#Might go home soon (and need to work on assessments--) so !!!!

[caramelmochacrow]

still at the con atm but!!!! I saw like. Five of my friends!!!!!! Yippeeeeeeee!!!!!

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 

"Who is this?" 

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 

"There's someone in my apartment." 

"You're sure?" 

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 

You hang up the phone. 

"I know you're here." 

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 

You could be dead in the next two minutes. 

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 

"Found you." 

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 

"Aw. To begin with, sure." 

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 

"We both know you don't like nice." 

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 

Hotch moves in. 

"Drop the weapon." 

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down." 

"No, I was surrendering." 

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 

You hang your head. 

— 

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 

"That doesn't need a cast?" 

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 

You'll be gentle? 

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 

You don't answer. 

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 

"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 

"Don't think so." 

"It's shock," says the paramedic. 

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?" 

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 

"Her boss." 

"Not her partner?" 

"He's my closest friend," you say. 

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 

"No. No, I want you to." 

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 

"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 

"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

[purplecoffee13]

Busy*

Summary: “Harry has to work on a Saturday, and it leaves you quite frustrated. You settle on a compromise…”

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: c0ckwarming, degradation kink, squ!rting, overstimulation, daddy kink, Harry being kinda mean (but in a hot sexy way)

A/N: hey besties, here’s a blurb for you. Thank you for the patience! I hope you enjoy this smutty little fic🤭

Blurbs Masterlist

General Masterlist

Harry is a busy man.

Not that there is anything wrong with that, except for one little thing: your fiancé works mostly from home.

He's not required to visit the office all the time because he works at an IT company. He's explained his job to you countless of times, but you always get confused about the details. What you don't get confused about is his absurd work hours, though. In fact, it causes loads of aggravation, such as today.

It was supposed to be a nice, calm Saturday. You had both blocked it out to be able to enjoy a full weekend together, but a big mistake had caused chaos at Harry's company, and it needed to be fixed before the weekend was over.

The worst part? He got the call right when he was about to sink his cock into you, and it's all you've been thinking about since he's isolated himself into that little office of his at nine in the morning. It is now two o'clock, and you fear you might be going crazy. It doesn't help that you are clearly ovulating, and it's obviously one of the main indicators that drive you to enter his office.

Harry glances at you, his eyes softening in that second he sees you in a tanktop and a cardigan you threw on. You didn't bother to put on shorts, it's not like you had to cover up for anyone anyway. Unfortunately his attention is back on the screen quite quickly, along with a crease between his brows.

He's frustrated. You could help with that.

A hint of a smirk paints your face as you near your fiancé, and he only fully redirects his focus to you when you climb on top of him, straddling him in his desk chair. The satisfied hum that leaves his mouth vibrates against your shoulder, where he inhales your scent. He huffs, plants a kiss on your neck, and scoots the chair towards the desk before resuming his furious typing on the keyboard.

You say nothing as you pepper Harry with kisses. You make sure you don't miss an inch, slowly working your way up to his jaw. The entire time, he doesn't move an inch, as if he's unaffected by your attention.

Your slightly bruised ego doesn't like that, and soon enough you begin to subtly grind your hips against him. That does cause a reaction.

The low baritone of his breathy voice tickles down your spine as he laughs at your desperation. Your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels at the sound of it.

"Baby..." his tone is warning, but huskily enough to know that he wants you to go on. You him softly, continuing with the movement of your hips. "What are you doing, hmm?"

"Missed you." You admit, rolling against him harsher than before. Harry bites back a groan, but his eyes stay glued to his laptop, and the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard doesn't stagnate either.

"I've been right here all day." He points out, even though he knows what you mean. He's just trying to be a tease and you both know it. Right now though, you don't care, you just want him.

"Not where I want you." You reply stubbornly, your hands tugging at his belt.

"And where is it that you want me?"

"Inside of me."

"Oh no I can't do that, baby. I'm working, remember?"

"But I need you..." you whine hopelessly. You know Harry likes it when you get all desperate for him, and right now you are feeling very much so.

He finally leans back to look you in the eyes, assessing your current state of mind. "Yeah?"

"So bad, daddy. Please, I'll be good."

From the way Harry clenches his jaw, you can see he has given in, and you'll get your way. He sighs, raising his brows as he gives you a nod.

“Alright… take off your clothes.” He orders, and you immediately do as he says, getting rid of your cardigan and top and throwing them across the room. "You can warm up my cock while I work— get up."

Again, you are incredibly fast to obey him, standing up so he could pull down his pants and take out his already hard cock. With a flick of his fingers, he gestures for you to come sit down again, and you do as he demands, pushing your panties to the side and filling yourself up to the brim.

You are so horny and sensitive, you know you won't need much to come. Wrapping yourself around Harry is like breathing fresh air, it’s right and always seems to clear your mind.

"Good girl." Is the only thing Harry whispers before he resumes to his work. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a pained sigh as you soak in the length of him. He always feels at home between your legs, like he belongs there. You know he knows that he does, it's why he can get away with shit like this.

He's aware of how desperate you can get for his cock, because it feels like there is a part of you that’s missing whenever he's not filling you up. He knows your pussy is his to stuff whenever he wants to.

That thought alone makes you clench around him, which earns you a smack against your bum. You jolt forward, not expecting the intensity of the sting, and moan at the friction that it gives you.

"Behave." Is all Harry says, his tone rough and demanding. It nearly sends a shiver down your spine. You love it when he gets like that, so dominant.

You stay still, exactly like he ordered, but when you suddenly feel Harry leaning back and place his fingers on your clit, you know the real torture is only just beginning. Swallowing away a moan, you try your hardest to keep your composure as Harry begins to rub lazy circles on your puffy clit.

Your attempt to keep quiet is ruined when he pinches your clit, and a small squeak escapes your lips. Before you can even apologize, Harry's free hand spanks your ass. Again, you move a bit from the impact, and this time, it nearly sends you over the edge. Your fiancé is being extremely cruel, his eyes never leaving that damned computer of his. At this point you want to smash the entire thing to have his eyes be on you, to have all of his attention.

Harry resumes to lazily rubbing your clit for a bit, and you develop a breathing pattern that helps you keep quiet. Rewarding your obedience, his pace picks up, and so does the pressure he places on your clit with his fingers.

You bury your face into his neck, hands clenching around the back of the chair as your legs begin to shake. The stimulation is too much to handle and you feel like you might explode as you come around Harry's cock. The pathetic cry—muffled slightly by your lips on his shoulder—that leaves you gets a kiss on your shoulder instead of a slap this time, and you sigh in relief as you come down from your orgasm.

You are surprised to feel Harry's hands redirect yours as he scoots forward, and wraps them around the desk behind you. You hold onto the wooden table and watch him lean back in his seat again, arms on the armrest, before he gives you a slight nod, one that says 'go on'. When you don't immediately do what he says, Harry speaks up.

"C'mon then, ride me. 'S what you wanted, wasn't it?"

You nod feverishly and begin grinding on his cock. He lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes shamelessly raking down your naked body while he is still almost fully clothed. The power difference is so apparent, and it makes your stomach swerve even more. You get off on Harry acting so cocky, and he always knows how to play into your desires.

Mindlessly, your hand reaches for Harry's shoulders, but he catches your wrist and harshly puts it behind your back again, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No touching."

Your determination to satisfy him overpowers you and you begin to bounce on his cock with all the strength you have. In this position, with your hands on your back, it's not very easy to do so, but you'd do anything Harry tells you to do.

"Tell me what a pathetic cock slut you are." He growls, slightly out of breath from the pleasure you are giving him.

"I'm so pathetic." You respond instantly, like it's second nature to answer to him. He groans, loving your fast obedience when it comes to his commands.

"Yeah?" He eggs you on, indicating for you to continue talking, to continue degrading yourself.

"I can't control myself around you, I need to have your cock inside me all of the time." You go on, feeling your second high approaching when he hums in response. Harry moves slightly in his seat, and you know he is getting antsy to get his hands on you. But you know that he won't falter.

“Prove it, come on my cock again baby.”

Fingers curled tightly around the desk, so bad that your knuckles have surely turned white, you feel your release wash over you. You stop your movements, unable to keep control of your shaking legs. You clench around Harry in the aftermath of your mind-blowing orgasm, and the groan that falls from his lips tells you that his sperm will be coating your walls at any given moment.

Despite being in your fucked out state of mind, you can tell that Harry’s not going to move to make himself come; he’s too stubborn. Still woozy, you gather the strength you have left and begin grinding your hips, hissing at the extreme, almost uncomfortable sensitivity that your clit is faced with at the cause of this friction.

But Harry’s ragged breathing, and the hint of a moan that leaves his mouth makes it all worth it. It triggers a satisfied, desperate sound of your own.

“Please, fill me up daddy.” You cry out, working through the overstimulation you are giving yourself by grinding against him like this. The little frown on your face is adorable, and the sight of it along with everything else that you are doing to Harry makes him cum on the spot. A smile creeps onto your face as you feel Harry emptying his balls inside you, filling up your womb with his seed.

You let out a shriek when you feel Harry’s thumb attach itself to your clit, but when you move back, his arm wraps itself around your waist and pushes your forward, urging you to go on. A tear trickles down your cheek, and you whimper incoherent words strung together, hoping it’ll resemble somewhat of a sentence.

“What? I can’t hear you baby.”

You shut your eyes at the intensity of Harry’s touch on your heat. It’s taking over every last bit of your senses, but despite feeling like you can’t think anymore, you take a deep breath before you exclaim. “It’s t— too much!”

“You asked for this. Now don’t be such a fucking brat and give me another orgasm.” He argues, the certainty in his tone sounding almost cruel. You open your eyes and meet his stone-cold face, determined in his goal to make you come again. Maybe he just is plain cruel, but you can’t deny that it brings you closer to your high. Harry just always seems to know the right words to say to make you feel like you’re floating.

In this case, you feel like you’re floating out of your body. You only seem to be focused on his thumb rubbing those torturous circles over and over again, fastening his pace as much as he can. Your poor attempt at restraining your moans makes you sound like a wounded animal, purely helpless.

“Come on…” Harry coaxes you, a hint of frustration hidden behind his voice, as if his release isn’t complete without your final one.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” He interrupts you sternly, smacking your ass as he starts rubbing back and forth over your clit. “and you will.”

It’s then that your release hit you, like a truck. Knocking out every last one of your senses, your orgasm takes over your body much like you imagine a demon would. It hurts just enough to feel hallucinatory, and you could swear you lose your sight for a second.

“N— ooh! Harry!” You scream, clawing at him with the little strength you have left. The evident wetness that coats both your and Harry’s legs causes the realization of what he’s accomplished to dawn on you.

He just made you squirt.

You have no energy to comment on it, though, snuggling your head into his shoulder the second you come down from your orgasm. Harry strokes your hair, peppering your tingling skin with kisses, commenting on how well you did for him.

When he tries to get up from your seat, you let out a muffled ‘no’, that makes him stop in his tracks.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, please.” You beg, hugging him tighter. You are simply too tired to do anything right now and all you want is to be close to Harry right now. He hums softly, relaxing in the seat again.

“Alright darling, we’ll stay here for a little while…”

[just-jordie-things]

you want to kiss me so bad! - fushiguro megumi

word count: 3k warnings: none :) summary: "ooh you just want to kiss me" "and what about it?" more info: aged up characters! everyone works as sorcerers for jujutsu tech, friends to lovers, yuji nobara and reader are besties with a gossip groupchat a/n: thank u stef for this idea, it was so much fun to write !!! (obvi i got carried away... classic me) but this one is ofc dedicated to u @delzinrowe here's the original brainrot ___

Normally, (y/n) and Megumi made a strong pair on assignments.  Having worked and trained together since high school and having known each other a bit longer than that, they shared a deep understanding on how the other fights, and normally this gave them a hefty advantage.  Having two capable sorcerers that could read each other like the backs of their hands was a threat to any curse.  Normally.

Or in other words, as long as one of them didn’t completely abandon their plan and start improvising halfway through a fight, they were the perfect pair.

If he gave her some benefit of the doubt, Megumi could admit that (y/n) disregarding her weapon and opting to use the sheer power behind her cursed technique actually meant exorcizing the curse quicker than planned.  

However, now she’s staggering on her feet, her blade retrieved and dangling loosely in her weak grip as she slowly makes her way over to him, grimacing at the heap of dead curse she had to sidle past.  There’s a lazy but proud grin that takes over her features as she assesses the damage, realizing her workload for filing this one would be far less than previously expected, seeing how quickly she’d handled it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Megumi scolds her as soon as she’s in close enough proximity to hear him.  

He’s pissed.  His arms are crossed, his face is twisted into a scowl, and when he pauses after his question (y/n) thinks he might actually be looking for an answer.

“Pretty quickly, I’d say” She scoffs back at him, not taking his irritation seriously for a second.

She’d say Megumi was a friend of hers, given how long they’d known each other, but she couldn’t say he ever eased up around her.  He seemed to always be wound so tight that he didn’t even relax when they weren’t exorcizing curses.  Over time she’d grown used to his reserved demeanor, and she didn’t mind it, so long as they were still the perfect duo on assignments, she could put up with anything.

Except his attitude.  It rarely made an appearance when she was around- not nearly as much when he was paired up with Yuji- but on the off chance that Megumi got cranky, as she called it, it never rubbed her the right way, and it never went over well.

And currently, Megumi’s attitude and irritation knew no bounds.

“That was reckless and risky and you know it,” He chastised, only bristling further when (y/n) rolled her eyes back at him.  “You need to take this more seriously, you can’t just go dropping your weapon in the middle of-” 

“It was fine, wasn’t it?” She huffed out, already bored of the conversation.  “It’s done, we’re not scuffed up all that bad, and honestly, you should be thanking me” 

“Thanking you?” Megumi seethes the words back at her, and the way the corner of his snarl twitches does not go unnoticed by her.

“Mhm, you’re welcome,” She muses back at him, knowing that her little smirk was going to absolutely set him over the edge.  “I’ve pretty much scored us a half day-” 

“You pretty much just ignored me completely and could’ve gotten us both hurt…” He trails off, his features softening from their contorted angry expression for just a moment as something else washes over him.  Something that makes his face pale and his lips curl into such a deep set frown (y/n) thinks it could form permanent wrinkles if he held it any longer.  “... or worse” He finishes, a bit quieter than before.

“But we didn’t,” (y/n) shrugs back at him, and his annoyance creeps right back into it’s home under his skin.  

Why couldn’t she take anything seriously, ever? 

“We’re fine, it’s done, and we’re heading home.  Why are you holding onto this?” 

He gapes back at her, pausing long enough to give her a chance to take back her idiotic statement and actually take some responsibility for her actions, but she doesn’t.  All she does is look back at him with something akin to disinterest in her eyes.  It makes his nostrils flare.

“You’re ridiculous,” He huffs, eyes screwing shut with his annoyance.  “Seriously, (y/n), one day your lack of critical thinking skills is going to put me in an early grave” 

“Early? But you’re such an old man already,” She teases back, knowing full well she was poking a sleeping bear.  “C’mon, I’ll treat you to lunch on the way back, better?” 

“You can’t be serious for even a second can you?”

“Why would I?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, self preservation?” He snaps back at her, stepping closer so she could get a proper look at the glare in his eyes.

“My job is self preservation,” (y/n) rolls her eyes again with the dismissive comment.  “Maybe if you loosened up once in a while you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time” 

“So I’m cranky for wanting us to make it out of an assignment with our heads?” 

“Looks to me like we still get ‘em” She shrugs.

“That’s it.  I’m not taking another assignment with you until you understand why acting on reckless abandon is stupid and going to get you killed one day,” He spits back at her, and for a second, her brows raise, and she actually looks shocked by his words.  “Does that make me the bad guy, (y/n)?” Megumi hoped he was finally getting through to her, he was so close to her now that when his eyes bore into hers she could hardly see anything but angry blue oceans crashing behind them.

With another roll of her eyes and a short giggle right in her face she scrunches up her nose and gives him the greatest, wittiest line she could come up with to diffuse the rising tension.

“Ooh, ‘gumi you just want to kiss me” 

What she doesn’t expect is that with all of his anger and frustration brewing, Megumi had been pushed past a brink she’d never seen him reach before.  

“And what about it?” He snaps, brows furrowed with his anger, mouth still pulled into a frown.  (y/n’s) eyes widen at the response

So in a moment of pure vexation and poor decision making skills, Megumi’s shifting gears and muttering, “Fuck it” 

Next thing she knows his hands have seized her cheeks and they’re soft and warm but so firm as he yanks her forward while dipping his head to her height.  Is he going to kiss me? Is the first stupid thought that runs through her muddled mind before his lips are slamming against hers.

Her eyes are as wide as saucers before she truly registers how soft and warm and pleasant his lips feel against hers, and she finds herself giving into the whirlwind moment sooner than expected.  Her lashes flutter before falling shut, and it seems that she’s just as soon floating ten feet in the air, lifted by an invisible force.  One foot pops into the air, the other extending on to the tips of her toes to better reach him, sending her hands against his chest.

He rendered her breathless in the matter of instant, which she blamed on both the surprise and the passion behind his kiss.  She can vaguely make out the feeling of his hands moving from her jaw into her hair, but just as his fingertips graze the nape of her neck and she hums in delight.

That little noise was her downfall, because as soon as the sweet sound hits Megumi’s ears, he’s pulled out of his reverie and instantly pulls away from the kiss.

(y/n) has to gasp for air once they’re parted, but it takes her a minute to gather her senses and open her eyes.

Megumi’s frozen, his hands still cupped around the back of her head, his lips parted but no words or air was coming out.  All he can do is stare at her with the shock of what he’d done sinking in.

No words are exchanged.

She stares at him expectantly, waiting for something, anything, but it doesn’t come.  Megumi releases her before putting as large of a step of distance between.  If he won’t say anything, she knows she has to… but all she can do is gape as he takes another step away and quickly pulls out his phone to check on their ride back to Jujutsu Tech.

It stays silent as they wait for their car.

Even their exchange with their assigned manager is uncomfortable.

With Megumi still choosing the silent route, she’s left no other choice.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and rapidly begins to type.

[y/n]: S.O.S EMERGENCY !!!!!!

[yuwuji]: OMG DID U DIE ON UR MISSION D:

[y/n]: NO WORSE [y/n]: MEGUMI KISSED ME

[nocapybara]: W H A T

[yuwuji]: oh shit :D

[nocapybara]: what happened [nocapybara]: did you kiss back

[yuwuji]: was it good???

The incoming texts from her go-to groupchat for panic spamming shot up so fast she’s barely finished reading one before another appears on her screen.  At least it was serving the purpose of keeping her distracted in the tense car ride.

[y/n]: he got mad at me 

[yuwuji]: aww again??? :(

[y/n]: and then i said ‘you wanna kiss me so bad’ and he was all ‘so what?’ abt it and then he just…. fuckin kissed me

[nocapybara]: oh shit he actually made a move????

[yuwuji]: damn that’s actually such a good line 

[nocapybara]: no it’s not, megumi’s just dumb  [nocapybara]: and u didn’t answer my question (y/n/n)!!

[yuwuji]: or mine! >:3

[y/n]: i might’ve kissed back a little… [y/n]: and it might’ve been…. the best kiss of my whole life

[nocapybara]: how much is a little??

[yuwuji]: aww megumi is a good kisser <3 good 4 him

[y/n]: uhh my foot might’ve popped up like in the movies 

[nocapybara]: oh shiiiiiit so it was a KISS kiss

[y/n]: yeah. it was a kiss kiss.

[yuwuji]: and u kissed back?? are u guys boyfriend girlfriend now??

[y/n]: he didn’t say anything after

[nocapybara]: WUT???

[yuwuji]: HEH???

[y/n]: I KNOW THATS WHY IM FREAKING OUT U GUYS ITS SO AWKWARD WTF DO I DO HE DIDNT SAY ANYTHING AND NOW IM STUCK IN THIS CAR WITH HIM HELP MEEEE

[nocapybara]: HES A COWARD !!!

[yuwuji]: did you say anything??

[y/n]: no!! what am i supposed to say??? he kissed me his first!! this is HIS FAULT!!!

[nocapybara]: damn right!!

[yuwuji]: no!! :( [yuwuji]: maybe he’s just shy and doesn’t know what to say

[nocapybara]: sthu he’s an adult, he can voice is widdle feelings >:/

[y/n]: i don’t think he has feelings for me.  I think it was a mistake.   [y/n]: idk what’s worse tbh

[yuwuji]: … r u sure ? 

[noapybara]: what do you know.

[yuwuji]: no nothing i just meant he’s shy and awkward

[y/n]: VERY AWKWARD YEAH I GOT THAT

[nocapybara]: yuji ur his best friend.  u definitely know something.  spill. does he have the hots for (y/n/n) or not

[yuwuji]: hey i don’t spill secrets!!!!

[nocapybara]: SO THERE ARE SECRETS TO SPILL THEN????

With every new message, (y/n) felt her heart pounding in her chest a little harder.  She hoped the radio was loud enough to drown out the sound of it.  They were still a couple of minutes away from Jujutsu Tech, and she needed a solution by the time they got there.  She had a feeling that if she didn’t come up with a plan and fast, then Megumi would continue to ignore her, and it would never be brought up again.

[yuwuji]: well… i guess it’s not a secret that he talks about her a lot… 

It was easy to mistake Megumi’s silence for disinterest- and at first, he would say that he was ignoring the entire thing.  He didn’t have an ounce of desire to bring it up in front of present company, but after a few minutes of riding in silence, he thought maybe ignoring it forever was his best option.  It was just an accident, people caught up in the moment all the time, right? What was one little… perfect… kiss anyways? 

Suddenly watching all the trees passing by the window made his stomach twist with nausea, and Megumi had to redirect his gaze to the back of the headrest in front of him.

It wasn’t right of him to kiss her, if he really thought about it.  He’d never even confessed to her- and to just kiss her like that? Megumi could barely recognize himself.  He was never so brazen, he was always the reserved, calculated one.  He was the one that thought things through before making a final decision, he was never brash, never bold, and he would never make a move on someone without telling them properly how he felt…

His stomach lurched again.  Was he getting carsick? 

He’d never really considered telling (y/n) about his feelings for her before.  Sure, he’d known for a while that she wasn’t like the others, she was different, special, held in a different, more secluded place in his heart away from all the others.  If he was being honest with himself, he’d probably felt that way since high school.  The problem was Megumi was always realistic when evaluating his options, so when his feelings for her were fully realized, he’d weighed his options and decided that the potential of losing a friend and a phenomenal partner over a confession would be pathetic.

So he packed his feelings up in a box and left it in the back of his mind.  And that box would just have to stay there.

The ping of his phone drew him out of his spiraling, stomachache-inducing thoughts.

[itadori]: yo u kissed (y/n)?? hell yeah!!!

It felt like his heart imploded, and all of the air in his lungs was sucked out before he could try to gasp to preserve it.  His eyes nearly bore a hole through the screen of his phone before his head shot up, peeking at the front seat where (y/n) sat, typing away on her phone.  He couldn’t see who she was texting, but he didn’t need to, because the recipient of her texts just told on himself.

Now he was sure he was going to be sick.  He made a mental note to pack anti-nausea for the car rides after assignments.

When they finally got back to Jujutsu Tech, (y/n) was swift in her exit of the car and stride towards the building.  She not only didn’t utter a word to him, but she didn’t cast him a second glance.  Her eyes were glued to her phone and her walking pace was, well, she was nearly jogging away.

He could just let her walk away, accept that the both of them would mutually forget about the whole thing.

“(y/n)!” Megumi had to call after her as he broke into a light jog in order to catch up.  She glanced over her shoulder, and her speed walking slowed to a normal pace as he caught up to her.

She’s quick to lock her phone and tuck it back into her pocket.

Megumi lets out a sigh as he gives in to instinct.

“Look, I didn’t mean to do that, and I’m sorry, alright?” 

She stops in her tracks then, effectively halting him too, but it doesn’t seem like it’s because she’s suddenly inclined to focus all of her attention on conversing with him.

“Are you trying to say you kissed me by accident?” She frowns.

“Well, I guess-” 

“Because that’s not a thing,” She interrupts him.  “You kissed me, consciously, and, like, for a good minute-” 

“But I didn’t mean to, you practically dared me!” Megumi argued, only making her scoff and let out a laugh, humored by his ridiculous argument.

“Who cares? You kissed me!” She reminds him with a tilt of her head.  “Are you saying if I challenged you to jump off a bridge would you do that too?” 

“Well maybe the bridge isn’t that tall” Megumi refuted, before frowning and rolling his eyes at how stupid he sounded.  There was no taking that one back, (y/n) was already laughing.

“Just admit it, Megumi.  Some part of you wanted to kiss me, so you did” 

“Not until you admit that you asked me to, technically” 

“Fine! I did ask you to! Happy?” 

“Delighted, because I wanted to!” 

“Well if you’ve wanted to so bad then why are you yelling at me and not kissing me!?”  

“I don’t know!” 

With a simultaneous groan of frustration, the pair don’t waste anymore time arguing before acting.  She all but throws herself against him but Megumi’s just as swift at wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her off her feet and at a height that gives him easy reach to slam his lips against hers.  Every once of passion he’d poured into their last kiss is revisited in full with this one too, and (y/n) starts to get the idea that every kiss is going to sweep her off her feet all the same.

With her arms wound around his neck to better keep herself secure, she hopes that he feels every bit of electricity that she does.

And he does, he’s just a bit too preoccupied trying to balance taking in oxygen and kissing her like his life depended on it to communicate that to her now.  At least in words.  Wandering hands filled in the gaps for now.

It took them long enough, after all, there would be time to talk about it later. ___

a/n: i imagine the groupchat lights tf up after the second one :3

xoxo ~ jordie

[mistydeyes]

a surprise house guest

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summary: The last thing Gaz expected to see in your shared flat was a baby in your arms and a mess in the kitchen, what have you gotten yourself into?

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!roommate!reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: hehe gaz roommate babysitting fluff! sidenote i've been babysitting and ngl kids are lil cuties like ahh

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Gaz's relaxed and warm morning in his mountain of blankets was soon interrupted by the loud clanging around in your shared kitchen. He groaned as he tousled his messy hair and tried to look for his phone. "Jesus, 7 am, really Y/N?" he muttered as the bright screen of his phone lit up the room. He wondered what trouble you had gotten into while he was away.

You had been his roommate for about a year now but it felt even shorter due to him consistently being called away on duty and your busy work schedule. You were friendly, sure, and on occasion a bit flirtatious but at the end of the day, you were just another facet of his life. You were just someone to collect the mail, take care of the dust, and occasionally make sure his room wasn't crawling with bugs. You had somehow managed to accomplish such while doing it so attractively. Wait what was he saying, you were his roommate after all. Just a young professional needing a place and not caring about his infrequent stays. But on the other hand, you were his age and he always had suspected you might fancy him when you joked about sharing a one-bedroom apartment for "the benefits." His thoughts were interrupted by a loud "FUCK" and crashing emanating from the hallway. He hurriedly ripped off the sheets and ran down the hall to assess what was going on.

The last thing he expected was to see you, baby bottle in hand, and a baby on your hip. "Jesus!" you jumped as he emerged into the kitchen, "when the hell did you get home?" He relaxed, seeing that the kitchen wasn't on fire and you weren't fighting some early morning burglar. "Last night," he replied before returning to looking at the baby. He looked at it as if it was an alien, "was I really gone that long?" he asked almost afraid to hear the response. It took you a minute to process his question but you quickly covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. "Oh my god, no, no, he isn't mine," you said through laughs that made your sides hurt. "my kid sister dropped him off this morning. I agreed to help out and look after him for the day." With that, the baby cooed and tried to reach to hold your hand as you relented and looked back at Gaz. "I would have definitely cleared this with you, but I didn't expect you back so early," you sighed as you tried to calm the small bundle trying to put your fingers in his mouth. You took a brief look around the kitchen and noticed how much of a mess you had caused trying to prepare some milk, "I promise I'll clean up once I've set him down."

"No worries," he replied as he made his way into the kitchen to make some coffee, "I was gonna say you look a little too good to have just given birth." You felt your face flush and before you could reply or even give him an introduction to your nephew, the bottle of formula was knocked out of your hands. "Oh for the love of God," you swore as you realized your tank top and pajama shorts were now stained with milk. Gaz couldn't help but laugh as he looked at you in such a state, it was clear you hadn't had time to get ready for the day as he took a good look at you. "Not funny, little man," you chided the baby before you looked at Gaz with a smirk. Before he could protest, you guided the baby into his arms and ran to your bedroom to get changed.

"Bloody hell, Y/N," he yelled after you, "what am I supposed to do?" "It's a baby, Kyle, I think you can handle it," you said through your partially opened door. He heard a few more clangs as you struggled to find something not soaked in milk. He looked back down to the bundle in his arms, "What's your name, little one?" He heard you laugh as you continued to rummage around. "Kyle for fucksake he's an infant, he can't talk," you shouted, "his name is Ben if you were wondering." Ben cooed at the sound of your voice and squirmed in Gaz's arms. "It's okay buddy, she'll be back in a moment," he tried to reassure him as he rocked his arms back and forth. The baby grew more impatient and began to let out a song of high-pitched cries. You emerged from the room, now in a different pair of shorts and a shirt. Without a second look, you rushed into the kitchen and began to clean up. "Take him to the living room," you said, exasperated, as Ben continued to wail. "You owe me one," Gaz called out and you could hear him trying to appease the now crying baby. You shook your head before going about tackling the mess in the kitchen. Once you finally finished and dried your hands on the hand towel, it was quiet except for some babbles from Ben.

"What do we have here?" you said as you walked up to the pair settled on the couch. Both turned to you, smiling like a pair of twins. You had to say Gaz looked rather handsome as the light streamed in from the window in your flat. An unshaven 5 o'clock shadow complimented his face nicely. "I got it handled," he said cockily as you sat on the couch next to him. "Sure you do," you replied and mocked his tone, your legs brushing against his as sat. You soon realized that the reason Ben had stopped crying was that he was now occupied by a small sealed bag of crisps. He was shaking it around proudly and slobbering all over the plastic. You turned your head to look at Gaz with a deadpan expression. "What?" he said defensively, "he likes it!" You let out a laugh as you crumbled back onto the couch and watched as Gaz held the baby on his lap. You couldn't deny, that once he got Ben to stop crying, he was a natural at this. You secretly envied the future, Mrs. Garrick. However, with Gaz's protective arm around the baby and you smiling right next to him, you looked like the perfect couple with a newborn. The moment quickly passed as you looked down at your hand. "Oh I have his bottle," you said and motioned for Gaz to pass you the baby. "Come here, love," you cooed and slowly rocked him in your arms. You set your feet on top of Gaz's lap and sang a soft little lullaby to calm the infant.

After watching the baby drink the formula at record speed, he was finally asleep in your arms. "Finally," you groaned as you watched his little eyelids flutter. You leaned back in the crook of the couch, making sure he was fast asleep before you looked back at Gaz. He had a sense of wonder and awe in his eyes as he looked up at you. You slowly moved Ben into the small lounger cushion your sister had brought and stretched out of exhaustion. "Thanks again," you whispered as you motioned for Gaz to follow you back to the kitchen, "I really appreciate it." He nodded in response and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes in a moment of peace. You stood next to him and placed your head against his arm. You could feel him slightly react to your action but soon relax as he looked down at you. To both of you, it felt oddly comfortable to be like this. "Welcome home, by the way," you said, finally acknowledging his return "Sorry about this whole mess." He smiled as you met eyes and then let out a low chuckle. "It's alright, I got caught up in watching you play Mummy today," he joked, slightly tussling your hair with his free hand. You blushed briefly at the compliment but you soon found yourself wrestling his arm to stop. You ended up placing it securely around your shoulders and held it in place to prevent any further assault.

"I'm serious," Gaz defended as he relaxed his confined arm, "you look like a natural with him. You looked up at him and decided to test the waters, just a tiny bit. "Oh really now?" you challenged, "something about this situation gives you baby fever?" Now Gaz was the one with a subtle blush on his cheeks as you smirked at his reaction. "Let's go on a date then, love, and find out," he blurted, seemingly without any hesitation. You tensed a bit as you processed what he was saying. "You asking me out now, Garrick?" you questioned, turning your body to look at him. "Maybe I am," he whispered, moving a piece of hair out of your face and moving his hand to cup your face. As time moved slowly, you stood on your tippy toes and moved closer to his lips. Just as the space was about to close, a shrieking cry filled the apartment. "I think he wants Daddy," you teased as you tried to hide your disappointment, "we'll talk about this after dinner?" As Kyle huffed away, you couldn't help but secretly thank your sister for the emergency nanny service.

[justabigassnerd]

Unexpected Bond

Pairing - Tim Bradford x teen!reader

Word count - 7,340

Warnings - inaccurate police stuff, injuries, blood, knives, hospitals, swearing, mentions of being harassed/made uncomfortable

Summary - while on patrol, Lucy and Tim help an injured teen and while tracking down her attacker, Tim finds out he has a protective, paternal side

Sequel - 'A Safe Home'

A/N - hey y'all! I know it's been a hot while since I wrote anything and I'm so truly sorry for that. but in binging The Rookie, I found myself wanting to write something for Tim Bradford and so this came to light and so I'm posting it as a test (a Tim Test if you will) to kinda gauge how y'all feel about me writing for a new fandom (again still not finished the show so please don't spoil). As per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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The sun was shining in Los Angeles as Tim Bradford and Lucy Chen drove around on patrol, eyes ever so often flicking around in search of illegal activity.

“Come on, you’re seriously not going to let me put the AC on? It’s so hot.” Lucy complains, fighting the urge to stick her head out of the window to get some relief from the sweltering heat inside the shop.

“You know the rules, Boot,” Tim says, sparing Lucy a brief side eye before focusing back on the road. Lucy lets out a slight huff, mentally reminding herself of how much longer she has to obey Tim’s rules before she becomes a P2. Before Lucy could open her mouth to reply in a last-ditch effort to convince Tim to put the AC on, a woman runs out of the nearby park, arms waving wildly and calling out towards the police cruiser.

“We need help!” At the woman’s yells, Tim pulls over, both him and Lucy getting out of the shop as soon as the engine has been turned off before hurrying over to the woman.

“What’s the problem?” Tim asks, a neutral and level tone to his voice to not cause any more panic. In response, the woman begins leading Tim and Lucy into the park, going on a tangent about how she’d been on her morning jog when she stumbled across something she thought was suspicious at first. One glance at Tim and Lucy could tell his patience was wearing thin with the woman skirting around the issue.

“Ma’am, what did you find?” Lucy asks, already bracing herself for what she might find.

“I found this teenage girl curled up on the bench. I thought she was a junkie or homeless so I went to try and move her or something but… she’s bleeding.” The woman says, pointing out the teenage girl curled up on the bench, hand clamped on her side.

“Chen, radio for help.” Tim orders, grabbing his gloves and pulling them on as he approaches the bench, kneeling alongside it while he assesses the damage as best he can.

“Hey kid, can you hear me?” Tim tries, looking from the wound to your face, trying to see how responsive you are. He could tell your breathing was laboured and shallow so all he wanted to do now was treat the wound as best he could and keep you conscious. As Tim gently moves your hand away from your injury, you let out a slight moan of pain, attempting to curl further into yourself.

“I know. I’m sorry. I need to try and slow the bleeding.” Tim apologises softly, hand clamping down on your wound, bunching up the material of your shirt to act as a barrier to prevent any further blood loss. When you groaned in pain once more and blindly swatted at his hand, Tim used his teeth to pull the glove off his spare hand, dropping it on the floor and grabbing your flailing hand in his.

“Okay kid, just squeeze my hand when it hurts. Sound good?” Tim says, getting your response, squeezing his hand tightly, whimpering quietly. Since his plan to try and get you to talk to him wasn't working, though he could only blame the blood loss, he needed to do what he could to ensure you stayed conscious.

“Ambulance is on its way, ETA two minutes,” Lucy says, approaching Tim and watching as he tends to your wound.

“Can you make sure no one crowds around? Paramedics will need quick and easy access and it won’t be easy with these guys watching like it’s a damn circus. But if there is anyone who might know what happened, get a statement.” Tim mutters, aware of the forming crowd, phones in hand as they document the event like they were at a concert. With a nod, Lucy steps back and approaches the crowd, letting them know that the situation is being handled and that they need to get back to their own business.

After a couple of minutes, the ambulance pulls up, and the paramedics soon appear alongside Tim.

“She’s been bleeding since we found her and even before that. From the looks of things, it might be some kind of stab wound. She’s been virtually unresponsive besides squeezing my hand and making a few sounds. She’s definitely out of it because of the blood loss so she needs urgent attention.” Tim says, doing his best to explain the situation with the limited knowledge he had.

“Okay, we’ve got it from here.” One of the paramedics says, easing himself down alongside Tim to assess the damage. Tim carefully moved his hand away from the wound to let the paramedic get to work. As Tim moves to gently release your hand he feels you squeeze tighter as the paramedic begins to place a bandage over your wound to prevent further blood loss until you make it to the hospital.

“I’ve got to let go kid. The paramedics need to do their job.” Tim whispers, a softness to his tone that not many get to hear. At his words, your grip loosened enough for Tim to gently extract his hand before he stepped back, allowing the paramedics to get on with their job while he crossed to Lucy.

“Did anyone see anything?” Tim asks, standing in front of Lucy as he folds his arms and glances around.

“Nothing concrete. Most people around only saw her after she collapsed.” Lucy says defeatedly, closing her notebook and tucking her pen away.

“We’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital. Stick around until the kid’s in the clear and see if we can get a statement.” Tim says with a nod, already beginning to turn around and head back in the direction of their shop with Lucy hot on his heels, radioing control to let them know what they’re going to be doing. Once they get in the vehicle, Tim begins the drive to the hospital fighting the urge to speed the entire way.

To Lucy, it felt like they had gotten to the hospital in record time and she was nearly bursting at the seams to make a light joke about it to Tim but she also didn’t feel like being on the end of a death glare or being made to walk outside the shop while Tim drives. The two enter the hospital and after Tim questions a nurse about the teen girl just brought in, they’re given directions to the ward you’d be in and that you are currently being prepped for minor surgery to control any internal bleeding and Lucy didn’t miss the flash of worry that covered Tim’s face at the mere mention of surgery. The two made their way to where they had been directed and once they reached the waiting room, Lucy took a seat while Tim played the pacing game. Lucy could’ve sworn that Tim pestered the nurses almost a hundred times a minute about any updates regarding your surgery.

“Tim, they’ll let us know when we’re able to try and get a statement from her,” Lucy says, glancing up at Tim as he strides past her once more, stopping him in his tracks.

“I know that. I’m just… worried. Seeing a kid hurt is never easy. I just want to find out who did this to her so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Tim says with a sigh, head bowing slightly before glancing over at Lucy who softens a little at her TO’s words. She knew he wasn’t always the hard-ass he presented himself to be in the station, but seeing him so worried about a teenager’s wellbeing was like seeing a whole new side to him. Before Lucy could speak once more, a nurse approached the two, making Lucy get up from her seat.

“Thank you for your patience officers. The surgery has gone smoothly and we’re transferring her to a room now. There will be a bit more of a wait until she comes around before a doctor will assess whether she’s in a good enough condition to be questioned. You’re free to continue your patrol if you wish and we can contact you when she’s ready.” The nurse says, addressing both Lucy and Tim who glance at each other after the nurse has finished talking.

“I think we’ll stick around, thanks,” Tim says with a polite yet curt nod towards the nurse, watching as she walks off before turning to face Lucy.

“What if we’re needed? We can be helping out on the streets and just wait for a call from the hospital before coming back to get a statement.” Lucy asks, looking up at Tim with a shocked and confused expression.

“Who’s in charge here, Boot? If they need us, they’ll radio us. For now, I’d rather wait here, get the kid's statement and stop this guy before another kid gets hurt.” Tim says firmly, resuming his pacing as Lucy sinks back into the uncomfortable waiting room chair, pulling out her phone and texting Jackson in the hope he’ll be able to respond.

After an hour and a half of Tim pacing back and forth and Lucy flipping between texting Jackson and scrolling through various social media, a nurse approaches the two again, stopping Tim in his tracks while Lucy shoves her phone in her pocket and stands up.

“She’s come around and the doctors have cleared her for you to take a statement. However, I will warn you she hasn’t been the most talkative so I don’t know how easy it’ll be to get anything out of her.” The nurse says, leading Tim and Lucy towards the room you have been moved to for recovery.

“Thank you. We’ve got it from here.” Tim says, reaching for the door handle to enter the room.

“Oh, one last thing. We haven’t managed to get a name out of her yet so if you manage to do that please let us know so we can contact whoever necessary.” The nurse quickly adds, making both Tim and Lucy nod before Tim pulls the door open and enters the room with Lucy close behind.

“Hey, kid. I’m Officer Tim Bradford and this is Officer Lucy Chen. We were the first responders on sight when you were found in the park.” Tim introduced both himself and Lucy, noting how shy and withdrawn you looked and made sure to take a gentler approach.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you guys…” You mumble sheepishly, fiddling with your fingers as your gaze flicks down to your hands to avoid eye contact. Truthfully, you had recognised Tim’s voice the second he started speaking. You don’t think you could ever forget a voice that made you feel so safe in the most terrifying moment of your life.

“Don’t apologise. You suffered a lot of blood loss so it’s understandable that you don’t remember everything. We’ve shared our names, can we get yours?” Tim asks, watching you quietly as you nod.

“It’s y/n. y/n l/n.” You say quietly, briefly glancing up at the two officers, noticing how Lucy noted down your name.

“Have you got any family we can contact?” Lucy asks, looking from her notebook to you as you shake your head.

“No family.” You admit, feeling heat creeping into your cheek as your gaze dropped once more and both Tim and Lucy exchanged a look at your admission.

“So, are you in a children’s home then?” Tim asks, fighting the urge not to frown when you nod your head, confirming his suspicions.

“If you could even call it that.” You mutter, causing Lucy to smoothly change the subject.

“Is there anything you can tell us about who stabbed you?” She asks, both officers noticing how your hand came to rest atop where your injury was.

“I didn’t see a face, he had a hood covering his face. It was the early hours of the morning and all I remember was a guy grabbing me and then the next thing I knew I was stabbed.” You explain, feeling useless that you couldn’t provide more to help.

“And did the stabbing happen in the park? Where we found you?” Tim enquires further, wanting to put together as many details as possible.

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t been sleeping so well recently so I sneak out and go on walks in the morning to energise myself enough to get through the day. I don’t have a specific route on these walks so maybe… I don’t know.” You say, sighing lightly as you rack your brain for any memory of what happened to you.

“Maybe what?” Tim prods gently, wanting to get as much information as possible.

“The home I’m in really isn’t the best. Most of the kids there end up as drug dealers or in gangs. Maybe I walked onto some gang territory without realising it or maybe I stumbled across something I shouldn’t have I don’t know.” You mumble, trying to make sense of all the information in your head.

“Are you part of any gangs?” Lucy asks, not wanting to sound accusatory but needing an answer.

“No. Not at all. I’m probably the only teenager there who doesn’t get involved in any of that stuff.” You quickly clarify, shaking your head to exaggerate your point.

“But… I’m not the most popular kid in the home either. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the kids tell their gang members it’s okay to mess with me.” You continue with a shrug, making Tim’s heart hurt at how small and defeated you look.

“Is there anything else you can remember from the stabbing? Anything that could help us identify your attacker?” Tim asks, folding his arms across his chest as he speaks.

“The guy said something, I can’t remember what. But he did have a crazy deep voice. I didn’t know someone could have a voice that deep. I’d probably be able to recognise his voice if I heard it again.” You recall, feeling like you’re scraping the barrel of your knowledge of what happened. At your words, Tim unfolds his arms, digging into his pocket for his card and crossing the room to hold the card out towards you.

“Thank you for your help. If you remember anything else feel free to give us a call.” Tim says with a soft smile, watching as you carefully extract the card from his hand, flipping it over a couple of times and studying the words on it as you nod lightly. As Tim and Lucy move to leave your hospital room you speak up.

“Officers. Thank you… for saving me.” You say, nervousness gripping your stomach as you talk. You knew you had nothing to feel nervous about, after all, they had saved your life.

“No need to thank us, kid. Just focus on getting better.” Tim says with a nod while Lucy bids you a soft goodbye before they both exit your hospital room.

“Okay, Chen we’re going to find out what home y/n is in and then we should scope out the area. Find out what we can about the kids that are in gangs.” Tim says as the two make their way through the hospital.

“And hopefully find someone with a deep enough voice that y/n recognises,” Lucy adds as they both get into the shop.

“I’m hoping we can track the guy down ourselves. I’d rather not have to drag the kid into this if I can help it.” Tim says, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking spot while Lucy busies herself with trying to find out what children's home you’re in. At Tim’s protective words, Lucy raises an eyebrow and smirks lightly.

“So all that talk about me adopting a puppy and you’ve gotten yourself one of your own.” She muses jokingly, watching as Tim glances at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“I did not adopt a puppy. This is a kid who was hurt and there’s a chance she could get hurt again if we don’t do something about it soon. I want to catch the guy who did this to her and get her someplace safe if this home is as bad as she’s making it out to be. You, however, felt bad for someone who stole your car.” Tim defends, trying not to let on how worried he truly is about you. Lucy, unconvinced by his words, nods and focuses her attention back to the computer. 

“We’ve got a location of the home. Let’s head over there.” Lucy reports, giving Tim the address and beginning to do further background research as Tim begins driving in the direction of the children’s home. The drive didn’t take long from the park where they had found you and as they neared, both Tim and Lucy began to understand why you had said it wasn’t a good home.

The children’s home was located in a run-down area, just one look around the neighbourhood and anyone could tell that crime thrives in it. Just the mere presence of Tim and Lucy was already garnering them weird looks as they parked outside of the children’s home and exited their shop, crossing to the front door and knocking on it before taking a step back to wait for someone to open the door.

“What do you want?” The door is thrown open and Tim comes face to face with a short man who quickly notices Tim and Lucy’s uniforms and straightens up.

“Sorry. What can I do for you officers?” He amends his words, painting on a large smile that anyone could tell was fake.

“I’m Officer Bradford and this is Officer Chen. May we come in?” Tim asks, already beginning to make his way towards the door as the man holds it open to allow them both in.

“Let’s talk in my office. I’m Stan.” He introduces himself and leads the two towards his office, a small murky room piled high with paperwork.

“A teenager who is in your care, y/n l/n, was found stabbed in the park not too far from here. Do you have any idea who might’ve done this to her?” Lucy begins as Stan takes his seat behind his desk.

“y/n was stabbed? That’s a real shame.” Stan says, making Tim cock an eyebrow at his faux sincerity.

“She’s in the hospital recovering from her injuries. Again, do you know of anyone who might like to hurt her? She mentioned that a lot of the kids around here wind up involved with gangs. Do any of them have reason to hurt her?” Tim asks, watching as Stan shrugs lightly.

“If I’m honest, the kid was an easy target. She’s been here since she was practically a baby so being the longest-running kid in the home is bound to put a little bit of a target on your back.” Stan says nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair while Lucy notices Tim clench his jaw.

“So you’re telling us you allowed those kids to pick on her just because she was an ‘easy target’ in your eyes?” Lucy asks, hoping that somehow she was wrong in how she interpreted Stan’s words.

“I know who those kids hang out with. I’m not looking to put myself in the line of fire for her.” At Stan’s words, Tim was unable to hold himself back from an outburst.

“You willingly let kids bully y/n because you were scared of the company they keep? Maybe they wouldn’t go out running around in gangs if you looked after the kids that are supposed to be in your care.” Tim says lowly, edging closer to the desk and bracing his hands on it, leaning closer to Stan to get his point across.

“Tim, let’s not do this. Stan, if you think of anything that might help us find y/n’s attacker, give us a call.” Lucy says, gently guiding Tim away from the desk before placing a card down on the desk and leading Tim out of the building.

“y/n is not going back there. I won’t let her.” Tim says the moment they leave the home, practically seething with rage as he makes his way back to the shop.

“I know this home clearly has some serious issues but you won’t be able to just up and move her as easily as you might think,” Lucy says, getting into the vehicle as Tim starts the engine.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll find the ass that hurt her. Find a way to prove Stan doesn’t give a shit about the kids in his care and then I’ll make sure y/n has someplace safe to go to once she’s out of hospital.” Tim says as if he held all the answers in his newly formed plan.

“Okay, you’re getting worked up about this so let’s take lunch and talk this all through. We’ll try and come up with a game plan to find the guy who hurt y/n and after that, we’ll tackle the other problem.” Lucy says calmly, doing what she can to make sure Tim relaxes, knowing he couldn’t go around the neighbourhood with this attitude. At her words, Tim lets out a long sigh before nodding and beginning to drive in the direction of someplace to get food.

After finding a place to have some lunch, Lucy and Tim sit down opposite each other and begin to talk through the minimal facts they have about the case so far.

“She was stabbed in the morning, I’d assume maybe an hour or so before we found her.” Lucy starts, consulting her notebook.

“But she wasn’t stabbed at the park so we can assume she walked from where she was stabbed to the park. Maybe she was looking for help.” Tim says, lifting his drink to take a sip.

“We could radio the unit that arrived on scene after we left and see if there are any blood trails that might help us find where the stabbing happened. Maybe the attacker tried to ditch the weapon nearby.” Lucy muses, leaning back against her chair as she thinks.

“If it’s a gang member I doubt they’d be stupid enough to leave the weapon nearby. But then again there’s always the chance so it might be worth a try.” Tim admits, finishing his food and downing his drink while Lucy does the same. As they dispose of their trash, Tim’s phone rings, making him dig it out of his pocket to answer it while Lucy waits.

“Hello?” He answers.

“Officer Bradford, is that you?” Your quiet voice comes through the other end of the phone, timid as if you were afraid of bothering him.

“y/n, is everything okay?” Tim asks, an instant bout of worry gripping him.

“I’m sorry if I called at a bad time I just… I remembered something about the attack and I don’t know if it’ll help.” You say, and Tim can hear the worry and fear in your voice of potentially being an inconvenience to him.

“No, you’re fine. I’ll swing by the hospital and you can tell me about what it is you remember. Does that sound good?” Tim says gently, doing his best to reassure you over the phone.

“Okay.” You whisper before hanging up the phone and leaving Tim to turn to Lucy.

“Was that y/n?” Lucy asks, studying Tim’s reaction carefully.

“Yeah. She said she remembered some stuff about the attack.” Tim says, shoving his phone in his pocket and making his way towards the shop while Lucy follows behind.

“Do you think this information will help us find her attacker?” Lucy asks as she gets in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to pressure her. But we’ll do what we can with it.” Tim says, starting the engine and beginning the drive, once again, to the hospital.

When they arrived at the hospital, they headed straight to the room you were in and knocked on the door before letting themselves in upon receiving your permission.

“You came.” You said, the smallest, shy smile on your face when you realised that they had come when you asked and both officers had noticed the notebook and pencil you had in hand.

“Of course,” Tim says with a nod and a gentle smile.

“You like drawing?” Lucy asks gently, moving to sit on one of the nearby chairs, easing herself down gently as you shake your head lightly.

“Not really. I just remembered one detail about the guy who attacked me and I figured it would be best if I try to draw it.” You admit, attempting to tidy up the rough sketch on the paper.

“What was the detail?” Tim then asks, easing down into the other chair as they both watch you quietly.

“The guy who attacked me had a scar that looked like this on his hand.” You say, flipping the paper around and showing it to Tim and Lucy.

“That looks like…” Lucy begins.

“A brand.” Tim finishes, glancing from the paper to you as you nod.

“There’s a kid in the home I’m in, Kevin, he’s always acted really weird around me and even asked me out a few times despite knowing how uncomfortable he makes me. I know he’s part of this gang and all the members are branded somewhere on their bodies. I know Kevin definitely wasn’t the guy who stabbed me but I think he asked one of the other members of his gang to hurt me.” You explain as Lucy takes the sketch from you, studying it closely.

“This Kevin, has he ever threatened to hurt you to your face?” Tim asks, already fighting back the seething rage beginning to build up.

“Never outright. But the last time I rejected him he did tell me that I’d regret it.” You say, remembering that moment from a couple of nights ago.

“And did he ever… do anything else?” Tim enquires further, hoping for a specific answer while preparing himself for the worst.

“No. I don’t know if he ever would’ve tried anything, but growing up in that home meant I knew where all the best places to lay low were when he did get extra clingy. And I also try to spend as much time out of the home and away from that neighbourhood as possible.” You explain, fiddling with the corner of the cover laid across you.

“So you believe he told a member of that gang to hurt you because you wouldn’t date him?” Lucy clarifies, feeling her heart break when you nod.

“Okay, we’re going to try to find that kid and talk to him about this gang of his,” Tim states, moving to stand up and exit the room with Lucy following behind.

“Wait!” Your desperate cry stops Tim in his tracks, making him turn to face you.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asks, worried as to why you had reacted like that.

“Don’t tell Kevin or anyone I told you about this. If they find out I squealed… I don’t know what they’ll do to me.” You say, vaguely hearing the increased beeping coming from the heart monitor in your panicked state.

“Hey, y/n, take some deep breaths for me, okay?” Tim quickly strides across the room to you, placing his hands on your shoulders and getting you to look up at him. He takes a few exaggerated deep breaths which you mimic shakily, each breath coming smoother than the last until you’ve regained control of your breathing and your heartbeat has begun to settle into a steady rhythm once more.

“That’s it, kid, just like that.” Tim then praises gently as he feels the tension leaving your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze before releasing his grip. As Tim lets go, you lift your hand to wipe at your suddenly watery eyes, trying not to flinch at the slight pain from the movement.

“We won’t tell anyone there about what you told us. I promise.” Lucy says, knowing that the number one rule of being a police officer was that they couldn’t promise anything but seeing how Tim nodded lightly in agreement confirmed that this was one promise that they could make.

“We’ll go and try and find information. But we won’t mention you at all. They won’t know you told us. Promise.” Tim assures you, stepping back and joining Lucy by the door.

“Hang tight, y/n. We’ll stop that guy.” Lucy says with a soft smile, folding up the sketch she still had in hand and putting it in her pocket with your permission before both she and Tim exit your hospital room, making their way back to their shop to go in search of further answers. They make their way back to the neighbourhood of the children’s home and instead of heading to the children’s home, they do a walk around the area, both of them noticing how people watch them carefully, wary of what they might do.

“Someone around here has to be a part of that gang y/n was talking about, right?” Lucy asks quietly, walking alongside Tim as they observe their surroundings.

“I’d put money on it. But we can’t exactly go up to them and ask. We have to be subtle.” Tim says, noticing how they were beginning to approach two teenage boys who were leaning against a wall, talking amongst themselves.

“Don’t usually get cops around here.” One of the teenagers says, loud enough for Tim and Lucy to hear, making them exchange a quick look before they turn to face the teens.

“We’re patrolling the area. Got a problem?” Tim accuses, folding his arms across his chest as he stares down at the two teenagers.

“Patrolling for what?” The other asks, both of them clearly unafraid of Tim and Lucy’s presence.

“There’s been some incidents around here and we just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Lucy lies easily, hands resting on her belt as her eyes flick between the two boys.

“Are you accusing us of what happened with that bitch this morning?” One of the teens suddenly becomes accusatory, making Lucy raise her eyebrows in slight shock at the tone.

“No one’s accusing you of anything. In fact, neither of us mentioned an incident this morning. Is there anything you can tell us about it?” Tim then asks cooly, noticing how the teens twitch a little in their realisation about being caught out.

“It wasn’t us.” One of them says, instantly on the defensive, his voice harsh.

“We’re not saying it is you. We’re simply asking if you know anything.” Lucy says, holding a hand out to try and calm the tension she could sense building.

“We don’t know anything.” The other teen says, both of them then turning on their heels and stalking off somewhere else.

“As suspicious as that was. They didn’t do it.” Tim states, letting out a soft sigh and watching them walk away.

“Neither of them had a deep voice. At least not one matching y/n’s description. But did you see-”

“One of them had the brand on his arm. We’re definitely in the right place.” Tim finishes, eyes flicking around the streets in search of other people to question.

“Can I help you, officers? I’m Toby.” A deep voice comes from behind Tim and Lucy, making them exchange a look before they turn to face the owner of the voice. They quickly came face to face with someone who looked to be in his early twenties, he was not much shorter than Tim and they could only assume he did a lot of heavy lifting with how he was built.

“There was a stabbing this morning. A girl about fifteen years old was the victim. Do you know anything about it?” Tim asks smoothly, not showing any signs of suspicion as he watches Toby’s reaction.

“A stabbing? I haven’t heard anything about it.” He says, shrugging lightly before folding his arms across his chest, displaying the brand that you had described on his hand.

“Nothing at all?” Lucy prompts, glancing from Toby to Tim who nods the slightest amount.

“Nothing.” Toby confirms.

“That’s funny. We did some investigating and apparently her attacker was part of the same gang with those exact brands. According to some people we spoke to, the attacker had a deep voice and had a branding scar on his hand. Would you like to revise your answer?” Lucy says, staring down Toby whose calm and collected look shifts and soon a knife is being brandished towards the two of them, making Tim grab Lucy’s arm and pull her behind him.

“She should’ve thought twice before she turned down Kevin. The bitch just got what she deserved.” He says angrily, knife pointed directly at Tim to keep them at a distance.

“I think she’s well within her rights to turn someone down if she doesn’t like them,” Tim says calmly, not wanting to aggravate him any more.

“Kevin is my bro and I’ll look out for him like he’s my own family. If that means getting rid of some bitch who won’t date him then that’s what I’ll do.” Toby says, making Tim clench his jaw.

“Alright. I’ve heard enough.” Tim states, fed up and angered by what he’s been hearing. Without warning, Tim lunged forward, grabbing Toby’a wrist, and twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor before pinning his arm behind his back. Tim then pulls his handcuffs out of his belt and handcuffs his hands together while Lucy radios control to let them know of the situation.

“Grab the knife,” Tim instructs Lucy, already pushing Toby towards the shop while Lucy does what she’s asked. The closer they get to the shop, the more Tim becomes aware of the pairs of eyes watching them. He gets Toby into the shop then both Tim and Lucy get into the front seats.

“Are we going to let y/n know we got the guy?” Lucy asks, briefly glancing back at Toby before looking at Tim who nods lightly.

“Once we’ve processed this asshole I’m going to head back over to the hospital and let her know we’ve caught the guy,” Tim says, starting the engine and beginning the drive over to the station.

“That’s good. I think it’ll be good for her to know.” Lucy agrees, nodding slightly and focusing her attention on the passing scenery.

“You’re wasting an awful lot of time focusing on her. What makes her so important?” Toby grumbles from the backseat.

“No one asked for your input. You and that other kid are the reason she’s in this mess in the first place.” Tim says angrily, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror to glare at him. The rest of the journey back to the station was relatively quiet, with Toby attempting to speak up every so often, only to be silenced by Tim’s silent glare.

When they made it to the station, Tim and Lucy processed Toby as quickly as possible, practically shoving him into one of the cells the moment they were able to and finish up the paperwork in record time.

“Are you coming with me or not, Boot?” Tim asks, already making his way back towards the shop after finishing processing.

“I’m coming,” Lucy says, rushing to Tim’s side, both of them get back in their shop and make their way back to the hospital. Upon arrival, the hospital seemed much quieter, meaning Tim and Lucy didn’t have to swerve through seas of people to make their way to your room. When they reach your room, they knock once more and enter with permission, both of them smiling at you as they walk in.

“We’ve got some good news,” Lucy says with a smile, noticing how your eyes lit up the slightest bit at her words.

“We apprehended the person who hurt you. He’s not going to get near you again.” Tim says, his smile matching Lucy’s as you smile at their words.

“Thank you.” You whisper, fighting back the threat of teary eyes as the relief sets in.

“We’re just doing our jobs. No need to thank us.” Lucy says softly, approaching the bed and taking your hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m going to open an investigation into the home. See if I can get it closed or something. Or at the very least get you moved somewhere else so you don’t have to deal with that Kevin anymore.” Tim adds, watching as you look from Lucy to him.

“You don’t need to do that.” You start.

“I do. Nothing about that place is safe for you. Even when we do get the okay to arrest Kevin, that home isn’t a stable or safe environment for you. So I want to do what I can to help you out.” Tim says, smoothly cutting you off and stepping closer to your bedside, his gaze soft as he looks down at you.

“I don’t want you guys potentially getting hurt on my behalf.” You mumble, wiping at your eyes with your free hand to prevent any tears from falling.

“Let us worry about ourselves. All you have to do is worry about getting better. We’ll handle everything else.” Tim says reassuringly, his gentle smile calming and encouraging as you take some deep breaths to calm down.

“I owe you both so much.” You say gratefully after you’ve calmed down, smiling shyly at your saviours.

“You don’t owe us anything. We were just doing our jobs.” Lucy says softly, her smile still as gentle as ever. The three of you continued to converse for a few more minutes, both Tim and Lucy noticing how you became more confident in talking to them, but Lucy had noticed how you were more comfortable with Tim. And she hadn’t missed how Tim had practically switched into a whole new man around you. He was much softer and fatherly towards you. After a few minutes, Tim notices the time on his watch and sighs lightly.

“We should head out,” Tim says regrettably, glancing over at Lucy who nods softly.

“Look after yourself y/n,” Lucy says as they cross to the door.

“If I don’t die of boredom first. There’s nothing to do here.” You say with a light chuckle, lying back in the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’m sure if you ask a nurse they could find you something to do.” Tim says apologetically, offering the best solution he could think of at the moment before both he and Lucy bid you goodbye and head out to finish the rest of their shifts.

The rest of their shift went smoothly, the only crimes they encountered being things like reckless driving and noise complaints. By the time they had made it back to the station for the end of their shift, Tim wanted to input his request for an investigation into the children’s home you had spent your life in. He wasn’t usually picky about which detectives might take his investigation requests but he wanted to make sure Angela picked up this case. He knew she’d keep him in the loop and let him help out if he wanted. After talking to Angela and getting her on board with looking into the home, Tim thanked her and then headed out to his truck.

On his way back to his house, Tim drove past a store, pulled into the car park and found someplace to park after remembering he needed to pick up a few things. He entered the store, grabbing the things he needed before stumbling across a book aisle in the store. He stood in front of the aisle for a few moments before letting out a soft sigh, digging into his pocket for his phone and stepping into the aisle.

Unbeknownst to Tim, Lucy had also entered the store five minutes after he did, not even aware that Tim was there. She browsed the aisles, searching for what she and Jackson needed until she also found herself by the book aisle. She looked up the aisle and saw Tim standing in front of a selection of books. One hand holding a book, the other holding his phone as he studied the screen intently.

“Looking for book recommendations?” Lucy asks, chuckling to herself when Tim jumps, head whipping around and visibly relaxing upon realising it is Lucy talking to him.

“I was just- y/n mentioned she was bored so I thought I’d grab her a couple of books to give her tomorrow so she can pass the time until she’s out of the hospital,” Tim says, showing Lucy his phone and how he’d been looking up popular books for your age group to pick out the best ones for you.

“Here, let me help.” Lucy offers, taking the book from Tim’s hand, inspecting it quietly before nodding and putting it in Tim’s basket before plucking another book off the shelf, and handing it to Tim to judge after reading the blurb herself.

“You know… you could foster y/n if you wanted.” Lucy says softly after Tim puts the book back, and grabs another to look at.

“What?” Tim asks, no anger behind his voice, but confusion.

“You’re really good with her. It’s clear you care about her and she’s comfortable with you. Fostering her would keep her out of the home while the investigation is ongoing. Plus it would keep her safe and away from that neighbourhood.” Lucy explains herself, watching as Tim falls silent, putting the book he had in his hand in his basket.

“I don’t know. My career isn’t the safest thing in the world and I don’t want someone to potentially use her to get to me.” Tim explains with a sigh.

“I get that. It’s your choice. But she definitely feels safer with you than anyone else.” Lucy says softly, offering Tim one last book before turning on her heels to make her way through the rest of the store, leaving Tim alone.

When Tim gets home, he’s greeted by Kojo who rushes over to Tim happily, demanding to get attention which Tim is more than happy to provide. Once Kojo trots off, happy to entertain himself while Tim unpacks the things he bought. As he unpacks, he sets aside the two books he and Lucy had picked out for you, as well as a few packets of candy and chocolates. Tim was sure he was going overboard but he wanted to make sure that what was left of your hospital stay was pleasant.

After organising everything, Tim makes himself dinner, making sure to feed Kojo while he waits for his food to cook. Once his food is ready, Tim sits himself down to eat and watch the football game he’d been waiting to watch all day. However, as he watched the game, he found himself distracted by the option Lucy had brought up to him at the store. He knew she was right, he couldn’t deny how much he had come to care for you in a short period of time. But he also didn’t want to risk bringing more harm to you through his job. Tim’s focus on the football game began to dwindle as he debated the idea of fostering you back and forth in his head. As if he could sense Tim’s dilemma, Kojo approached Tim, hopping up onto the sofa and resting his head on Tim’s leg, letting out a soft whine while Tim pets his head. Eventually, Tim concluded his internal debate as he was putting his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Upon finally concluding, Tim grabbed his laptop and returned to the sofa, settling down alongside Kojo once more, opening it and typing in one simple question.

‘How to foster a child?’

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku...save me...i need more teacher izuku....

I WANNA BE SAVEDD

detention with teacher izuku

Detention serves as a form of a discipline, to ensure an unruly student would own up to their misdemeanors in a supervised setting. So why were you just sitting there smiling to yourself in earnest?

Well, quite frankly, it didn't feel like it in the first place.

Filling the empty air was the clock that ticked so painfully slowly and the subtle scribbles of a pen from the teacher's desk. But not just any teacher. You steal a quick glance at Mr. Midoriya from behind your arm in wonder of his occupacy, one of the many in succession. Was he looking at you? Working on anything? He was concentrated on something, probably grading, and his expression showed. His focus, the way his eyes trailed, narrowing at minor mistakes and the occasional grin when a paper read reasonably. Ugh, he just looked so good.

The missing assignments splayed out on your desk remained neglected, barely signed by your name and date in effortless strokes. Guess taking time to focus on your own happiness comes with a price. You sigh, propping your arm up on the desk and resting your cheek on your palm. Despite your best efforts to focus on the present moment, your gaze inevitably drifted toward Mr. Midoriya once again.

Within minutes, the classroom began to melt, with him remaining at the focal point. The stark lines of desks, the muted colors of the walls, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights all seemed to fade into the background. Mr. Midoriya stood out with a clarity that was both mesmerizing and disorienting. There was no doubting it, Mr. Midoriya was one hell of an attractive teacher, in all ways possible you might add. There was just nothing bad any student could say about him. He has everything. He embodied a blend of qualities that made him stand out perfectly: his sweet, engaging personality, the genuine bonds he formed with his students, and his dual legacy as a hero, both past and present.

The blurriness fades away and you're met with the piercing emerald gaze of Mr. Midoriya himself, his eyes vibrant and full. In panic, you quickly avert your eyes in embarrassment, your heart racing.

"Y/n," he directs, his gaze unwavering. After tons of X marks and overly excessive side notes that practically ran off the pages, the pen finally came to a rest as he filed his last graded paper and cleared his desk. "Have you finished any of your missing assignments?"

"Uh- no sir..." you mumble, staring at them with guilt.

"...Over the past 30 minutes, I've just finished grading all 20 of your class's assessments, y/n. Am I keeping you here for nothing?" He inquired sternly, but not so much of hard criticism. Even then he remained as patient and pleasant as he could be. In his voice lay genuine concern behind his words, a silent affirmation that he cared deeply about your progress and well-being. In a way, it stirred your heart into ache at the thought of disappointing him and that's exactly what you were doing. The knowledge that you were falling short of his expectations was crushing, but it also underscored how much you valued his opinion and how keenly you desired to meet his standards.

The silence that followed was thick with the weight of shame. Seconds ticked by slowly, and the distant chime of the hour alarm set on his phone seemed faint and irrelevant. Mr. Midoriya remained resolutely in his chair, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere between you and the floor, thinking. Instead of eagerly releasing you from detention so he could go home, he decided uphold his role as a teacher and take matters into his own hands.

Mr. Midoriya rose promptly from his chair, with almost deliberate grace. He approached your desk with a quiet resolve, his footsteps clicking against the hardwood floor.

"You know, the grading period for this semester's almost over, I won't even be able to accept these anymore soon..." He stands over you, his figure casting a long shadow across your cluttered desk as he reads through the titles of the assignments. They were WAY overdue, some by MONTHS. Your head hangs low over your desk miserably. Your lack of input concerned him, and he takes a deep breath, his concern evident as he searches for a way to offer genuine support.

"Tell me, what's going on, y/n? Really," Mr. Midoriya asks, his voice low and gentle. He doesn’t stand over you in a domineering manner but instead squats down beside your desk, aligning himself with your level. His posture is open and inviting as he gazes up at you with empathy, his emerald eyes soft and attentive beneath his dark hair.

"..."

"I won't understand unless you talk to me, dear."

DEAR!??///// Your mind screamed in fluster. There was really nothing meant behind it besides a comforting invite, but still!! It made your heart flutter!!

You take a shaky breath, trying to organize your scattered thoughts. "I guess I...I can't focus," you answer hesitantly, your eyes trailing down every detail on his face. The faint, almost imperceptible scar on his cheek adds a rugged charm to his otherwise gentle features. He looked even better up close.

"You can't focus? Why not?" He questioned with a slight tilt of his head as if the answer was somehow written on your face. With the way your face flushed, it practically was.

"..." His gaze was intense, yet so tender. It felt like he could see inside of you and those thoughts of yours that unapologetically swam around him. Maybe he did and you'd never know. You find yourself caught between the comfort he offers and the dizzying effect he has on you.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, he went ahead.

"It's okay," he says softly. "You don't have to tell me..." Mr. Midoriya stood up and glanced at the clock on the wall for a moment and exhaled, deciding his next course of action. He reaches his hands to shuffle all the papers on your desk and sort them into a neat, thick stack.

He sighs. "...I don't usually do this but, tell you what. If you can complete all of these and turn them in to me before class in 2 days, I'll give you full credit," he announces, carrying a hint of encouragement. He smiles warmly as your face lights up in shock and simply nods in confirmation as if telling you 'yes, I'm completely serious'.

"Oh, thank you sir, but...I don't think I can-"

"Of course, you can! You won't get anything done with a doubting outlook like that, dear. Have a little more faith in yourself!" His hand presses against your shoulder softly with a gentle caress and you nod in bashful silence.

AKJSUGDDFYAVDHJAS

"Alright, you're dismissed y/n. Enjoy the rest of your day, but please use your time wisely, okay? I don't wanna see my student in detention!"

Mr. Midoriya truly is a wonderful teacher (and an attractive man).

[wooziorgans]

Woozi as a doctor??? Giving massages? New gose hits hard

— physical therapist!woozi

god he’s SO HOT HELP.

warnings: reader was in a car accident. jihoon definitely violates some,,, things. moderate medical malpractice (getting dicked down during an appointment). unprotected sex. mild ass play. not medically accurate i have no idea how this shit works. DONT TRY N SEDUCE UR DOCTORS!!!

after you hydroplaned on the highway, totalling your car, your insurance (surprisingly) opted to cover your physical therapy.

and by god if you weren’t going milk that opportunity for all it was worth.

that’s how you found yourself at a holistic physical therapy clinic. the highest rated one in busan, being seen by their best doctor.

“doctor lee will see you now.” the receptionist smiled at you. the green walls of the clinic were earthy and warm. the general vibe was quite comforting and pleasant; it’s the kind of place you’d want to get better in. your knee clicks uncomfortably as you walk.

you push the door open to his office, and out of everything you could’ve expected, you didn’t expect to see a young man, barely into his thirties with his sleeves rolled up and rimless glasses sitting on his face. his grown out dark hair frames his face perfectly, and on first impression, the only thing you notice about him is how undeniably handsome he is.

“you must be my four o’clock. y/n?” his voice is low and kind, his smile wide on his face. he speaks with the regions dialect, and though you’re used to it, it makes something inside of you twist. you swallow nervously.

“yes, that’s me.” your own smile is tight.

“i’m doctor lee, but please call me jihoon. the doctor title makes me feel old. have a seat.” he gestures laughing quietly, and you take a seat in the large leather chair. he pulls up a stool to sit next to you. “from what i can see from your chart, you were in a car accident?” jihoon asks carefully.

you nod, unable to look at him. “i see. and you had some torn ligaments that healed, but now you’re having issues with mobility and have some clicking in your left hip and knee, correct?” his voice is so soft and careful, and you can immediately get the impression that he cares about his patients. that’s probably why he’s the top rated doctor in all of busan.

“yeah. uh, i definitely shouldn’t be in this much pain after two months so i went to my doctor and he referred me here.” you laugh nervously. jihoon smiles at you reassuringly.

“well, how about i get you to stand up for me so i can do an assessment and i’ll see what i can do for you?” you nod, standing, and jihoon starts to scan over your body. he immediately starts to take you in, eyes analyzing your lower half. “is it okay if i touch you? just to see your hip alignment?” he asks, crouching down to the ground.

“yeah.” the doctors hands find your hips soon after. he squeezes and pokes, asks repeatedly if the pressure of his touch hurts you at all. his hands move down the side of your legs to your knees where he does the same thing

“from what i can see, your hip alignment is off. same with your knee. it would be a relatively easy fix, but because of your torn ligaments we have to be more careful. i think the best plan of action is to go over some exercises for you to do at home and then we’ll go over what needs to be done when you’re here.” the doctor sits back down on his stool as he gestures for you to take a seat again.

jihoon jumps right into it, directing you in various exercises to help with your mobility. he talks to you the whole time, asking about your accident, what you do for work, if you’ve lived in busan your whole life. you answer him earnestly, still a little shy because of the situation your in.

you never were fond of doctors, and jihoon seems to pick up on that as he keeps the conversation light and comfortable. he moved you to a big table, and has you lay down so he can work on your hip.

“this might hurt. i’m sorry in advance. it should just be a lot of pressure.” his hands press lightly against your hip at first as he lets you adjust to the pressure. then his whole body weight comes down in the same spot, and you yelp loudly, biting your lip as you try not to swear.

he chuckles softly, body still leaning over you so his voice is right in your ear. “don’t worry, this room is sound proof.” you laugh through the pain, but the relief feels almost immediate. your hip isn’t as stiff.

jihoon continues working on you until the end of your session, and when you stand you feel a little lighter. he smiles at you, wishing you well for the week.

and so your first session ends with doctor lee, and you leave his office with a stack of papers and another appointment booked for next week.

session after session with jihoon, your body starts to return to how it was before your accident.

the appointments are comfortable, and after six months, you’re able to joke around with your doctor. maybe it’s because he’s quite young, and you’re young, that his conversation begins to feel natural.

it feels like you’re almost friends, meeting up once a week to hang out while he abuses you in ways that have you cursing and calling him colourful names. he always laughs it off, knows not to take anything you say too personally.

jihoon is a good doctor, but him being hot is posing quite the issue. you can’t help but stare at his exposed forearms when you enter his office. jihoon pretends not to notice, but over the few months he’s been working on you, he can’t help how interesting he finds you. and beautiful.

he thinks you’re beautiful too.

“you’re doing a lot better, y/n.” jihoon smiles at you, and you smile back, feeling the change in your body. you flex your knee as if to test his words, and the bones don’t grind uncomfortably. “honestly, i think we only have about a month left of sessions together. and then you’ll be free of me.” you roll your eyes at him.

“oh no. whatever will i do?” you jest. he laughs.

“don’t go and get yourself injured again just to spend time with me.” he flicks through your chart. “is your back pain getting any better? i thought i was from your hip but it might be something else.” his eyebrows are furrowed, glasses slipping down his nose as he scans over the sheets of paper attached to his clip board.

“it’s migrated lower. i think it’s my tail bone but i don’t know.” you offer. he’s the doctor, but you know your body. jihoon told you that a few sessions in; that your opinion mattered to the direction of your treatment.

“you mind if i check? if that’s the case it’ll be a quick adjustment. it’s possible it got jacked up when you messed up your hip.” he’s teasing you, about to call you old, which is almost ironic considering he’s in his thirties, and you’re not. you just shake your head at him, climbing up onto the table you’ve grown so familiar with.

jihoon presses lightly at the bottom of your spine, carefully pushing your hoodie up to directly feel the contour of your bones. he sighs. “i’m gonna have to move your sweats out of that way to check your tailbone. the fabrics too thick for me to really feel it. this okay?” you feel his fingers hook under the band of your sweats and you nod, humming softly as you push away any and all unholy thoughts you’re having right now.

jihoon pulls both your sweatpants and underwear down, to the middle of your ass. the elastic band keeps them down as two of his fingers trail lower down your back. you shiver, and jihoon does a good job at ignoring it as his fingers dip in between your ass cheeks. he presses down on the tip of your tailbone and you flinch.

“oh, yeah. that’s not supposed to feel like that.” he sighs, gently rubbing over the bone with his fingers. “it’s sticking out too much. i think you dislocated it.”

“y-you can dislocate a tailbone?” you stutter. his fingers are far too low for comfort.

“yes. you said you fell when you were doing your knee exercises. that’s probably how.” jihoon’s fingers graze over the bone carefully, and you shiver again. this causes his fingers to slide further down, tips brushing over the tight muscle of your asshole.

both you and jihoon freeze. he doesn’t know what to do so he removes his hand and says nothing. he cracks his fingers softly. “adjustment time.” he speaks lowly as he places his hand flat on your ass. one of his knees finds itself between your legs as he braces himself to make the adjustment.

its procedure. he’s done this dozens of times before, but something feels different this time. jihoon’s knee presses against the bottom of your ass, dangerously close to your core as he presses down.

the initial adjustment makes you yelp in pain before you laugh it off. “good. one more.” he praises, and if he doesn’t stop talking in that low tone you’re going to end up soaking this table.

the second adjustment rocks your hips into the table, moving your whole body up and then back down. he accidentally grinds you against his knee, and the table, and the sound you make this time is strained and breathy. an involuntary moan falls from your lips as you close your eyes. jihoon freezes again. “y/n? what was that?” he asks carefully. he knows what it was.

“i- uh, i didn’t mean to- fuck.” your voice is suddenly whiny, and that’s when it fully clicks.

“oh.” jihoon briefly removes his hands from your ass, before he palms one of your cheeks. “i see.” he squeezes carefully. you arch into his touch, and though you can’t see him, he smirks.

“i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to react like that. it’s just—” jihoon’s other hand finds your other cheek as he pulls your sweats down a little further.

you’re still trying to defend yourself, maintain professional integrity for him, even though you’ve been painfully obvious in the way you stare at him and check him out. “please forgive me if i’ve read into this wrong, but i’m under the impression that you’re into me. is that correct?” jihoon leans down, right next to your ear as he speaks. his breath hits your neck and you shiver. you nod. “good, because it’s been absolute torture having to work on your hips with this ass on display for me every single week.” he rubs your ass with both hands, leaning down further to kiss your neck softly.

you whine, leaning into his touch. his lips are soft against your neck as he pecks at it lightly. “jihoon,” you whine softly, hands gripping at nothing.

“do you want this?” he pulls away from your neck to ask you. you whine out a yes, and jihoon flips you over onto your back in one quick motion.

you gasp at the sheer strength of him. it’s not entirely shocking, not when you’ve seen his forearms out at every single appointment. but he’s far stronger than you expected. jihoon slides off the table, towering over you. you lean up, grabbing at the collar of his shirt to pull him down to kiss you.

the kiss is electric, full of tongue and spit as all the weeks of checking each other out come to a head. you tug at the belt loops on his slacks, hands sliding over his leather belt. jihoon chuckles against your lips, pulling you to sit up before he unfastens his belt.

jihoon slides himself in between your legs, thigh pressing against your core as you grind against him. he pulls his belt free from his pants, popping the button on his pressed slacks as he continues to lick into your mouth. you whine against his lips and he chuckles softly, undoing his zipper. he pushes his pants down to his ankles, not bothering to step out of them as he manhandles you back into the padded table.

“lay back for me, baby.” he purrs, lips leaving yours to find your neck again. you do as he says, resting your weight on your elbows so you can get a better look at him. with strong hands, his lifts your legs up, grabbing the band of your sweats which had slipped further down your ass with all the movement. he pulls them down to your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he watches the way your pussy seems to throb in the cool air of his office.

jihoon swears under his breath as he licks his fingers to run them over your folds. you whine, eyes closing and jihoon tuts. “look at me.” you do as he says, watching him as he pushes two fingers inside of you. “so fucking wet for me.” he curses as your body pulls his fingers inside with ease.

he fuck you with two digits, watching your reactions carefully, drinking in every single moan and whine you try to silence. as much as he’d love to make you cum on his fingers, your time is quite constrained with your hour appointment, so he pulls them out, sticking them in his own mouth to lick them clean.

jihoon moans around his fingers, using his other hand to pull his boxers down and give his cock a few lazy strokes. your knees block the view, so you look to the side to see him touching himself. his cock is large and thick in his hand, and your mouth waters at the sight of it.

jihoon smirks, stepping forward a few steps to rub his tip through your folds. you whine, breathy pants the only sound you’re capable of making. “god, just fuck me. please.” you plead, and jihoon smirks again but listens to you.

jihoon lines himself up and pushes his tip in. the stretch burns, so he gives you a few moments to adjust. “so fucking big, my god.” you hiss, lip between your teeth as you adjust to the stretch of him. when you give him a silent nod to go ahead and move, he pushes in further, sheathing his cock in your warm walls.

jihoon hisses, eyes fluttering shut. he pushes his glasses back up on his face, hand anchoring down on the back of your thigh as he slides back out. his face is flushed as he pants. you’re so warm and wet; he won’t last long. “you’re so tight, baby. fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” he pants, thrusting back into you.

he sets a fast pace, the sound of skin on skin echoing through out his office. you’re barely there; hardly coherent as his thick cock drags against your walls, his tip brushing against your spot with each thrust.

jihoon’s thumb flattens down on your clit, and it’s too much. you pull him back down for a kiss, which he returns eagerly, as your walls tighten around him. you moan into his mouth, hand finding his hair to pull him in closer. his thumb rubs circles over the swollen nerve and you shudder as a long moan leaves your lips.

you cum around his cock, the added wetness help him slide into you to fuck you through your orgasm. you tighten around him impossibly more, and that sends jihoon over the edge.

his hips stutter as he cums inside of you. he pants against your mouth, sighing contentedly as he comes down with you. his cock slips out of you once the final drop is milked from his cock, and he plants a delicate kiss to your forehead.

jihoon’s quick to pull his boxers and slacks back up as you catch your breath. he massages your thigh carefully, watching the way his cum slowly leaks out of you and drips onto the padded table. “c’mon baby. let me help you get your pants back up.” your sweats are still at your knees, and you comply, lifting you hips for him to pull them back over your ass. you sigh, unable to look at him.

jihoon leaves you to go to his desk, pulling out a business card and a pen as he writes something down on it. “we’re almost out of time for today, but call me before our next appointment. i’d like to take you to dinner.” he presents the card to you with two fingers, and you take it hesitantly before you nod and get off the table. “i’m serious. it’ll be a date. if you want.” your lack of response seems to have jihoon on edge.

you smile softly at his sudden nerves. “i’d like that. thank you.” you grab your bag and head out of his office without turning back. you don’t see jihoon punch the air in victory.

“well. looks like our time here is up. you’ve been a lovely patient.” jihoon smiles, clip board in hand.

“it’s been a pleasure, doctor lee.” you smirk, finger trailing over his collar bone through his shirt.

“oh, don’t you start.” he scoffs, but he’s smiling at you fondly, cheeks on full display as his eyes crinkle.

“we’re still on for dinner at seven, right?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“of course, love. i’ll pick you up. i was thinking about a movie and maybe a back massage at my place after? if you’re okay with that.” jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

“you know i’m always down for a back massage from you.” you peck his cheek.

“i swear you just use me for my physical therapy perks.” he rolls his eyes at you fondly.

“maybe i do.” your boyfriend laughs before he kisses you softly.

[reiderwriter]

do you think you could write where reader is a part of the BAU and gets kidnapped/ hurt by an unsub and spencer saves her? much love and i love your fics!

Hi! Thanks so much for your request. I'll admit this took a bit more brain power than usual 💀 may have gotten slightly carried away creating an unsub lmao

Summary: You go undercover for a case and Reid keeps you company through online messages, only to feel absolutely worthless when you go missing.

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kidnapping and abuse of Y/N, Reid self-deprecating again but it has a happy fluffy ending so a win.

My Requests are Open! Send me an ask if you want me to write something~ 💕 And check out My Masterlist!

“Y/N, what do you think? I’m not going to send you in if you’re not confident you can complete the mission.'' Your Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner, was briefing you on the plan. Luckily for the team, or rather, unluckily for you, you fit the victim profile of your latest case, and with an absence of leads, your last chance to get him before he took another victim was an undercover mission. 

“I can do it, but can we establish a background in enough time? He’s devolving and he’s going to need to pick up another victim pretty soon.” 

You’d been called in to consult on the case two weeks prior. Local women who lived alone in the metropolitan area had been going missing on a weekly basis for the last three months, and the BAU team had been called in when they’d finally found the dump site of the first three victims. 

You’d so far managed to figure out how he was finding his victims from their home computers - a site for young women to look for sugar daddies. You’d previously profiled him as a man in his mid-40s who was going through a personal loss and was lashing out at women who represented someone specific to him, and after searching through the dating profiles, you were pretty sure his stressor was a recent or impending divorce. 

But try as Garcia might, these dating websites had a whole lot more encoded data than was expected, and after the Ashley Madison scandal of the previous decade, they’d taken to deleting the majority of their user data regularly so that certain accounts couldn’t be found. Which meant that you were left with a geographical profile you couldn’t pin down, a profile that could match half the men in the city, and a killer that was almost ready to strike again. 

“Garcia can get something ready for you in the next 8 hours, and we have some access to some FBI safehouses in the area that we can ready in at the same time. Go get yourself prepared for cover.”

And that’s how you found yourself living in a dingy studio apartment on the south side of the city for two days, waiting to report back about whatever men approached you. There wasn’t much for you to complain about, but you were getting pretty lonely. 

You’d greeted your new neighbors and made a show of attending some ‘new to the neighborhood’ events, making sure to get out and about to let the team assess if the unsub was stalking you. Other than that you’d spent the rest of your time in your apartment a constant tab open at the sugar baby website. A few men had been interested, and your computer was cloned and running simultaneously on Garcia’s system so the team could do their best to track suspicious accounts. 

The rest of your spare time was, surprisingly enough, spent messaging Spencer Reid. You’d been on the team now for three months, joining the team as a transfer from the blue collar division you’d worked in straight out of the academy. You had spent the same amount of time doing your best to gain confidence to work in the field. Sure, you’d trained for this, but theory and practice were so different and you really didn’t want to fuck up so early into your job.  

Which is why, you supposed, that Doctor Spencer Reid was so intimidating to you. Though he admittedly wasn’t the best at field work, noting the amount of exceptions the FBI had to make to allow him outside of the office at all on your first meeting, he was just so damned competent. With three PhD’s, three BA’s and a pending fourth on the way, he was the golden child of the BAU, and you found yourself desperate for his approval. It surely didn’t help that he was also your exact type to boot, and sometimes you found yourself conflicted if you wanted his approval because he was so good at his job or because he was go goddamn good-looking. 

With no way to know how the unsub was tracking his victims before he kidnapped them, your team theorized it was unsafe to have physical check-ins, opting instead to set up another account on the sugar baby website, that would be manned around the clock. And tech-averse Reid had volunteered to do the bulk of the manning, leaving you with all the time in the world to talk to him in your private chat room. 

sug4rbbY/N: Good evening, Doctor, got any interesting facts for me today? ;)

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Did you know that it is illegal to flirt in Haddon Township, New Jersey? Under the section “Peace and Good Order,” a person may be punished for approaching “any person of the opposite sex unknown to such person and by word, sign or gesture attempts to speak to or to become acquainted with such person against his will.”

sug4rbbY/N: Well, aren’t I glad that we do not live in New Jersey then. 

D0ct0rD0ct0r: There’s more where that came from if you’re ever interested. 

sug4rbbY/N: I’ll certainly keep that in mind. 

sug4rbbY/N: Any plans for the evening, doc? 

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Just sitting here talking to you :) 

sug4rbbY/N: All by yourself? ;)

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Never feel like I’m alone when you’re online. 

sug4rbbY/N: Haha that’s sweet.

sug4rbbY/N: BRB, Doc, my doorbell’s ringing.  

You stood up from your desk, a glance at the mirror betraying your feelings, as your flush was prominent. You weren’t sure if it was the intimate nature of the messaging system, or just for the sake of your cover, but the flirty tone of your messages had certainly been leaving you wondering if there could be more to your relationship with your coworker in the future. 

You quickly walked over to the door, opening it wide and came face to face with a bouquet of flowers. 

“Miss Y/N Harper?” the man behind the bouquet used your cover name to address you, and you hesitated a little before nodding in the affirmative. “Can you sign here please? It’s standard procedure for deliveries like this.” 

“But I didn’t order any flowers…” you took the bouquet from the man and grabbed the pen in his hand ready to sign. 

“Oh yeah, our shop specialises in anonymous flowergrams. That bunch you’ve got in your hand has some aconite, some white lilies and jasmine flowers.” The delivery man explained, and something in your gut twisted as you listened to his words. 

“But aren’t lilies usually meant for funera-” you didn’t get to finish because he had pushed a wet rag to your face, and you had just enough time to shake some small petals off and push them far enough underneath a nearby shoe storage unit before you faded into unconsciousness, your last thought a prayer that your team would uncover your clue. 

–x– 

Needless to say, when you didn’t check back in a few minutes later, Spencer had alerted every cop in the vicinity of your new apartment that you were gone, and they discovered your apartment empty within ten minutes. 

“She was right there,” Spencer ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “She was talking to me and then she just got up and he took her.” 

“Reid, calm down, she can’t have been gone long, and we have security cameras all over the building. We’ll find her.” Morgan reassured the younger male while searching the entrance of your cover apartment for clues. 

“That’s easy for you to say, it isn’t your fault that she’d gone.”

“And it isn’t yours either, Reid. You did your job, but he wasn’t going to stop until he had her.” 

“I should’ve notified the standby officers as soon as she sent through that last message and what was I doing instead? Trying to figure out if she was flirting with me for real or not. I’m pathetic.”

“Reid, get your head back in the game. She’s gone and theres nothing you can do to change that now, but we need your head here or we’re not going to find her. Y/N’s an agent too, remember, she can hold her own. Now look and think.” 

“SSA Morgan, Doctor Reid, we may have something over here,” one of the local detectives called the two men over. They’d found the remnants of the petals you’d done your best to scatter, and even though the unsub had taken the bouquet with him, he hadn’t been as thorough as he should have been. 

“We didn’t set her up with any flowers when she started her cover, so these must have been bought in by the unsub. I’ll call Garcia, tell her to look for any flower shops within his comfort zone.” Morgan hit the number on his speedial, but before he could start, Reid cut him off.

“Wait, I think we can narrow the search a bit further. Those are Aconite petals, they’re not often stocked by local florists because they have a pretty sinister meaning. They’re usually used to express hatred for the receiver, and because of their poisonous properties most florists don't stock them for fear of doing harm and causing lawsuits. He must be specifically ordering them in to give to his victims. Garcia, can you crossreference the list of florists in the area and check to see how many of them have purchased this plant recently?” 

“Just the one. Sending you the address now. Go find our girl Doc.” 

–X– 

When you came to, in what you assumed to be a backroom of some kind of flower shop, you were bound at the ankles and wrists and there was a gag in your mouth. You struggled a bit against your bindings but it was no good, and you had to reassure yourself that you were going to be okay, doing your best to push down the tears and clear your head. 

You decided your best bet was to get to know your surroundings, check to see what was around you and what you could use to your advantage. There was a clock on the wall, and you realised that you’d only been gone half an hour. Reminding yourself that the unsub kept his victims for a minimum of two days did a lot to get your heartbeat back to a normal pace, but it spiked again as soon as you heard the door slam open and your captor walk in. 

“Stupid little bitch,” he slurred his words slightly and you could smell the alcohol on his breath as he moved closer to your space in the corner. You tried your best to scamper as far away from him as possible, but he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to his face. 

You winced at the pain and tried to squirm out of his hold. “Look at you all pathetic now, begging me to let you out. It’s not going to fucking happen, y'know. I’m going to be the last person you see, last person you hear,” he throws you against the wall, pinning you up with his hand on your arms as he sends a leering glance down your shirt and then gives you a disgusting grin. “Last person you touch.” 

Your bindings mean your movement is limited, but you still manage to bring both your legs up to knee him in the groin, effectively pushing him off you but landing hard on the ground yourself after you manage to do so. 

“Fucking whore,” he shouts at you standing up and dealing a sharp kick to your head that has your vision going white for a minute. “I’ll teach you to fucking mess with me again, you little bitch.” He makes to grab you again, but before he can you hear the blissful sounds of a door being kicked down and the shouts of the FBI to stand down. 

Two agents are on him in minutes and you finally allow yourself to let out a deep sob in relief, as a third, very recognisable agent, makes his way to your side. 

“Y/N, shhh baby, it’s okay. You’re okay now, I’ve got you,” Reid whispers in your ear as he unties you as gently and carefully as he can. The moment your arms are free you leap into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your face deeply against his chest. He pulls away just enough to untie your legs, and then lets you burrow into him again. 

“I knew you’d find me. Knew you’d understand something from those fucking flowers.” You sob into his chest now, as he strokes your hair, just holding you like that on the floor until you’re ready to move. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve sent someone to check sooner, and I should’ve never let you accept that stupid cover mission,this is my fault and I'm going to make it up to you. I'm never going to let anyone hurt you ever ag-” he begins rambling but you shut him up again, this time by firmly pressing your lips into his. 

“Before you say anything else, this is not transference and I’m not doing this because you saved me, we both know I would’ve done that eventually anyway,” you rest your forehead against his, and after he has time to process what has just happened, he’s wiping the tears away from your face, and gently holding it with both of his hands, leaning in to do it again, gently pressing his mouth against yours as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. 

“Thank you, again. For finding me,” you whisper to him, the space between you so miniscule now that you barely had to move your lips to know that he understood you. 

“Thank you, for letting me find you.” He grinned at you and held you again, determined to never let you out of his arms ever again. 

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Eleven*

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.6k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, unprotected PinV, fingering, praise, size difference, biting, marking, Tali being a tease, Johnny's dirty talk

Johnny passes his fitness test

"So, how's the apartment hunting going?" Winnie asks, her upper body in the frame of our FaceTime call. She looks even tanner than usual, practically glowing as she beams at me.

She hasn't got long left to go on her work trip now and - after a particularly promising flat viewing last week - me and the boys might not be living in our apartment for much longer. We've finally found a place that works for all of us - the perfect mix of homey and industrial, with two bathrooms, a huge master bedroom with a walk-in closet, and a decent-sized spare room. And - as an added bonus - it's only a twenty-minute walk from here.

I gush to her about the place; about the giant, warehouse-style windows in the open-plan living room, and my interior design ideas. She listens eagerly, her smile only growing brighter and brighter until I stop and ask, "What?"

There's a pause as she shifts, getting comfortable on her hotel bed in Paris. Braids falling over one shoulder, her dark, wise eyes find mine through the screen, twinkling with an amused light. "You seem genuinely happy, Tali. It suits you." She tilts her head slightly, adding, "When I get home, we all need to go out for dinner and drinks. I get the feeling I should start getting used to these guys being around."

I laugh at that. "I think you should too. They aren't going anywhere any time soon."

We talk a bit more - exchanging I miss you's and stories about some of the other things that we've been up to in the past week - before I hear the sound of the front door opening and closing with a soft thud. The "honey, I'm home!" that follows is enough to tell me that Johnny is back in the building.

"I'll call you in the morning, yeah?" I say, heat flooding the tips of my ears as I flash Winnie a bashful smile.

She grins back. "Sure thing. Goodnight, babe."

The call is barely over before Johnny comes crashing into the bedroom, a huge smile on his face. "Simon called. He's gonnae pick up take-out from that little Italian place you like on his way home."

I switch my phone screen off and let it fall on top of the sheets beside me. Twisting so that I'm laying on my back, propped up on my elbows with my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, I catch onto what he hasn't mentioned.

Simon had to go into one of their offices today for a meeting with John, Gaz, and their colleague Kate; something that he couldn't avoid no matter how much he wanted to. It's looking more and more likely that they're going to have to go on another mission soon. And Johnny - well, Johnny had a doctor's appointment to assess his recovery.

To assess whether or not he was deemed fit enough to go along with them.

I hum, feigning nonchalance for a second before asking, "How did the appointment go?"

Just like that, the care-free smile on Johnny's face fades. He clears his throat, shifting his weight between his feet like a child afraid of getting a telling off. There's no hint of an injury in his stance now - not like there was when he first moved in. He doesn't favour one side anymore; doesn't have any trouble standing up, or lying down, or reaching for things.

He's better. He's healed.

And it's good news.

Or at least it should be.

"I, er- well, Doc reckons 'm good to go back to active duty," he says with a grimace. One hand reaches for the nape of his neck, tugging at the longer strands of his mohawk. He's self-soothing, and there's nothing I want more than to comfort him, but I let him finish. "Was gonnae tell you and Si tonight over dinner. Didn't wanna ruin a good day."

An invisible hand reaches through my ribs, fingers curling around my heart and squeezing like a vice. Panic, fear, worry; the emotions whirl through me like a storm gale, threatening to sweep me away with their intensity.

Instead of letting myself feel it, I swallow it down.

Pursing my lips, I meet Johnny's baby blue gaze. "It's okay. It'll all be okay."

He sits down beside me with a heavy thump, gaze trained on the wall in front of us. Refusing to hold my gaze, he sighs deeply. "Tali, nothin' about this is okay. This wasn't meant t' happen until we got the new place sorted out. Now... 'ah could be called away at a moment's notice. Simon too. Wouldn't have a say in the matter. Ye would be alone for God knows how long, waitin' for us without word. Worried sick.

"Ye don't know what it's like. I've been though this with Si before - it's not fun, lassie. It's gonnae hurt."

I sit upright, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed until I'm sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him. I wrap an arm around his side, leaning into his warmth.

His body is tense to the touch, but his soft t-shirt smells like his aftershave - clean and familiar. Like home.

I press a gentle kiss to his shoulder blade, my words muffled against the fabric and muscle as I speak. "We'll get through this, Johnny. It'll be okay."

Some of the tension leaves at that, his considerable frame sagging further against me. With a shaky exhale, I almost miss the whispered, "'ah don't wanna leave ye, Tali," that follows.

My heart breaks for him.

The only thing that I can think to say is, "I know."

Neither of us speak for a while after that. I just hold him while he stares off into space, gaze trained simultaneously on the wall and some far-away place that neither of us can see. And it's all I can do not to burst into tears myself.

Before long, Johnny pulls me into his lap, burying his face into my hair and nuzzling his nose against the side of my neck. It takes me a second to register the soft, lazy kisses that he's pressing there - trailing up my jaw and behind my ear.

"Johnny," I mumble, tilting my head to give him access to the delicate, sensitive skin there.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

I repeat his name, firmer this time. It takes him a moment, but he draws back enough for me to look at his face. With one hand on his broad chest, I say, "Are you sure you want to do this right now?"

Johnny grins lazily, the picture of care-free ease despite the tense line of his jaw. "Lassie, there's nothin' else ah'd rather be doing right now."

I lift a hand to cradle his cheek, relishing the rough bite of his stubble against my palm as he melts into my touch. The trust and affection lurking in his gaze is enough to choke me up; to bring a rush of answering emotion inside of me. Pressing my forehead to his, I stare into his eyes, palm trailing down the side of his throat to rest atop his broad shoulder.

"Johnny... I know it's soon but-"

He cuts me off by tangling a hand in my hair, pulling my lips down to meet his. I sink my teeth into the bottom one, pulling a deep, throaty chuckle from him.

"Ay, vicious little thing!" Johnny's hand comes down against my backside in a playful smack, the flat of his hand immediately soothing the sting with a gentle caress of his calloused palm. "Tha's my lassie."

I bite back a whine, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I shift myself until I'm straddling his lap, thighs bracketing his. His eyes darken as I get comfortable, purposefully rubbing against him as much as possible. I can feel the considerable length of him straining against the fabric of his gym shorts, the short skirt of my sundress doing little to shield me from the fact.

"Johnny?" I gasp, wide-eyed with feigned innocence.

Through gritted teeth, he growls, "Aye."

Leaning close, I press an open-mouthed kiss to his temple. "I'm not wearing any underwear."

If I wasn't turned on before, the look of pure, raw heat on his face takes me the rest of the way. With a sound verging on animalistic, Johnny flips us so that I'm on my back, his weight resting on the mattress between my spread thighs as he towers over me, caging me beneath him. It's far from menacing though; sending a thrill of anticipation through me.

Those blue eyes of his glitter with the thrill of the chase, gaze never leaving mine as one hand shifts to paw at the hem of my dress. With a slight dip of my head, his eyes drift south, fingers tugging the skirt up until its bunched up around my waist. His fingers trail back down the bare skin, goosebumps rising in their wake.

Pressing a trail of sloppy kisses to my neck, he licks over the hollow at the base of my throat. His mouth distracts me while his index finger circles my clit. He does it once, then twice, before finally skimming down to where I really need them. A rumbling sound leaves his chest when he finds just how wet I am for him.

He eases his fingers out of me with a mumbled praise.

"Don't be mean," I whine, arching my hips up towards him. "Just make me feel good."

Johnny scoffs something that sounds remarkably like "pillow princess" before pulling away. My gaze follows him as he frantically tugs down his gym shorts and boxers, his thick cock springing up - ready and waiting.

I don't laugh at the tattoo this time, instead running my thumb over it.

Practically purring, Johnny's hand wraps around my wrist, guiding his hand down to touch him. My fingers close around his length, relishing in the hiss that leaves his lips. His eyes find mine once again as he whimpers, "See, Tali. All of this is for you. Feel how fuckin' hard ye make me."

He thrusts into my hand to punctuate his point.

A breathy moan wrestles free from my throat. "Johnny- Johnny, I need you."

The strong column of his throat works as he swallows, seemingly nodding to himself before easing back down on top of me. Lining up, he places his free hand beside my head, balancing his weight as he notches himself at my entrance.

I savour the slow, delicious drag as he pushes into me, muttering soft praises under his breath as his face drops down beside mine. His dark hair tickles my cheek as he flexes his hips, slowly easing out before pushing himself in to the hilt. The movement punches the air out of my lungs in a sharp gasp.

"'ah loved watching Si eat you out," Johnny growls, low and guttural as he eases out again before slamming home. It suddenly occurs to me that he's no novice at dirty talk. In fact, he excels at it. "Loved watching you watch us." He twists his hips without warning, hitting a spot deep inside of me that sends me reeling - seeing stars as my eyes roll back. "But nothin' compares to being right here."

I cling to him like he's a lifeline, clawing at the tanned skin of his broad back and lifting my legs to wrap them around his tapered waist. I pull him close, gathering him to me as he picks up the pace like it's a challenge, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

Barrelling towards a release, I nuzzle my nose into his skin - inhaling the scent of his aftershave mixed with a hint of sweat - and bite down. Hard.

As I come, vaguely aware of the coppery taste now coating my tongue, Johnny roars. His hips stutter, a flood of warmth filling me as he finds his own high. I lose all sense of myself, vaguely aware of his weight pressing me into the mattress; muttered praises and apologies for not lasting very long.

Basking in the afterglow, he collapses on top of me, neither of us willing or able to move for a few long moments.

"That was... wow," Johnny says eventually, breathless and sweating.

"Intense?" I supply, still clinging to him like a koala bear. Banding his arms around me, he rolls us until he's on his back, my weight settling on top of him. He still hasn't pulled out - letting me enjoy the moment just a little while longer.

I have to remind myself that Simon will be home any minute now with dinner; stopping myself from getting amped up for round two.

Surrounded by him, I run my fingertips along the ridge of his shoulder, provoking the shiver that I was looking for with ease. But the smile on my face cracks as soon as I draw my hand back.

My fingertips are smeared with red.

I jerk upright, Johnny's softening cock slipping out with a wince from him. The post-orgasm haze leaves me just as abruptly as I lean over him, inspecting the damage. Sure enough, there are two rows of shallow teeth indents in the tanned skin of his shoulder, deep enough to draw a steady trickle of blood.

I pull back, grimacing.

"Ay, none of that!" Johnny declares, eyes glittering once again. "Did something for me, tha' did." Heat floods my cheeks as a roguish grin forms on his full lips. "Think we might need to tell Si about that little trick."

My eyes trail down, focusing on the tattoo along his V-line as I straddle his tapered hips. He returns the favour, stroking a bare sliver of skin along my own hip. With a contemplative hum, he suggests, "Ye should get a tattoo there. Ours."

It takes all my strength not to grind down against the bare length of him here and now. The primal urge to take and claim ghosts over me; the urge to have their handwriting marked permanently on such an intimate part of my body.

"Now that's an idea." I lean down to press a kiss to his lips. "In your handwriting?"

A devilish glint sparks up in his eyes, but he bites back on it, tapping me once on the thigh. "We should get cleaned up before Si gets home. Come on, little menace: shower."

An hour later, the three of us are lounging in the living room, eating Italian out of the cardboard box-trays that it was packed in. The results of Johnny's fitness test and doctor's exam were the first thing Simon asked about upon his return - his reaction something between disappointment and bitter acceptance - followed shortly by quizzing Johnny about the fresh bite mark on his shoulder. He'd only had to glance at me - guilty, dishevelled, and shifting my thighs in an attempt to ease the hollow ache between my legs - before his eyes darkened with lustful understanding.

I let myself fade into the background, listening to the quiet noise of the TV and the boys trading bits of work gossip - mentioning names of people I've never met and scandalous titbits I've never heard before.

Until something snags my attention.

"Kate said we have to go, Si," Johnny says sullenly. "'s not like it's waterboarding or anything. It's a fuckin' military ball for Christ's sake!"

Simon grumbles something under his breath, a string of curses punctuated by the odd coherent word. It ends in, "being paraded about like a fuckin' show pony."

"Surely it's not that bad," I say incredulously. A catered party with booze, decent food, and dancing - it sounds quite fun. I think Alex mentioned one once, back in his early days as an Officer.

Johnny beams. "See! Tali gets it. We should all go. Price and Gaz are going - we could make a night out of it."

Something sours in Simon's expression. "Hm, and how would that work out exactly? Who gets to go with Tali?"

I can't help but frown. He's right; I can only formally attend with one of them, especially around their colleagues and higher-ups. How else would we explain what's going on between the three of us? Hell, Johnny and Si aren't even out at work.

"We'll think of something," Johnny says, ever the optimist. "Besides, 's not for a few weeks yet. Think that new op'll happen first."

Simon grunts, finishing off the last few bites of his linguine. "Speaking of, I'm gonna reach out to that guy about the flat tomorrow. See if we can close on it as soon as possible." Hazel eyes meet mine. "Provided that's still what you want, love?"

I flash him a sweet grin. "Of course it is."

a/n: it took time, but we did it! hope you liked part 11. what do you want next, part 12 of this, part 2 of Unlikely Friendships or... something new? :) - lapetitelapin <3

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Joel Miller x wife fem reader

Family Emergency

Joel rolled over in bed, the soft glow of the clock illuminating the early morning hours. His wife, Y/N, lay peacefully beside him, her steady breathing a comforting reminder of her presence. Joel closed his eyes, trying to fall back into sleep, when the phone rang abruptly, shattering the tranquility. Groggily, he answered, only to hear his father’s voice, fraught with panic and pain.

"Joel, it's Dad. I think something's wrong. My chest... it hurts."

Joel's heart skipped a beat. "Hang on, Pops. We're coming."

He hung up and turned to Y/N, gently shaking her awake. "Honey, wake up. It's Pops. He's having chest pains."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, instantly alert. Years of working as a Med Surge Nurse had trained her to switch from sleep to action in a heartbeat. She leapt out of bed, her mind already racing through the steps she needed to take. Joel dashed downstairs to start the truck, while she grabbed her stethoscope and a bag of supplies she always kept ready for emergencies.

They raced out of the house, the cool night air biting at their faces as they hurried to the truck. Joel's hands were shaking as he fumbled with the keys, the engine roaring to life. Y/N jumped in beside him, her bag clutched tightly on her lap. Joel sped down the empty streets, his worry etched deep into his furrowed brow.

"He's going to be okay," Y/N reassured him, though she couldn't hide the tension in her own voice. "We'll be there soon."

The drive seemed to stretch on forever, each minute feeling like an eternity. Joel's fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking between the road and the clock. Finally, they pulled up in front of his father’s house, the familiar sight bringing a small measure of relief.

Y/N bolted from the truck and rushed to the front door, Joel close on her heels. She burst into the house, her voice echoing through the hallway. "Pops? Where are you?"

"In here," came a weak voice from the living room.

She found him slumped in his recliner, his face pale and sweaty. Kneeling beside him, Y/N quickly assessed his condition. "Pops, did you take your medication today? Have you checked your blood sugar?"

He shook his head weakly, his hand clutching at his chest. Y/N's eyes widened as she realized what might be happening. She pulled out her glucometer and checked his blood sugar levels. The reading was alarmingly low.

"Alright, Pops. It's just your sugar. I'm going to get you a spoonful of peanut butter and some orange juice," she said, her voice calming and professional.

Joel watched anxiously as Y/N moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing the necessary items from the kitchen. She returned to his father's side and carefully administered the peanut butter and juice, keeping a close eye on him as he slowly regained his color.

"Pops, you really scared me," Joel said, his voice choked with emotion.

His father managed a weak chuckle, the color gradually returning to his face. "I'm sorry, son. Guess I just forgot to eat something."

As his blood sugar stabilized, Y/N helped him back to bed, ensuring he was comfortable and had everything he needed within reach. She knelt beside him, her eyes filled with concern. "If you feel anything else, or if you’re unsure, call me immediately. Promise?"

He nodded gratefully, squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Y/N. You're a lifesaver."

Joel and Y/N finally made their way back home, the adrenaline of the night slowly wearing off. They climbed into bed, the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains. Joel turned to her, his eyes filled with gratitude.

"What would I do without you? Thank you for being there for my dad," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled, her hand resting gently on his cheek. "I wouldn't change it for the world.”

Joel pulled her close and said” I’m glad you did, because you’re fucking amazing at it. plus you look so hot in your scrubs.”he smirks already getting a hard on. he rubs up against his wife trying to get her in the mood

Next thing he knows he is getting smacked with a pillow she laughs and says “Go to sleep, now’s not the time” he grunted and kissed her and flipped over to hearing his wife’s silent snores “Damn that was fast.” he chuckled and slowly falls back asleep himself.

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[knoxmares]

how filling - che'nya x dom(ish) top amab reader

MINORS DNI

tags: che'nya exhibiting some yandere behavior, stuffing, emeto, mentions of sickness, implied fwb relationship, slightly under-negotiated kink a/n: unofficial sequel to this fic. you don't have to read it to enjoy this one, but there's some details that are carried over

You’re smirking before Che’nya even opens the door, his genuine look of shock being just what you predicted.

“Surprise…”

“Wha-“ his wide yellow eyes blink slowly as if he thought you were a hallucination. You suppose this is your first time visiting him at the Royal Sword Academy, and it gives you satisfaction knowing you’ve caught him off guard for once.

“Gonna invite me in, kitty? You know I’m really not supposed to be here, so there’s no telling what goody two shoes might report me.” You glance down the dorm hallway, which is thankfully still vacant. Unfortunately, you don’t have Che’nya’s disappearing ability, which allows him to be effortlessly sneaky.

“You never need an invitation” he eyes you curiously as he steps back to let you in, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders. You swiftly step inside allowing yourself to scan the dimly lit room, which you’ve only seen in pictures and video calls. Considering you are childhood friends, one would think you would have visited him at some point during the three years you’ve been enrolled at separate schools, but he dropped in on you so frequently there was never a need to.

“How are you feeling?” You set down the bag you brought on his desk. You had brought him some food since he had told you he was slowly getting his appetite back.

“A bit better I suppose” he pouts slightly shuffling back over to his bed. “I’m going to start going back to classes tomorrow.”

“Oh really?” You join him on his bed, and you notice his soft look of surprise when you leave no distance between you two. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself to go back too soon. Someone has been bringing you your work, no?” You can’t help but reach out a hand to try to assess his condition yourself. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, and it feels normal, but you press it to his cheek for good measure. He purrs at your actions, holding your hand against his cheek as he nuzzles into it further.

“You’re not worried about getting sick?” Che’nya looks more like himself than ever glancing up at you seductively with a smirk on his face. “Or maybe you just missed me too much.”

“Says the one who’s texted me nonstop telling me how miserable he is and complained that he had no one to take care of him.”

“No one as fun as you at least” he teasingly kisses the back of your hand that he’s still holding against his face.

“You really must be feeling better” you surmise. If he hadn’t sent you pictures of him looking peakish or voice messages of his terribly hoarse voice, you might believe he exaggerated his sickness to get you to come over. Though you were still suspicious of his intentions when he sent you a picture of him in his bed yesterday, dressed in lingerie and claiming to be “sooo bored.” You couldn’t deny part of you hoped that same lingerie was hidden under his blanket now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come over when you were sicker”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to come at all, but I’m glad you did” he gives you a toothy grin. “And you brought me something” his eyes glance over to the bag you brought, ears twitching with anticipation.

“Don’t get too excited. I just thought you might like a home cooked meal now that you’re eating more. You are keeping your food down now, right?”

“You made me food?” The second part of your sentence gets ignored as the thought of you preparing something for him evidently fills his head. His starry-eyed gaze keeps shifting from you to the bag, so you figure you might as well offer it to him now, which he readily accepts.

“It’s not anything special. You know I’m not much of a cook, so I just made you your favorite stew and also a strawberry tart, but you don’t have to eat it today of course” Your humble words do nothing to dull his excitement, his eager eyes never leaving you as you take out the stew and use your magic to heat it for him.

“Here you go” You try to hand him the bowl, but he gives you a sly look exposing his bare chest as he pulls his arms out of his blanket.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have any spare hands at the moment” he shrugs his shoulders as he displays his arms that seemingly have no hands attached.

“How curious…” you steal his common phrase giving him a knowing look. “I guess I’ll have to feed it to you then.”

“I guess so…” Che’nya looks at you innocently, but you can imagine the playful flick of his tail being concealed by his blanket.

He happily accepts spoonfuls of stew, letting out occasional hums of pleasure between bites. Before you know it, he’s cleaned out the bowl and is asking for the strawberry tart. You attempt to get him to hold off to ensure the stew settles well in his stomach, but he insists he’s fine, so you get out the tart.

“And you made this?” The hunger in his eyes appears deeper than a desire for food.

“Yeah. Trey had a busy week, so I didn’t want to bother him with it. I followed his recipe though, so I think it turned out well”

“I’m sure it’s delicious” he assures you. “Especially since you were thinking of me while baking it” he doesn’t even try to veil his delight over the thought. He opens his mouth expectantly and you feed him a bite, choosing not to comment on the reappearance of his hands.

“Mmmm,” he licks his lips as if to savor every crumb. You offer him bite after bite which he chomps on happily.

“Okay maybe we should stop here, and that way you’ll have some more for later.”

“No” he whines. “It’s so good. I don’t want to stop.” He looks at you through his lashes pleading with you. “Please, feed me more.” Against your better judgment, you give in to him.

“Ok… but if you push yourself too far, that’s on you” you warn giving him another bite. He lets out an approving nod, humming happily. You can’t deny it does stir something in you seeing him eat your food so earnestly. You believe your own eyes must be filled with hunger when the blanket slips off his body, revealing him to only be wearing boxers. The band sits below his stomach which has a noticeable bulge.

He rubs it lazily as he takes longer breaks between bites. You assume he’s getting full based on his deeper breathing, but he has yet to refuse a bite, his soft smile never leaving his face. While he seems as content as ever you find yourself shifting in your spot, trying to ignore the feeling of your cock straining against your pants.

You came here as a friend you try to remind yourself, but the praise that falls from Che’nya’s lips doesn’t help your situation.

“Mmmm, I missed being able to eat properly, but now you’ve ruined other food for me. How am I supposed to enjoy anything when I know I could have your cooking instead? It feels so good being full of your food, so you have to cook for me more, okay?” He rubs his belly with both hands as if admiring the bulge himself.

“My belly would definitely get bigger if I got to eat your cooking all the time” he giggles to himself. “Wouldn’t you like to see that” He looks at you suggestively, and you can hardly hold yourself back any longer, moving your body so that you’re straddling his lap. He looks at you with amused curiosity, gently bucking up against you when you rub your hands across his stomach just like he was doing moments prior.

“I would actually” you smirk “But for now, how about you eat these last two bites for me”

“If that’s what you want” he whines a bit when you move your hands, but he looks at you with heavy lust as he wraps his lips around the fork you offer him. He pants slightly as he licks his lips, and you can’t help but offer him the last bite straight from your hands.

He doesn’t immediately take your fingers in his mouth, which is how you know he is reaching his limit. He takes a moment, seemingly steeling himself for the last bite, but eventually opens his mouth allowing you to place the last piece of tart inside. He closes his lips around your fingers, making sure to lick the tip of your fingers before he chews the bite in his mouth.

“Look at you, kitty. You actually ate it all” You go back to rubbing his stomach, letting your fingers drift a little higher to tease his nipples.

“Ah,” he lightly gasps. “I know I could fit more” he slightly lifts his hips so he can slowly grind against you.

“I should have known you’d be insatiable, even when you’re still recovering.” You lean back, letting your fingers lightly trace the stain of precum that marks his boxers. He’s all too eager to help you take off his only piece of clothing. He hisses in pleasure when you finally take him in your hand, but he’s quick to insist you rid yourself of your clothes too.

Just as eager to feel his touch, you don’t argue, swiftly getting off him so you can fulfill his request. You lay beside him now, his hands immediately going to stroke you. Your intermingled moans fill the space between you as you get each other off. You take your other hand and rub it against his tip, causing his hips to jerk. His head falls against your shoulder as he lets out a strangled moan, and you continue your movements.

“Please… I’m ready for you…” he manages to pant out. “…wanna be full.”

“I don’t know if you should take me.” You can’t help but still be concerned about his limits.

“But I wan-“ He interrupts his own sentence with a cough, barely managing to cover his mouth. He pauses for a moment, but another harsh cough racks his body, most likely remnants of the sickness he had. He slowly sits up, facing away from you as he sits at the edge of the bed. Even though he stopped coughing, he still sits frozen, hand covering his mouth.

“Che’nya?” you have a feeling you know what’s wrong and those thoughts are soon confirmed when he starts his next coughing fit. Instead of covering his mouth, he instantly reaches for the wastebin by his bed that’s half filled with tissues. He clutches it tightly his cough suddenly turning into retching.

At the sound of him emptying his stomach into the wastebin, you quickly move so that you’re by his side. You soothingly rub his back as he continues to vomit, waiting patiently for him to get it all out.

“Fuck” he rasps out, a trail of saliva still hanging from his bottom lip and tears dotting the corner of his eyes. He wipes his mouth then takes a deep breath as he looks up, closing his eyes. Your hand that’s on his back drifts up to the nape of his neck where you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger.

“This is where you say I told you so” he looks at you from the corner of his eye, managing a small smirk. He doesn’t even wait for you to answer, softly chuckling to himself. “But I would do it again”

“My food was that good, huh?” There’s doubt laced in your words.

“Hmmmhmmm” he hums, his eyes are closed again, and you wonder if he’s feeling another wave of nausea, but he puts the wastebin back on the floor instead. “What can I say? I’ll always want all of you”

“I know” are the words you choose to say after a beat of silence. Instead of further acknowledging his feelings you bring a hand to his stomach, rubbing small and gentle circles across his abdomen.

He lets out a sound that is both a sigh and a moan. You haven’t even touched his nipples and yet he seems to be turned on, his dick twitching. “I think I want you to fill me up even more now” he admits.

“If that’s what you want” you graze your finger over his nipple while planting a kiss on his shoulder. His breathing becomes ragged as you tease his skin between your teeth. You play with his chest for a bit longer before asking him where he keeps his lube.

Che'nya lays on his side, massaging his stomach as he waits for you. Despite his flushed face, his tail still moves with eager anticipation as you settle in your place behind him. He's quieter than usual, only making a soft pleased sound as you push your fingers into him.

“More” he begs, and you oblige, finally lining your cock up with his entrance.

“Let me know if you need me to stop” you remind him before pushing your tip in. You slowly bottom out waiting until he gasps for you to move to continue with your thrusts.

“Fuck…you feel so hot and tight around me, kitty” You snap your hips into him a bit harder. “It feels so good”

“Ah- “ Che’nya grips his bedsheets tighter, and you hear a gurgling sound come from his stomach.

“Don’t stop” he whimpers feeling you hesitate. You place your hand on his stomach and feeling it rumble beneath your touch, you fuck into him with new fervor.

“Aghh” he gasps and leans over off the bed just in time for a thin stream of vomit to make it mostly into the wastebin. With Che’nya’s walls squeezing tightly around you, you reach your climax with a couple more thrusts. He holds your hand that rests on his stomach and whines as he feels you fill him up.

Keeping yourself buried in him, you move your other hand to his cock to help him finish, which only takes a few strokes. You take in his dazed expression and faint smile, feeling an urge to kiss his sweat slicked skin. He whimpers at the feeling of your lips on his neck, his classic Cheshire grin appearing as you trail slow kisses up his jawline.

“Yup,” he sighs blissfully. “I would definitely do it again”

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Hii<33 I'm the one who asked for requests lmao

So... I just had this thought and I can't shake it off </3

dbf!Hotch is having a bad time. Haley had been complaining about his schedule at work for a while, their love life wasn't going well, and Hotch starts to realize that he could feel something for his best friend's daughter. 👀

So when Haley tells him that she wants a divorce, (and to consider themselves divorced immediately, they just have to sign the paperwork) he doesn't have a place to live, and when his sweet, lovely, and caring best friend hears him, he suggests that he might move in with them for a while 👀 (Reader is happy that he's coming to live with them, even if she doesn't yet know why)

I really don't want to make this long (and I'm sorry ughh) but what about Hotch having a nightmare about losing Reader, but she somehow notices that he's not feeling well, and they sleep together?

You know, some flirt around the house and some fluffy and the end 🥹

Feel free to ignore this, I know it's a bit meh LMAO

would it be a sin?

Pairing: dbf!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Accessibility/Diversity notes: Gender neutral reader (let me know if you want me to change the pronouns, nonnie!), reader's dad is a minor character.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: dbf!hotch (reader is an adult), brief mentions of Jack and Haley, allusions to masturbation.

A/N: Thanks for your request! If you like this, feel free to send another 💃Postscript designed by @saradika (thank you!!) Also I listened to 'Can't Help Falling in Love' while writing this (specifically Haley Reinhart's version), if anyone wants to listen to that while they read :)

Tagging: @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat

It's bad timing. All of it is bad timing.

Fine, it could have been worse. The case was much like all the others, not one of the ones that wrenched Hotch's heart out of his chest and tore it into little pieces. Although maybe it would have been better if it had been one of those, seeing as the outcome of the day was the same.

"Get out. Me and Jack can't take this anymore."

"Haley, please, let's just talk about this. I'm not going to try and change your mind, but we need to talk about the details-"

"No, Aaron, get out. Just get out. And don't come back."

That gets Aaron's attention. Haley had kicked him out before, but never with the stipulation not to return. His wide brown eyes settle on her, assessing her.

"Haley... This is my house."

"God, you love throwing that back at me, don't you? If it's your house, why are you hardly ever in it? It's your house, but it's Jack's home. He didn't even recognize you when you came home."

"He was watching TV and called me by one of the characters' names. It's developmentally appropriate-"

"I'm filing for divorce, Aaron."

"Daddy?"

Jack walks into the room, clutching his teddy to his chest. He's in his blue astronaut pajamas.

"Can you read me a story before you go again?"

"I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

Jack's face lights up. "You mean... even two stories?"

Aaron grins. "Yeah. Even two."

Haley glares at him. "Actually, Jackers, daddy is leaving. He's gotta go."

Jack looks between his parents, clearly confused by their conflicting words.

"But he said-" Jack starts.

"Go to bed, Jack." Haley rubs her forehead.

"Haley, it's not even seven yet, let me-" Aaron takes a step towards Haley. She takes a step back and looks over at Jack.

"Bed, Jack. Now."

"But daddy's home."

Aaron's heart twists in his chest. He's always felt like the luckiest man alive to be the person that this sweet kid calls that, and the disappointment on Jack's features is sharper than any knife.

Haley shoots Aaron a look that says 'this is all your fault', and Aaron's stomach drops. Maybe he should have slept on the couch in his office. How could he expect Jack to handle this? The constant coming and going, the late nights, the missed soccer games...

"Okay. Alright buddy, I'll see you soon."

Jack's face crumples. "No story?"

Haley scoops Jack into her arms and starts walking towards his bedroom. She glances back over her shoulder and mouths 'out'.

And that's how Aaron finds himself back in his car much earlier than he'd expected to be. He scrolls through his contacts three times before he finds someone he feels okay about calling at dinnertime on a weeknight.

"Hey, Aaron. What's up?"

"God, I don't know where to start. Uh, so it looks like I might need a place to stay tonight. I'd book a hotel but with the concert tonight-"

"Fuck, man. Haley again? It's no trouble. I'm actually out of town for a few days, there's a conference in Dallas, you can stay in my bedroom."

"I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No, my kid's visiting this week, I think they'd prefer if you stay in another room."

"Oh, of course."

You, Aaron thinks. Lovely, intelligent, kind. Of course you're visiting your dad. Of course your dad forgot to block out the time to see you.

"Alright, you know where the spare key is. Let yourself in. Stay as long as you need, I'll be back Friday morning though. Hopefully Haley's cooled off by then."

Three days alone with you. Aaron feels guilty for intruding into your space like this, but he's just about out of options. There's a feeling low in his belly, hard to ignore and harder still to admit, but he pushes it down as far as he can.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and watches the streets pass. Soon enough, there's your house. He rings the doorbell as a courtesy, but eyes the potted plant that he knows has a hollow base.

"Oh! Mr. Hotchner."

"Hi, uh, I just called your dad-"

"He called me too. Come in," Your smile is inviting, if the way you swung the door wide open wasn't enough.

You turn on the kettle and take out two mugs, then tap the instant coffee and the box full of teabags in turn. Aaron nods towards the tea. You gesture for him to take a seat. He calls out from the living room.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I know it's short notice."

"No, no. I only cancelled my birthday party."

Aaron winces. "Oh my god, please, I'll hide out in your dad's room."

You just smile and laugh easily. "I'm just kidding. I thought you knew my birthday wasn't for another few months."

Now that Aaron thinks about it, he did know that. Your birthday was closer to his than this time of year.

You bring out the two cups of tea, setting out a little plate of cookies.

"Have you eaten anything? You look like you're wasting away."

"Thanks," Aaron huffs a laugh. "A week of takeaways will do that to a person."

You look Aaron over. "Hmm. Strong Southern boy like you... How about some green bean casserole? It's just leftovers, but..."

The humility in your eyes, matched with your robust generosity, your effortless thoughtfulness, makes Aaron swoon.

"I can even sweeten the deal with some mashed potato."

He wonders how long it's been since you saw him last. Maybe a year? It's not often you're in town. And this is how you greet him.

"If it's not too much trouble."

You shrug.

"Be trouble. It sounds like you've had a rough day."

Aaron sighs. So your dad told you.

"Jack looked so sad. Haley is, well. I understand that I'm not enough for her, but my son... I should be there for him. He needs a father."

"You are there for him," You cock your head.

"Not enough."

"If Haley isn't capable of parenting him on her own, she shouldn't have settled down with you."

Your tone is cool, but you're not saying it to be cruel. Hotch knows you're right. Haley knew what she was getting into.

"Anyway. You probably don't want to talk about it."

Aaron nods. "Your life is probably much more interesting than mine."

You shrug. "Trying to find the right combination of work and play. Much the same as yours."

Your lives couldn't be more different, but Aaron sees what you mean. You understand.

You finish the last of your tea with one large gulp and head for the kitchen to heat up some dinner for Aaron.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aaron can't hold back. His heart is full from your conversation, and the food you'd given him sits warmly in his belly. He knows this room shares a wall with the guest bedroom, where you're sleeping, so he bites the fist of his right hand while his left hand is... occupied.

A grunt slips from his lips, and he can't help it, it sounds like the first syllable of your name. He scrunches his eyes shut, ceasing his movements. He waits for you to bang on the wall, or to knock on his door, but nothing comes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three nights pass that way.

You used earplugs on the first night, but your curiosity and desire dissolve your ethics. He's breathy, a practiced quiet from nights in hotel rooms beside his colleagues. They could almost be the breaths of sleep, but they come slightly too quick, slightly too sharp.

[Aaron wonders why you haven't said anything. He's not exactly trying to be loud, but...]

The thought of your mouth on him makes you feel electric. You bite your lip, willing your mind to think of anything else. This is completely inappropriate. You'd hate to make him uncomfortable. It feels like a violation of privacy.

Later that night, Aaron bursts into your room, trembling. He's been sleeping in a pair of sweatpants, shirtless.

You blink slowly, willing the heavy sleep from your limbs.

"Aaron?"

He takes a seat on the side of your bed.

"I'm sorry, I know it's the middle of the night-"

You shake your head. "Is everything okay?"

He rests his hand over your own.

You lift the covers, the same way you've always done for friends, close family. You pat the bed beside you and he slips in. You sit hip to hip with your backs pressed against the wall behind you. To stay warm, you keep the covers pulled up to your chest.

"Haley's going to leave me."

"It's a hard situation-"

Aaron shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Haley's going to leave me, and instead of dreaming about her, I was dreaming about you."

He can't look you in the eyes, instead staring at the foot of the bed.

"What did you dream about?"

"Psychologically, it would be sensible to dream about losing her. But we were on this ship, and there was all of this swell, and a wave came, and I couldn't save you. You were just swept right off the deck and I couldn't save you."

"Hey," You coo. "You're okay. I'm okay." You wrap your arms around him. "I'm right here."

"You're important to me," He breathes. "I didn't realize it until now, but-"

He turns to face you, and you realize too late that your faces are very, very close together. He glances at your lips, then back up at your eyes.

"Aaron," You breathe.

"Kiss me?" His voice is soft from sleep, but there's a plea in his eyes.

You shake your head. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

He smiles. "Take advantage of me? When I came into your bedroom in the middle of the night?"

"Okay, okay. And you're older, and more experienced, and whatever. But you're tired. I can see it in you. And you just had a nightmare."

You run your index finger over the creases in his brow.

"What does it mean, that the dream was about you?"

A more conscious Aaron would have known the answer, but he's exhausted, sleep-deprived. Without his typical routine, his kitchen, his suits lined up by colour. He's missing his armour.

"Think about it in the morning."

"Can I stay?"

You run your fingers through his short hair. You'd daydreamed of this moment for years. All of your logic is telling you that it's not a good time, he's not in his right mind, he has a room he can easily go back to, and he's still married. The golden band is still on his finger. He sees you seeing it.

He slips it off, letting it clatter on your bedside table.

"Don't let her make the decision."

"So, stay."

Aaron gestures for you to lie down, and you do. He lies down on his back and you move to rest your head on his chest. You drape one of your legs over his own.

"I'm not going to be a rebound."

"I wouldn't let you. You wouldn't let yourself."

You nod.

"Try to get some sleep. God knows you need it."

Aaron nods.

You count the glow in the dark stars that glow on the ceiling. You count again, and again, waiting to wake up. The sun rises before you do.

When your father walks into his bedroom the next morning and finds it empty, the sheets rumpled, he's confused. Aaron isn't the type to leave a bed unmade.

He pushes the door to the guest bedroom open slowly, just enough to see inside. You're in bed, which he expected. What he didn't expect was seeing his best friend beside you. You're both still asleep, curled around each other like you've known each other all your lives. Your dad supposes you have known Aaron all your life, and he's known you all of yours.

He expects anger to well up inside him, or betrayal, or grief. But seeing your bodies entangled in the sheets, he only feels peace. You fit together like this is what you were made for. Your dad smiles and closes the door gently.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

108 for 🪞:

---

“Dove has a question,” Mara announces.

Buck’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, really? Wh-what’s up, Dove?”

Dove hurries across the kitchen to Buck, body language a little shy. He crouches so she’s not talking up at him. Then, she cups her hand over her mouth and whispers. 

“Buck, can I have something to drink?” 

For a beat, Buck is frozen. Is he imagining this? First, he thinks that’s the first time she’s actually addressed him by his name. Second, is she actually asking for something she needs? Then, he realizes he has to reply quickly. Quickly and encouragingly. 

“Of course you can have something to drink,” Buck says. “Thank you for asking me.”

She responds with a nervous little smile.

“Maddie,” Buck asks. “Do you have apple juice?”

“Yes!” Maddie replies happily. She can obviously see the significance of the moment. “In the fridge. Bottom left shelf.”

Buck grabs a plastic cup from the drying rack and moves to get the juice from the fridge. His hands are a little shaky as he pours. Why are they shaky? 

“Here you go,” he says, handing her the cup. 

“Thank you,” Dove says. 

She drinks quickly, like she’s eager to get back to playing. When she’s done, she hands him the empty cup, thanks him again, and runs back off with Mara and Jee.

“Wow,” Chim observes. 

Buck exhales. “That’s, uh… That was…”

“Told you so,” Maddie smiles at him. “It’ll all happen. Just keep being you.”

And he supposes that’s just what he’ll have to do.

iii.

After that evening at Maddie and Chim’s, Dove seems to only get more and more comfortable asking him for things. Like he’s managed to break through a boundary, and he doesn’t even know what it was that removed that final stone. Regardless, she changes. She knocks on his bedroom door in the morning. She asks when she’s hungry or thirsty. When they go to the zoo, she asks to use the washroom twice. She tells him when the AC makes her cold, and she needs a sweater. The whole thing makes him feel incredibly relieved. It’s working. She’s trusting him. 

He might not be able to do anything about Eddie, but he can keep moving forward with Dove. 

A few days before he has to start back up at work, and Dove has to start school, Buck does two things he hopes will be positive. First, he takes Dove clothing shopping. Then, he introduces her to Carla. 

They’d all agreed on it before Dove came home. Him, Carla, and Eddie. Back when Eddie was more than a ghost in Buck’s phone. Even before Chris left, he was needing Carla less. Not zero, but less. So, she said she definitely has time for Dove, too. And when Chris comes back, she can watch them both together. No problem. Like Buck, Carla is confident that he’ll be home soon. 

He wants Dove to be comfy with Carla before she starts watching her. Dove isn’t quite like the way Chris was when Carla came into his life. Chris was so open and social at seven. He had no trouble voicing his needs or befriending new people. Dove seems okay with other kids, but nervous with adults. So Buck wants to make sure she knows Carla is trustworthy. 

So here’s his plan. And he hopes it’s not terrible. 

Take Dove shopping. Let her ask for things she wants. Hopefully make her feel happy and confident. Preferably not overwhelmed and awkward, but he supposes it’s a risk. Then, they’ll meet Carla at a nearby diner for dinner. Maybe Dove can practice asking the server for what she wants, but if not, she can ask Buck to do it for her. And that feels like a win. Plus, she’ll get to know Carla. He thinks it’s all going to be good.

He does end up texting Eddie, inviting him to the dinner portion. Not that he expects him to say yes. He’s on board with Maddie’s assessment. He gets it and he’s not trying to pressure him or make him feel bad. But he needs Eddie to know there’s still a spot for him. When and if he’s ready. 

Eddie declines. Buck sighs, texts back something understanding, and moves on from it.

▪️▪️▪️

Shopping goes well. It was a good call on Buck’s part. He’s relieved his instincts are proving right. 

He takes Dove to a sort of mid-tier department store kids’ section. She looks sort of awed, knowing he’s brought her here to shop for her. 

“I can really pick stuff?” She asks.

“Yes,” Buck nods. “We’re on a budget, but within reason, go for it.”

“What’s a budget?” Dove asks.

Oh. Yeah, good point.

“Great question,” Buck says. “Well, basically, there’s a certain amount of money I can spend on new clothes. Not because I don’t want to buy you everything, but because that’s just sort of how money works. So we can’t get the whole store. But if there are things you really like, we will get them, okay?”

Dove thinks about this, like her brain is chewing on the concept.

“Okay,” she says. 

[strixcattus]

Chapter III: Fight/Flight

Everything goes dark, and he dies.

History

It takes a few minutes of waiting to realize that no one is there.

He can’t blame himself for not making the connection, really. Sure, they could easily chat up a storm even when there’s only three of them, but he’s seen moments of silence before. Maybe the big guy was just taking a moment to assess the situation.

But he isn’t, and when Opportunist finally caves and tries to take a look around, his head turns at his own command.

The cabin is a… bit of a fixer-upper, to be sure. Its doorway is sagging into the ground, and the ceiling doesn’t seem to be the most stable, and the door itself is ragged at the edges and looks as though it might swing inward at any moment. It doesn’t even have a latch. That’s to say nothing of the lopsided, gaping windows that let in a breeze from outside, or the gaps between the logs making up its walls that he can tell are there even though he can’t see them all.

Still, it’s not a lost cause or anything. Log cabins are nice! They’re classic! And old homes are all the rage. With a bit of work to seal up the cracks and some glass in the windows and some insurance that the ceiling wouldn’t cave in and a new door and maybe replacing all the creaking floorboards that feel a moment away from snapping beneath his feet, this place could be a perfectly cozy woodland retreat!

He wonders what sort of Princess lives here. Maybe he should go down and talk to her about the real estate potential.

The blade is perched, as it occasionally is, on the edge of a table which wobbles as he lifts the blade from it. That’ll have to be looked at.

He keeps the blade hidden behind his back as he descends the clearly-aging staircase. If it comes to a fight, he’ll be glad to have it, but there’s no reason to put her off before they’ve even had a chance to speak.

The Princess’s voice, loud and low, reaches him before he can see the basement. “I can smell you,” she growls.

Well! She seems like she’s a very straightforward person. He’s sure they’ll be able to cooperate.

The basement itself is unusually dark, the only light coming from a grate in the ceiling. Even that root cavern, without a window at all, didn’t have shadows like these. Despite the darkness, thick plants press in from the sides of the room, providing a touch of life to the otherwise empty space.

Before his eyes can fully adjust to the lack of light, a shape rises in front of the far wall and disappears into the jungle. That must be the Princess!

“Hello,” he calls out before she can say anything. “Lovely place you’ve got down here!” She doesn’t answer, so he presses on. “The name’s—Broken. And you would be?”

She chuckles from somewhere he can’t see. “We have no need for names here, fledgeling. You’ll never survive if you keep stalling.” Her eyes appear between the leaves, glinting in what little light can reach them. The rest of her is still immersed in shadow.

“Oh, come on. I’m just trying to get things off to a friendly start here!” Opportunist squints, trying to pick out her silhouette. “I’m sure we can cooperate, yeah? You want out, right? I can get you out.”

“You’re right. You can.”

The Princess’s form vanishes, and Opportunist leans further into the darkness. His eyes should adjust soon enough, right? She’s clearly able to see just fine.

Then jaws appear, blotting out his vision, and everything goes dark.

…And he doesn’t die.

He wrenches one eye open to see stomach lining pressing in on all sides, every touch of it stinging his skin. How he’s getting enough light to tell this, he isn’t sure, and he’d rather not think about it too hard.

“I told you you wouldn’t survive if you stalled.” He can hear muffled footsteps through the walls of the Princess’s stomach. “You should have listened.”

He turns on instinct, arm rubbing against the wall of her stomach with a sting that can only mean it’s begun to eat through his sleeve. “Come on, now, I was just trying to start a rapport! I was perfectly happy to work with you. Actually, tell you what—you spit me out, and I still can.”

The Princess laughs, the sound echoing around him. “You are working with me. You’re going to let me out of here.”

“I can’t do that while I’m in your stomach, can I?” Maybe he can still talk his way out of this. Surely she has to listen to reason, right?

“No. But I can.” There’s a pause in the Princess’s movement, before it starts again with the sound of clanging metal. She must have broken the chain.

She does want to escape with him. By eating him.

Well. This may be a lost cause, but it always looks better if you go down fighting.

He digs into the inside of the Princess’s stomach with the blade, flesh parting easily even as his own screams in protest. The skin of his hands is raw and red by now, with most of the feathers on his arms absent. He tries not to look at them.

Gravity pulls him away from his work, and he struggles to regain his footing as all sensation from his legs is replaced by a monotone pain. She’s ascending the staircase.

Little by little, her stomach lining parts, and his hands grow weaker. He can almost see the motion of her heartbeat now. This is his chance to go out a hero.

And wake up in a new, weirder cabin, but that’s just another pro.

He almost swears this process feels familiar.

There’s a slam, jolting him as far as he can be jolted in such a confined space. No doubt the Princess is trying to break down the door. Why not just climb through the window? Surely it’s large enough.

Only seconds left, probably. He’ll have to make this count.

He plunges the blade into the Princess’s heart as sensation cuts out.

He wakes up in a cabin. Time clearly hasn’t treated it as well as it deserves—the ceiling and floor are both sagging, and the door doesn’t look like it latches. The windows are completely devoid of glass, and the logs making up its walls—

This is the same cabin. What’s up with that?

Oh well. A second chance is a second chance, and he’s not about to argue against whatever forces decided he deserved one.

He scoops the blade from the table on his way down. After meeting that Princess, he definitely wants a backup plan if negotiations go sour a second time.

“Back for more?” the Princess taunts, already invisible in the jungle. Her voice sounds as though it’s coming from deep in the basement.

“Now, I want you to know I hold absolutely no grudges.” He holds up his empty hand. “I’m more than willing to work with you. You don’t have to worry about fighting me.”

The Princess’s eyes appear between the leaves. “Why would I need to work with you? I already know how to leave.”

This is going to take more than a little convincing. “Yes, but wouldn’t it be easier if we came to some sort of mutual understanding? I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get you out of here.”

Her eyes flash. “Then hold still.”

No, he doesn’t think he will.

He dives out of the way as something immense hurtles past him, landing heavily behind him—or, behind most of him.

One of his legs crunches as some load-bearing part of the Princess comes down upon it, sending him to the floor. He doesn’t even get the chance to look up before he’s enveloped by her maw again.

“I can just dig my way out again, you know,” he calls to the Princess. “It’s not too late for us to reach a peaceful resolution!”

She chuckles. “It was always too late for that, fledgeling. If you want to dig your way out, then start digging.”

Hard to please, isn’t she? Ah well. He’ll just have to try again with whatever comes after this.

He doesn’t hesitate to dig with the blade, this time knowing exactly where to find the Princess’s heart. It’s exposed almost before sensation begins to drain from his hands.

“Just thought I’d let you know, this is your last chance!” he calls. The only response from the Princess is the jostle of her passing the threshold of the stairs.

Oh well. Third time’s the charm.

He plunges the blade into the Princess’s heart, and everything goes dark.

He wakes up in a cabin. The roof and floor are constructed from aging wooden planks, and the walls are formed from logs, framing a set of empty windows and a door that hangs loosely on its hinges. The corners of the room have dirt building up in them.

It’s the same cabin. He’s getting a third chance? Someone up there must really like him.

The routine continues with him picking up the blade as he steps over the threshold. Can’t have her eating him without an escape route at hand, not that he intends to be eaten a third time.

She is waiting, of course, the outline of her head just visible over the top of a bush.

“If you eat me again, it’s only going to go the same way,” he says.

The Princess’s silhouette vanishes only to reappear a moment later in a slightly different patch of jungle. She’s nearing the stairs, no doubt trying to cut off his escape. “I can accept that. Can you?”

What? “I’d like to think I’m the sort of person who follows through on his promises. And this is a promise.”

“So you kill me. And we wake up again. And then I eat you again, and you kill me again. And we wake up again.” The Princess vanishes again. “How many times will it take for you to give up on the cycle?”

“I think—” Opportunist begins, but the sound of pounding feet cuts him off and he dives out of the way, just in time for the Princess to catch nothing more than his shoulder. A set of gashes cut through his sleeve, bleeding red. She has claws, and they’re long.

His sunglasses clatter to the floor.

He turns to see the Princess—or what little of her form he can make out in the gloom—looming over him, directly next to the staircase.

“I can last a while,” he says, tightening his grip on the blade. There’s not much sense in keeping it behind his back now that she clearly knows he has it. “I’m pretty patient.”

“Pretty patient?” The Princess rises, looming over him. “If you are pretty patient, I am very patient. Incredibly patient. More patient than you can comprehend. Swallowing you three times is nothing. Ten times will be nothing. When we are down here for the fiftieth time, will you still have the will to stand against me?”

Opportunist blinks. The Princess is gone by the time his eyes reopen.

Then her claws—and he can see them this time, and they are very impressive—bear down on him, rending his blade arm open, and her jaws unfold into a cavern that swallows him whole. Again.

He swims around in her stomach, trying to ignore how he can feel the precise edge of every wound she inflicted on him. Maybe the blade is still here. He still has one working arm. He can still fight back.

The Princess shifts, motion once again catching before the chain breaks. It must have been repaired every time things reset. That’s good to know. Maybe he can use it on the fourth go-around.

She begins her journey up the stairs. The blade is nowhere to be found.

Time to bluff. He’s great at bluffing. “Better spit me out if you don’t want a repeat of the first two times!” he sings. The Princess doesn’t even slow down.

“You cannot tell me what happens and expect me to believe you, fledgeling,” she says. “Prove it or be proven a liar.”

…Rude. But fine. He can at least try his best.

He digs into the stomach lining with his sizzling hand, trying not to pay attention to how it bites at his fingertips and catches under his claws with every scratch he inflicts. Without the blade, it’s much slower going, and he’s jolted away from his work by the Princess slamming herself against the door before he can even inflict a respectable wound.

“It still won’t open,” she growls. “Let me out, fledgeling.”

No way. Not on her terms. “Only if you give me a trade. Spit me out, and we’ll leave. Deal?” It’s getting harder and harder to tell if he’s breathing deeply enough.

The Princess pauses for a moment. Coiling to batter down the door? Or considering his bargain?

“No.”

Everything goes red, then it goes dark, and then he dies.

He wakes up in a cabin, greeted with the by-now familiar sight of wooden planks doing their level best to hold themselves together when time failed them. It is chilly in here.

The Princess isn’t interested in negotiating while he’s in her stomach. Which means the only way to negotiate is to remain outside her stomach for long enough to do so.

He needs to channel that one flighty voice. Until he finds a way to win over the Princess, his motto is now WWHD: What Would Hunted Do?

He can almost hear his voice… just needs to get into the proper mindset and manifest him…

“Dodge her.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Great advice, imaginary Hunted.

The Princess is waiting in the gloom when he arrives at the basement, her shape still just as hard to make out as it was the first time. “Are you ready to give up?” she asks.

“You know, I was really hoping you’d think more highly of me than that,” Opportunist says, straining to pick out any motion. If he can tell when she’s about to strike, then he can keep dodging, and talking, and eventually he’ll have to wear her down.

There. She’s disappeared from sight. That means she’s about to—

He leaps out of the way and rolls across the dirt floor as the Princess hurtles past him, bracing for the sting of her claws catching his arm or the snap of her weight hitting his leg. It… doesn’t come. The only pain is a slight scrape in his knee from where he landed.

He’s getting better at this!

The Princess coils by the staircase, cutting off his exit. That’s all right. He doesn’t need a way out when he can talk. “I know you think you can wait, but do you really want to?” he asks. “We could leave right now if we could just come to a mutually-agreeable conclusion.”

“I’ve waited for longer than you can imagine, fledgeling.” Her teeth glint in the darkness, the only features visible besides her eyes. “You cannot threaten me with time in a way that matters.”

He watches her. She does not move. “I’m not threatening you,” he begins. “Quite the opposite, in fact! I’m offering you the chance to cut out the long, arduous process of killing me over and over again until I give… up…”

Some time in the middle of his speech, she’s vanished. Any moment now, she’ll strike, and he’ll have to—

The air comes crashing down on him as he scrambles away, as do a set of needles digging into his back before the pressure is relieved. She’s mauled him. Badly. He needs to get away and regroup, before she can swallow him whole—

His legs fail to respond to his commands, and he hazards a glance behind him.

The edge of his jacket is frayed, blood and viscera seeping through it to the point that he can’t tell where it ends and the nothing begins. A shining trail leads from where the end of his spine should be, before it rises up into the Princess’s jaws.

Oh.

His intestines fall from the Princess’s mouth with a plap, leaving only a disappointed expression and a bloodstain on her face. She stares down at him in silence, viscera dripping from her chin.

Now would be a great time to say something, probably.

He doesn’t.

He wakes up in a cabin whose wooden ceiling looks about ready to give in. The logs framing the empty windows sag in defeat, and the floor is covered in a thin layer of soil. It was mostly-clean planks the first time around, wasn’t it?

It’s odd, but the cabin almost seems… tired. He can’t imagine why, given he isn’t.

When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, the Princess is nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” he calls out, scanning the room for her form. “Nice chat we had last time! I’d like to continue it.”

She doesn’t make a sound save for the rustling of her darting through a patch of underbrush. He knows where she is, now, or at least where she was.

“Again, I’m not trying to coerce you into anything.” Where is she? “I just want you to know that you have more options than you think. We want the same thing, you know.”

The feathers on the back of Opportunist’s neck prickle, and he whirls around. Nothing.

The Princess’s voice comes from behind him. “You cannot reason with me, fledgeling. I am so much more than you will ever be.”

She’s going to pounce. He has to move.

Air collides with him as he leaps away, Princess landing precisely where he stood a moment ago. Her chain clatters on the ground as she vanishes again.

That’s one.

“Yes, well, no man is an island.” It doesn’t sound like she’s moving. “And besides, more than me or not, you still can’t escape on your own. Which means, hate to break it to you, but I do have the bargaining chip here.”

The air shifts, and Opportunist finds himself diving on instinct, the Princess soaring past him. That’s two. That’s the first time he’s managed two. Thank you, imaginary Hunted.

He turns, trying to figure out where the Princess has disappeared to this time. “Just say the word, and I’ll march the two of us right up to that door and let you out,” he calls. “This can all end any time you want it to.”

Something in him screams to move, and move he does, but fangs clash on his arm all the same. It’s his blade arm. She’s taken his only weapon.

He scrambles backwards, gripping the stump of his former arm as though it will do anything to stop the bleeding. The Princess looms over him, in full view for the first time.

Her face is somewhere between human and animal, crown replaced with a horn in the center of her forehead, two buds flanking it as though about to emerge into its reflections. Her ears are pointed, and her hair—more like a mane now, really—hangs from her long neck.

Opportunist traces his eyes further down as he continues to crawl away from her. Despite her beastlike form, she’s still wearing a dress, formed from a strip of fabric that wraps around her torso. Her back half disappears into the shadows, the tip of a long tail emerging back into view.

She’s huge.

“I still haven’t given up,” he says as the Princess stretches open her jaw. “I want you to know that before you eat me.”

If she cares about that, she gives no sign before swallowing him whole. Again.

He wakes up in a cabin, ceiling and walls decaying into dirt. Shoots of new plant growth emerge from the floor, and the door looks to have been torn in half, already swinging into the basement.

…Maybe it’s past the point of no return now.

This Princess is far too stubborn to let him free based on talking alone. He needs to do something. Fight her, maybe. But how is he supposed to do that on his own? Her head is as big as his entire… him!

He needs to make a tactical retreat. See if there’s anyone else out there who can act as backup. Imaginary Hunted was helpful. Real Hunted would probably be enough to give him some force behind his words.

The door to the outside is still intact, and fits much more nicely in its frame than the other door, even before it was ripped apart. A quick try of the handle reveals it to be locked.

That’s fine. There’s more than one way out of a cabin.

Despite the clear collapse of the windows, the one on the left still looks plenty large to climb through. He’ll just slip out, fetch the first person he sees, and pop back into the cabin to finish what he star—

A force bars him from stepping more than halfway through the opening. He stands back, checks on the state of the window (folding in on itself, full of dirt) just in case it’s smaller than he thought (it isn’t), and tries again.

Again something stops him. The window may be little more than a hole in the wall letting in air, but he can run his hand across some sort of force. It won’t let him out.

No backup, then. That’s fine. He didn’t really need any help, it was just… it would have been helpful! Help is always helpful.

The only way out is down, back to the Princess. Does he need her to escape just as much as she needs him?

If he does, he’d best not let it slip. Let her think he still has the unambiguous upper hand.

She’s absent from view when he reaches the basement again. He swears the space is getting bigger and more exposed each time he comes down here, but she doesn’t seem to have any issues spotting him.

It’s fine. He’ll wait until he can pinpoint her location—which is to say, he’ll wait until she attacks him again—and then strike. Show her he’s more than just words.

And after that… he’ll think on his feet.

Shapes flicker at the edges of his vision. They’re probably tricks of the light—or lack thereof—but it doesn’t keep him from turning to look at them, trying to catch the Princess before she can catch him. They vanish every time.

There. A shift in the air. The Princess is about to attack. He needs to get out of the way, to keep himself intact. He needs to stay alive long enough to prove he’s not worth preying on.

He needs to show he can bite back.

As the Princess launches herself towards him, he ducks, slashing out with the blade. It connects with something, though he can’t tell what, and she connects with him in return, leaving a gash in one shoulder.

There’s blood on the edge of his blade. He actually did something!

The silhouette of the Princess looms over him, silent. He can’t see where he managed to wound her before she disappears back into the gloom.

“I don’t want to threaten you, but there’s more where that came from if you keep trying to eat me,” he calls out to the Princess. Still no response. Hopefully she hasn’t given up on taunting him. If she’s still talking, there’s at least a chance he can establish some sort of rapport, but with this silence…

Again the air shifts, and again he strikes as the Princess comes crashing down on him. There’s a sting in his other shoulder, and a spray of loose feathers—some black, some white. Probably all his, unless the Princess is hiding something he can’t guess at.

It’s only been a couple minutes, but already his energy is failing him. Is it the blood loss? He hasn’t been that badly injured. It can’t be the loops catching up to him, can it? His wounds reset every time, so he shouldn’t be exhausted just because he’s done a little dying.

The Princess doesn’t give him enough time to figure any of that out. She lunges again, and Opportunist can only feel his blade lodge into something hard and rip from his hand before there’s a crunch all around him, and everything goes dark, and he dies.

Again.

He wakes up in a cabin, if it can still be called a cabin after all the deterioration it’s gone through. The log walls, if they’re even under there anymore, are covered in dirt, and plants fill the edges of the space. The table that should be there is gone, replaced with a stump with the blade lodged into it.

Maybe he is tired. It’s been, how many go-arounds? Five? Six? That’s a lot, and even he has to admit he can’t keep this up forever. The Princess had more of a point than he’d like to admit.

Fighting her was a good idea. But it won’t get the Princess to cooperate with him, not unless he gets a lot better at fighting in the next few loops. And even if he technically might have infinite chances, does he really want to take that long?

He needs to end this, and he needs to do so before he can die a single time more. Which means he needs to be a little clever about things.

No more talking. No more fighting. He’s just going to draw her out and trick her into breaking down the door before she can get her claws on him.

He’s still taking the blade, though. If things go bad—they won’t, but if they go bad—he needs his second option.

The stairs are no longer stairs, but a sloped tunnel that narrows as it descends into the earth. How long have they been deteriorating? Did he just never notice them changing, or is this entirely new?

Doesn’t matter. What matters is winning.

When he steps out into the expanse of the basement, the Princess is nowhere to be seen. Neither are the plants that should be filling the space, or even the grate in the ceiling—just a featureless gloom. When did those vanish? 

He’s completely exposed, and she could be anywhere. He’ll have to be quick.

“Yoo-hoo!” he calls out, voice echoing faintly throughout the space. The Princess shows no response. “I think I’m ready for you to eat me now! Just, I’d like for there to be one little caveat—”

The sound of thundering footsteps comes from somewhere deep within the basement, and Opportunist turns and breaks into a run, sparing only enough breath to finish speaking: “You’ll have to catch me first!”

He can feel the Princess gaining on him, floor shaking with every time her feet hit the ground. But she’s clearly massive, and while the tunnel may be wide enough to allow him through with little trouble, she should be slowed down enough for him to get into position.

The entire tunnel shudders as the Princess slams her shoulders against its opening, and Opportunist nearly loses his footing. The cabin is nearly there. A little further and he’ll be—

He bursts into the cabin proper and stands in front of the door, ready to leap away as soon as the Princess emerges. Any second now.

Any second now…

Any second now…

She isn’t leaving. Is this some sort of trick? It has to be a trick, right?

“I’m right at the top of the tunnel!” he shouts down after the Princess. “Come and get me, unless you’ve given up?”

There’s still no response. He hazards a peek down the tunnel.

The Princess was, in fact, caught up by the tunnel’s small size. So much so that only her face is visible, framed by a few clawed hands and some part of a wing, all wedged into a space much too small for her.

She stares up at him, wriggling as though trying to advance—no. She’s pushing in on herself. She means to make her way backwards out of the tunnel, but it’s too narrow even for that.

Her face is hardly human anymore, and her hands certainly aren’t. A trio of antlers rise from her head, blood fresh on two of them. It looks… painful.

It’s a trick. It has to be. If he comes closer, she’ll eat him and…

She can’t get out on her own, even if she were to swallow him whole. And neither can he.

He takes a few steps forward. The Princess tries to squirm away. She can’t.

He raises the blade and brings it down on the dirt of the tunnel wall.

The Princess watches as he carves away at the soil, leaning away to allow him access to each wall of the tunnel. Dirt rains down on her, covering her stray feathers, but she doesn’t make so much as a move to attack him.

Having loosened a ring of soil around the Princess, Opportunist steps back.

She creeps forward, straining against the tunnel. One of her arms breaks free and claws at the dirt he’s yet to address, raking away the walls.

Little by little, the tunnel is chipped away, and little by little, the Princess advances until her head and shoulders have emerged into the cabin. Opportunist barely has enough room to stand between her and the door.

The Princess rears up as much as she can in the relatively cramped space, and Opportunist dives out of the way before her full weight lands on the door.

Soil collapses onto both of them, Opportunist losing sight entirely as it covers his head. This is it, then? He’s going to die inches from freedom because of a landslide?

Something grabs him from his shoulders and hoists him out of the earth. He twists his head upwards to see the Princess, fangs around him. So that’s it. He’s going to die inches from freedom because she’s going to eat him.

The Princess gently lowers her head, setting him on the ground before releasing her jaws.

She’s not going to eat him. Is it because she already has what she wants?

The woods around them resembles a thick jungle, undergrowth barely making way for the path and tall trees rising overhead. Behind them is the fallout of a massive landslide, a tree jutting out sideways from the heap of loose earth.

He stares up at the Princess. She’s… massive. She wasn’t that big when he first saw her. That much he’s certain of.

The Princess stares back down at him.

Then she bounds off into the woods, tail flicking behind her. Her form vanishes within moments.

At least she isn’t eating him.

“Nice meeting you!” he calls after her. “Talk again sometime?”

There is no response. Oh well. You can’t win over them all.

[modern-day-bard]

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanficiton

Content warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 13: Lights Out

Word count: 4.4k

Gwen

Naturally, the more I open up, the further I back away. But what was I supposed to do? Besides whatever I was feeling when Joel latched onto my hip at Landon’s gallery, I also wasn’t lying to Nyah and Harper. I felt guilty. And I almost…appreciated the level of concern he had over the gallery incident. Sure, it was just a champagne flute, but to Harper’s point, maybe he’s taking this so seriously because it is. Bare minimum, it will keep my friends from worrying about me so much.

And fine, I might have felt worse after I overheard Joel’s nightmares.

I wonder how long he’ll deny it. Multiple nights in a row, shouting at himself to ‘wake up.’ It certainly woke me up. Except unlike how I might feel about this situation if it were a few weeks ago, I wanted to wake him. Not to make him stop, but to make it stop for him.

I also need these feelings to stop. It could be lingering sexual frustration from the club guy and his ignorance of the female anatomy. But when Joel said my name so forcefully, throwing in a ‘ma’am’ no less…I became acutely aware of just how frustrated I’ve been. At him, this company, my situation. I’ve been frustrated for months, and sometimes you just want a release.

To keep things in check, I’ve backed off Joel since our little heart-to-heart in my mom’s music room. His sincerity and boldness only made these foreign, frustrating feelings worse. So, I kept to myself beyond morning pleasantries and the occasional goodnight. Besides a little shopping to find some dresses for this weekend, Evelyn’s suggestions still being lackluster, we hadn’t seen much of each other. I can thank work for that one. It’s kept me so busy I often need to bring my laptop home with me. And now, I’m bringing it on the plane.

Joel is in tow behind me, but I���m trying my best not to think about how his arms look with a duffle bag in one hand, or how his sunglasses perch perfectly on his nose.

I’m just frustrated, I’m just frustrated, I’m just—

“Gwenny, babe, I saved you a seat.”

Okay. Well. Now I’m fucking frustrated.

“In that case I hope a parachute comes with it.” I say it under my breath, not wanting to get into it with Daniel so early in the weekend. Still, when Joel reaches to take my jacket, I give him a knowing look that he reciprocates.

“Guinevere, glad you could make it,” My father says from the far end of the plane, not evening glancing up from his laptop.

As if I had a choice.

I plop down on one of the two couches, the other being occupied by Arthur, Amari, Cyrus, and Paul. Joel takes a seat at the table next to the couch in one of the four adjoining chairs, facing away from me. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Daniel to join. He sits so damn close our knees are practically touching.

“Did you happen to look over the deck I sent to Julian?”

Oh. An actual question.

“Yes, he showed me on Tuesday.”

“And? What do you think?”

“I disagree with—”

“Of course you do.

“You asked,” I hiss, “And I’m giving you an honest answer. You work in one of the most profitable sectors and you still manage to stretch the profit margins thinner and thinner every year. I don’t see the point in expanding right now.”

“Well, because if we don’t break into streaming platforms, we’ll be outdated.”

“Right, but we will certainly be outdated if we go bankrupt. Why not acquire a platform that’s already fully formed first? Get the lay of the land, don’t venture out and create one all our own. It’s too soon.”

Daniel’s beady eyes assess me for a minute. “Asking Julian was just a formality. Radio doesn’t have to weigh in.”

“And yet you did ask Julian, and now you’ve asked me.”

He shrugs, straightening out to take up as much room as possible. “I thought we could start out on a friendly note. It’s going to be a long weekend after all.”

“That it is,” I mumble.

He scooches even closer to me, shoulder to shoulder now.

“Don’t you want to get along?” He whispers, “Just a little?”

I want to gag on his cologne. I’m sure he paid a small fortune for it, and seems to want everyone around him to suffocate on just how expensive he smells. It would be more pleasant to shove the money directly down their throats.

Joel coughs lightly behind me. “Miss Russell? If you have a moment…”

I spring up, taking any excuse to leave behind Daniel’s tornado of spice and overdone vetiver.

“Yes?” I lean a hand against the table.

“We’re wheels up in three!” The pilot calls from the cockpit.

“I was hoping you could look over the security measures for the weekend. There’s just a few things I want you to sign off on.” Joel pulls out his phone, typing briefly.

“That means seatbelts, please,” The pilot calls back again.

“Okay,” I sigh, taking the seat next to him. I hear the engine fire up around us, and we slowly move down the runway. Joel slides his phone over to me, but it’s just an unsent text message made out to me.

There isn’t anything to go over. I thought you might want an excuse to leave Daniel. Feel free to return if you wish.

Despite myself, I almost smile. I was eager to have a reason to leave him behind, and I’m…surprised? Relieved, I guess, that Joel had noticed.

“It might take me a while to read through everything…” I say loudly enough for the couch behind us to hear.

Joel nods, “I would suspect so.”

Quietly, I type back on his phone.

Daniel? Not “Mr. Wilson?” You forgo your professionalism so soon, Mr. Miller.

If there is any flirtatious undertone, I blame boredom. Or maybe Daniel’s fumes were clouding my judgment.

Joel raises a brow, not entirely unamused. He types for a moment before sliding it back.

I called him a jackass the other night. This seemed like a promotion for him.

I stifle a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough as I type back.

Perhaps a happy medium then? VIP. Very Impertinent Prick. All the promotion he deserves.

Joel reads it, his eyes lighting up. When he looks at me, he’s smiling. Not a full one. I’m not sure he’s capable of that. But still, both the corners of his mouth turn up enough that I can’t help but return it, if only for a moment.

I take my laptop out of my bag as soon as we’re in the air. It’s a short flight to Vermont, but at least it will give me something to do. Something other than noticing how big Joel’s thigh looks next to mine, even with the table blocking part of my view. I also notice how much of an effort he’s making not to touch me. Not even a graze. He’s leaning on his arm against the window, pushing all of his weight to the other side. I know it’s probably out of respect, or actual professionalism, but a very tiny, daring part of me wished he wouldn’t.

I end up moving my mouse from corner to corner of the same document until we land.

- - -

There wasn’t much time between getting our room keys and changing to attend the rehearsal dinner. Thankfully, I was seated in the back. Annabelle was probably hoping this would keep me out of sight and out of mind. Both her’s, and Murphy’s. There are several speeches that declare undying devotion which inherently make me snicker, but I time it properly with bites of my food or sips of my water. When the meal is over, there are a few people I need to say hello to, but it doesn’t take long. I think the majority of the guests are feeling weary, and it shows on their faces.

Plus, I feel like this hotel would make anyone relaxed enough to feel sleepy even if they hadn’t just worked a full day and boarded a flight. Twin Pastures was secluded and absolutely breathtaking. A complete 180 from the hustle of the city. Though I fed off that energy most days, I couldn’t deny that the quiet was somewhat serene. Even the dining room we were in with its exposed dark-wood beams, fireplace, and checkered floor had an aura of calmness to it. The sun had set earlier, so it was too dark to see outside, but from what we passed as we arrived, I knew it had to be sprawling greenery. Something I’ll be sure to check out in the morning. A morning that I hope will not come too soon as I make my way up the stairs to my section of the hotel. Well, really our section, since Joel is right behind me as per usual.

Even though they called this place a hotel, it felt more like an inn. It was cozy and warm, and this side of the building felt weirdly intimate being there were only five or so rooms accessible from this set of stairs. The quietness and close proximity make me pause before entering my room. Joel must notice, because he pauses in front of his door, too.

“I’m just next door,” he says.

I incline my head to the left. “Likewise.”

I stare at him for a moment, admiring his choice of a white button down for once. Not that I didn’t like the flannels and t-shirts, but, this seemed to suit him. I hadn’t really seen him yet tonight with him being seated at the same table as Amari and the other security guards. I’d been stuck with my father, Daniel, and Daniel’s cologne. Now, this wasn’t an unwelcomed sight.

“Goodnight, Miss Russell.” He leans against his door slightly, waiting for me to go inside first like a dog herding sheep.

“Goodnight,” I mimic his tone, unlocking my door and slipping inside before the weight of his eyes on me becomes heavy enough for me to say something stupid.

I am tired, I’ll admit. But when I checked in earlier, I saw a sign in the lobby for a grotto. I think the last time I was able to put on a bathing suit was Dubai, and I packed one just in the hopes that there would be a pool of some sort. The entire building is taken up with Murphy and Annabelle’s family and friends as it’s all been rented for the event. For my friends’ sake, and maybe a touch of Joel’s, I’ll start taking security just a bit more seriously. However, this feels like the perfect time to finally feel alone. To finally not share a wall with someone who is watching, and potentially listening, my every move.

I turn on my TV, increasing the volume enough to drown out any scuffling as I find my swimsuit and grab a towel from the towel warmer. I even turn on the fireplace, partially to add to the white noise, and partially because it will feel good when I come back. I wait another thirty minutes for good measure before tip-toeing my way outside.

It must take me at least three minutes to close my door, ensuring that it’s as silent as possible. After holding my breath while doing so, I make my way down the stairs, smirking to myself. I know Joel came with some serious military training, but I had my own training: being a former teenager of a strict household. If sneaking out was an art form, I’d be headlining one of Landon’s galleries.

I take my time meandering around the place for a bit. It wasn’t huge, but every aspect was so detailed that I wanted to soak it all in. And for the first time in several weeks, since Joel let me have a ‘free day’ that was really a recon day, I was wonderfully, blissfully alone. I can’t take in the grounds at this time of night, but as I follow the signs to the grotto, I don’t even mind. It’s so quiet with everyone else in bed, and the clerk at the front desk is the only person I see on my way.

The grotto is inside what looks and feels like a greenhouse. There are dozens of plants winding their way up the glass walls, and there’s a water feature that trickles down into what looks like a massive hot tub built into the floor. Even with the heat of the room, steam still dances off the surface. Making a bee-line for the water, I audibly sigh when I dip my toe in. There’s no one here, it’s quiet, and the water is scalding. It’s perfect.

Once fully submerged, I’m worried I’ll fall asleep here. My head lulls back, and I use the towel I brought to prop it up. I have no idea how long I sit here, feet kicking lightly underwater, but after a while, all I can focus on is the gentle trickling of the small waterfall colliding into the hot tub.

That is, until the door to the greenhouse slams shut.

I gasp, sitting up as fast as I can. My head spins. I must have been in the water for some time. My eyes meet a very shocked Cyrus.

“Guinevere,” He nearly shouts before his next words come out in a whisper, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“No, please,” I wave him over, “You just startled me.”

He hesitates, but eventually makes his way over to the tub. “I can come back later.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve already been here too long, anyway.” I look down at my pruning fingers.

With one more look of apprehension, he kicks off his flip flops and wades into the water with his t-shirt still on. Cyrus must be in his mid-fifties at this point, but he was a decent looking guy. I didn’t expect any level of self-consciousness. Then again, he and I didn’t regularly socialize with one another. Maybe that makes him anxious.

“I thought everyone had gone to bed” I say, hoping it will relax him.

“I thought so, too. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Too excited for the big day?” I try not to sound too snarky.

Cyrus chuckles, bringing a smile to my face. “Sure. We can say that.”

I give him a small smile, my gaze falling to the gold ring on his finger.

“Lydia couldn’t make it?” I ask.

His face turns red far too quickly for it to be from the hot water. “No, no she’s busy overseas.”

I remember meeting Lydia maybe two times throughout my life, even though Cyrus had been with Russell Corporations longer than I’d been alive. Judging by his reaction, and how she was absent from every holiday party and shareholder dinner, the pair wasn’t exactly the picture of marital bliss. But still, he always wore the ring. And he never said anything bad about her or their relationship.

“Ah, that’s too bad.”

I tip my head back again, prepared to coexist in silence for a while, but then he changes the subject.

“I overheard what you said to Daniel, about the streaming proposition.”

“Oh?” I mean, I figured as much. The rest of the group had been typing on their phones while we were talking. Not much noise to drown out our conversation.

“I think you’re right.”

“Really? That’s refreshing. Is that something the entertainment guys considered?”

“Ehh,” he tips his hand from side to side, “Not so much. Daniel came in guns blazing to start our own so there wasn’t a lot of acquisition talk.”

“Well, then I owe you an apology. He’ll never do it now that I’m the one who suggested it.”

Cyrus regards me for a moment before turning his attention to one of the vines on the wall. “I’m not so sure about that.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. My hands may be withering away, but my interest is piqued.

“Why do you say that?”

He hesitates again. “Daniel cares about you.”

I snort. “He doesn’t even care about my opinion.”

“I disagree. He’s just intimated. Every time you’ve shadowed or worked a summer at HQ, you’ve waltzed right in with ideas he never had. If it weren't for you, we would’ve made a deal with Greenprint five years ago. The amount of money we would have spent on the lawyers alone…”

The startup? I’m shocked Cyrus even remembers me being there. Half the board was invested in working with Greenprint, a solar company that promised we could cut our environmental footprint in half. My dad and Daniel, who had newly acquired his dad’s old job, were all-in. The summer after I finished undergrad, I merely suggested we take a visit to their plant to see their work for ourselves. This sent the CEO of Greenprint into a spiral, and it later came out they were a sham and had scammed countless businesses, most of them small and vulnerable, out of millions of dollars. I hardly count that as impressive.

“I attribute that to luck,” I say.

“I attribute it to doing your due-diligence. He’s fond of you. Even if he has a weird way of showing it.”

“He’s fond of you, too. And I don’t see him giving you a condescending nickname.”

“Not to my face,” he laments. “And you two grew up together. How could he not be fond of you?”

Daniel was six years older than me. Compared to a majority of the employees at Russell Corp, I suppose that is rather close in age. We did grow up together in a sense, but there was always distance between us. And I only attribute a portion of that to the age difference.

I must have been lost in thought because Cyrus adds, “Anyway, not my place. Just don’t be surprised if he asks you to save a dance for him tomorrow.”

Barf.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I sit up from my underwater bench, wrapping the towel around me as I exit, “If I stay in here any longer I won’t make it to tomorrow. Have a good night, Cyrus.”

He gives me a nod, “Goodnight.”

I very much regret my decision to walk down here in just my towel on my way back as I shiver my way towards my room. I nearly trip on the way up the stairs, cursing in my head, reminding myself of just how quiet I have to be. I take the same achingly slow time closing the door as I did before. Once I’m showered and cozy in bed, I hear another door shut outside. Glancing at the old-fashioned clock on the nightstand, it’s almost one in the morning. Maybe Cryus’ room is in this wing of the hotel, too. I drift off shortly after, trying to strategize the many ways to decline an invitation to dance.

- - -

I didn’t want to sound like a spoiled brat, but I really wish I had asked Mateo and Aria to come. I was fine doing my everyday look, but an updo and making my eyeliner even on both sides? It’s making me sweat before I even put on my dress.

Thankfully, I was able to find something that suited me without raising any eyebrows. A floor length, black satin gown with a plunge down the back, but a high neckline in the front. With some diamonds around my neck, it was the perfectly simplistic wedding guest attire. And, hopefully, just enough to blend in so that I wouldn’t have to socialize more than necessary. Though I’d known many of the guests since birth, they still weren’t my crowd. I felt outlandish being surrounded by them, like I was performing a play.

Slipping into my heels, I don the first forced smile of the evening and leave my room.

The smile drops as soon as I see Joel waiting in the hallway.

I expected him to be there. I figured he’d be ready before me and wait until I came out but…wow.

His hair is slicked back, and he had invested in a tuxedo. It fit him like a glove, and only made his shoulders look broader than usual. I step towards him like a magnet, suddenly needing to know if he changed his cologne for the evening, too. When I do so, his jaw clenches, and his eyes drop down to my lips.

“Miss Russell, are you alright?”

“What?” I exhale, “Yes, of course. Are you, are you good to go?” Stuttering? Over him? Maybe I need to ask Nyah to set me up again.

He clears his throat. “You look nice.”

I swear to god if my face heats up anymore I’m turning around and calling this whole thing a wash.

“Thank you. You got a tux.” I realize quickly that it was a fact, not a compliment. “It suits you.”

He glances down at his attire. “Thank you.”

I steady myself, composing my features and repeating I’m just frustrated to myself a few times before descending the stairs. “Let’s get this over with.”

The ceremony was beautiful, even I can’t deny it. I didn’t care for the words being said, or more specifically, who was saying them, but still. The grounds were lovely in the autumn air, and I don’t get to see enough foliage in the city. I spent most of the time admiring the colors and drowning everything else out. By the time we’re in the ballroom, the sun has set once again, highlighting the sparkling chandeliers. As expected, my table is near the back entrance. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of the names at my table except for one. I’m assuming that they sat Joel next to me to make this less odd for the additional guests who weren’t at the rehearsal dinner. I look around for Amari, and sure enough, he’s seated directly behind my dad. With a wedding like this, I think most would be accustomed to seeing bodyguards, but maybe Annabelle didn’t want them appearing in photos as such.

An hour or two later I’m full of green salad and prime rib, and have asked about all the questions I can think of to Annabelle’s old college roommate next to me. Then, unfortunately, the dancing begins. For the first few upbeat songs, I can hang back. I don’t think anyone expects—or wants—me to be on the dance floor, even though I swear Joel gives me the side eye. But then, just as Cyrus predicted, the devil himself approaches my table looking like an apologetic child.

“Gwen,” Daniel extends his hand, “Would you do me the honor?” There must be some undertone of sarcasm, but I don’t detect it.

“Are you sure? I think I’m the Guest of Disgrace. Wouldn’t want to ruin your spotless reputation.”

Joel shifts beside me, his gaze focused intensely toward the front of the room as if he’s trying to read something at table number one.

“Gwen,” Daniel sighs, “It’s one dance.”

I can see a few guests toward the edge of the floor glancing our way. It would cause more of a scene if I said no. And this was one event I didn’t need to cause a scene at.

I take Daniel’s hand, and let him guide me to the floor.

He brings me to the middle, much to my dismay. My father is nearby, dancing with one of the bridesmaids. I can see Paul in front of him, speaking intently at the edge of the dance floor with Cyrus. Everyone else is a blur of designer suits and stunning ball gowns.

Daniel places his hand a bit lower than I’d like, but nevertheless, I place my hand on his shoulder and let him spin me in a slow circle. Even with my distaste of slow dancing, the jazz band is a nice touch. I try to find anyone else in the crowd I might recognize to avoid Daniel’s eyes, which I can feel trying to read my expression.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks.

“Immensely.”

He snickers, “I can tell. You’re even more tense than usual.”

I lock eyes with him now. “I’m not tense.”

“Your posture says otherwise.” He glides his fingers up my back, making me regret this dress that I liked so much.

“Your words would have sufficed,” I reach behind, smacking his hand away loud enough for an elderly woman to look at us, eyes wide. “You don’t need to touch me to tell me something.”

Daniel groans under his breath. “Gwenny, don’t you think it’s about time we got along? If you make your way to the entertainment sector, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“If you would like us to get along, you could start by refraining from calling me Gwenny. I’ve only told you five thousand times I hate that nickname.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought.”

We shuffle back and forth a few more times, taking another turn, before I lose my grip on my tongue. “Additionally, I may be interested in entertainment, but you forget I’m the future CEO. You conveniently forget that fact every time you grab at my backside, every time you call me the wrong name, and every time you ignore my advice,” As inconspicuous as possible, I step on his left foot as we continue to spin, “It’s almost comical, really, that you think continuously insulting Guinevere Russell will have no impact on your future at Russell Corp.”

His breathing picks up, eyes narrowing. “Why can’t you just…behave?”

An exasperated laugh escapes my lips. “Why can’t I behave? I’m not your mirror, Danny. You should ask that question again next time you look into one.”

“This company is just as much mine as it is yours. My father was William’s partner.”

“He was. With a thirty-seventy split. It’s not called Wilson Corporations for a reason.”

His face is red, and he’s stopped dancing. The music still flits about the room, the other guests around us decently unaware of our argument. Or at least pretending to be.

“I don’t expect you to understand what we could build,” Daniel sneers. “After spending so much time traveling to god knows where and sleeping with god knows whom, but we have the opportunity to—”

The ballroom goes black.

All the light from the chandeliers is gone, with only a few candles at the newlywed table yards away. The music cuts off, and several startled guests gasp. A breaker must have blown or something. I take a step back from Daniel, bumping into someone else.

And that’s when a gunshot goes off, and somebody screams.

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