The tiny flicker that always bloomed in his face when you entered.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping inside. “They didn’t tell me they were moving you.”

No response.

He didn’t even look up.

You tried again. “I brought you something. It’s just a drawing pencil. They wouldn’t let me bring the coffee.”

Nothing.

“Suguru?”

His head turned slowly, mechanically. He blinked once. Then again.

And then he asked—

“Who are you?”

You stopped breathing.

You moved closer, carefully. “It’s me. Officer L/N. I’ve been with you since the beginning. You—” your voice faltered, “you remember me.”

His expression didn’t shift. “I don’t.”

A pause. His hands trembled.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You crouched down in front of him, heart hammering. “No, no. You’re just confused. This is part of it. Sometimes memories slip when one of you retreats. You just need time.”

He flinched at that word. One of you.

“Are there others?” he asked, voice fragile.

Your stomach sank.

He didn’t even know.

Someone had done this. Pushed him down so deep the fractures closed over. Someone had sedated him—or worse. He looked like a painting that had been scrubbed clean.

Empty.

You reached for his hand slowly. “You’re safe. I promise.”

But he pulled away.

“I don’t know you,” he said again, firmer now.

And you knew, then. He wasn’t lying. Whatever piece of him had remembered you—had needed you—was gone.

Or worse, buried.

You left the room in a blur, biting down on the scream in your throat. As the door locked behind you, you saw it: a camera in the corner blinking red.

Someone had watched the whole thing. Someone wanted you to see what happened when you got too close.

You didn’t sleep that night. You went home, sat in your car until the windows fogged, then sat some more. All you could see were his eyes. Vacant. Soft-spoken. Blank. Who are you?

You knew he had two personalities—two sides trying to survive in a world that never gave them the tools to feel safe. But this wasn’t a shift. This wasn’t natural.

It was a wipe.

You returned the next morning in civilian clothes. No badge. No keys. Just questions.

You waited until the security guard at the front turned to chat with the front desk nurse, then slipped into the restricted records room using a code you weren’t supposed to remember.

Room logs. Observation footage. Medicine schedules.

And one word that shouldn’t have been there:

Midazolam. A sedative. Strong. Memory-altering in high doses. Not standard for patient 12B.

And the signature beneath it?

Dr. Kaede. No time. No consultation. No counter-signature.

You backed away from the file like it had burned you.

That night, you returned to Wing D. This time, you weren’t sure what you’d find. But as you stood outside his room, peering through the window, you could feel it before you saw it.

He wasn’t sitting on the bed. He was pacing again. Not slow. Not confused. Predator-smooth. Controlled. Angry.

You unlocked the door quietly. He didn’t look up at first. Then, slowly, he turned. And there he was. The flirt. The fighter.

“Oh,” he breathed, voice ragged. “So they didn’t kill you.”

Your chest rose. “You remember.”

He blinked hard. His smile cracked at the edges. “Not all of it. Just enough to hate what they did.”

You stepped inside.

“I found your file,” you said. “They’re drugging you.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I figured, when I woke up and felt like I’d been replaced.”

You moved closer. “They’re trying to erase the split. Force you back into one person.”

He laughed bitterly. “Good luck with that.”

“You fought your way out,” you whispered. “You remembered me.”

His voice dropped to something darker, something real. “How could I forget the only person who’s ever seen both of me... and didn’t run?”

And then he stepped closer. Close enough for your breath to catch.

His hand hovered near your face—but didn’t touch. “You’re not scared of me anymore.”

“No.”

“You should be.”

“I know.”

And still, you didn’t move.

His fingers brushed your wrist lightly, almost reverent. “You stayed when he forgot you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

His throat bobbed with the effort not to feel too much.

“You’re the only reason we’re still here.”

You looked up at him, steady. “Then help me fix this.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I will,” he said. “But you need to understand something.”

You waited.

“If they try to take you away again…” His eyes burned now, no smirk, no grin—just a promise.

“I won’t let them.”

It started with a sketch. You found it under Suguru’s pillow during a routine sweep. Not hidden well, not meant to be. A page torn from the corner of a therapy notebook. Charcoal smudged, lines rushed.

It was of you.

Not perfectly — the face only half-finished, your expression a little too calm, like he wasn’t sure how to draw your fear or your fire. But your posture, the slope of your shoulders, the softness in the way you seemed to look back — it was unmistakable.

You shouldn’t have kept it.

But you did.

You folded it once, tucked it into your jacket, and said nothing.

That night, when you visited, the flirt was gone. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, gaze fixed on the wall. He was murmuring to himself — not words, just sounds, like his mind was pacing too fast for his mouth to keep up.

You stepped inside quietly.

“Suguru,” you said gently.

He looked up. Startled. Not at the sight of you — but like he hadn’t expected to exist in the room at all.

His voice was thin. “You’re back.”

“Always.”

He blinked slowly. “He draws you when he misses you.”

You paused. “You both do.”

A flicker of something crossed his face.

“I see him sometimes,” he whispered. “Not as a voice. More like… a pressure. A breath on the back of my neck. When you leave, he comes back.”

You nodded. “And when I return?”

He hesitated. “He wants to touch you.”

The words hung heavy between you.

“And you?” you asked, voice quiet.

He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then: “I want to know what you smell like when you’re not in uniform.”

Your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t a flirtation. It was longing, honest and pure — a sensory detail that told you how closely he watched. How deeply he wondered.

“I want to know if you laugh when no one’s around,” he added, softer. “If you ever cry in your car. If your hands shake when you take your coffee.”

You knelt down beside him, heart aching.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to,” he whispered, almost ashamed. “I’m not supposed to want you like he does.”

“And yet…”

“And yet,” he repeated, eyes locking with yours, “I do.”

There were no jokes now. No smirks. No distance.

Just Suguru. The quiet one. The wounded one. And the man who, slowly, was letting love become more terrifying than madness.

He reached for your hand — timidly, trembling.

You let him.

And in the silence, you knew the truth neither of them dared say yet: They were both falling for you. And if the institution found out? They’d tear him apart to fix it.

You were called into the conference room without warning.

The door shut behind you with a final-sounding click, and Dr. Kaede was already seated at the far end of the table. A cup of untouched tea steamed beside her stack of files.

She didn’t look up when she spoke.

“Have a seat.”

You obeyed.

She opened Suguru’s file. You saw your own handwriting in some of the margins — updates, behavior notes, even small observations like ‘Responded to touch. Flinched when asked about mother.’

Dr. Kaede tapped her pen against the page.

“We ran a cognitive persistence scan last night after your visit.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You weren’t authorized to—”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Officer.”

You folded your hands in your lap, steadying your voice. “What did you find?”

She finally looked at you.

“Splintering.”

A cold silence filled the space.

“You said there were two,” she continued, “but now we’re seeing evidence of cross-memory bleeding. Flashes from one self appearing in the other's memory lane. Inconsistent emotional anchors. Even dream contamination.”

She paused.

“In simple terms: he’s losing cohesion. The lines between them are thinning.”

You gritted your teeth. “Because you’re forcing them to disappear.”

“No,” she said. “Because you are.”

That stunned you.

“What?”

“You’ve created an emotional link,” Kaede said flatly. “Both personalities are attaching to you. It’s destabilizing him. You’re not a tether — you’re a mirror. And it’s breaking him.”

You stood up.

“I’ve helped him.”

“No, you’ve complicated him.”

She flipped a page, and your breath caught. A scan. Brainwave activity. The two distinct rhythms — the shy one and the flirt — once clean and separate.

Now? They were overlapping. Bleeding into each other.

“If this continues,” she said, “they will consume each other. And when that happens, the core self — whatever’s left of the original Suguru Geto — may disappear entirely.”

You whispered, “So stop the sedatives. Let him balance naturally—”

“We can’t,” Kaede snapped. “If we let this run wild, he’ll either collapse into a singular violent state… or he’ll vanish mentally. Empty.”

Your throat tightened.

“And what’s your solution?” you asked, bitter.

She didn’t blink.

“Separation. Effective immediately.”

“No—”

“He’s being moved to a high-security psychiatric transfer facility tomorrow morning. No visitors. No staff continuity. No more contact.”

You felt the ground tilt.

“You’re erasing him.”

“I’m saving what’s left.”

That night, you didn’t sneak into his room. You ran. Suguru was waiting. Not pacing. Not joking. Just waiting. And when he saw your face, his smirk vanished instantly.

“What happened?”

You fell into him. Into his arms. Into everything. And he caught you like he’d known this would be the night.

“They’re taking you,” you said. “They’re transferring you tomorrow.”

His jaw clenched.

“No.”

“They said you’re breaking down. That the memories are bleeding. That you’ll disappear.”

His voice cracked. “That’s not true.”

“It’s happening, Suguru. You’re merging.”

He was silent.

Then, like it hurt to say it: “He knows.”

You pulled back, heart racing. “What?”

“The other me. He told me last night… in a dream. Or a memory. Or both.” His breath shook. “He said if we fall apart, he hopes you remember us.”

Your hands gripped his shirt. “Don’t let them take you. Fight.”

He looked at you then, really looked — and something terrifying flashed in his eyes.

“I will.”

They came for him at 5:47 a.m.

Two guards. No warning. No sedatives this time—just hand restraints and a tight escort schedule to a black-window van waiting at the back gate of the facility.

You weren’t on shift.

But you were already there.

You had slept in your car again, slouched beneath a thin coat and a thick ache in your chest, eyes locked on the red-lit loading zone outside Wing D. You hadn’t blinked since 5:00.

The moment you saw the guards open his door, you moved.

You didn’t knock. You didn’t hesitate.

You intercepted them in the hallway—almost threw yourself between them and Suguru. One of the guards reached for his baton, and the other barked your name.

“Officer L/N,” he growled. “Step aside.”

“No,” you said. “You’re making a mistake.”

Behind them, Suguru stood still. But his eyes— His eyes were alive. Not glassy. Not blank. Lit with something burning.

“Y/N,” he said. One word, soft and low.

And you knew. It wasn’t just him. It was them. Both of them.

His expression shifted before your eyes. From wide and trembling… to dark and furious. The way he used to smile when he was about to say something dangerous.

“I warned them,” he muttered.

The guards moved to grab him. Then everything unraveled.

He yanked free before they could clamp down. One guard stumbled. The other shouted, reaching for a syringe.

Suguru ducked, twisted, slammed his elbow into the man’s ribs. A breath later, he was standing behind you, chest to your back, arms around your waist, breathing hard.

“Which one are you?” you asked, half-whisper, half-prayer.

His lips brushed your ear.

“Both.”

You froze.

The shy one had never touched you like this. The flirt had never said your name with such reverence. And now—

Now they were here, at once. Sharing space. Sharing voice.

“I can’t leave,” he said, and it sounded like a confession. “Not without you.”

You turned to face him. His pupils were blown wide, his hands trembling against your waist.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Run.” And he did.

They issued a facility-wide lockdown five minutes later.

Wing D swept. Doors sealed. Alarms wailed. You stood near the empty hallway where he had last touched you, heart in your throat, the echo of his voice still humming in your skin.

They didn’t know where he went.

But you did.

There was one place Suguru had always studied on the map during his sessions. One door that was never locked properly. One stairwell that fed straight into the woods behind the east wall.

He was coming back. For you. Or maybe he never left.

They put you in the observation room. No handcuffs. No lawyers. Just four white walls, a camera in the ceiling, and a chair that wobbled slightly when you sat.

You’d been here before — when new hires were trained, when patients were questioned under sedation. But you’d never been the one being watched. Dr. Kaede entered without knocking.

She looked at you like you’d murdered someone.

“Where is he?”

You didn’t answer.

She dropped a manila folder on the table — inside, timestamped screenshots from hallway security cams. Suguru gripping your waist. Suguru whispering in your ear. Suguru not resisting.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You lifted your chin.

“I helped someone who was being hurt.”

She scoffed. “You helped a violent schizophrenic with identity fragmentation escape a federally regulated psychiatric ward.”

“He’s not violent,” you snapped.

Her eyes sharpened. “Not yet.”

Silence stretched thin between you. Then, Kaede opened a drawer. She pulled out something small. A folded note.

She tossed it in front of you.

“We found this taped under your desk this morning.”

Your blood ran cold.

You opened the paper.

It was torn from the same therapy journal. Charcoal pencil. One line scrawled in the center in familiar, messy handwriting:

Did you miss me, pretty girl? – S

You bit your lip to hide the tremble. He was here. Still inside. Still watching.

Kaede grabbed the note back. “He’s unstable. Unraveling. And somehow, he’s still managing to access restricted wings, unmonitored corridors, and empty offices without being seen.”

You looked her dead in the eye.

“Maybe you trained him too well.”

That night, another note. Slipped into the back of the file you weren’t supposed to touch anymore. This one was neater. Smaller handwriting. No signature.

I remember your voice better than my own. That’s how I know I’m still me.

You pressed it to your chest and cried for the first time since he left.

In the days that followed, the staff began whispering. Files disappearing. Lights flickering. A staff phone found with the entire photo gallery wiped except one: a blurry picture of your back, seated at a desk.

The institution was haunted. Not by a ghost. But by someone who refused to disappear.

The nights were getting colder in the halls of the institution. Too quiet. Too still. The other staff spoke in hushed tones when you entered. Some stared. A few avoided you entirely.

You weren’t sure if they pitied you, feared you, or blamed you. But none of it mattered. You were searching for Suguru. And he was leaving breadcrumbs.

That morning, you returned to the records room. You’d watched the same tapes again and again — footage from his therapy sessions, logged by date, dull and repetitive.

But something kept pulling you back to Session 18A.

You remembered it only because it was the first time he’d gone completely silent for the full hour. No eye contact. No movement. Just sitting there, breathing.

Until the last three seconds.

You hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe because you were already looking away. Maybe because you were trying not to get attached.

But this time, you leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowed.

Just before the feed cut, Suguru raised his hand.

Two fingers to his temple. Then his lips moved — barely.

You replayed it again. And again. No audio. But you didn’t need it. Because you could read his lips now.

“I won’t forget her.”

That night, you stayed late. You shouldn’t have. The halls had emptied. Wing D was under double surveillance. And yet— You heard footsteps. Not the rhythmic stomp of a guard. Barefoot. Light. Deliberate. You turned the corner.

And a hand gripped your wrist.

The moment you saw him — truly saw him — everything in your body locked up.

Suguru. Shadowed in the dim hallway light. Barefoot. Breathless. Beautiful in a way that felt wrong.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist — tight, possessive. Not enough to bruise, but close.

“Hey,” he whispered, like he hadn’t been hiding inside these walls like a phantom. Like he belonged here, in this moment, with his breath on your cheek and a thousand secrets in his eyes.

You said nothing. Because all the air had left the room.

His fingers slid slowly from your wrist to your palm. They lingered there, tracing the line where your lifeline curled inward — like he was learning you by touch, memorizing you by feel.

“I thought I lost you,” he said.

His voice was raw. Hoarse. Like it belonged to a different man entirely — not the flirt, not the quiet one.

Something in-between. Something new. Something dangerous. And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was possessive. Sharp. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to brand you from the inside out. He tasted like static, like adrenaline and regret, like all the nights you’d spent thinking about this when you shouldn’t have.

His hand slid up your spine, cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer — until your body arched against his chest, until there was no space left between you.

And you kissed him back. Harder. Wilder. Because you weren’t afraid. You wanted this. You wanted him.

Even if he burned you down with it. When he pulled away, his breath shook.

“I’ll go,” he murmured, eyes still locked on your mouth. “But only if you come with me.”

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded. And you ran.

You got him out using an expired visitor pass, a hoodie, and nerves made of trembling steel.

You avoided the cameras. You lied to Kaede’s face. You cut across the east corridor while the security team was busy searching the supply wing. You kept his hand in yours the entire time, your grip trembling but firm.

By the time you reached your car, the sun was beginning to rise. He sat in your passenger seat — hood over his head, head against the window, silent.

You didn’t speak until you hit the highway. Only then did you look at him and whisper, “You’re safe.”

He didn’t answer with words. He just reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

You didn’t bring him to a motel. You brought him home. Your apartment had never felt like a crime scene before.

But now, with Suguru standing in your hallway — soaked in shadows, wearing your brother’s black hoodie and not blinking — it felt like you’d crossed a line you could never uncross.

He didn’t speak. He just stood there, chest rising slowly, like he was trying not to snap.

You shut the door. Locked it. Exhaled. Then turned. And he was on you.

Suguru's dark eyes drank in every inch of your body as he pinned you against the wall, his chest heaving with barely contained desire. His calloused hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingers trailing fire across your sensitive skin as they inched their way up your side. Suguru's mouth found your throat, his lips brushing against your racing pulse before he dragged his teeth over the delicate flesh, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access as your hands fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Suguru smiled against your skin, a wicked curve of his lips that made your heart race and your core throb with need.

"Still think I'm just sick?" he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Still think you're just helping me?"

Before you could respond, Suguru captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your parted lips to claim you thoroughly. He kissed you like a man starved, like you were the air he needed to breathe, the sustenance he craved. Your fingers slid under his hoodie, nails raking down the scars etched into his muscular back as you clung to him, losing yourself in the heat and passion of his embrace.

Suguru's hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he lifted you effortlessly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you down the hallway, his lips never leaving your skin, tasting and teasing every inch of your throat and jaw. By the time he laid you down on your bed, you were both breathing heavily, desire pulsing through your veins like liquid fire.

Suguru knelt over you, his dark gaze roaming your body, taking in every curve and line as if committing it to memory. Slowly, almost reverently, he peeled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His calloused fingers skimmed over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, coming to rest just above the waistband of your jeans. Suguru leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your sternum, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat before trailing lower, over the swell of your breasts.

Your nipples pebbled under the thin fabric of your bra, straining against the confines of the lacy cups.

Suguru's fingers deftly unhooked the clasp of your bra, tossing it aside to reveal your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. "Fuck, Y/n," he breathed, his voice rough with desire as he took in the sight of your naked flesh. "You're perfect. Even more beautiful than I imagined." Suguru leaned down, capturing one stiff peak in his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before sucking hard, sending jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between suckling and teasing, bringing you to the brink of madness with his skilled mouth and hands. All the while, his hips pressed against yours, the hard, thick ridge of his erection evident even through the confines of his jeans.

Suguru's hand slid down your stomach, popping the button of your jeans and lowering the zipper with deliberate slowness. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, tugging your jeans and panties down your legs in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him. Suguru's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your naked body splayed out on the bed, his gaze lingering on the glistening flesh between your thighs.

"Spread your legs for me, Y/n," Suguru commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "Let me see this pretty pussy, so wet and ready for my touch."

Suguru's eyes flashed with hunger as you slowly spread your legs, revealing your slick, swollen folds to his intense gaze. "Fuck, baby," he growled, his voice strained with desire. "Look at this perfect little cunt, so fucking wet and ready for me." Suguru leaned in closer, his calloused fingers brushing against your inner thigh, making you shiver with anticipation. He traced the seam of your sex teasingly, not quite touching where you needed him most, before finally dragging his fingers through your slick arousal.

"Suguru," you whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed as you chased his touch. Suguru smirked, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking your essence from the digits. "Mmm, you taste divine, Y/n," he purred, his voice a low, sensual rasp. "I could get addicted to the taste of your sweet cunt."

Suguru settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your aching sex. He leaned in, his tongue parting your folds in a long, slow lick, savoring your flavor as he teasingly circled your clit. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure exploded through your body, your fingers fisting in Suguru's hair.

"That's it, baby," Suguru encouraged, his voice a low, rough murmur against your sex. "Don't hold back. I want to hear all those pretty sounds spilling from your lips as I taste this sweet little pussy." He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub hard as two thick fingers pushed deep inside your tight, clenching channel.

Suguru's fingers pumped in and out of you, curling and stroking your inner walls as he lapped and suckled at your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The room filled with the obscene sounds of your moans and the wet, lewd noises of Suguru's mouth on your sex as he devoured you like a man starved. Your thighs trembled, your toes curling as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your lower belly, ready to snap at any moment. Suguru could feel you getting close, your walls fluttering and gripping his fingers like a velvet vise as he worked you towards your release with skillful, relentless motions.

Suguru could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he pushed you closer to the edge. He looked up at you, his dark eyes glinting with triumph and hunger as he watched the pleasure play out across your face. "That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Come for me, Y/n. Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my fingers as I make you fall apart."

With that, Suguru sucked your clit hard, his fingers pumping faster, stroking that special spot deep inside you with each thrust. Your body seized, your back arching sharply as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You cried out Suguru's name, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you, your sex clamping down on his fingers like a silken vice.

Suguru groaned against your flesh, the vibrations of his voice prolonging your pleasure as he worked you through your climax with skilled, relentless strokes. He didn't stop until your body went limp, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Only then did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal as he crawled up your body, a look of dark satisfaction etched into his handsome features.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru growled, his voice rough with desire and something deeper, more primal. "Watching you come undone, feeling this sweet little cunt squeezing my fingers...it's everything I've ever wanted. You're everything I've ever wanted."

Suguru captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire and emotion into the embrace. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the musky, slightly sweet flavor of your combined essences making your head spin with lust. As you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands slid under his hoodie, nails raking down the scars etched into his muscular back. Suguru hissed into your mouth, his hips pressing harder against yours, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against your sensitive, throbbing sex.

Suguru broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain control. "I need to be inside you, Y/n," he rasped, his voice strained with the force of his desire.

Suguru's hands made quick work of his hoodie, tossing it aside to reveal his scarred, muscular torso. His abs rippled as he leaned down, kissing and nipping at your collarbone, trailing lower to lavish attention on your breasts once more. Suguru's calloused fingers skimmed down your sides, hooking into the waistband of his jeans. He stood up briefly, unbuttoning and shoving them down his powerful legs along with his boxers, freeing his thick, hard cock.

You gasped at the sight of him, your eyes widening as you took in every inch of his impressive length. Suguru was large, larger than any man you'd been with before, and the thought of him stretching you open sent a thrill of both excitement and trepidation through you. He crawled back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs, the head of his cock nudging teasingly against your entrance.

Suguru's dark gaze locked with yours, his eyes blazing with hunger and a fierce, almost possessive intensity. "I've wanted this for so long, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, rough rasp. "Dreamed of this moment, of finally being one with you. I know I'm not...I know I'm not the man you deserve. But fuck, I need you. I need to be inside you, to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible."

With that, Suguru surged forward, the thick head of his cock parting your folds and pushing inside your tight, slick heat. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as you were stretched wide around him, your walls clenching and fluttering around his invading length. Suguru groaned, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru panted, his voice strained with pleasure and something deeper, more primal. "You feel incredible. Like this is where I belong, like I was made to be a part of you." He started to move, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, setting a deep, powerful rhythm that made the bed creak beneath you. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin.

Suguru's hips rolled in a steady, relentless rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you felt every ridge and vein as he claimed your body. One of his hands slid under your knee, hiking your leg up and back to change the angle of his thrusts, allowing him to drive even deeper into your core. The other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you in place, pinning you beneath him as he took his pleasure from your willing body.

"Y/n," Suguru growled, his voice a low, rough rasp in your ear. "You're mine now, do you understand? This sweet little cunt belongs to me. Your pleasure, your ecstasy...it's all mine to give and take as I please." To emphasize his words, Suguru circled his hips, grinding his pelvis against your sensitive clit, sending sparks of electricity shooting through your nerves.

Suguru's mouth found your throat once more, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh as he marked you, branding you as his. You could feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his muscles as he loomed over you, dominating you, consuming you with the force of his desire. Your fingers slid up his back, nails raking down the scars etched into his skin as you clung to him, losing yourself in the raw, primal passion of his lovemaking.

Suguru's hand slid between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in hard, fast circles. "Come for me, Y/n," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "I want to feel this pussy spasm around my cock as I fill you up, as I pump you full of my seed. I want to feel you come undone, knowing that you're mine, that you'll always be mine." His words, combined with the relentless stimulation of your clit and the deep, powerful thrusts of his hips, sent you hurtling towards the edge of another shattering orgasm.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the bed as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. "SUGURU!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you. Your sex clenched and fluttered wildly around Suguru's pistoning length, gripping him like a velvet vice as you came undone beneath him. Suguru groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls massaged his cock, bringing him closer to his own release.

"That's it, baby," Suguru growled, his voice strained with pleasure and something darker, more primal. "Milk my cock with this perfect little cunt. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, begging for my cum." He slammed into you with renewed vigor, his balls drawing up tight as he chased his own end. The room filled with the obscene sounds of your moans and Suguru's grunts, the creaking of the bed, and the slapping of sweat-slicked skin against skin.

With a final, brutal thrust, Suguru buried himself to the hilt inside your still-fluttering sex. His body shuddered and tensed above you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he found his release. "Fuck, Y/n!" Suguru roared, his voice echoing off the walls as hot, thick ropes of his seed painted your insides, filling you up until you could feel it seeping out around his throbbing length.

Suguru collapsed against you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He pressed sloppy kisses along your shoulder blades, his lips brushing against your sweat-damped skin as he slowly came down from his high. "Y/n," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...fuck, that was incredible. You're incredible." He lifted his head to gaze down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of awe, wonder, and something deeper, something that made your heart ache in your chest. “This,” he whispered against your collarbone. “Is the only time I don’t feel insane.”

And you clung to him. Because you understood. You were his anchor. And he was your undoing.

You woke with his hand already on your skin.

Fingertips sliding across your hip, tracing the shape of you beneath the sheets like he was mapping out something he couldn’t risk forgetting. His chest pressed into your back, warm and heavy, the steady rise and fall of his breath syncing with yours.

“You didn’t leave,” he murmured.

You didn’t open your eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

“Even now?” he whispered against your neck. “With them looking for me? With everything I’ve done?”

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his — the shy one, for now. The one who rarely spoke. Except now, when it was only you and him. When it was dark and quiet and dangerous.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

He kissed you again. Slower this time. As if he knew he didn’t have to fight for it anymore.

The knock came midmorning. Two short raps. Measured. Military.

You looked up from the couch, heart stalling.

Suguru emerged from the bathroom shirtless, towel slung low on his hips. He paused when he saw your face. When he heard the knock.

Your eyes locked. Don’t say anything, don’t move, don’t breathe— A voice called through the door.

“Officer L/N? Dr. Kaede sent us. Have you seen any unusual activity? A… possible suspect who may have followed you off campus?”

You stood slowly, pulling on your cardigan to cover the marks still blooming on your skin.

Suguru didn’t speak. He didn’t blink.

But his whole body had gone still — like a predator cornered.

“Hold on,” you called back, keeping your voice steady.

You crossed the room. Pressed your hand flat against Suguru’s chest. His heart was hammering like it would burst. But he didn’t move. Not until you tilted your head toward the hallway closet.

Without a word, he slipped inside.

You turned the lock on the door and opened it two inches.

Two men stood outside. Both in uniform. Both looking at you like they already knew the answer.

“We’re just checking in,” one said. “Dr. Kaede said you’ve been... emotionally compromised since his escape.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I’m fine.”

The other officer glanced over your shoulder.

“Anyone else here?”

“No.”

Pause. Then:

“You smell like cologne,” he said slowly.

You smiled thinly. “I’m not dead.”

They didn’t laugh. Eventually, they left. You locked the door again, hands trembling — and then opened the closet.

Suguru stepped out slowly. And for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then his hand gripped your chin. Firm. Unyielding. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You lied for me,” he whispered.

You nodded.

“You’re mine now,” he said. “You understand?”

Your pulse jumped.

But you didn’t pull away.

“I was yours the moment you kissed me.”

That night, he didn’t sleep. You woke to find him at your window, bare-chested, silhouetted by moonlight — a ghost outside his own reflection.

“They’re going to find me eventually,” he said.

“Not if I keep hiding you.”

He turned to you, and his smile was sharp. Cold.

“No,” he said. “I won’t let them touch you.”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Protective. Possessive. You should’ve been afraid.

Instead, you stood. Crossed the room. And kissed him like it would be the last time.

Because even if the world burned, you knew he’d burn it for you.

You noticed the shift before he even opened his mouth. Suguru was different that morning.

Not in the way he sometimes switched — from brooding silence to teasing flirt. No. This wasn’t either of them.

This version was still. Focused. Like something inside had clicked into place and started humming.

He sat on your living room floor, legs crossed, his eyes fixed on nothing as sunlight spilled in through the blinds.

“Did you know there’s a locked room under the south wing?” he said.

You blinked, coffee halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

“In the institution. Beneath the therapy levels. There’s a staircase behind the archives. They keep it bolted shut.”

You set your cup down slowly.

“I only remember pieces,” he continued. “Flashes. A woman in a red coat. Bright lights. The smell of iron.”

Your stomach twisted. “Kaede wears a red coat sometimes.”

His eyes flicked to you.

“So you’ve noticed.”

That afternoon, when you returned to the institution under the guise of picking up a report, Kaede was at her desk.

She looked up from her screen, smiling warmly. Always the same.

“Officer L/N,” she said. “Surprised to see you. You’re on leave, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

“I left something in records. Just one file.”

Kaede tilted her head, then reached into her drawer and handed you a visitor clearance tag without question.

So easy. Too easy.

You waited until the floor was mostly empty. Evening fell like a warning outside the windows. The fluorescent lights above buzzed low. You slipped past the therapy rooms. Past the records office.

Then — just like Suguru said — behind the file cabinets, there was a door. Old. Steel. With a security pad. You typed Kaede’s birthday.

It clicked open. The stairs creaked downward into darkness. You flicked your flashlight on.

Dust. Cold. The walls were cement, and the floor beneath your boots was lined with rusted tiles. But then… photos. Dozens of them. Mounted behind glass along the hallway like a museum no one was meant to see.

Test subjects.

Some had names. Some just numbers.

And there, near the end of the hall — a young boy with long dark hair and hollowed eyes.

Subject 5C: Geto, S.

You stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest.

Below the photo was a note:

“Alter induced via stress-amplification. Dual personality results unstable. Progress suspended following patient breakdown. Memory suppression advised. Contact: Dr. Kaede Nakamura.”

You turned cold.

You didn’t sleep that night. When you returned home, Suguru was waiting for you. He didn’t even ask if you found it.

“I saw the file,” you whispered. “I saw you.”

“I know.”

You paused. “Why didn’t you tell me you were experimented on?”

He tilted his head. “Because I didn’t know until last night. Something triggered it. Maybe being near you. Maybe being free.”

His gaze darkened.

“They tried to erase me. Split me in two. Then lock away the pieces.”

You reached for him — and he caught your wrist, pulled you into his arms.

“They didn’t just break me,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “They made me forget who I really was. But I remember now.”

“And who are you?” you whispered.

He smiled. Slowly. Sharp.

“Something they’ll never be able to contain again.”

The first time Kaede asked if you were okay, it didn’t feel like concern.

It felt like bait.

You stood across from her in the break room, clutching a cup of tea you hadn’t touched, trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding. Like your skin didn’t still bear Suguru’s fingerprints beneath your clothes. Like the weight of his breath against your neck wasn’t something you still craved like oxygen.

“You’ve been… distant,” she said. “Quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

Kaede smiled — too small. Too knowing.

“Funny. Officer tired, therapist curious.”

You blinked. “I didn’t know you were a therapist.”

“I didn’t say I was,” she replied gently, stirring her tea. “But I know a trauma bond when I see one.”

You froze.

She didn’t look at you.

“Careful who you let in, Y/N. Especially if they were once kept locked behind steel.”

Your throat went dry.

That night, you barely made it through your front door before Suguru pulled you into the dark and kissed you like it had been days instead of hours.

You tasted desperation in it. Hunger. The threat of losing something he didn’t even believe he could keep.

“You saw her today,” he muttered, dragging your jacket off your shoulders. “Kaede.”

You didn’t answer.

“Did she say something?” His tone sharpened. “What did she ask you?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then something changed in his expression — something softer, almost pained.

“She’s going to take you away from me.”

“No,” you whispered. “I’d let them lock me up with you first.”

He pulled you into him. Hard.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you—watched the way your lashes trembled, the way your lips parted slightly like you’d already begun to surrender.

“I could ruin you,” he whispered against your ear. “You’d still beg for more.”

You didn’t deny it.

Your fingers reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The scarred line near his ribs, the slope of his collarbone—every inch of him was a story he hadn’t told you yet, and you were desperate to learn it with your mouth.

He leaned down and kissed you—slow, deliberate, consuming.

His lips were warm and soft at first, but then his teeth grazed your bottom lip, biting just enough to make your breath hitch. You could taste the ache behind it. His tongue swept against yours, and something low in your body responded like a lit fuse.

“You still think I’m dangerous?” he asked, voice ragged.

“I hope you are,” you whispered. “I want to see what it feels like.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to the floor like you weighed nothing. The carpet burned soft against your spine. His body caged you in, heavy and grounding, his hands roaming like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Suguru's hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist as he knelt before you. His calloused fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. "Lift your hips for me, Y/n," Suguru commanded, his voice a low, rough rasp. You obeyed, lifting your hips off the carpet as he peeled your panties down and off, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.

Suguru's hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your skirt up further as he settled between your legs. He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, working his way steadily upward. Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against your sex, teasing you with the promise of his touch. Suguru smirked, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he watched you squirm with anticipation.

"Suguru, please," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer. Suguru chuckled, the sound low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your sex. "I want to savor every moment of this."

Suguru's hands slid under your skirt, gripping your ass as he massaged the soft flesh, pulling you closer to his mouth. He leaned in, his tongue parting your folds in a long, slow lick, savoring your flavor as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue. You cried out, your head falling back against the carpet as pleasure coursed through your body, your nails digging into Suguru's shoulders.

Suguru's fingers pushed deep inside your tight, slick heat, stroking and curling in a way that made your eyes flutter closed, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. He worked you with a skillful, relentless pace, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just as you felt your climax building, Suguru pulled back, leaving you aching and empty. He stood up, quickly shedding his shirt and tossing it aside, revealing his scarred, muscular torso. His hands slid up your body, pushing your skirt down and over your legs, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

Suguru's eyes raked over your naked body, dark and hungry as he drank in every curve and line. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice strained with desire. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined. I could spend hours just looking at you, touching you, worshipping this perfect body."

He settled onto the carpet above you, his muscular frame caging you in, his skin searing against yours. Suguru's hands slid into your hair, tilting your head back as he claimed your mouth in a searing, dominating kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, stroking and teasing, exploring every inch of your mouth as he poured all of his pent-up desire into the embrace.

Suguru's lips trailed down your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he latched onto the sensitive flesh of your breast. He sucked and nipped, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he teased the stiff peak with his teeth. You gasped, arching into his touch as jolts of electricity shot straight to your core. Suguru's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers teasing through the slick folds of your sex, stroking your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

"Suguru," you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. "I need you. Please, I can't wait anymore." Suguru chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with wicked promise as he looked up at you. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need. I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll forget your own name. The only thing you'll remember is screaming mine as I ruin this tight little cunt for anyone else."

With that, Suguru settled between your spread thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging teasingly against your entrance. He gripped your hips, pulling you down onto him as he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, slick heat with one powerful thrust.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru groaned, his voice strained with pleasure as he started to move, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that made the carpet creak beneath you. He loomed above you, his muscles flexing and rippling with each thrust, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

Suguru's hips rolled in a steady, pounding rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you felt every ridge and vein as he claimed your body with deep, powerful thrusts. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, changing the angle of his assault, driving even deeper into your core. The new position allowed him to hit that special spot inside you with each snap of his hips, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body.

"Suguru," you cried out, your nails raking down his back, leaving red lines in their wake as you clung to him, losing yourself in the relentless pace he set. Suguru groaned, his voice rough and strained as he felt your walls clench and flutter around his pistoning length, gripping him like a velvet vice.

"That's it, baby," Suguru growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Take this cock, take every fucking inch of it. This cunt was made for me, made to milk my dick dry." He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit, sending sparks of electric pleasure shooting through your nerves.

Suguru's hand slid between your writhing bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles. "I can feel you getting close, Y/n," he rasped, his voice a low, wicked murmur.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the carpet as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your sex clamping down on Suguru's length, gripping him like a silken vise.

"SUGURU!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you, your vision going white behind your eyelids. Suguru groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls massaged his cock, bringing him closer to his own release. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice strained with pleasure.

Suguru's body shuddered above you, his muscles flexing and tensing as he fought to hold back his own climax, wanting to prolong your shared pleasure. He captured your lips in a searing, desperate kiss, pouring all of his hunger and desire into the embrace. His tongue conquered your mouth, stroking and teasing, as if he were trying to devour you whole.

Breaking the kiss, Suguru trailed his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he bit down, marking you as his. "I want to fill this tight little cunt with my cum, Y/n," he rasped against your skin, his voice rough and strained. "I want to pump you so full of it that it takes days for it to all leak out. I want everyone to know that this pussy belongs to me now, that I've claimed you, ruined you for anyone else."

With that, Suguru redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming into yours with a force that rocked you both. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your wanton moans filled the room as Suguru chased his release, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your still-fluttering sex.

"Fuck, I'm close," Suguru panted, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against your neck. "Tell me you want it, Y/n. Tell me you want to feel my cum flooding your womb, marking you as mine." His words sent a dark thrill through you, your core clenching around him at the filthy, erotic image he painted.

"I want it, Suguru," you gasped out, your voice ragged and needy. "Please, fill me up. I need to feel your cum inside me, claiming me, ruining me for anyone else." Suguru let out a guttural groan at your words, his hips stuttering as he felt his climax approaching rapidly.

"Fuck, Y/n!" Suguru roared, his voice echoing off the walls as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. His body shuddered and jerked above you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as thick, hot ropes of his seed painted your insides, flooding your womb just as he had promised.

Suguru collapsed against you, his muscular frame pressing you into the carpet as he struggled to catch his breath.

he sat up, breathing heavy, the moonlight cutting across his bare back.

“She wants me dead,” he said finally. “She’s covering her tracks. Everything I remembered… she’ll make it disappear.”

You reached up and traced the lines of his spine with your fingers. “Then we make a move before she does.”

He turned, eyes narrowing.

“You’d help me?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I already have.”

#jjk #jjk x you #jjk smut #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #geto x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto smut #shelovesosa

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thecuriousbeauty · 5 months ago

Text

Under His Watch-Part 1 (Harry Styles x reader)

Series synopsis: Y/N, an ambitious FBI intern, joins the homicide department, where she catches the eye of the brooding head detective, Harry Styles. As they tackle high-stakes cases together, Y/N uncovers a side of Harry no one else sees. Are they just boss and intern, or something more?

Word count: 9.1k

A/N:- Hello everyone, so sorry for being gone for a while, but I'm back with something new that I hope you guys will love! This is going to be a short, two part series so like it up and reblog so I can get the second part out soon!

Warnings: Talks of murder, drug dealings, killings, crime scenes, violence, usage of gun. No smut in this part, but definitely in the next;)

____________________________________________

The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden light through the open window. The air feels fresh, but with a touch of warmth that hints at the summer heat to come. Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a gentle reminder of the new day. A light breeze stirs the curtains, carrying the scent of flowers blooming outside.

In a small, cozy bedroom, y/n stands before her mirror. She fidgets with her clothes, unsure whether the outfit is too formal or too casual for her first day at work. She has seen agents usually wear suits, but she opted for a dark blue buttoned shirt and pants, because she was just starting as an intern. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts her hair, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling inside her. Her heart races, each beat echoing the uncertainty of what’s to come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The thought of the day ahead makes her stomach flutter—so many unknowns, so many new faces, and yet, the possibility of something great. She smiles at her reflection, trying to reassure herself. Beneath the jitters, there’s a spark—an energy that comes from stepping into something new, a sense of potential.

She checks the time and realizes she’s running a little late.The world outside is already awake, and so is she, ready to take on whatever her first day at work will bring.

Y/N doesn’t know when she decided to pursue a career as a detective. Maybe it was all the detective shows she used to watch with her father as a kid, or maybe it was the numerous novels she’d read. She loves the suspense, the mystery, and figuring out all the little clues. She loves the thrill of it. And now, as a result of her hard work and dedication, she has gotten into the FBI’s internship program.

The actual, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

The FBI building looms like a fortress in the heart of the city, its imposing, angular structure made of dark granite and steel. The air is thick with history and authority, as if the walls themselves hold the secrets of countless investigations. As she takes her detective steps through the sliding glass doors, the buzz of activity inside is palpable. Agents in suits walk briskly through the sleek, modern lobby, while the hum of conversation fills the space with a sense of purpose.

The hallways are lined with framed photos of notable cases and agents, a constant reminder of the legacy the building holds. The lighting is stark, the floors polished to a mirror shine, and the walls adorned with maps and classified files that hint at the work being done behind closed doors. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating—this is where the nation’s most pressing cases unfold.

“Oh, Miss y/l/n, right on time!”, she hears before she sees none other than one of her superiors, part of the homicide department, Agent Eliza Carter. She had taken her interview. The woman held two coffees, and gave her the same kind smile she had given her that day.

“Good morning, Agent Carter!”

“Morning to you too. Sorry, I forgot to mention, you’ll be with homicide this month, probably another department for the next, and so on. Boss man’s just about to start the meeting, so come on quick!”

“Right. Do you know anything about the case?”

Her heels click behind her as she follows the agent, her eyes continuing to look around, absorbing everything around her.

“Oh yeah, this is actually an old case. A really annoying one, you’ll see. Harry will brief us anyway.”

Harry. Detective Agent Harry Styles.

Head of the homicide department, and one of the most renowned and respected figures in the field. His reputation precedes him: sharp, methodical, and almost legendary in his ability to solve cases that others can’t even begin to crack. She had heard stories about his brilliant mind, how he could piece together the smallest details that everyone else overlooked. The thought of getting to learn directly from him sends a rush of nervous energy through her veins.

“Can you get the door please?”, Eliza asks, and y/n quickly swings the glass door open for her, and then steps in herself, into the big room where there were around seven people gathered. All of them in matching suits, discussing amongst each other as they stared at the boards pinned with information about their cases.

“Everyone, this is y/n y/l/n, our new intern, she’s gonna be with us for this month!”, Eliza introduces, handing one of the coffees to a man, who also gives y/n a smile. “Hello, I’m Ethan Grant.”

The others also started introducing themselves, most of them friendly and smiling, two of them only giving her a nod, to which Eliza rolled her eyes.

“Styles running late?”, Agent Cole Matthews asks as he looks at his watch.

“I saw him getting a call, he had that face on.”, Nora says. She had short silver hair, and dark blue eyes, that looked like she would kill you if you pissed her off.

“Oh no, that can’t be good.”, Eliza shook her head.

“Face?”, y/n asks the girls who just smile at each other, Nora gives her a wink. “You’ll see.”

The door swings open with a quiet click, and Detective Harry Styles steps into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. Tall and impeccably dressed in a dark suit that fits just right, he exudes a quiet authority. His broad shoulders and confident stride catch the eye, but it’s his sharp jawline and the faint stubble along his chin that hint at a more rugged edge beneath his polished exterior.

His eyes—piercing, yet thoughtful—scan the room as he steps forward, his gaze pausing just long enough to meet each of their eyes, an unspoken understanding passing through the group. The way he moves is purposeful, the air around him almost charged with intensity, as if every step he takes is measured, calculated.

Then his eyes meet hers, eyebrows raising up in question. “New intern, boss.”, Ethan says.

She acts quickly to introduce herself, “I’m y/n, it’s such a pleasure to-”

“We’re still talking interns?”, he rudely cuts her off, and her lips seal shut at his tone.

“Yes we’re doing rotations this year, Harry, they must have given you a form to sign.”, Eliza said, and Harry let out a sigh, not even batting a single eye in y/n’s direction, turning around to the projector.

“Whatever. Let’s get to work, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She’d imagined this moment so differently—she thought he’d at least say something encouraging, maybe give her a quick nod of acknowledgment. But instead, there’s only the cold, impersonal air of the office, and his complete disregard.

“We’re dealing with a 30-year-old man named Charles Russo. He's been on our radar before but slipped through the cracks. He’s involved in drug trafficking, but this isn’t just about drugs—it’s about control. He’s a key figure in a network that stretches across the city, and he’s responsible for at least three recent murders tied to his operations.”

A photograph of Russo appears on the projector screen—a mugshot from a previous arrest, his face hard and defiant, his eyes cold. Styles gestures to the image.

“This is our suspect. Russo has managed to stay under the radar for months, but he’s back in the game. We have intel from one of his associates that he’s been laying low, but now we’ve gotten wind of him resurfacing. We know he’s been making contact with his former contacts in the drug trade, and his movements have been tracked to the outskirts of the city.”

He pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. The team leans forward, eyes narrowing as they take in every word.

“We can’t afford to let him slip away again,” Harry continues. “He’s ruthless. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. The last time he disappeared, it took months for us to get any leads. We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“So what’s the plan?”, Nora asks.

Harry points to a map on the wall. The area surrounding an old industrial district near the city’s border is highlighted in red.

“We’ve got a lead. A tip from an anonymous source says Russo is meeting with one of his suppliers here,” Harry explains, tapping the map. “We’ll be setting up surveillance teams around this location. We’re going to hit him where we know he feels comfortable. His old contacts will be there, and that’s our chance to bring him in.”

He looks at his team, making sure they understand the stakes. "This won't be easy. Russo knows how to cover his tracks, and he won't hesitate to go violent if he thinks he's cornered. I want everyone to stay sharp, no mistakes. We’ll have undercover agents in place, and our best tech team will be monitoring the area for any sign of movement.”

He glances at y/n, the intern who’s been quietly taking notes in the back. His voice softens just slightly, but still firm.

“You’re going to work with Carter and Grant to run background checks on Russo’s known associates. I want every detail—every business transaction, every phone call, every scrap of information you can dig up. It could be the key to finding him faster. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” She nods quickly, her mind racing. This is her chance to contribute, to prove herself, and she’s not about to let it slip away.

“Once we have enough intel, we move in. Fast, clean, and without hesitation. Our goal is to catch him off guard,” Harry finishes, his gaze sweeping over his team. “I expect everyone to be in sync. This guy has evaded us long enough. Let’s make sure it ends tonight.”

The room falls into a focused silence as everyone gets to work. The plan is set, and the wheels are already in motion.

Eliza shows y/n her desk, and Ethan quickly shows her all the technology, y/n didn’t need much explaining, she was familiar with it all. She had even taken up courses in coding and hacking.

Finally, it’s time to attack. Officers bustle around, adjusting their gear, making final checks on equipment, and running through last-minute details. The hum of radios, the clinking of handcuffs, and the soft rustling of jackets fill the air as the room feels like it’s on the verge of something big. y/n stands off to the side, a little on edge as she watches Harry gather the team for their final briefing. His green eyes scan the room with that characteristic sharpness, giving quick instructions to the officers heading to different positions.

With a deep breath, she approaches Harry as he finishes talking to Detective Logan Pierce. Her pulse quickens, and she straightens her shoulders. This is it.

“Detective Styles,” she begins, trying to keep her voice steady, “I was wondering if—if I could come along. I know I’m new, but I’ve been following everything closely, and I’m ready. I can help in any way I can.”

Harry looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. There’s a brief silence before he responds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not ready for this kind of field work. This operation is too high-risk, and it’s not something you should be thrown into on your first day. I need you back here, where you can handle communication, and make sure we stay on track. You’ll be a key part of this, just not in the way you expect.”

She feels a small pang of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of clarity. He’s right. She’s still learning the ropes. The reality of the danger in the field is something she can’t ignore. But at the same time, the disappointment doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would. She’s still going to play a crucial role.

“Understood,” she says, nodding as she pushes her feelings aside. She can feel a sense of purpose rising in her chest. “I’ll stay in touch with the agents, make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll be ready to react if anything goes wrong.”

A flicker of approval crosses Harry’s face, though he doesn't show it fully. “Good luck!”, she can’t help but call out as Harry reaches for his own bullet proof suit and a hint of a smirk crosses his lips.

It was so brief, that she wondered if she had really seen it, or if she had imagined it.

The night is thick with tension as the operation unfolds, the air heavy with the weight of what’s at stake. Outside the industrial district, the team is in position, each agent hidden in shadows, waiting for the signal to move. Inside the precinct, y/n is stationed at her desk, headphones on, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she tracks the operation. Her eyes are focused on the live feeds from the surveillance cameras set up around the district, her mind sharp and alert.

The plan is simple—surround Russo and catch him in the act. The agents are ready, but they need to stay in constant contact. That’s where she comes in. She’s the lifeline,watching the feeds, listening to their transmissions, and keeping them updated. She had earpieces connected to Harry and Cole, who had teams on both doors of the warehouse.

Through the earpiece, the voice of Agent Logan Pierce crackles to life. “y/l/n,we’re about to move in on Russo. He’s on the move—heading toward the south side of the warehouse. We need a visual confirmation. Is he coming into our range?”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest, but she keeps her voice steady. “Got him. He’s moving east toward the rear entrance. You’ve got about thirty seconds before he reaches the blind spot. You need to move fast.”

“Copy that,” Pierce responds. “We’re moving in now.”

y/n watches the screen, heart racing as she tracks Russo’s every step, eyes darting between the surveillance feeds and the map on her screen. Every second feels like an eternity. She checks her watch, counts the seconds in her head. Then, suddenly, he disappeared.

“Shit.”, she says, trying to figure out where the piece of shit is headed now.

“I hope I didn’t just hear you say shit while monitoring one of the most important cases, newbie.”, she hears Agent Styles, and her cheeks redden a little bit, but she focuses on the task.

“Sorry, you need to wait, Agent Pierce, I’ve lost him.”

“You’ve lost him? What do you mean? He’s right here-”

“-No, I think..I think he’s coming around from the other door. Agent Styles?”

He answers immediately while y/n works on a way to monitor Russo again, “Yes, are you sure it’s not a connectivity problem or-.”

“I think he’s on your side.”

“Oh yeah? That mother fucker. Guys, close in.”

“Wait, y/n, are you sure? Cause this might be the last chance we have to get him and one mistake-”, Cole begins, a little unsure.

The image on the monitor shifts—Russo steps into the frame.

“Agent Styles, he’s about to break through—wait for it—now!”

The moment she speaks, Harry and the rest of the team spring into action. They converge on Russo in a synchronized move, cutting off his escape route before he can even react. There’s a flurry of movement, the sound of boots pounding on the ground, and then, within seconds, Russo is tackled to the ground, handcuffed and subdued.

A burst of static fills her earpiece, followed by Harry’s voice. “We got him. He’s down. Nice work, y/n. You nailed it.”

He called her by her name for the first time and the compliment made her heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. She blinks, her breath catching in her throat. Styles—the man she had been eager to impress—had just complimented her, and it felt like everything she’d hoped for.

“Thanks,” she replies, trying to keep her composure. “I just did what I could.”

“Well you’re the first newbie to actually not piss me off on their first day. You can go home, y/n, enough for the day. We’ll bring him in.”

Y/N exhales slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding her veins. Her hands shake just a little as she removes her headset, a smile creeping up her face. They did it. They caught Russo, and she was the one who helped make it happen. For the first time since walking into this precinct, she feels like she truly belongs.

___________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she really fit in with the team members. She especially loved talking with the girls, Nora and Eliza. They’re laughing about the latest office drama—how Agent Matthews accidentally spilled coffee all over Harry’s favorite jacket this morning.

“I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even notice how clumsy he is,” Nora says, shaking her head with a grin. “But Styles—he’s always so cool, never says a word. You’d think he’d be fuming after that.”

y/n chuckles, feeling more at ease in their company. "I bet he was just silently judging him in that typical Styles way. You know the look I'm talking about, right?"

Eliza laughs, leaning in. “Oh, absolutely. The silent judgment is his trademark. But I’m surprised he didn’t rip Pierce a new one.”

y/n finds herself grinning at the camaraderie, feeling like she’s starting to fit into the team’s dynamic. It’s easy, the way they talk, tease, and laugh together.

She decides to stay back a little longer that day, her eyes skim through the pages—cold cases from years ago, some unsolved, others with only the vaguest of leads. She’s been digging into them to understand the bigger picture of how the team operates, trying to learn from the cases they’ve solved, and the ones they’ve left behind.

Her focus is interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She looks up to see Harry, his coat over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He stops a few steps away, his gaze lingering on the pile of files she’s working through.

Her gaze lingered on his arm, his sleeve rolled up enough for the ink on his forearm to peek through. She could see the dark outline of a tattoo—a design she’d never noticed before—curving around his wrist and disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt. The way the ink curled around his skin made her wonder how many more he had hidden beneath his clothes.

She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleeves clung to his muscular arms, the sharp lines of his body defining his form. His green eyes were a striking contrast to his skin, deep and captivating. They always seemed to hold a quiet storm, a vulnerability masked behind his professional exterior. The way his curls fell around his forehead, slightly unruly, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished look.

There was something magnetic about his distinct features, something that caught her attention all the time.

“You’re still here?” he asks, voice quiet, as if genuinely surprised she hasn’t already left for the day. There’s something in his tone that feels different, not judgmental, but more... curious. Maybe even a little approving.

y/n clears her throat, trying not to seem too caught up in the files. “Yeah. Just trying to catch up on some of the old cases. Figured it’s a good way to learn how you all approach things.”

Harry studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before setting his briefcase down and taking a few steps closer. “You’ve got the right idea. We learn a lot from the cases we didn’t solve. The ones that slip through our fingers.”

She nods, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. “I’ve noticed that. Some of these cases... they’re so close to being solved, but there’s always one missing piece.” She pauses, flipping to a specific file that’s particularly puzzling. “What do you think about this one? A string of disappearances in a small town, no evidence left behind. It’s like they just vanished.”

Harry glances down at the file she’s holding, leaning over slightly, his voice low and contemplative. “Sometimes it’s not the evidence you’re looking for, but the pattern behind it. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks. But if you look at the people involved—especially the families, the connections between them—you might find something that doesn’t belong.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, her voice more sincere than usual. “I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it.”

Harry gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “You’re thinking in the right direction. Just keep pushing yourself. That’s how we get better at this job.”

She smiles in return, feeling a little more confident in her approach. Harry glances at his watch, then looks back at her. “Well, if you’re going to keep at it, you’ll need a little company. I was planning to head out, but it’s quieter here than usual.”

y/n looks up in surprise. “You’re staying?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not really,” he says, his tone dry, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Just thought I’d walk you out. It’s late. Wouldn’t want you to be walking to your car alone.”

Her surprise morphs into a small, grateful smile. “That’s... considerate of you. Thanks.”

He offers a slight nod, then gestures toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them walk out together, the quiet hum of the office behind them. Outside, the evening air is crisp, the sky darkening as they make their way across the parking lot.

As they approach their cars, y/n hesitates for a moment, then turns to him. “You’ve been doing this for a long time, huh? The whole... detective thing. How do you keep from getting burned out?”

Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle of his car. He looks at her, his expression momentarily distant, as if reflecting on the years of work behind him.

“It’s not about not getting burned out,” he says quietly, “It’s about finding what keeps you going. Whether it’s the people you work with or the cases that pull you in, you have to find something that reminds you why you do it.”

y/n nods, absorbing his words as they linger in the cool air between them.

With that, he starts his engine and pulls away, leaving y/n standing in the quiet parking lot for a moment. She watches his car disappear down the road, wondering what led him into pursuing this career.

___________________________________________

The next day, the guys are gathered around a table near the bullpen, eyes glued to a sports game playing on the office TV. The game is close, Ethan and Cole are already arguing over who’s going to win the match.

“Come on, you’re seriously betting on them?” Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “They’ve been playing like amateurs.”

y/n can’t help but overhear, the playful banter catching her attention. She’s not usually one for sports, but she’s been learning the ropes from her fellow agents. She knows enough to get by, and today, something about the challenge calls to her.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” she says, walking over with a raised eyebrow. “How much are we betting here?”

Ethan looks up, surprised, then grins. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, y/n. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

She smirks, her confidence growing. “I’m a quick learner. I’ll take your bet. I’m putting my money on the underdogs.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. This’ll be fun.”

As the game continues, the guys teasingly rib her for her risky bet, but y/n holds her ground, getting increasingly into the match. When the underdogs actually pull off the win, she’s the first one to stand up, pumping her fist in victory.

“Told you,” she says, beaming with pride as the guys groan good-naturedly. “Pay up, gentlemen.”

“Yes, we’ll be there soon, got it.” They all look up at the sound of their boss, who comes into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Murder scene in Oak Drive, let’s go.”, Harry tells them, and everyone gets onto their feet, getting ready to go.

y/n goes to her desk as usual, knowing she’ll be given the duty of doing the background checks.

“Who’re you riding with Styles?”, Logan asks him.

Harry straps on his gun, and looks at y/n. “Can you drive?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Come on, then, newbie, let’s go to your first murder scene.”

y/n almost squealed with joy, jumping up in excitement, but then toned it down as Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

“Yes sir, right away.”

The car ride is quiet, with a subtle tension between them, an unspoken understanding, a quiet connection that neither has acknowledged. y/n's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as they approach the crime scene. He can’t help but steal a glance at y/n—she’s focused, eyes sharp, her thoughts clearly already at the scene ahead.

“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?”, Harry asks, breaking the silence. “Cause one of the interns did, seeing all the blood.”

She laughed lightly. “Nope, I’m excited, and I’m good with blood.”

“Good.”, Harry lets a small smile escape, and she pulls over to the crime scene. The other agents have already reached and are doing their allotted work.

"Alright, you’ll handle the photos for now. We’ll take care of the rest."

Y/N nods, grabbing her camera from the seat beside her, trying to steady her nerves. She’s been given more responsibility lately, and with Harry’s subtle support, she’s been slowly gaining confidence.

"Got it. I'll make sure to get everything."

As she moves closer to the crime scene, Y/N kneels by the body, snapping photos of the surroundings. Her heart beats a little faster as she works, but the adrenaline feels good. And while the scene before her is dark, there’s something about Harry’s quiet faith in her that makes her feel capable. She captures the details—each angle, each small clue—as if she’s been doing this for years. She steals a glance back at Harry, catching him watching her from a distance. For a moment, she wonders if he sees something more than just a hard-working intern.

As the team works around her, Harry steps away briefly to speak with the others, but his eyes flick back to her every so often. Y/N can feel it—his attention on her, the weight of it—but for now, she’s focused on her task. Still, there’s a strange pull between them, unspoken, but undeniable, lingering in the air like the tension of the scene itself.

Harry wants to leave soon, to talk to someone and take y/n with him, this time, he drives. As they pull away from the crime scene, Harry’s eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is already on the next step. Y/N’s still processing everything they’ve seen.

“So, what’s your take on this case so far?"

Y/N pauses, glancing up at him. She can tell he’s genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I think the victim knew the killer. Too many personal details for it to be random, but the motive’s still unclear."

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I agree. That’s why I’m going to talk to the first suspect now. Stay sharp—this could get tricky."

Y/N feels a small thrill at his trust in her judgment. It’s not just about the case anymore; it’s the way he values her input. As they drive toward the suspect’s location, she wonders if he’s giving her more responsibility on purpose, or if it’s just part of the job. Either way, it feels like a step forward.

After questioning the suspect, Harry and Y/N head back to the office, the car cutting through the quiet streets. Y/N’s mind is still on the conversation with the suspect, but then..her stomach growls loudly.

Harry glances over at her, his eyes sharp but gentle.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

Y/N flushes slightly, trying to keep her cool, but the guilt is written all over her face.

"Yeah, I—"

"You didn’t eat, did you?"

Y/N shifts uncomfortably.

"I’m fine, really."

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a small smile."We’re making a stop. You’re getting something to eat. I know a good taco place.”

He turns the car off the main road, pulling into a small taco place. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas drifts through the air as they step out, and Harry opens the door for her, his usual professionalism replaced with a kind of care.

As they sit at a small booth, Y/N digs into her food, finally letting herself relax. Harry watches her for a moment, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. After a few bites, she glances up at him.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always so grumpy? You’re like... a walking storm cloud sometimes."

Harry chokes on his drink a little, caught off guard by her boldness. He laughs—genuinely, with a surprised smile that softens his usually serious face.

He chuckles and wipes his mouth. "Grumpy? I’m not grumpy. I’m just... focused."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Focused, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?"

Harry shrugs, his smirk turning wry, clearly amused by her bluntness."Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy. But someone’s gotta keep this place in line. You can’t just go around smiling all the time like everything’s sunshine and rainbows."

Y/N laughs, and for a second, their eyes meet. There’s an ease between them now, something playful, yet still with an undercurrent of something deeper. Harry’s usual walls are lower, and Y/N’s teasing is making him more human in her eyes.

"I don’t know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t hurt to see you smile a little more. Just... not at the crime scene, please."

Harry chuckles again, and it’s the kind of laugh that feels lighter than usual—almost as if he doesn’t mind sharing this side of himself with her.

"I’ll try. But no promises.", he says with a soft smirk.Y/N found herself grinning as she saw his dimples poke out. She hadn’t realized how much she loved seeing that little dimple until now, how it made him look so much more... approachable.

After a few more bites, she glances up at him. "Why did you want to be a detective, Agent Styles?"

The question lingers in the air. Harry’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heaviness between them. "Because I lost someone who mattered. My sister... she was murdered by some people when we were younger. I couldn’t sit by, not after that."

Y/N’s breath catches, and she sees the pain flicker in his eyes—his calm demeanor betraying a history of loss that runs deep. It’s the first time she’s seen him so vulnerable, so open.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.", she says quietly.

Harry shrugs, with a distant look in his eyes,"It’s alright. It’s been a long time... but it’s why I do this. It’s why I never give up on a case. To make sure no one else has to go through that."

There’s a pause, and Y/N feels the weight of his words sink in. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on his. The warmth of the moment takes them both by surprise. He appreciates the gesture, thumb ever so softly stroking a line on the back of her hand.

“You can call me Harry by the way, when we’re not at work.”, he says to lighten the air, and she smiles, drawing her hand back. “Okay.”

Little did she know that Harry had told her something that no one else knew about him.

________________________________________________________

The precinct is buzzing with its usual morning chaos, the air thick with the noise of phones ringing, officers discussing cases, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floors. y/n is at her desk, flipping through some case files, trying to focus. She’s about to make another note, when she hears the unmistakable sound of Ethan and Eliza approaching her desk, their voices carrying through the room in a familiar, teasing tone.

“Well, well, y/n, looks like you’ve caught Styles’ attention,” Ethan says with a playful grin, sliding into the seat across from her. He leans back, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n looks up, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Eliza raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, come on. We’ve all seen it. Harry doesn’t usually make time for anyone. But you—" she motions between the two of them, “—you got breakfast with him this morning. He doesn’t do that unless he’s got a soft spot.”

Eliza’s cheeks flush slightly. She opens her mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts her off.

“We’re just saying, Harry’s usually all business, right? But with you—” he gestures with a wink, “he’s practically a different guy. You must be special.”

y/n can’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off. Yes, they had eaten breakfast together that morning, because both of them happened to arrive early to the office. “You guys are ridiculous. We just had breakfast. He saw me sitting alone and he was just being... well, Harry.”

But they aren’t buying it. Eliza smirks, leaning forward. “Right, Harry just casually opens up to you about his deepest, darkest secrets over a bagel. We’re all jealous, you know.”

y/n shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but also secretly amused. “Okay, okay, I get it. He’s not a softie, I swear.”

Ethan grins, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Sure, sure. But just wait until the next big case. When he pulls you aside to give you a ‘confidential’ briefing, we’ll be here, dying of curiosity.”

y/n sighs, trying not to laugh as she adjusts the papers in front of her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m still the intern, remember?”

Eliza raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. We all saw the way Harry looked at you when he was complimenting you yesterday. Like... he actually noticed your contribution for once.”

At that, y/n’s face goes a little redder, but she can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “He just—well, he just doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s kind of a big deal.”

Ethan chuckles, leaning in closer. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Harry doesn’t exactly dish out compliments like candy. And if he says you’re doing good work? That’s... noteworthy.”

y/n laughs nervously, feeling a little overwhelmed by their teasing, but she’s also secretly flattered. She’s always admired Harry—his skill, his mind, the way he commands respect from everyone around him—and to hear that they’ve noticed the shift in his behavior, even in the smallest ways, makes her feel like she’s on the right track.

“Alright, alright, enough. You’ve got me all figured out,” y/n says, trying to play it off cool. “But don’t go getting any ideas. He’s still Harry Styles.”

“Sure, sure,” Eliza says, winking. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you two.”

As they walk away, leaving her to her work, y/n smiles to herself, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Harry really had a soft spot for her, but just knowing that she’d earned a little of his respect—enough for the team to notice—felt like a win. Maybe she wasn’t just the intern anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to become something more.

______________________________________________

y/n has been busy lately. She passed her detective training exam but the theory exam wasn’t over yet, so she was preparing for that, along with managing the work she had been assigned at the FBI. It’s nearly midnight when Harry walks into the office, his eyes scanning the darkened room before landing on Y/N. He spots her hunched over her desk, staring at the screen, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light. By now he knows she’s a hard worker, but what really hits him is how late it’s gotten—and how she hasn’t stopped working.

Harry’s voice is tight with concern, trying to mask his frustration."Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Y/N looks up, startled, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she blinks at him, trying to hide the exhaustion on her face.

"Just finishing up some things... It’s not that late."

He sternly walks closer. "It’s midnight. You should be home, resting. This can wait until tomorrow."

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops her. She’s used to his seriousness, but there’s something more here—something that’s not just about the case.

His voice softens, but still firm."You’re not invincible, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself."

Y/N sighs, glancing back at the stack of files on her desk, torn between wanting to finish everything and knowing she’s pushing herself too hard.

"I’m fine, Harry. Really. I just want to get this done."

Harry’s frustration slips through as he says, "No, you’re not fine. You’ve been at this for hours, and you’re running on empty. I’m not leaving until you get some rest."

Y/N meets his eyes, seeing the genuine concern there, but also the subtle edge of worry in his features. She opens her mouth to protest again, but Harry doesn’t give her the chance.

Harry grabs her bag from the desk. "Come on. You’re getting in the car, and I’m taking you home."

She hesitates for a moment, but Harry’s serious enough that she knows there’s no point in arguing.

She grabs her things and follows him out of the office. The rain is coming down hard now, the city streets glistening under the dim streetlights. Harry opens the door for her, holding out an umbrella as they step out into the downpour.

They don’t speak at first, the quiet of the night surrounding them, just the soft patter of rain as they walk to his car. Once inside, the silence between them feels comfortable, but Harry keeps glancing at her, concern still etched on his face.

Harry breaks the silence."You sure you’re okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately."

“I’m fine, my detective exam is soon, I just really wanna make it.”

“You will, you’ve already passed the physical. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it, the exam’s gonna be very easy for you.”

She lets out a soft exhale, those words making her feel a little better. After all, he had gone through all of this. “Are you gonna apply to work here?”

“Yes, I think this is where I wanna work. Not sure about the department though, I still have other rotations. I’m going to be with foreign affairs next week.”

Harry gasps in hurt, glancing over at her. “You don’t wanna be in homicide? Is it because I’m grumpy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry.. And I love homicide, the thrill is amazing! It’s just that I still have other departments to experience, you know, that’s what an internship is for.”

“Believe me, you aren’t gonna find any other department as interesting as this. But yes, you’re right. You have time to decide.”

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, just the sound of the rain tapping on the windshield. When they finally reach her flat, Harry pulls up to the curb, parking the car in front of the building. He looks over at her, his voice quiet, with that same concern in it.

"You sure you’ll be okay getting inside? It’s late, and it’s still raining pretty bad."

Y/N nods, though she can’t hide the weariness in her eyes."Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

He doesn’t move, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say something more, but instead, he opens his door and steps out, walking around the car to open hers.

He holds the umbrella over her as they step out into the rain, his arm wrapping around her back and her arm as he keeps her close and they walk side by side toward her building. The air is cool, and the rain falls steadily, but there’s something about the closeness of the moment that makes it feel almost intimate.

When they reach her door, Harry stops, looking at her with that same quiet intensity. "You’re getting some sleep tonight. No excuses."

Y/N can’t help but smile at his persistence, the kind of care that’s always just under the surface of his gruff exterior."I promise. I’ll get some rest."

Harry doesn’t move immediately, his gaze lingering on her face. There’s an almost unspoken weight in the air now, a subtle shift between them. Without thinking, Y/N reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Thanks for everything, Harry. Really."

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. Slowly, he lifts his free hand, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Y/N feels her heart race at the intimacy of it.

His voice is low, and a bit hoarse."Anytime. You don’t have to thank me."

The tension between them lingers in the rain-soaked air. Harry steps back, holding the umbrella just a little closer to her to shield her from the downpour. Then he whispers softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

He gives her a soft smile before turning to leave. Y/N watches him walk away, her heart still fluttering from the small but meaningful moments they’ve shared. The rain still falls, but in that quiet moment, everything feels a little different—like they’ve crossed a line, even if just for a moment.

As she walks into her apartment, she can’t help but replay his words and the feeling of his touch, knowing that whatever happens next, something between them has changed.

_____________________________________________

Y/N enters the quarters, the soft click of the door barely audible as she steps inside. The usual hum of chatter and playful teasing is absent, replaced by an air of tension that hangs thick in the room. Her eyes quickly scan the group of agents—none of them in their usual good-natured moods, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Something’s off.

Her gaze lands on Harry, talking quietly with someone behind his glass office door. He looks serious, his posture rigid, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in conversation about something important. Y/N walks to Nora who’s sitting at her desk, the usual casual grin replaced by a solemn expression.

"Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everyone so serious today?"

The agent looks up. "We got a lead on the Rotherl case. Word is, he has a fourth hostage with him. Cole and Eliza managed to track down where he should be right now and we’re just waiting on Harry’s word to go.”

“A fourth hostage?”, she gasps. She wasn’t part of the team during the investigation of the Rothel murders but she had read up all about it. He was one of the most wanted men, who kidnapped his victims before killing them. He had already killed three innocent people, leaving no traces behind him. If they had a lead on him, that was amazing.

She glances toward Harry’s office, where he’s still deep in conversation, his jaw clenched. Before she can ask more, the door opens, and Harry steps out, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s go, everyone. I’ve called for backup. Matthews, Carter, good job. Now let’s wrap this up.”

“This mother fucker has had enough of a run.”, Eliza mutters, strapping on her bullet proof west and tossing the other to her partner.

Y/N’s been with the team for weeks now, and in that time, Harry’s allowed her to tag along when things got tense, letting her learn the ropes. She can’t imagine being left behind on something so big, not now.

She grabs her things, ready to move with the team, but Harry catches her before she gets too far, his lean fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not this time, Y/N.", he says, his voice firm, with no room for negotiation.

Y/N freezes, her heart sinking at his words. She’s about to protest, but she catches the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and something else she can’t quite place. She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Come on, Harry. I’ve been with you through worse. You know I can handle it."

“It’s not about how much you can handle, y/n. This is a mad man, and you don’t even have a gun to defend yourself.”

“But I’m trained to fight, and I can use a gun if someone throws it to me-”

“-y/l/n.”, Harry cuts her off with his classic stern face. She hasn’t gotten her gun license yet, she’ll get that only after she becomes an agent after her exams, but she’s already done with all her training. He’s trying to protect her, she realizes. Still, she won’t back down so easily.

"You can’t keep me in the dark. I want to be there with you guys.”, she says firmly.

Harry stares at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if weighing the risk. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

He reluctantly agrees. "Fine. You can come. But you stay in the car. Understood?"

Y/N’s heart skips, but she hides her smile, knowing she’s won this small battle. She nods, her voice determined.

"Understood.”

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge if she’s really going to stick to her word. When he finally nods, there’s something like relief in his eyes, mixed with the ever-present worry that seems to linger with him.

"Good. But if you step one foot out of that car, I swear I’ll drag your ass back inside myself.”

Y/N chuckles lightly, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Got it, sir.”

As Harry turns to lead the team out, Y/N follows behind, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was more than just another case. It was a dangerous one, and she was in it, even if only on the sidelines.

“Here, y/n, put this on.”, Ethan comes to her with a bullet proof vest just like everyone else’s. She didn’t think she’d need one sitting in the car, but she put it on, not wanting to start another argument with an agent.

They pile into the cars, the tension in the air thick as they head toward the high-risk location. Y/N’s fingers tap nervously on her lap as she watches Harry in the rearview mirror, his eyes already set on the mission ahead, and she can’t help but feel, even in the midst of everything, that tonight could change something between them.

The car rolled to a stop a few blocks from the dilapidated building. The air outside felt damp from the rain that had just stopped falling, but the tension was thick, and the city streets seemed unusually silent, despite the flashing lights of squad cars surrounding the area.

Y/N leaned forward in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the building in front of them. The usual lighthearted banter between the team was gone.She could see Harry’s figure through the windshield as he stepped out of the car, his dark coat flaring behind him like a shadow as he walked toward the rest of the team.

She saw the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his body was braced for the weight of what they were about to face. His focus was sharper tonight, sharper than usual. He was already in the thick of it, mentally preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the seat, but she stayed silent. Harry moved with precision, the rest of the team falling in behind him as they gathered around him. The air between them was charged, the kind of energy that only came when everything was on the line.

She heard Harry’s calm voice through his earpiece, “Position yourselves around the building. No one moves unless I give the word.”

Y/N nodded along with the rest of the team, even though Harry couldn’t see it. Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze shifted from Harry to the building—dark and looming against the city skyline. She could barely make out the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Rothel. The man who had committed violent crimes. And now, he was holding someone else hostage.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping the seat tighter. The girl in the doorway, only a teenager by the looks of it, was standing frozen in place, her face pale with fear. Rothel had a gun to her forehead, and she heard him yell out something, but couldn’t make out what it was. Harry raised a hand to the rest of the team, signalling them to hold off.

She could hear Harry. “Rothel, listen to me. Let her go. We don’t need any more bloodshed. Just put the gun down.”

She couldn’t see Harry’s face from the car, but Y/N knew how carefully he must have been approaching the situation. His voice never cracked, but there was an undercurrent of urgency there—just enough to show he was trying to negotiate without pushing Rothel over the edge.

The earpiece crackled with static, and then Rothel’s voice, sharp and filled with fury, came through.

Rothel growled. “I don’t want to hear your deals. If you don’t back the fuck off, I’ll shoot her right here.”

Y/N’s hands went ice-cold. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. She swallowed hard, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help, but all she could do was watch—wait—and pray that Harry could talk him down.

Harry’s voice came again, steady and unwavering.

“You don’t want to do this, Rothel. Let her go. We can work something out. Just... put the gun down. It’s not too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on the building as the tension in the air grew heavier. There was a shift, a subtle movement at one of the upper windows. She squinted, her heart dropping as she realized the figure there wasn’t just an observer—he was armed, and his sights were set on Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she saw the man preparing to act. Without thinking twice, Y/N grabbed her earpiece, trying to warn the others, but there was no time for that. The danger was too immediate.

She threw open the car door, barely pausing before sprinting toward the building. Every step was fueled by a sense of urgency, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him hurt Harry.

Y/N reached the back of the building and found a staircase leading up. She didn’t hesitate as she ascended quickly, her heart thumping in her chest. At the top, she paused, ears straining for any sound—anything that would give away the shooter’s position.

There, at the far end of the hallway, the man stood, oblivious to Y/N’s approach. She didn’t think, she just moved. Silent and quick, she rushed toward him, tackling him off balance. They hit the ground, but the struggle wasn’t over.

“Move out of my way unless you want me to kill you, bitch.”, he growled.

“Oh you can try.”, she growled back.

The man pushed back, trying to regain his footing, but Y/N used every ounce of her strength to keep him down. He fought back, his hands grabbing at her, but she was faster—more determined.

In the chaos, she was struck hard, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the growing pain. She couldn’t let him get to Harry. He needed to save that girl.

She heard gun shots from below and something that sounded like a cry of relief from the hostage, then she heard Harry’s voice through her fallen earpiece. “He’s down, great job team.” She made the mistake of letting her guard down for one second, in relief, and that’s when the man managed to rise to his feet and point the gun at her.

She heard Harry’s voice again, through her earpiece, now panicked. “Y/N, where are you? Answer me.”

Her vision swam from the dizziness, but she forced herself to focus. The man looked down and groaned in frustration. y/n laughed. “Guess your little plan didn’t work out, huh?”

“It was a good plan, now it’s all ruined because of you. Did you think I was joking when I said I’d kill you?”

“Y/N?”, she heard footsteps and Harry’s voice.

“Harry!”, she called back, panic starting to rise in her chest. The gun was pointed at her, so she couldn’t risk moving.

Harry points his own gun at the man. “Put it down right now, you sick bastard.”

y/n closed her eyes as she heard two shots fire at the same time. Then she heard a big thud. Suddenly, there was pain shooting through her body. The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else—disbelief, confusion, and the shock of what had just happened.

She had been shot.

She was brought back from her dazed state by Harry’s panicked, almost broken, voice, “Y/N, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay..don’t worry, o-okay?”

She could hear the crack in his voice, the fear that only came when someone was truly scared of losing someone they cared about. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest at the realization. Her thoughts weren’t on the blood soaking her arm or the pain threatening to consume her. They were on Harry. He was here. He was with her. And as she fought to keep her eyes open, the last thing she heard was him calling her name, desperately holding onto her in the chaos of it all.

____________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove @mayalove014 @vikiii07

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sunriseabram · 2 months ago

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AFTG PIN UP CALENDAR INFORMATION

PLEASE SHARE TO SPREAD.

I haven't seen a comprehensive post on Tumblr about the AFTG pin-up calendar situation, so I wanted to compile what I know for anyone unaware. Please reblog with extra information I may have missed, or correct anything I may be wrong about.

What happened?

There have been some issues with money surrounding a different project, which was run by the same mod. The mod of the pin-up is the same one in trouble with the COD fandom for spending zine money and failing to donate it to charity. [COD Announcement Here.] The Tumblr and Twitter for the calendar have been deactivated. The Etsy store no longer exists.

What does this mean?

Considering how many months of the year have already passed, the account deletion, and the current situation, it is unlikely any more calendars will ship. The status of the project funds is unknown. It is unclear whether a donation was made to charity or not.

I purchased a calendar. What do I do now?

Act ASAP. If you never received a calendar, you have a couple of options: 1. File a case with your bank for fraud [Guide Here] 2. Attempt a refund through Etsy [Guide Here] [Guide Here] 3. Report Fraud [Guide Here] Please do not send hatred towards the artists involved. They were left in the dark and volunteered their time for what they believed was a good cause. They are not responsible. Please go and support them.

I was an artist. What do I do?

Please share your art! We want to support you. You had no idea what was happening, and you did nothing wrong. You voluntarily gave up your time to aid a project you believed was going to charity. Please try not to feel guilty. This is not your fault. If you decide to post, please dm me and I will add a link to your work below.

Links to Artwork [GO SUPPORT!]

Cover

January (Dan)

April (Matt)

Stickers

#aftg pin up #aftg pin-up #all for the game pin-up #all for the game pin up #aftg pin-up calendar #aftg pinup calendar #aftg pin up calendar #aftg pinup #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg art

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keirareidss · 20 days ago

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unknown/nth - a.h

♡ summary: hotch nearly breaks when you're in danger, and afterwards, realizes he can't live without you pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: violence, case details wc: 1.4k based on this request

You know the distance never made a difference to me I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea Ignored the vastness between all that can be seen And all that we believe So I thought you were like an angel to me

Hotch was going to have a breakdown. Mental, or physical, he didn't know. All he knew was that, if they didn't find you soon, he was going to start breaking shit.

You'd been gone for nine hours now, and it was all his fault. If he hadn't decided to split up, the unsub wouldn't have found you alone and you would still be with him, by his side.

He didn't know what was happening to you. Were you hurt? Were you conscious? Were you even still alive? He quickly pushed that thought from his head, focusing on how to get you back. They knew the unsub was dangerous, they knew he had a hair trigger so they had to be very careful about how they went about this. Hotch didn't care. He would do whatever it takes to get you back. He'd travel to hell and back if it meant you'd be waiting for him when he got there.

"Hotch? You listening?" Morgan said, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Yes." Hotch rasped, his voice rough from shouting at everyone. A regrettable moment, he'll admit.

"Garcia got a lead. A hardware store he might work at."

"Good. Take Prentiss with you." Derek's eyebrows furrowed.

"Prentiss is with Reid at the morgue. Hotch are you alright?" When had she gone there? Aaron was really losing it.

"Alright then take Rossi." Derek hesitated a moment, watching his boss carefully. He left the room, finding Rossi in the kitchenette, leaving Hotch alone in the conference room of the police precinct. Alone with his thoughts of what you could be going through right now.

It ain't the being alone It ain't the empty home, baby You know I'm good on my own You know, it's more the being unknown So much of the living, love, is the being unknown

Hotch typically worked better on his own, or at least taking the lead which worked out for him, being the boss. He had his own office where he could isolate himself, close the blinds, fully shut himself away from the rest of the world.

But then you broke down his walls. You permeated his office, filling his space, his senses, with you. He didn't know what he was like to be alone without you anymore. You were always there. Every day, bringing him coffee, dropping your files off and lingering for a chat, taking your lunch break in his office, forcing him to eat as well.

Now, while you were gone, he couldn't eat. He couldn't force himself to focus on the case, couldn't stand to look at the files because every step closer he got to finding you, the more he envisioned what could be happening to you.

It wasn't the fact that he was alone. It was the fact that he was alone, without you.

"We've got him." The words rang in his ears, the blurry world around him becoming clearer. He blinked and he was surrounded by his team, awaiting instructions. Garcia found a name, an address. They were so close to finding you.

"Let's go." Hotch said, standing from his chair. The team followed, wary of their bosses state right now. They couldn't tell if he was just a tick away from a breakdown or a murder. Maybe both. Maybe he'd end up fainting again.

They drove to the address, sirens blaring, lights flashing, though, as they got closer to the house they slowed down, turning off their alarm. This had to go perfectly. They had to get in quietly and take him down quickly. If he heard the police coming, he'd kill you and run. They pulled up a few houses down the street.

"Hotch." Rossi called to his friend, pulling the man's attention away from the vengeance on his mind. "I think you should stay back."

"What? No way, I'm going in there."

"I don't think that's a good idea and if it was anyone else in your shoes, you'd be saying the same thing. You're too close to this, Aaron, you know that." Aaron considered Dave's words and then nodded. His heart did feel as though it was beating a bit too fast and he could feel sweat forming on his forehead. He leaned back against the SUV as his team headed on without him, creeping up towards the house.

Any minute now, you'd come out of that house, perfectly fine, and right back into his arms, where he'd never let you leave from again.

Do you know, I could break beneath the weight Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? That I'd walk so far just to take The injury of finally knowing you

Fourteen minutes and thirty five seconds. Fourteen minutes and thirty five seconds he stood at that vehicle, waiting for any glimpse of you. Any indication that you were okay, alive somewhere in that hell house. Just when he was considering storming into that house himself, the door opened, Derek leading you out of the house.

Your arm was over his shoulders, you didn't have any visible severe injuries, no limp, no dislocated shoulder. From what he could see you were fine but as he got closer, his feet bringing him closer and closer to you, he saw more injuries along your body. Bruises on the exposed skin he could see, blood on your temple and running down your bicep.

His eyes didn't leave you as he rushed across the yard. You spotted him, a sigh of relief leaving your lips. You took your arm from Derek's shoulders, stumbling forward to meet your boyfriend. He wasted no time pulling you into his arms. His lips pressed roughly to yours, his large hand cupping your cheek as your eyes fell closed, the passionate kiss making all the pain and aching in your body disappear.

"I thought I lost you." Hotch murmured against your lips.

"I'm right here." You whispered, Hotch pulling you back to kiss you again. The feeling of you pressed against him felt familiar, felt right. His arm wrapped around your waist before he remembered himself, pulling back again to look in your eyes.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He was out of breath, from the running to you or the kissing, you didn't know. Maybe a combination of both. Maybe it was just you alone who took his breath away.

"No. No, I'm okay." He leant down, burying his face in your neck, holding you tight. He didn't care who saw, the team, the press, the fucking president could watch him forgo his professionalism to embrace you and he would tell them to go fuck themselves.

"We should get you to a hospital." He says, leaning back to scan over your body for injuries.

"I'm fine, Aaron, just a few bruises."

"We need to be sure-"

"I'm sure." You said firmly, placing a hand on his bicep.

"Hotch." Derek called, pulling the yearning man's attention away from you. Morgan nodded to where the unsub was cuffed in the back of a cop car and the team was awaiting instruction.

He didn't let you leave his side as he finished up the case, keeping you within arms length as the team headed back to the precinct, packing everything up and heading back to the hotel. The two of you, in his hotel room, laid almost nose to nose on the bed, his hand clutching yours.

"I wasn't very helpful with this case." Hotch admits in the dark of the room.

"No?" You implored.

"No. I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. I kept thinking about what he was doing to you." He said softly. You sighed, raising a hand to his face, cupping his cheek softly.

"I'm here. I'm okay."

"I know." His hand found your wrist. And he was telling the truth. Seeing you in front of him, feeling your soft skin under his callused fingers, he finally felt at peace. He finally felt as if the calm, the constant in his life was returned to him.

Taglist: @cinnamoncunt, @dramioneforevertilltheend, @tinythebunni

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort

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thewitchandtheassassin · 3 months ago

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The Psychology of Love and Serial Killers Part One (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: When psychologist, Doctor Wanda Maximoff, is handed a case involving a prolific serial killer and an unknown number of victims, she takes it as a challenge... but is the good doctor in over her head when she realizes they might not be so different after all?

Words: 1324

Warnings: Serial killers, language, talks of death, eventual blood and gore. Like, this is a serial killer reader, babes. Use your own discretion. 18+

A/N: This is part one of god knows how many. We're gonna have a good time. Every chapter after should be longer. This is just a starter.

-X-

The room was dimly lit, the bluish flicker of the projector and a single, softly glowing lamp the only sources of light in the room, their glow casting shadows that danced across Wanda’s face as she stared at the ever-changing images on the screen. She was sat forward in an old, worn chair—hers, or at least the one she’d often claimed for herself when she was contacted for situations like this. Hands steepled beneath her chin, she glanced at the file on the table in front of her; the same one she’d been staring at for the last three days.

Case file: (Y/L/N), (Y/N). Suspect Age: 20s to 30s. Gender: Female. Body Count: 10 (Confirmed), more suspected. All male. Preferred Method: Knife.

The projector whirred. On screen, a grainy black-and-white image showed you—cuffed, expression unreadable, leaning back in a chair like you were lounging at a party instead of being processed at Quantico. The agents were visibly furious by your lack of cooperation as you stared through them, like they were invisible—or not worth your time.

You never spoke a word during intake. Face impassive… cold. Like it was beneath you. Not reacting when one of the agents threw a pen after twenty minutes of silence and stormed out of the room. Not a single flicker of recognition, even as Agent Rumlow’s face was mere inches from yours as he screamed.

Wanda hit rewind, then play.

There it was again—the look. That flicker in your eye. Not defiance. Not boredom. Something… performative. Calculated. Like you were playing a role no one else had quite caught on to. An unspoken taunt as you waited for the next person to give up and storm away.

Another screen showed crime scene photographs. A man—early 40s, priest collar still intact—slumped in front of a marble altar. His eyes had been closed post-mortem. Peaceful, almost reverent… if not for the clean line across his neck, ear to ear, and a black rose petal stuffed into the bloodied line.

Wanda’s throat tightened.

Victim #6: Father Donovan. Location: St. Cecilia’s Cathedral. Means of Death: Single slice across the throat. Time of Death: 3:14 AM.

Wanda reached for the evidence photo again. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it out through her nose, eyes scanning every piece of information documented from the crime scenes—all with one common theme.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence of the room. “Why only men?”

Flipping through the photos once more, she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she took in the scenes surrounding the body. Not the men—where they were placed. How clean the scenes had been left. The lack of fury… only showmanship.

“She's not psychotic,” she murmured, more to herself than the recorder on the table. “Not delusional. Too precise. Too... theatrical.”

She clicked open the audio logs next—

[Audio Interview—Day 2]

Agent Barton: “Is there a reason you chose public spaces for the bodies, Ms. (Y/N)? Do they hold some significant meaning to you?

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Some of them had children. One had a wife.”

You: silence, quiet exhale.

Agent Barton: “You’re not going to talk to me, are you?”

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Let the record show the suspect has been staring at the same point behind me on the wall for the last thirty minutes… I don’t know what fucking else to do.”

[Audio Interview—Day 10]

Agent Romanoff: “You’ve been here for ten days and not a single person has heard you speak… it’s time to give us something, (Y/N). You don’t want to see what happens when people like you get stuck in general population. We’ve been nice, keeping you separate. That can change.”

You: silence.

Agent Romanoff: “Do you think this is funny, (Y/L/N)? That this is all just one big game?

You: “…are you afraid I think this is a game? Or are you afraid that I’m winning, agent?”

Wanda’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice for the first time, pausing the audio tape. Low. Calm. Confident. Not mocking—a simple question and yet, it made Wanda’s heart pound in her chest for a moment. Like every inflection was handpicked from a dark romance book she’d read in the dark and swear she’d never heard of come morning.

Exhaling softly, she flipped the projector off and stared at the now-darkened screen for a moment. Tomorrow… tomorrow would be her first moments with you. Acting as the bureau’s psychologist in hopes of cracking you open. To learn your secrets and uncover the bodies you’d hidden beneath the bones of your choices. She was meant to profile you—learn every twisted, fucked-up inch of your soul—so she could present it to the agents and lawyers who wanted nothing more than to see you in the chair.

But all she could think was:

“…I want to understand you.”

-X-

The interview room smelled like old paint and disinfectant. It was small—deliberately so. The kind of space designed to strip down defenses. One table, two chairs. A single camera already recording in the corner of the room, the little red light blinking as it pointed at you. You were alone in the room, hands cuffed to the table, feet chained to your chair, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word, even as the door swung open.

Wanda stepped in slowly, a manila folder clutched loosely in one hand, the other sliding the door shut with a soft click. She was alone, but you both knew there were at least four agents on the other side of the two-way mirror just waiting for you to fuck up.

Her heels were simple and understated, a matte black that seemed befit a psychologist and not a federal liaison meant to pick you apart. Her blouse was a matching black, sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. Professional enough, but meant to be casual in hopes of putting you at ease. But her eyes gave her away—the kind of too-long stare that didn’t come from curiosity, but fixation. She wasn’t just studying you…

She was absorbing you. Every micro-expression, every tick of your jaw and twitch of your mouth.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)… I think I’ve watched you on tape more than I’ve watched my own family’s home videos.” She smiled, but it was cool. Brittle. Like she wanted you at ease but couldn’t quite bring herself to smile at a murderer with the same kindness she would a stranger. “I’m Doctor Maximoff, psychologist for the bureau.”

Settling into the chair across from you, she placed the folder on the table but didn’t open it, choosing to keep her eyes trained on you. “You don’t speak to men… and you’ve only said a few words to Agent Romanoff. Staying quiet even when someone is inches from your face screaming… I’ve seen people break from less.”

She folded her hands together, looking at you thoughtfully. “You’ve kept quiet for a long time but… I’d like it if you spoke to me.”

Your head tilted, the tip of your tongue peeking out from behind your teeth as you slowly ran it along your bottom lip and for a moment, she didn’t expect you to speak—even as her eyes followed the slow movement of your tongue—before you asked quietly, “That so, doctor?”

And Wanda’s grin deepened into something genuine as she watched you. “Yes. Because I don’t want to ask why. That’s too easy…”

She leaned forward slightly, letting her eyes trail over you slowly. “No, (Y/N)… I want to understand everything. From the beginning. Why you chose the victims, why you sit here acting like this is all an inconvenience… I want to know the woman beneath the blood.”

Locking eyes with her, an eerie smile passed over your lips and both of you knew, in that moment—

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #reader insert #reader imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #scarlet witch

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often-daydreaming · 7 months ago

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Secrets

He wasn't spying or sneaking around or anything really. Well, not right now at least. Tim was only trying to look for Co-, Superboy. He was looking for Superboy for very heroic reasons that didn't involve a lunch date. It was a meeting. A really important meeting Superboy was running late for. That was his only intention for searching some of the more secluded parts of the Watchtower after Dick had mentioned seeing Conner helping out in one of the lower areas. Really, that was it, he truly didn't mean to witness what seemed to be a very private moment going on in one of the smaller garden areas that were rarely ever used.

However, as he saw the scene unfolding right in front of his eyes, he couldn't help but regard it with a little bit of curiosity.

Because Bart wasn't supposed to be up here. He'd been busy all day judging from some of the reports coming in but there he was, sitting on one of the benches and just watching the view of space with Phantom, the mysterious new hero that had recently appeared in Central a few months ago.

He was human or at the very least human adjacent with tech that was years ahead of everyone else on the planet and that was mostly guessing since he rarely used anything besides a few gadgets and his hoverboard that could easily break the sound barrier. Nobody knew if he had anything else or how advanced it all was since he refused to let anyone else touch his gear. Phantom even went out of his way to get patents to cover everything he used after too many people started annoying him about it.

B didn't like it. He didn't like the idea of one person having so many unknowns in their file but Bart had been the first to jump to Phantom's defence with the rest of his family and the Arrows joining in and quickly shutting down any sort of investigation.

Dinah had been ready to take a swing at Bruce over the issue and since then they'd gone out of their way to keep Phantom away from any and every member of the Bat family but here he was just talking with Bart who was quietly leaning against his side, his expression very, very different from normal. He didn't have his usual grin or an easy-going smile. Bart just... he looked so sleepy.

It was probably the first time Tim had seen it outside of the aftermath of an invasion or some major reality ending incident that left everyone completely drained but even then Bart always seemed to have a sort of bottomless energy like nothing could keep him down for long. But seeing him like this he just looked so relaxed, like he could fall asleep any second now.

Tim's racing thoughts were momentarily cut off when he watched on as Phantom pulled out a pocket watch of all things, the casing shimmering and the inside glowing a dark Lazarus green that almost had him rushing forward before he stopped himself, his finger hovering over one of the alarms as he continued to watch the pair.

He couldn't see what they were looking at from the way they were angled so he continued to watch on as Bart leaned more of his weight against Phantom's side looking like he was close to falling asleep.

They were chatting, mumbling in hushed words he couldn't place. He should know it though. Something inside him twitched at the alien like words they were sharing like an itch he couldn't scratch.

It sounded a bit otherworldly in nature maybe even a bit magical but still so soft with every small gesture Phantom and Bart made for each other. None of it was over the top but each movement was considerate of the other, eyes and hands lingered, their smiles growing just that bit sweeter the longer they talked and it intrigued Tim more and more the longer it went on and they got more comfortable.

With his hood pulled back and his mask off he could see a portion of Phantom's face and noticed the faint traces of worried lines on his forehead. He was prime adoption bait and a small part of Tim felt like he was being rude for spying on them like this, but another part which was huge and overpowering, desperately wanted to know everything they were hiding.

Phantom let out a sigh before he said something again, then Bart's shoulders shook the tiniest bit, a small laugh echoing across the garden before he finally took Phantom's hand interlocking their fingers together. Bart whispered something in whatever odd language they were using and Phantom responded with a low murmur. They stayed like that for a moment, conversing with soft voices that Tim couldn't hear anymore which was to be expected. Everyone knew B was recording everything up here in the Watchtower and with how far out of the way the two of them were it was clear nobody else was meant to overhear or even witness any of this at all.

Phantom released another long weary sigh and nodded at whatever Bart was whispering to him only a strong tug on his cape pulled him away before he could overhear anything else as Conner picked him off the ground and hurried down the hall away from the pair while quietly lecturing him about boundaries yet again.

It wasn't even his fault this time.

Add to it if you want but I just really like the idea of Danny and Bart surviving a messed up apocalyptic future together and meeting again in the past. Danny is playing up a Red Huntress/Hunter kind of role since he's putting a lot of miles between him and Amity Park and Bart is helping him hide since they know just about everything about each other after traveling around with Danny for so long when they were sorting out the whole messed up future/evil fusion problem. They handled it. It's not gonna happen anymore so they'd like to have an afternoon off every once in a while where Danny with some help from Clockwork can just block Bart's connection to the Speed Force and dampen both of their superhuman senses for a little bit so they can relax.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #bart allen

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buckyseternaldoll · 27 days ago

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What We Never Said

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You weren’t lovers. Not really friends either. Just two people who found something sacred in the silence between them—until he left.

Disclaimer: Emotional angst, mutual pining, this story stretches between multiple MCU timeline, canon-divergent, past suicidal ideation (non-graphic), unresolved tension, heartbreak, self-worth struggles, soft reunion, slow-burn emotional resolution, gentle romance, happy ending

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: Based on this ask by @currentfacination 💜 I hope I managed to meet your expectation!

You hadn’t planned on surviving that night.

The city had been beautiful—lights like fireflies, air thick with the earthy scent of warm dust and distant spices. It was supposed to be a vacation, a distraction, a last-ditch effort to salvage whatever was left between you and the man who’d already made you feel small for months. He brought you to a city neighboring Wakanda—borderline tourism, he’d called it. A break from reality.

But by midnight, he was gone.

He left you in the middle of a dark, unfamiliar street with nothing but your passport and a half-broken phone. No money. No directions. Just a sneer and the cold slam of a car door. “Figure it out,” he said before driving off. “Maybe you’ll finally learn not to depend on anyone.”

You walked. Then ran. Then wandered until your feet ached and the cold crept through your skin like something alive. You hadn’t cried. Not until your legs gave out somewhere in the shadows of an unlit hill, and the weight of it all dragged you to your knees.

You remembered the rocks beneath your palms. The sharpness. The way the moonlight trembled over the trees.

You remembered the exact thought that struck you before you stood by the edge of that cliff:

No one is coming. No one ever comes.

But someone did.

Wakandan guards had spotted you—unknown, injured, emotionally unwell—and escorted you inside their borders with quiet, efficient urgency. You barely understood what was happening. You only remembered the soft hum of their aircraft, the cool press of water to your lips, the way they never asked you to explain anything until you could breathe again.

And then, there was Shuri.

She didn’t pry. She just sat beside you. Her presence—sharp and warm and quietly reassuring—was the first human comfort you’d felt in weeks. You told her everything in fragments: the manipulation, the loneliness, the cruelty of someone who had held your heart like it was disposable.

And she listened. God, she listened.

It wasn’t long before she asked you to stay. Just until you got back on your feet.

She gave you a quiet room in the science compound that overlooked the golden plains. She gave you time. You often spent the mornings watching the clouds curl above the mountains, a cup of sweet-spiced Wakandan tea in hand. The silence wasn’t so frightening anymore. Not with her.

You slowly helped in small ways—observing lab work, organizing inventory, even translating diplomatic notes from time to time. You weren’t a genius, not like her, but you were steady. Present. Trying.

When you laughed again for the first time, Shuri smiled and told you it suited you.

—

Then came him.

Bucky Barnes was a ghost when they brought him in. Tense shoulders, eyes like winter steel, breath always held too long—like he hadn’t decided whether he deserved to exhale.

You didn’t meet him at first. Shuri warned you that he didn’t trust easily. He didn’t want healers. He didn’t want psychologists. The few they sent in, he shut out. Too polished, too clinical. “They speak like they’re rehearsing something,” he’d said. “Like I’m just another case file.”

Still, Shuri saw something in both of you. And when she quietly suggested he try speaking to you instead, you nearly declined. What if he didn’t want that either?

Your first conversation was barely more than a shared silence. He sat at the edge of the outdoor bench beneath the acacia trees, arms crossed tight, left leg bouncing restlessly. You handed him tea and didn’t speak. He glanced at it, then at you.

You shrugged. “You don’t have to talk. I’m not going to fix you.”

He studied you with those guarded, worn-out eyes for a beat too long. Then took the cup.

It became a ritual. You met in that same spot every few days—sometimes talking, sometimes not. You never asked about the arm. He never asked about the scar on your wrist. But the understanding between you grew in the cracks of quiet.

He found out about your past when you told him—calmly, without drama. Just facts. Just history.

“I was ready to end it. I thought no one would notice.”

“They did,” he said. “That matters.”

When he told you about Hydra, about how pieces of him still didn’t feel like his, your heart didn’t recoil. You reached out and touched his shoulder—softly. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re not what they made you,” you whispered. “And I’m not what he broke.”

He didn’t say anything. But he stayed.

—

Weeks bled into months.

He taught you how to spot storm clouds in his mood before they hit. You showed him how to stretch pasta by hand, how to make the perfect cup of tea that you liked. He let you see his laugh—rare and surprised, like it shocked even him.

You told him once that being around him didn’t feel like healing.

“It feels like… remembering how to feel safe.”

He blinked hard. Then nodded.

“Same.”

—

Then you planned to leave.

Not out of spite. Not to run.

You had healed—slowly, honestly—and Shuri encouraged you to return to the world you’d left behind. To rebuild something for yourself. You didn’t want to go far. But you also didn’t want to stay frozen in place.

You hesitated when you told Bucky. He was sitting on the windowsill in the corridor, metal hand gripping his knee. You could tell he already knew.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” you said quietly.

He met your gaze. “I know.”

“Come with me, then.”

He didn’t answer right away. But a week later, when your flight was confirmed and your bags were packed, he asked you if you’d want a roommate.

You tried not to smile too hard.

—

You agreed, of course. In your defense, it sounded like a great offer—logical even. You’d gotten used to having him around. His quiet presence, the subtle glances, the unexpected humor that crept in when his guard dropped. Living together might just add a little more spark, a little more comfort. Something to hold onto.

He flew to the U.S. with you, barely carrying more than a single bag and a book he didn’t read on the plane. The apartment you picked wasn’t fancy, but it was enough—a two-bedroom walk-up tucked in the outskirts of New York, where traffic didn’t echo and no one asked too many questions. Quiet. Livable. A little empty at first.

But over time, you made it feel like a home.

A rug here. Plants that almost died but didn’t. Candles you forgot to blow out more than once. You painted the living room together on a weekend afternoon, your playlist humming low from a Bluetooth speaker while paint splattered your forearms. He didn’t complain about your color choices, not even once. In fact, he helped mix the tones with care—sage green and soft grey.

You’d said the green reminded you of yourself—growing, healing. The grey was him, steady and familiar.

“We’re like an old couple,” you joked as you dipped the brush into the tray again.

“Minus the cute banters,” he replied without missing a beat.

You’d both laughed at that, but it stuck with you.

Living together was easy in ways you didn’t expect. You weren’t lovers. You weren’t just friends. But the line between those two kept blurring, kept tugging you closer to something unnamed.

He noticed when you weren’t okay—like the nights when your head stayed low too long or your eyes didn’t quite focus.

“Chamomile?” he’d offer, already steeping the tea. Always with honey.

And when he wasn’t okay—when his nightmares clawed him awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, chest heaving—you didn’t hesitate. You climbed into his bed without a word, pulled him into your arms, and rubbed slow circles into his back until his breathing evened out.

You never talked about those nights in the morning. But he always looked at you like he wanted to.

You started to feel things.

Maybe you had for a while.

You clung to the connection between you like it was sacred, like it was too precious to name out loud. It wasn’t love. Not officially. But some days, it felt like it—quiet, soft, blooming in the spaces where neither of you dared to speak.

Sometimes, it showed.

Like during movie nights—when your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the popcorn bucket at the same time. He didn’t pull away. In fact, he held your hand. Gently. Just for a second too long, like maybe he meant to.

Or the morning you woke up from a panic attack, chest tight and lungs refusing to work. He’d pulled you against him in one movement, holding you so close, so steady, you almost cried. He didn’t let go, not even after you calmed. And when you fell back asleep in his arms, he stayed awake until sunrise—just to make sure you didn’t fall apart again.

There were moments.

Almosts.

And they confused you.

Blurred the lines between what-if and reality.

You were starting to wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt it too.

—

Everything changed the day Steve died.

Bucky stopped being Bucky. It was like watching someone slowly slip beneath the surface—there, but unreachable. His movements dulled, his eyes emptied out, and whatever light used to live behind them dimmed to something barely breathing. He didn’t cry. Didn’t shout. He didn’t say much at all.

He just… stopped.

Stopped texting Sam back. Stopped answering when you called his name from the kitchen. He didn’t touch the food you made—just moved it around his plate until you eventually cleared it away in silence. The routines you’d built, the soft rhythm of your life together—it all unraveled.

Even Mr. Lim noticed. The old man at the corner store mentioned it with a frown when you came by alone one day to buy tangerines.

“Haven’t seen your quiet soldier lately.”

You forced a smile. “He’s just been… tired.”

Still, tired didn’t cover it.

He was hollow.

The nightmares got worse—violent, guttural, shaking him down to the core. You’d wake to the sound of him gasping for air, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, clutching at his chest like he couldn’t bear being alive in his own skin.

Still, you stayed.

You held his hand through every night he thrashed against invisible ghosts. You whispered through his silence, even when he barely looked at you. You made black coffee—bitter just the way he liked it, and left it by his door. You sat on the edge of the couch, brushing your fingertips lightly over his metal arm—not asking for anything. Just letting him know you were still here.

“He loved you, Bucky,” you told him one night. Your voice was soft. Careful. “Steve believed in you. Always.”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on something you couldn’t see.

And then, finally, he spoke—quietly, brokenly:

“How do I keep living… when the only person from my past who saw me as more than a weapon is gone?”

“The only one who believed in me. Who never gave up on me—not once.”

You swallowed hard. That should’ve been a comfort to hear, but the way he said it—it hit different. Like a farewell. Like you had never even been part of the equation.

Your heart splintered.

Still, you managed to whisper, “You have me…”

He turned to look at you then—really looked. But it wasn’t the gaze you knew. His eyes were flat, empty, like he didn’t know what he was seeing.

“Maybe you’re next,” he said quietly. “You’ll leave me too. Die before I do. Or worse—realize I’m not worth your time and walk away like everyone else.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t say it like a plea. He said it like a certainty.

But behind his eyes, the truth twisted deep. You could feel it, even if he didn’t speak it aloud:

Can’t stop the voices in my mind.

Didn’t mean to hurt you, but I do it anyway.

You closed the space between you and him, placing a hand on his arm—flesh, not metal. Grounding. Present.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, steady and low. “Not now. Not when it hurts. Not ever.”

He didn’t move.

“You’re not alone in this,” you added. “Even if you push, I’ll keep pulling. I’ll be here, Bucky. With you. Not without.”

Still, silence.

But you stayed there beside him, even when he didn’t answer. Even when it felt like your words sank into nothing.

You stayed.

Because love isn’t just about being heard.

Sometimes, it’s about being there—unshaken, unmovable—when the person you love forgets they’re worth staying for.

—

The morning air felt wrong.

You woke up slowly at first—sunlight leaking between the blinds, warming the room in pale gold. The usual hush of early morning lingered in the space, but something about it… felt off. Too still. Too empty.

No kettle whistling from the kitchen. No soft thud of his boots by the door. No sound of him flipping through pages of the same damn newspaper he barely read.

Just silence.

Heavy. Final.

You sat up, your chest tight with something you couldn’t name yet. And then you moved—fast. Rushing across the hall to his room, barefoot against cool wood floors. You knocked once. Twice.

No answer.

You turned the knob.

The door swung open with a soft creak, and your heart dropped.

His room was empty.

Not messy. Not abandoned.

Just… cleared out.

The bed was stripped. The closet hangers bare. No duffel bag. No boots. No sketchbook left behind. Not even the little photo you knew he kept tucked between the pages of that worn paperback—gone.

You walked through the house like a ghost—checking the kitchen, the bathroom, even the tiny balcony where he used to stand at night, pretending not to smoke. Every drawer, every quiet corner whispered the same truth:

Bucky was gone.

No note. No explanation. No goodbye.

You called him immediately, fingers trembling as you held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang. Until the line broke into voicemail.

“It’s me. Bucky. Leave something.”

You called again. And again. Voicemail.

You sent a text. Then another. Dozens. You begged, you pleaded, you asked why—but none of them delivered anything back. No read receipt. No dots. No closure.

You tried emailing.

Nothing.

You reached out to Shuri, desperately, hoping maybe he’d gone back to Wakanda. But her reply came back almost immediately.

“I haven’t heard from him either. I’m so sorry. Please take care of yourself.”

But the question hung there, unanswered: how?

How could you take care of yourself when every part of you felt like it had been ripped out in the middle of the night?

You sat on the couch—the one you picked out together, the one where he used to fall asleep during movie nights—and tried to breathe. But all you could do was sit there, phone in hand, silence screaming louder than grief ever could.

You spiraled. Of course you did.

Because you thought it mattered. What you had with him. The quiet mornings. The comfort. The way he used to watch you laugh like it was something rare.

You thought he was healing—not alone, but with you.

You thought you were walking side by side, not carrying him on your own.

And you started wondering if any of it had ever been real. If the soft things he’d said—like how he liked when you scrunched your nose because it made you look like a bunny—were just… words. Passing thoughts. Distractions from the war in his head.

Was any of it real?

Or were you just a temporary balm? Something warm to cling to while he held himself together?

You wanted to believe in the quiet touches, the lingering glances, the way he always made your tea just right—but now, all of it felt like a dream you’d woken up from far too late.

And you?

You felt hollow.

Like he’d taken something when he left. A huge, unspoken, unfillable part of you. A part you didn’t even know was his until it was already gone.

And now, you sat in the place you once called home—surrounded by the ghost of him—and wondered how you were supposed to go on living like nothing had happened.

—

He’d thrown the phone out on the second day.

Not because he was angry. Not because he wanted to forget. But because every time the screen lit up, he thought it might be you. And he couldn’t bear the weight of knowing it probably was.

He stayed off the grid after that. Remote towns. No names. No noise. A worn-out truck and a room above a hardware store with flickering lights and walls thin enough to hear the wind whistling through the seams.

It was better this way.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

You need someone your age, he repeated.

Someone who smiles easy. Someone who’s not haunted every time the sun goes down. Someone who’s not made of fragments stitched together by other people’s regrets.

Someone whole.

Not a man rebuilt from blood and steel and frostbite. Not someone who still hears screams in German when he closes his eyes.

Not him.

He sat alone most nights, back pressed against a cold wall, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was loud—louder than gunfire, louder than any war. It carried your voice in it. Your laugh. The soft way you used to call him—

“Bucks Bunny,”

—with your nose all scrunched up, that ridiculous smile stretched across your face like you had no idea how deeply he loved you in that exact moment.

He’d smile back when he saw it in his head. But when he blinked, it was gone. Just bare walls and a crooked chair in the corner of a room that didn’t even have a clock.

He tried to imagine you happy. Moving on. Living somewhere bright. Somewhere warm. He liked the idea of you wearing light colors, surrounded by people who didn’t look at you like you were about to unravel.

But then the doubt crept in.

What if you hadn’t moved on?

What if you were still hurting? Still waiting?

What if walking away hadn’t saved you—just shattered you, the same way he’d shattered everything else he ever touched?

And that’s what gutted him the most.

Because he knew what you gave. What you sacrificed to stay with him. And he walked away anyway.

“I tried to let it go,” he whispered, voice hoarse from hours without speaking.

“But it’s eating me alive.”

He reached for the notebook tucked in his duffel, the one he barely wrote in anymore. Not since the lists stopped. Not since he stopped believing he was capable of making amends that actually mattered.

Inside it—tucked between two pages worn soft from touching—was the photo.

Shuri had taken it back in Wakanda. You were laughing at something he said, head tilted toward him like you couldn’t be anywhere else. His arm was slung behind you, relaxed. He hadn’t even known he was smiling until he saw the picture.

Now, the edges were frayed. The center had a faint crease, like he’d folded it too many times, taken it out too often just to look. It still smelled faintly of that herbal compound you used to keep in your room.

He brushed his thumb over your face in the photo.

“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath, barely audible.

“God, I’m so sorry.”

The picture didn’t answer. Of course it didn’t.

And neither did you.

—

Florence, 2025

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with the city.

It was just supposed to be work. A preservation site conference, assigned last-minute when your manager realized you hadn’t taken a single vacation in over two years—not even for sick days. He’d practically shoved the ticket into your hand and told you to rest, to go and “experience life under the excuse of networking.”

You’d laughed then. And now, walking through the soft burn of golden hour near Piazza della Signoria, you realized maybe he was right.

The square was still alive with tourists and locals blending into the buzz of early evening. Artists sketched under awnings, performers strummed soft chords on the edge of the fountains, and sunlight spilled across stone like something sacred.

Your conference had ended that afternoon, and you were scheduled to fly back in the morning. So you wandered. Took your time. Let yourself exist without urgency.

Then you saw him.

Or at least, the shape of him.

Across the plaza—taller now, more broad at the shoulders, darker in his clothes. His hair was a little shorter, salt and peppered. He moved slower, more grounded. But it was him. The weight of his presence was unmistakable, like your soul knew it before your eyes did.

You froze mid-step.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or so you thought.

Until he turned.

His eyes met yours—and suddenly, the world narrowed.

For one heartbeat, you couldn’t breathe.

And then he moved.

“Hey—hey!”

He was already walking toward you, fast, almost a jog.

“Is that really—? God, it’s you!”

Your name fell from his mouth like it had never left his lips. Like it belonged to him, like it was sacred.

You barely managed to speak.

“Bucky…”

When he reached you, he stopped short, just an arm’s length away. His chest rose and fell like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes darting across your face like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Then he smiled. Soft and warm and unguarded.

“You look better,” he said, voice low. “Glowier.”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly bashful.

“I mean—you look… good. Really good.”

You smiled, heart hammering. “So do you.”

“Yeah?” he said, almost like he didn’t believe it. “Guess Florence is kind to broken people.”

There was a silence then. Not cold. Not tense. Just full—full of things you never got to say. Regret. Hope. Familiarity.

Time.

“So…” he asked quietly, “how long are you in town?”

You glanced down at your feet. “I leave tomorrow morning.”

His face flickered—something unreadable shifting in his expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

You watched as he brought it to his ear.

“Sam,” he said, turning slightly away but still within reach. “Yeah. I’m gonna stay behind a couple days. Something’s come up.”

A pause.

“No, I’m fine. Just—something I need to sort out.”

He ended the call, slid the phone back into his jacket, and looked at you.

No excuses. No overexplanations.

Just truth.

“I want to talk. If you’ll let me.”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth tugging upward, your throat thick with something almost too much to bear.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Me too.”

And maybe—just maybe—fate had finally decided it was time.

—

The café was tucked away on a narrow side street, shaded by creeping vines and half-silent bells ringing from the nearby cathedral tower. It was small—only four tables inside—but the kind of quiet that felt earned. Safe. Bucky gestured for you to take the corner seat near the window while he went to order.

You sat slowly, your fingers brushing over the grain of the worn wood table as you tried to keep your heart from racing. He still moved with that soft confidence, like his body had been trained for chaos, but now preferred gentleness.

When he returned, he carried a small tray—two steaming drinks and a plate of rustic pastries, flaky and golden, nothing too fancy.

He stood at the edge of the table for a moment, tray in hand, and hesitated.

You watched as his eyes flicked between the two cups—tea and black coffee—before he slowly picked up the coffee and hovered, uncertain.

It was such a small thing. But it felt important somehow.

“I… actually drink black coffee now,” you blurted, voice a little too fast, a little too soft.

Then you stopped yourself, realizing how it sounded.

Like you hadn’t just changed your drink.

Like you’d been holding on to a piece of him all this time, sipping memory in silence.

Bucky chuckled. Something tender shifted in his expression as he placed the coffee in front of you and sat down, curling his fingers around the tea.

“Funny enough,” he murmured, “I can only drink this tea now.”

Your heart squeezed.

Because somehow, without trying, you had become part of each other’s quiet routines—even after all the distance, even after all the years.

You sipped. So did he. And the silence between you wasn’t cold—it was charged. A humming space where every word felt too fragile, too sacred, to break first.

You fiddled with your fingers beneath the table, looking for courage, then finally let your voice cut the stillness.

“You look better too.”

“Shorter hair. Softer stubble.”

“Did you… meet someone? Someone who helped you heal?”

He didn’t even flinch.

He just chuckled, low and warm.

“Never met one.”

“No one’s ever been good enough to replace you.”

The air thickened with the weight of it.

He looked at you then, fully—like he was memorizing you all over again.

“I’ve carried the guilt for years,” he admitted quietly. “For leaving. For not staying. I thought it was what you needed. That I was protecting you.”

He looked down at his cup for a moment, then exhaled slowly.

“But even now—after everything—I still don’t think I know how to stay.”

“Not because I don’t want to. But because… I never learned how. Not with what I lost. Not with all the years that were stolen.”

You could feel the truth in every word.

“I went looking for you,” he continued. “Months after I left. The old place was gone. Demolished. No trace. I called Sam. Shuri. No one knew where you’d gone.”

“It felt like I’d become the ghost… but this time, you disappeared.”

You swallowed hard, chest tightening.

“So I told myself you moved on. That maybe that was good. Maybe I had finally done something right by letting you go.”

He paused, just long enough for the sadness to settle between you.

“But I never loved anyone else.”

“I couldn’t. It’s always been you.”

His hand moved slowly toward his coat pocket. He pulled out a familiar object—his old notebook, but more worn than you remembered. The leather was faded, the spine loose. He flipped carefully to a page halfway through and removed something tucked between the fold.

A photo.

The one Shuri had taken in Wakanda.

You, laughing—eyes closed, head tilted toward him. His arm behind you. His mouth caught in a rare smile. You’d barely even remembered the camera. He hadn’t smiled like that for anyone else.

You blinked at the photo, throat thick.

It was creased. The corners torn and softened. The ink slightly faded. You could tell he’d held it too many times. Folded it. Unfolded it. Looked at it again. And again. And again.

“You still keep this?” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

“Every night. I… couldn’t let it go.”

And there it was—the proof you’d both needed.

That no matter how far the silence stretched, no matter how lost you became to each other—

You were never forgotten.

—

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, side by side in that tiny café tucked in the heart of Florence. The drinks had cooled. The pastries sat mostly untouched. The sun had begun to dip, casting golden light through the stained glass window beside you, catching the soft curve of Bucky’s jaw, the way his eyes looked just a little too full.

He was still holding the photo.

Still tracing his thumb over the image of you, years younger, smiling without knowing he was looking.

You finally broke the quiet.

“You know… I could never really erase you.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours. You could see the weight in them—hope, guilt, something fragile he didn’t know how to name.

“When you left, it felt like you took this huge piece of me with you,” you continued, voice low. “I didn’t know how to move forward for a while. I felt hollow. Angry. But…”

You paused, steadying your breath.

“I kept thinking about how you made it through everything. Hydra. The pain. The guilt. You kept going, even when you didn’t think you deserved to. Even when you were alone.”

You looked down, then back up at him, and there was something shining in your expression now—something soft and clear.

“So I followed you, in a way. I took it day by day. I learned how to live again. Not because it stopped hurting, but because I remembered you kept trying.”

Your hand drifted over your chest, almost absentmindedly.

“But I never forgot you. Not the way you held me. Not your voice. Not your arms around me when I needed them most. I could still feel you.”

He looked at you like you’d just split the sky in half.

You smiled, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as you leaned forward just slightly, scrunching your nose.

“Bucks Bunny,” you said playfully, tenderly—his name softened by time and love.

The sound cracked something open in him.

You held out your hand, palm up, between you on the table.

“Maybe we can stop running away this time?”

“Let’s start making amends with each other.”

He stared at your hand for a long second, lips parted like he was trying to hold back emotion. Then—without hesitation—he reached across and took it.

His fingers were warm. Calloused. Familiar. He wrapped them gently around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then he smiled. Fully. Finally.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Let’s.”

***

[EPILOGUE]

It was night now. The city had quieted into a gentle hush, the kind that only old places seemed to carry—ancient stone still holding the warmth of the sun, lanterns flickering on cobbled streets, casting long shadows between the alleys.

You hadn’t meant to stay out this late.

But after the café, neither of you wanted to say goodbye. So you walked. Nowhere specific. Past bridges and gardens, through quiet squares and narrow streets with laundry still hanging from windows. You filled each other in on life, on little things—jobs, books, memories, movies missed and people changed.

It felt like no time had passed.

But the streets were nearly empty now, shutters drawn, windows glowing faintly with the hush of bedtime.

When you reached your hotel, Bucky lingered behind you in the hallway, hands in his pockets, eyes warm beneath the soft golden light. You didn’t speak as you slid the keycard into the lock. The door clicked open.

And as soon as it shut behind you—

He pulled you in.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, the other curled gently around your waist as he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft and reverent, but hungry with years of restraint finally unraveling.

“Had been holding on for too long, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, voice husky.

“I’ve been dreaming about this.”

You deepened the kiss, fingers fisting in the collar of his jacket, and he groaned softly at the contact. There was no desperation—only love. The kind that settles into your bones. The kind that doesn’t ask anymore. That knows.

This was the end of yearning.

The end of waiting.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath came uneven, but his voice was steady.

“I love you,” he said softly. “So much. Too much.”

“I think even the other versions of me in alternate universes would probably love the other versions of you, too.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your eyes bright.

“Are you sure though?”

He smiled, thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in again.

“Very sure.”

***

#by elle.ᐟ #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst #requested fic by elle #tysm for the request! 💜#mcu!bucky angst #mcu!bucky fic #mcu!bucky #mutual pining #emotional hurt/comfort

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minswriting · 5 months ago

Text

MARKED TERRITORY - A.H x Reader x S.R

About: After that fateful encounter in Hotch’s office, a few weeks later you’re all on a case. Spencer decides he’s had enough waiting and visits yours and Aaron’s hotel room.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, threesomes, blowjobs, oral (f), fingering (f), masturbation (m), dom!aaron, switch!reader, switch!spencer, loss of virginity (spencer’s), talking through it, boys kissing, etc. NOT PROOF READ because this is 5k of PORN.

A/N: This is part two of Unknown Territory! I just wanted to make a comment and say that I do not ship hotchreid but I do fantasize about getting fucked by them both while they also fuck each other in front of me. So live your slutty truths homegirls and let the demons consume you. If you don’t like, don’t read! Don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all! Border was made by my homegirl @esote-rika because I love her.

Word Count: 5.3k words

After that fateful encounter that night in Aaron’s office, you could not stop thinking about it. The way you felt while Aaron was pounding into you, the way Spencer’s cock felt in your hand, the way your lips felt on Spencer’s, you wanted nothing more than to do it again. You wanted Spencer’s cock inside of you so badly. It had been a few weeks since the encounter, everyone had been so busy with cases upon cases that none of you were able to really sit down and discuss anything.

You only had time alone with Aaron which wasn’t really surprising as the two of you had already a pretty good dynamic going on. However, one night you had whined to Aaron about how much you wanted Spencer, and Aaron couldn’t deny that he wanted it too. The way the three of you meshed well together just seemed…natural. It was inevitable that the three of you would end up sleeping together.

So you had spent the past few weeks teasing Spencer—small compliments about how good he looked in his sweater and lingering gazes into each other’s eyes. Aaron would pat Spencer’s shoulder when he did well, praising him for the good work he’d done. And you would rest a hand on Spencer’s thigh occasionally when no one was looking, causing the boy’s breath to hitch.

It was no wonder that one day, while on a case out in Los Angeles, at the hotel, Spencer came to yours’ and Aaron’s hotel room dressed in nothing but a thin pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Completely out of the ordinary than his usual sweater vests and cardigans that he usually wore. When you had opened the door, freshly out of the shower in a silk nightgown, Spencer invited himself into the room, looking at you and Aaron, sitting leisurely against the bed's headboard, reading a file.

“You guys are unfair,” Was the first thing to leave Spencer’s lips after he had closed the door behind himself.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow, looking at Spencer. “How are we unfair, Reid?” He asked in his usual velvety voice, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Spencer glanced at Aaron and then at you, not-so-subtly checking you out. “I-” He paused as he tried to collect his thoughts, furrowing his eyebrows. “You guys have been…teasing me since that…night,” He said weakly, meeting your eyes.

You let out a tiny giggle, unable to help yourself. “What night?” You asked, feigning innocence. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific. There are many nights in a year.” You were standing next to Spencer.

Aaron hummed in agreement, closing the file and standing up off of the bed. He walked over to the two of you. “She’s right, Reid, you’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Aaron said in a teasing tone.

Spencer let out a small whine of frustration, realizing that the two of you were going to keep teasing him. “T-that night,” He swallowed, feeling dizzy. His heart was pounding as the memories of that fateful night roamed around in his brain rent-free. “When we-” He stuttered. “When you-” Spencer let out a groan in frustration. The only thing making you guys take pity on him was the obvious hard-on that Spencer was sporting, his cock straining almost painfully in his pants.

“What do you want, baby?” You asked softly, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

He looked at you with his beautiful brown doe eyes, licking his lips. “You,” He whispered. “And you,” He looked over at Aaron.

You gave Spencer a hum of acknowledgment, moving your hand to graze his chest. “What do you want from us?” You asked gently. Aaron was watching the interaction with a small smirk on his lips.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as your hand moved on his chest. “I-I want to learn,” He whispered. “To please you, to feel you.”

You glanced at Aaron, biting your lip in a small question. He simply nodded his head at you, a subtle sign for you to keep going. You moved your gaze back to Spencer. “So you want to lose your virginity, Spence?” Your tone held that same gentleness from before, giving Spencer a sense of comfort.

He nodded his head, looking at you with parted lips. “I-if that’s okay,” He whispered, looking at Aaron. He wasn’t entirely sure what your dynamic was. Whether the two of you were in a genuine relationship or if you were just being intimate with one another. You didn’t really know the answer to that either. You just knew that what you and Aaron had was enjoyable and that’s all either of you needed to know.

Aaron approached Spencer, standing behind him, causing Spencer to be entrapped in the middle by the two of you. “You want to fuck Y/N?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, sending a shiver down the genius’ spine. “Want to pleasure her as well as I can?” Spencer nodded his head again. Aaron tsked, putting a hand on the back of Spencer’s neck. “You need to use your words.” He commanded.

Spencer let out a tiny whimper, unable to help the noise from escaping his lips. “Y-yes,” He stuttered, maintaining eye contact with you.

“Good boy,” You replied, giving Spencer a small smile as you praised him. You saw how Spencer’s pupils dilated from the praise and how his cheeks reddened more than they already were. You grabbed Spencer’s collar, pulling him towards you as you placed your lips on his. The two of you kissed one another deeply and hungrily, just like you did a few weeks ago. And after a few moments, you pulled away. “Do you want me to stop?” You asked breathily.

“Just the opposite,” Spencer replied hurriedly.

So you kissed him again, this time with more passion as your hold on Spencer’s collar loosened. Your lips moved in sync as you bit his bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore his mouth with your tongue. Spencer parted his lips and made a soft noise, allowing you to do so. Your tongue explored him, tasting the inside of his mouth.

After a little while, you pulled away to look at Spencer. Aaron turned Spencer’s head to the side, immediately attaching his lips to the genius’. You watched for a moment, seeing how Aaron and Spencer kissed one another quite hungrily. You couldn’t help the way your thighs clenched as you felt your pussy throb at the sight. You licked your lips as your hands trailed along Spencer’s torso, reaching the waistband of his pajama pants.

Spencer let out a small gasp in the kiss with Aaron as he felt your hands pull down his pants, his cock springing free from the confines. He was already so hard, his cock red and angry. Being the kind and amazing person that you were, you dropped to your knees in front of Spencer. He pulled away from the kiss with Aaron to look down at you, his brown eyes wide and blown out.

Aaron cooed, looking down at you before looking at Spencer again. “See that, Spencer,” He murmured into the younger’s ear. “She wants to make you feel good. Will you let her?” Aaron’s voice was sultry and smooth as he spoke.

“Y-yes,” Spencer whispered, licking his lips as he looked down at you.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Aaron replied, smirking at you as he spoke to Spencer.

Spencer let out a small whine as you ran a ghost of a fingertip from the base of his cock to the tip. “Yes,” Spencer gasped, speaking a bit louder.

“Good boy,” Aaron murmured as he leaned down to press small kisses along Spencer’s neck.

You grinned at the two of them before wrapping your hand around Spencer’s cock. You slowly moved your hand upward, giving it a few experimental tugs. And then you leaned forward, giving the tip of Spencer’s cock a kiss, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch once more. You stuck your tongue out, swirling it around the tip of Spencer’s cock. He let out a whimper, unable to help the subtle way his hips moved forward.

Giving head was always a treat. Whenever you gave Aaron a blowjob, you always relished the way his body reacted to your touch. It’s something primal, something so natural in the way the human body reacts to such pleasures. Especially when you’re the one causing it.

You slowly eased your mouth onto Spencer’s length, making him moan as he finally felt what your mouth felt like for the first time. You made it about halfway before moving your head back up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip once more. “O-oh,” Spencer moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear.

“Uh-huh,” Spencer nodded his head, his eyes still closed.

You quickened your pace, getting into a nice rhythm of bobbing your head up and down Spencer’s length. You put your hand on the base of Spencer’s cock, jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. This action caused Spencer to moan loudly, his hand going down to your hair and entangling his fingers into it. “So good,” Spencer whimpered, opening his eyes to look down at you, seeing that you were already looking up at him through your lashes. “I-I’m so close,” He gasped, expecting you to stop.

But instead, you simply hummed in acknowledgment as you continued your ministrations on Spencer’s cock. You wanted so desperately to feel and taste him. Sucking Spencer off had been something you’d been thinking about for quite some time, wanting to see how he fell apart simply from your mouth. You felt Spencer’s cock stiffen in your mouth, signaling he was about to cum as the grip on your hair tightened.

Spencer was whining and moaning, unable to help the subtle stuttering of his hips as he began chasing his high from your mouth. And when you bobbed your head back up his length and swirled your tongue on the tip, Spencer let out the most beautiful noise you had ever heard as he moaned your name and came down your throat. You continued to suck him off through his orgasm, only stopping once Spencer shuttered from overstimulation.

You pulled away from Spencer’s cock, leaving a trail of saliva and cum on your chin. You used the back of your hand to wipe it away as you stood up. “T-thank you,” Spencer murmured to you.

You simply grinned. “We have the whole night ahead of us, Spence,” You exclaimed. “We aren’t done yet.” You moved over to Aaron and kissed him on the lips. “Isn’t that right?”

Aaron hummed as he smiled against your lips. “Absolutely,” he murmured. Aaron put a hand on your hip while he reached his other hand to Spencer’s, pulling him over to the two of you. Aaron looked at Spencer. “You’re going to watch and learn,” he commanded softly. He kissed you again, putting both of his hands on your hips.

You kissed Aaron back, your eyes fluttering shut as you put your hands on his shoulders. The two of you moved together in sync, kissing one another roughly. Aaron’s hands moved to the bottom of your nightgown, slowly pulling the fabric upward. He pulled away from the kiss to take the nightgown off of you, throwing it somewhere in the hotel room. You weren’t wearing anything underneath as you normally don’t when you wear such an article of clothing.

“Look at you,” Aaron said, looking you up and down. “Such a pretty girl for me.” As Aaron looked at you, you couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips. “Isn’t she so pretty, Spencer?”

“The prettiest,” Spencer replied hoarsely as he watched you and Aaron.

Aaron hummed, bringing his lips back to yours for a moment before kissing your jawline and down your neck. He gently pushed you until the backs of your legs bumped the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to make you feel good, okay?” He whispered to you.

You nodded your head, biting your lip as you looked at Aaron. “How do you want me?” You whispered back.

“On the bed,” Aaron exclaimed. “Lay pretty for me, yeah?”

You grinned, nodding your head. “Yes, sir,” You teasingly said as you got onto the bed, lying down on the mattress with your head on the pillow. Aaron couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he watched you obey him so willingly.

“And you,” Aaron turned to look at Spencer, who was standing there watching rather a bit awkwardly. “I want you to sit on the edge of the bed and watch,” He said, pointing to a spot on the bed. Spencer didn’t hesitate to obey either as he took a seat, turning himself to face you. Aaron looked at you both for a moment, unable to help the muttering under his breath as he said “If only you two were this obedient out in the field,” before he moved over to you.

Aaron grabbed your left ankle, pressing a light kiss onto the skin as he worked his way upward. He had a habit of worshipping your body any time he was going to go down on you. He wanted you to know that you were valued, not just a means of stress relief to him. He made his way to your thigh, kissing the inside of the flesh. You watched Aaron with anticipation as he kissed your skin and spread your legs as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Already so wet,” He said huskily, licking his lips as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” You whispered back, looking at Aaron’s dark eyes as he watched you with hunger.

Aaron glanced over at Spencer, seeing how engrossed he was in watching the scene. The boy was already hard again but made no moves to pleasure himself. How endearing. Aaron then turned back to look at your cunt, no longer hesitating as he buried his head between your thighs.

He slowly licked a strip from your hole to your clit, collecting your juices on his tongue. You moaned softly, still biting your lip as you watched Aaron begin his ministrations on your pussy. He took his time with it, wanting to savor the taste and put on a show for Spencer. After all, Spencer needs to learn how to make you feel good.

Aaron’s tongue began running laps around your cunt, making figure eights before his lips moved to wrap around your clit. He sucked gently, causing you to moan and bring your hand to his hair, tugging at the locks. “Aaron,” you whined, your eyes fluttering shut.

He began kissing your pussy, practically making out with it as his tongue circled around your clit. You were whining and moaning, basking in the pleasure that Aaron was giving you. You suddenly felt one of his fingers probing your entrance, slowly easing inside of you. You gasped at the intrusion before throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh my god,” you whimpered.

Aaron began moving his finger inside of you, thrusting in and out slowly while his lips remained on your clit. You had one hand in his hair while the other gripped the sheets. The feeling of Aaron’s finger inside of you while he also ate you out was such a wonderful feeling. You knew you wouldn’t last long.

He eventually added a second finger, immediately curling them up and hitting your g-spot. The action caused you to cry out in pleasure, instinctively clenching your walls around Aaron’s fingers. “Aaron!” you cried out in pleasure.

He responded by humming and sucking on your clit, moving his fingers faster inside of you. You felt that familiar heat growing inside of you as you got closer. “I’m so close,” you moaned, arching your back. Aaron continued his movements, determined to make you feel good.

With the rhythmic movement of Aaron’s fingers moving inside of you combined with the feeling of Aaron sucking and licking your clit, your orgasm overcame you quickly and harshly. You came with a loud moan of Aaron’s name, pulling his hair and thighs clenching around his face. “Oh fuck, Aaron, oh fuck,” you moaned repeatedly as you came, head thrown back with your back arched high.

Spencer watched you, mesmerized by the way your body reacted to Aaron’s touch. In that moment, Spencer was grateful for his eidetic memory. The way Aaron moved his mouth against you and used his fingers, Spencer knew that one day, he’d get to make you fall apart against him. He licked his lips at the idea of eating you out. He should be grossed out by it, being a germaphobe and all. But the idea of eating you out was enough to have his cock stiffening. He had to will himself not to cum untouched, wanting to be inside of you before he allowed that to happen.

When you relaxed against the mattress, relaxing your muscles and unclenching your thighs, Aaron pulled away with a smirk on his lips. He removed his fingers from your cunt, the digits soaked from your juices as was his chin. Aaron looked over at Spencer, seeing the way he was looking at you and Aaron. “Do you want a taste?” Aaron asked hoarsely as he held up his hand that was covered in your juices.

Spencer nodded pathetically, his lips already parting as he looked at Aaron with big doe eyes. Aaron couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him as he moved over to Spencer, bringing his fingers to the genius’ lips. Spencer immediately took them into his mouth, sucking on the digits as his tongue lapped around them. He moaned around Aaron’s fingers, loving the way you tasted.

“She tastes so divine, doesn’t she?” Aaron murmured, his other hand caressing Spencer’s hair. “She feels even better.” He practically purred.

You watched the scene happening in front of you as your breathing evened out. The way Spencer looked at Aaron with that blown-out expression he’s had all night, you could feel yourself getting wet again. You let out a small whine at the sight, clenching your thighs together.

Aaron glanced over at you, seeing the way you were already turned on again. “Needy, baby?” He asked.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” you said in response.

Aaron turned his attention back to Spencer, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Are you ready to feel her?” He asked, still caressing Spencer’s hair.

“Yes,” Spencer rasped out, glancing over at you. No other thoughts were in his brain as he thought about finally being inside of you. Over the past few weeks, it had been embarrassing how much he had jerked off at the idea of fucking you, feeling how wet you’d be on his cock.

“Good boy,” Aaron praised, sending a shiver down Spencer’s spine. “Go over to her. I’ll teach you what to do.”

Spencer nodded his head at his boss, licking his lips in anticipation. He cleared his throat as he got up from his seat at the edge of the bed, moving closer to you. Aaron stood next to the bed. “How do you want me?” You asked, looking at Spencer this time.

Spencer didn’t quite know how to respond. He wanted you in every way imaginable. But he knew tonight was about learning, about losing his virginity and learning how to make you feel good. He looked over at Aaron, who looked at Spencer with a quirked eyebrow. Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he was put on the spot. “I-uh-“ Spencer stuttered, looking at you. “J-just the way you are?”

That would be the best way, wouldn’t it be? You were already on your back, hair sprawled out on the pillow, with your legs spread and ready for Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but look at your cunt. The way you were still so wet. He couldn’t wait to bury himself deep inside of you. But he waited for further instruction, not wanting to ruin the moment by his own greed.

“Are you ready for me to guide you?” Aaron asked Spencer in that soft velvety voice.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding his head. “Yes, please.” He murmured.

Aaron looked at you. “And are you ready for Spencer, darling?” He asked you in the same tone.

You nodded your head enthusiastically, giving Aaron a small grin. “Want it so bad,” you replied breathily. “Been dreaming about it for so long.”

Aaron chuckled as Spencer blushed. “I know you have, baby,” Aaron cooed, putting a hand on your thigh. “You hear that, Spencer? She’s been wanting you for a while now. Will you give her what she wants?”

“Y-yes,” Spencer stuttered as he confirmed. To say he was nervous was an understatement. What if he wasn’t good? What if he came too soon and didn’t even make you feel anything? What if you decide you don’t want to speak to him anymore after this and things get awkward? All of those thoughts rushed through his head as his nerves began getting to him.

“Relax,” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, as if attuned to Spencer’s ray of emotions. Spencer took a deep breath. “Firstly, you’re going to pull her closer to you. Don’t hesitate to manhandle her a little bit. She likes that,” Aaron spoke, teasing you slightly as he did so.

“Don’t tell him that,” you replied lightly.

The small banter between the two of you helped ease Spencer’s nerves. He put his arms underneath your legs, gently pulling you closer to him. You gave Spencer a soft reassuring smile. You could feel the tension radiating off of him. “There’s no need to be so tense, Spence,” you said softly. “I know it’s your first time and that’s scary. If you want to stop, that’s more than okay.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He replied immediately. “I just-I’m nervous is all. What if it’s not good? Or I don’t make you finish?”

You shook your head. “Firstly, it’s about the experience which is why foreplay is so important. If I don’t finish, that’s okay because I got to be with you and that’s all that matters.”

Spencer took your words into consideration. “You don’t care if you don’t finish?”

“Well nothing says you can’t do the job with your fingers after.” You grinned.

Spencer let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as he relaxed. Your words really did help to make him feel better. He looked at Aaron. “And that’s okay?”

Aaron nodded his head. “More than okay,” He replied. “Are you ready to continue?” He asked.

“Yes.” Spencer replied, sounding more sure of himself which made you smile.

Aaron hummed in approval. He reached down, grabbing Spencer’s hand and guiding it to the base of Spencer’s cock. “See how wet she is?” He leaned in so that his breath was fanning Spencer’s ear. “You’re going to spread the wetness around with your cock.” He whispered. Aaron moved Spencer’s hand that was gripping Spencer’s cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread the wetness up and down your slit. Aaron let go of Spencer’s cock, allowing the boy to do it himself.

You let out a soft noise, the feeling of Spencer’s tip against your pussy making you want him even more. Spencer couldn’t help the small whine that escaped his lips as he felt your wetness against his length. He was careful to make sure he was slow with it, not wanting to ruin the experience at all. He looked down at the way his cock moved against your pussy. Spencer swallowed and let out a shaky breath. Experimentally, he rubbed the tip against your clit to gauge your response.

And god, it was the right thing to do as you let out a “Spence!” in a way that he had been dreaming about for so long.

Aaron watched the two of you. He was the only one that was still dressed. The obvious tent in his suit pants was proof enough that he was affected by this whole ordeal. But he ignored it, wanting to focus on the two of you.

Spencer continued to circle the tip of his cock against your clit. “Spencer, please,” you said in a whiny tone that could’ve had Spencer cum right on the spot.

He let out a small moan. “You’re so wet,” he rasped out.

“Please fuck me already,” you said, still in that same tone.

“You heard her, Spencer,” Aaron spoke, his voice rough. “Give the lady what she needs.” Spencer bit his lip as he looked down at you and then at Aaron. He brought his cock to your hole. “Go slow,” Aaron commanded gently. “You don’t want to cause any discomfort or blow your load too soon.”

Spencer nodded his head. He looked down at you again as you looked at him with lustful eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer slowly eased himself into you. He let out a choked gasp, bringing his free hand to his mouth and biting down slightly to ground himself. The feeling of your wet cunt engulfing his cock was a lot and it took everything in him to not cum right then and there. Especially because he wasn’t even fully inside of you yet.

You moaned at the feeling of finally getting filled. Like anytime you had sex, there was a sting at the feeling of being stretched. But it was a good sting and you adored the feeling.

Aaron began unbuttoning his shirt, watching the scene unfolding in front of him. “When you’re fully inside, you’re going to wait. Don’t move until she’s ready for you to,” he spoke, tossing his shirt to the side.

As soon as Spencer was completely inside of you, he stayed still, taking deep breaths to not cum so quickly. “Y-you’re so tight, oh my god,” he couldn’t help but groan.

You laughed breathily. “You’re big,” you replied simply.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes as you adjusted to having Spencer inside of you and he calmed himself down enough to not bust inside of you immediately. “I-I’m ready,” you said softly, reaching your left hand out to intertwine your fingers with Spencer’s.

Spencer held your hand with his, the action helping him feel better. He looked over at Aaron. “Start slowly,” the older man stated, palming himself through his suit pants. “You don’t want to go too fast at first because you want it to last.”

Spencer took one more deep breath before pulling his cock out and thrusting back into you slowly. The action made him whimper as he felt his cock glide against your walls. “Oh-oh my,” He whimpered out, his grip on your hand tightening as he tried to control himself.

The first few thrusts were experimental, to familiarize himself with you and your pussy. And the look on your face helped reassure him that you at least liked it with the way your lips were parted in an “o” and how you were letting out your own small noises.

He began to get into a rhythm of slow movements, not wanting to go too fast. The feeling of your pussy around his cock was absolutely heavenly. You were so wet, so tight, and so warm. Spencer had wondered why it had taken him so long to lose his virginity. The way his cock moved against your walls made him feel as though he was going to burst at any moment. And the soft noises you were making? All because of Spencer's cock? You were truly a work of art that blessed the Earth with your presence.

“Faster,” you breathed out, licking your lips as you did so.

Who was Spencer to deny such a pretty request?

He began moving his hips a bit faster, picking up the pace. The change in friction made him let out a slutty whine as his cock dove in and out of your pussy. You moaned loudly, moving your legs to wrap them around Spencer’s waist, deepening the angle.

Aaron had removed his pants and boxers and was thoroughly jerking himself off, matching the pace that Spencer had set. He pumped his cock, watching the two of you as he brought his thumb to the tip, spreading around the precum that had already leaked. Watching the two of you was more than enough for him. He’s been having you all to himself for the past few months. It was only fair that he took a step back and allowed Spencer to have you all to himself.

As Spencer’s pace quickened, the squelching sound of your cunt filled the room with each thrust of his cock. “Oh my god,” Spencer whimpered, looking down at the way his cock moved in and out of you. Your cunt was soaked, glistening with your juices. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. So in order to make it good for you, Spencer put his fingers to your clit. Thank god for anatomy classes and studying the human body as he began rubbing circles against the nub.

You gasped, throwing your head back in pleasure. The way Spencer’s cock thrusted in and out, grazing against your g-spot, as he rubbed your clit. You could feel your release coming which was definitely surprising.

The room was filled with a chorus of grunting, whining, and moaning as everyone basked in the pleasures. Aaron quickened his hand, pumping himself faster.

“Feels so good,” you moaned with your head thrown back against the pillow.

“I-I’m not going to last much longer,” Spencer whined, looking down at you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust. At some point, Spencer would love to fuck you with his face buried between your tits. He continued to rub your clit and thrust his hips, trying to focus on your pleasure while chasing his own.

“Me neither,” you mewled. You opened your eyes to glance at Aaron as he had been so quiet. Seeing the way he stared at the two of you while pumping his cock. You could tell by the way his chest was flushed that Aaron was close. You reached out for him with your other hand, replacing his hand with yours as you jerked him off fast.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer moaned. “So close. Can I cum inside of you? Please, please, please,” He babbled as his hips moved more frantically.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” You moaned loudly.

And with a loud groan, Spencer buried himself deep inside of you as he came, filling you with his cum. The feeling of being filled sent you over the edge as you arched your back and moaned Spencer’s name rather pornographically, cumming hard around his cock. The feeling of you cumming making Spencer let out a rather pornographic whine.

The sight of the two of you finishing was enough to send Aaron over the edge as he came on your tits, his seed painting your chest as he grunted. You continued to jerk him off through his release.

And when the three of you were finished, the room was filled with heavy breathing. Silence overcame you guys as you all basked in the post-orgasmic bliss. After a few minutes, Spencer pulled out of you and laid down next to you just as Aaron leaned down to kiss your forehead before going to the bathroom to get a cloth and clean you up.

When you were all cleaned up, relatively so anyways, Aaron gently moved you over and laid down next to you. You looked between him and Spencer before finally breaking the silence. “So we’re in agreement that this is happening again, right?” You asked with a cheeky grin on your face, causing them both to chuckle.

“Oh absolutely,” Aaron replied.

“I’d like that,” Spencer said softly.

Well, let’s just say after that, that threesomes were now a frequent occurrence in your everyday life when you guys weren’t working.

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