#THE WAY HE STOPS AND LOOKS AT HER FACE AND THEN CLOSES HIS EYES BECAUSE HE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE!!!!!

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[mimipolo]

hey :) could you do a nam-gyu fic where thanos is flirting/put claim on the reader, but she clearly like nam-gyu more. just him dealing with his attraction for her, but still trying to be on thanos' good side

Nam-gyu x reader

I don't know if I did this right I had like five different ideas for how it could pan out so I hope this is alright

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

You were content with the idea of completely ignoring Thanos, his odd claims and even weirder way of flirting. Sure, it was fairly entertaining but it wasn't something you planned to put up with for long.

That was until he walked up to your bunk with a friend in towe. A friend that immediately caught your eye.

"Ayy Senorita!" He draws out in his usual musical tone, behind him a man that looked uninterested, perhaps even annoyed to be there making you grin slightly.

"Aren't ya gonna come down." A whiney voice calls up to you, his face pulling into a frown as he crossed his arms.

"Dude, this a waste of time let's just go." He's still behind Thanos, a hand already on his shoulder, nudging him slightly, hoping to convince him to turn back, and as his gaze went from him to you he stops. The eye contact he made with you was so undeniable you actually looked at the rapper directly for once, startled by how your heart suddenly raced.

"I think I'll stay and eat up here...thanks though." Your refusal immediately has him grumbling as he dramatically pivots to walk away. But his friend hangs back a small moment longer, the brief acknowledgement held a value only you two could fathom.

"Come on Nam-su we outt." Thanos drawls lazily, his arms in his pockets as he swayed from side to side.

"Nam-gyu..." He sighs defeatedly, it was pretty clear this wasn't the first time and likely wouldn't be the last time he'd have to correct the rapper of his name.

Nam-gyu huh? You wouldn't like to admit it but you kept the name close to your mind, maybe he'd favour you for remembering it. Which was a weird thought to have for someone you hadn't actually properly met yet.

You hoped to though.

And he did too, when Thanos was insistent on getting you to eat with them he was almost instantly irritated. Why? What was the point of that? From the beginning he wasn't a fan of any distractions that could lead Thanos away from him, it was inconvenient and if he wanted to win he needed both their focus on that damn cash prize.

What he hadn't prepared for was the you. You who Thanos had miraculously spotted among all the bland people in this weird murder game. And he would never admit it, especially not to him that he understood why he was so hooked on you.

And with that came a jealousy. A deep, seething jealousy that came from nowhere. Now he was frustrated with himself, Thanos and you. And the worst of it all is him actually being just as bummed you didn't come down to eat with them.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

From then on there was this tense love triangle between the three of you which Thanos held no part in. You had no intention of making it clear to the man you weren't interested, first of all: it'd be too much of a hassle, and second because of his favour you've been able to survive games you probably wouldn't have. So you'd put up with him, no big deal.

The only thing, no, person making this harder was Nam-gyu. He was also seemingly smart enough to judge it's best to not make any big move as you were both benefitting from being close to Thanos. But it was painfully clear his attention was always on you, his eyes only snapping back alive at the mention of your name during the moments Thanos seems to talk forever. Having to tip toe around the unspoken attraction towards each other was fine by you, exhilarating even. But you're really starting to wonder if Thanos really can't notice when you and the longer haired man only glance between each other whenever he flirts with you.

Apparently the small amused smiles and prolonged eye contact wasn't enough for Nam-gyu. This could end badly if he was caught but he couldn't care less at this point, this whole time it's just felt like the two of you were saying a million things while saying nothing at all. And he'd actually be damned if he let Thanos hold him back from talking to you. He believed you felt the same, it's not just anyone that looks at him so fondly and sees him as an individual. You saw him like he was someone familiar and when he lies awake, he's convinced that's why he's so drawn to you.

Which is also why he's sneaking to see you during lights out. Was this a good idea?

Probably not.

But he'd already climbed past a snoring Avengers threat so he might as well see it through. He sucked in his breath harshly when he heard the familiar snoring pattern pause when he finally made it to the ground. His heart only relaxing when it fell back into rythmn. Not that he was too worried though, he had thousands of excuses on the tip of his tongue. A benefit that came with being a pathological liar.

He is oddly greatful that the majority of the people that were on your bunk had died, the only remaining players being two beds above yours. Meaning he didn't need to sweat about not waking anyone on his way up. As he begins climbing he draws to a question. What if you're not even awake? Even worse what if you are or he wakes you up and you think he's some weirdo. He physically shakes the thought away as he continues his ascent, he just needed to see you, then he'd go back.

It was odd being able to see you so up close, watching the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. Seeing you like this calmed him down and made him want to fall asleep himself.

He freezes when you shift and his hair brushes your nose, your face scrunching up as you waft away the unwanted texture with a groggy hand. Eyes squinting open to see a stunned Nam-gyu instead of a stray price of fluff from your pillow.

What, is he doing here?

You gasp sharply, immediately sitting up and accidentally banging your head against the bed above you in your rush. He's quietly shushing you as you hold your head in whine in pain. You only look back at him when the pain has slightly subsided, hissing one last time before tear pricked eyes meet his.

"The hell are you doing here?"

"Can't I come to see you?" You squint at his words, they pissed you off, obviously he could but you were literally sleeping?

"You came to watch me sleep?" You ask sarcastically, grinning knowingly as he groaned and rolled his eyes.

Seeing as you weren't entirely put off by his night visit he crawls onto your bed fully, catching you a bit off guard but you make no objection against it which makes him strangely glad.

"Thanos isn't any good, you shouldn't be with him." He says bitterly, when you don't say anything immediately after he looks away from you and runs his hair behind his ears.

"...And you're saying you are?" you say with the slight raise of your brow.

You were just fucking around you already liked him more from the moment you saw him. Long disobedient hair and an angular face and a surprisingly sharp tongue when provoked. Ticking most of your boxes, you just wanted to see how he'd respond.

"Nah... but I could be better, than him at least." He says with a small huff which makes you laugh slightly, and he immediately notes he's never heard it before.

"I'll see you to that." Your words make his heart seize up but in the way when he's won when he didn't expect to. The carefree act he had going was going to crumble if you kept being so casual with him.

It's only now he feels the tensity of the situation, sitting in your bed in an area mostly secluded. He was actually feeling nervous being around you without Thanos there as some barrier to the two of you. You're looking at him expectantly as if waiting for him to make some smart ass response but you're so pretty right now. Your eyes on him and him alone. He's keeping quiet because if he spoke as he was now... he couldn't promise he wouldn't immediately embarass himself.

Instead he looks between you and the wall, his eyes scanning your face each time before he looked away. Despite the chaos of feelings reeling from inside him his face was mostly unreadable. The only thing telling you anything was his jaw tightening and loosening, maybe chewing the inside of his cheek.

You tilt your head to see if he'd look at you if you were more in his line of view but he only locked eyes with you for a moment before looking up.

He was nervous?

The thought made your chest swell even though you knew he was probably just deep in thought. Either way your fighting back a smile as you take his face in your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips. It was honestly amazing how he came back to reality from the contact. Staring at you with wide confused eyes as if questioning why you would even do that.

And when you start to laugh to yourself quietly he's chuckling flustered beside you. His lips pursed tight to not let the grin on his face appear, but his feelings were clear in the new softness in his eyes.

Nodding lightly like he's fully savoured your presence he's manoeuvring himself to leave your bed, giving the underside of your knee a light squeeze before settling on the ladder.

"G'night..."

"Night Nam-gyu."

The first genuine smile of the night freely slips onto his face, making your own smile appear before he's making his descent back down. Grinning to himself like an idiot all the way back to his bed because he managed to get the girl Thanos saw first.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Ever since then it's been this mutual joke between you two. You're holding back a snicker as Thanos serenades you because Nam-gyu's right behind him rolling his eyes and mocking him.

Nightly routines of him visiting your bed comforted you on those nights you couldn't will yourself to sleep. There's been more than one occasion he's stayed the night and forgot to go back to his bed and when questioned about where he was so early in the morning it's always "Needed to piss". He's glancing back at you accusingly as if you forced him to stay (you asked repeatedly very nicely.)

I love him sm I'm gonna cook him into a lasagna.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Smutty Steve request! Steve and reader are longtime friends, but he never thought of her *that* way until she shows up at a party or whatever in a this dress (that she got to finally get him to notice her) - like Dress by Taylor Swift inspired!

I got a little carried away with this one but I hope that’s okay lol

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) fingering, oral (f receiving)

Everyone knows how hopelessly in love with Steve you are. They can see how pathetically you look at him when he’s flirting with another girl. They can see it in the way you always go out of your way to touch him in a flirty manner. Everyone knows that you’re in love with Steve, well except for Steve.

You don’t know how obvious you can make it. You’ve asked him out multiple times and he always agrees, but he’s never aware that it’s a date. It’s just two friends hanging out. It’s to the point where you could tell him exactly how you feel and he still wouldn’t get it.

Steve isn’t stupid, you know that to be true, so why is he not getting your hints? How much longer are you going to have to spell it out for him until he finally gets it?

You stand in front of the house and take a deep breath as you smooth out your dress. It’s a little black thing. Something you would normally never wear, but after some convincing from Robin and Nancy at the mall, you caved and bought it.

It’s tight, hugging every single curve and heels you’re wearing make your legs look long even though it doesn’t matter because you can barely walk in there.

You hold on to Robin and Nancy for support as they lead you into the house, knowing that without them, you’d be walking like an animal who’s learning to walk for the first time. This is just saving you the embarrassment.

The second you walk through the door, Steve can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. He’s not even paying attention to what Eddie, Jonathan, or Argyle are talking about. All he cares about is you.

Before he can stop himself, he’s making his way into the kitchen where you’re headed. Robin and Nancy let go of you and you hold onto the counter, trying to not make it obvious that you’re struggling.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asks and you nod enthusiastically. That would definitely make you forget about the pain of these stupid shoes.

“Please,” you nod and he’s quick to grab a solo cup and the red wine he knows you love. He pours it into the cup and watches you take a few sips, wondering what your pretty, red lips would look like with your mouth wide open as you moan his name over and over.

“Doesn’t y/n look great tonight, Steve?” Robin moves to stand beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, letting his eyes rake over your body. He’s never thought about you that way, but now he can’t stop thinking about burying his face between your thighs as your hands grab fistfuls of his hair, tugging on it.

You finally look at him and notice his cheeks flushing. You assume it’s the alcohol, but you can’t help but think that maybe it’s something else. Something dirty.

The tension between the two of you is now palpable as Steve steps forward and Robin and Nancy flee the kitchen, deciding that their work is now done.

You mimic Steve, stepping forward, only for your ankle to roll as you do so. Steve is quick to catch you, preventing you from falling to the floor. Those honey eyes are looking down at you in concern and you feel like you could just melt under his gaze.

He’s leaning so close that you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he doesn’t. He’s whispering something to you, those beautiful eyes boring into yours, but you can’t quite make out the words.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concern etching his features and you’re honored that he cares, but Steve always cares about you. About everyone. Always quick to take care of anyone who needs the attention.

You still remember the moment you fell in love with him. You were all park riding bikes because it was such a nice day. You didn’t know how to ride, but you wanted to feel included so you borrowed one of his bikes without having any prior experience.

You couldn’t stay steady, the bike moving this way and that and eventually, you fell over, the bike landing on top of you. Steve was quick to hurry over to you. Without a word, he pushed the bike off of you then carried you over to the blanket where the others who weren’t riding were sitting.

He pulled out a first aid kit from his pocket and cared for your scraped up knee. He was just so sweet and no one had ever done anything like that for you. He was your knight in shining armor and he didn’t even know it.

You’re brought to the present as helps you stand up, but your ankle gives out again as you wince at the pain coursing through it. Without another thought, Steve picks you up and carries you down the hallway to the nearest empty room which happens to be a bedroom.

Steve sets you on the bed and kneels in front of you, quick bring his hands up to your shoes, unbuckling the ankle straps. He pulls the shoes off your feet and without a word, he begins to massage your ankle that you rolled.

An involuntary moan falls from your lips at the feeling, his fingers working magic on your muscles. It’s easily the most pleasure you’ve ever felt and you wonder if he’s this talented with his fingers in other areas.

“Does that feel good?” He asks and you can just imagine him asking you the same question with his hand between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out as you moan over and over.

“Mhm,” you nod as he presses even harder into your skin, causing you to moan even louder and he’s trying his best to hide his hard on as he moves back ever so slightly, but it’s so obvious now, sticking straight out.

You need him to touch you now, your mind not even focused on your pain as all you can think about now is having his fingers inside you. You’re desperate for it now as he continues to massage your ankle. You’re focused on his touch, his soft skin against yours.

It’s torture to think about but you can’t help it. You want him, need him so bad that you feel like you could cry.

You grab him by the wrist and guide his hand towards your cunt as you spread your legs. His eyes widen and you can clearly see his pupils dilate as his hands grab hold of the waist band of your panties. He pulls them down as you spread your legs even wider, looking up at him with a flirty look.

Steve presses his his middle and ring fingers together before he brings them to your cunt slowly, looking you in the eye, giving you every opportunity to back out if this isn’t what you want.

As soon as his fingers slide inside, he knows he’s made the right choice as you moan again. He never thought he’d do this kind of thing with you, but now that he is, there’s no way he’s backing out. Watching you splayed out on the bed just for him, he feels like he’s in heaven.

His pumps are slow at first as he tries to get the hang of it, only using the tips of his fingers. But as he picks up the pace, he pushes in further with each pump, eating up the way you’re enjoying it.

You lie back flat, spreading your legs even wider, each knee pressing against the bed. As you lie back, he’s able to get a much better view of your sopping wet cunt as well as feeling it.

You’re so wet, and for him. He wonders if you’ve ever thought about him this way. If you’ve fantasized about the two of you in this position. He hasn’t. Not until tonight. And he’s kicking himself for just now realizing how hot you are. He’s always found you attractive, he has eyes, but never sexually.

Up until now, you’ve always been just a friend to him. But now he’s itching to get inside you, desperate to know what your lips look like, what you look like underneath your dress. He wants to rip it to shreds with his teeth until you’re in your underwear. He’ll then rip apart your bra until you’re naked underneath him, whining, begging for you to fuck him.

His fingers are pumping so hard and fast as you moan and whine, your nails digging into the bedding underneath you, not even trying to stifle the sounds you’re making considering that there are other people in the house, but it’s not like they can hear you anyway. The stereo is up too loud and they’re all too busy mingling.

You can feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head, on the verge of an orgasm. You feel his fingers curl, hitting just the right spot to make you climax, to make you feel better than you ever have in the bedroom.

He clearly knows what he’s doing as he curls his fingers again and again, making you moan over and over until you’re absolutely spent. Once he’s, he removes his fingers, licking up the slick from his fingers as his well deserved reward and now that he’s gotten a taste, he thinks he needs another, but this time directly from the source.

Steve looks down between your legs, his mouth watering as his need to get a taste of you intensifies. God, he wants it so bad, so desperate that he’s drooling, spit dribbling down his chin.

“Can’t believe this is all for me,” he tells you as his hands rest gently on your knees. You’re so wet now that it’s trailing down your thighs and before he can stop himself, Steve grabs hold of one of your thighs. He brings it to his mouth and licks the trail all the way up until he’s just inches from your cunt.

You gasp as he does this, but you can’t deny how good it feels, especially when he goes for another lick, his tongue leaving behind a stripe of spit as he does so. He then goes for your other thigh, doing the exact same thing, but going slower now, chuckling to himself as you squirm underneath him, begging for him to eat you out already.

“Alright, relax,” he tells you as he pulls away. He pushes you back down onto the mattress, keeping his hands on your shoulders as he leans in, his lips just inches from yours. You close your eyes, expecting a kiss, but when you open them, Steve’s on his knees again, grabbing hold of your thighs.

“Steve-” you sit up to look him in the eye, to show him how upset you are by his teasing.

“Yes, honey?” He asks, that mischievous glint in his eye as throws your legs onto his shoulders. You instantly melt at the nickname then lie back again. He’s got you right where he wants you and you know it. He still doesn’t seem to understand that you’d do anything he’d say because you’re just that much in love with him.

He buries his face into your cunt and you gasp as his mouth licks and sucks on your clit, your hands subconsciously sliding into his hair. He pushes your dress up to your waist as you push down into your cunt even more. Steve decides right there that if he’s going to die like this that it’s a pretty fucking good way to go.

You let up and tug on his hair instead as he continues to lick and suck on your clit. Your heels are digging into his back as your toes curl in pleasure. You’ve been eaten out before, but not like this, never like this.

He’s definitely done this before as he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how to make you feel good. His mouth moves down to your slit as he bites down, his teeth sliding across the sensitive skin as you moan, your nails digging into his scalp in response.

Your thighs press tightly against the side of his head as he continues with his teeth, biting down even harder, making you feel so good. He then goes back in with his tongue, needing yet another taste of you, desperate for it.

This is the best pussy he’s ever tasted and he’s fully content right now, deciding that he could do this for hours without getting tired. Especially with how you’re reacting to the whole thing.

Steve sticks his tongue inside you and that’s where you absolutely lose it. You’re coming again and he can your slick leaking out onto his tongue. It’s the sweetest thing, almost resembling candy and he can get enough as he swirls his tongue around, desperate for more.

You come one more time and he’s reluctant to remove himself from you, but he has to if he wants to continue. He pulls away from you as you orgasm one more time as sits back on his knees, watching you, thinking that you’re the most beautiful creature that ever was.

You reach out for him and he’s quick to take your hands, bringing himself down to hover over you. His lips hesitantly press against yours as his hands pin yours against the bed.

The kiss is messy, clumsy at first, but the two of you eventually get the hang of it as it becomes progressively more hungry, especially on your end. You need him. You need him in ways that are concerning. And if his rock hard cock is any indication, you think you’re going to get pretty lucky.

His tongue slides into your mouth as you move to untuck his shirt from his jeans. He parts from you only to let you slip it over his head and as soon as his shirt is on the floor, his lips are on yours again, even more hungry this time as he takes exactly what he wants from you.

Your hands move to his belt and unbuckle it quickly before moving on to the button of his jeans. Before he knows it, you’re unzipping them and pulling them as much as you can. Steve reaches into his pocket for a condom and tosses it to the side before finishing the job, tossing his jeans to the side, followed by his underwear.

You always knew he had a big dick, but now the proof is right in front of you. He’s so hard and all you want is to make him feel as good as he made you feel. You want to make him come over and over, to return to favor.

He then helps you sit up then reaches up and unzips your dress with ease, pulling it up over your head. It drops next to him as he stares at the pretty, black, lacy bra you’re wearing.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighs as he stares at you, almost completely naked, and for him.

“You’re the perfect one,” you reply and Steve doesn’t know why he feels his cheeks heat. You’ve complimented so many times, but this time, it feels different. “Now c’mere,” you waved him over and he scoots closer as your hands cradle his face.

You press a kiss to his lips as you feel around the mattress for the condom. Once you have it in your hands, you push Steve onto the mattress before straddling his waist.

“Now it’s your turn to come,” you tell him as you rip the packet open with your teeth. Steve watches you roll the condom onto him then discard your bra before settling yourself onto his cock, not even giving him a chance to think before begin to ride him.

His hands move to your waist as his hips buck against yours, the two of you working together. He’s working harder than you are, pushing all of himself inside of you, or at least, trying to.

“Hey,” you tell him, taking on an authoritative tone and he immediately stops. “You don’t have to try so hard. Let me take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods then lies back, his fingers still digging into your waist as you pick it up again. He’s already moaning so you know you’ve gotten it right, already knowing what he likes.

You continue, moving even faster and his nails are digging so far into you that you’re sure that he’s going to break skin, but he quickly eases up, probably sensing that he’s hurting you.

“You sound so hot. Wanna make some more sounds for me?”

“Mhm,” he nods and he moans again as you lean over, your lips finding his once again, moving against his so softly which juxtaposes how you’re fucking him so hard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whines into your mouth, already feeling he’s close which is so embarrassing for him since you’ve barely started, but he can’t help it. You’re just fucking him so good that he doesn’t think he’s not going to be able to walk afterwards. And he doesn’t even care. He wants you to do whatever you want to him. He wants to be your good boy.

“I knew you liked it rough,” you laugh as you watch him come completely undone underneath you. He’s already coming and he can’t stop, his orgasm completely taking over his body.

“Fuck, so good,” he whines as you keep up, trying to get one last climax out of him before you get off, watching him come down from it as you hurry to get dressed, but he reaches out and grabs hold of your waist, stopping you from going any where.

He discards the condom then gets under the covers, holding the blanket up for you. You get in beside him and he pulls you to his chest, bare skin to bare skin as he drops a kiss to your forehead.

The two of you lay there in the quiet, his hands moving up and down your back while yours plays with his hair, the only sound that can be heard is your breathing as the two of you think about nothing except what you’ve just done.

“Do you think we could do this again tomorrow night?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Definitely,” you nod.

“Do you think that we could do it as a couple?” You move that you’re hovering over him, trying to make sure that you hear him right. There have been too many times when your fantasies took over so now you want to be one hundred percent sure.

“What did you just say?” You ask, maybe a bit too harshly and now you’ve got Steve stammering.

“Well, I was wondering if it would be okay if I was your boyfriend. Is that a tacky thing to ask after sex? Because I-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, smiling into the kiss as his hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, his smile mimicking yours as you pull away far too soon for his liking.

“So is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes,” you roll your eyes, giving him another kiss before lying back down on his chest.

[touchme-teezme]

Why Me?

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!yeosang x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex, angsty & high tension dialogues bcs reader and yeosang are in situationship & figuring it out, reader is a player and avoidant, yeosang gets attached too easily. oopsie.

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Yeosang realized he had feelings for you at the worst possible moment—now he’s spiralling and needs an outlet. Lucky for you, you’re here. Unlucky for you, it comes with a cost.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | oK this was plot heavy. lowkey in my feelings when i wrote it and i didn’t rlly want smut to be the focal point of all the stories — especially if i didn’t think it fit the members. so we’re trying something new out with yeo’s part. i hope you like it hehe enjoy freaks (complimentary). if you catch any mistakes, no you didn’t. i proofread with vibes not scrutiny.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

inspired by pink matter & bad religion by frank ocean

(frank come home pls i can’t do this anymore.)

Yeosang wasn’t the nosy type—he liked to think he was above that.

Normally, he’d get himself to stop missing you by scrolling through your posts or replaying your story highlights like a perfectly chill (totally not obsessed) person. But today curiosity dragged him into the abyss that was your tagged photos.

And that’s where he saw it. Them.

The two others you were seeing on the side. He’d heard rumours but didn’t believe them until he saw Lee Chan’s hands on your ass as you were hugging him or a selfie where you were a little too close to Choi Yeonjun.

Even he never had a photo with you where your cheeks were squished against each others.

“Relax,” Wooyoung had told him that night he confided in his friend, “It’s normal. They’re probably just on her roster. You guys aren’t exclusive anyway.”

Now, every time he lay flat on his back, staring at a ceiling, his mind went into the same place:

How did you meet them? How long have you been seeing them? Do they know what you like? Or worse—did you touch them the same way you’re touching him right now?

And seriously, how the fuck did you and Yeonjun even meet?

“Yeosang, i’m talking to you.”

“Huh?” His head jerked up at the sound of your voice, only to find you staring up at him from between his legs, mouth hovering just shy of the fabric of his underwear.

His pants were bunched at his ankles, and he was sprawled out with his knees hanging off the bed—one hand casually tucked under his head.

The angle was doing the most to show off how much gym time he and San had clearly been clocking lately.

“I asked if I can—“

“Uh… Y-Yeah, yeah go ahead.”

You sighed, rising from your knees to gracefully mount his body. Straddling him with elegance, you leaned down, your face inches from his clearly preoccupied gaze.

Speaking of gazes, his eyes were your favourite. Your knuckles grazed his birthmark, then you casually swept his hair back.

"What's going on?"

He reacted instantly, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as he leaned in. You felt his hands glide down your spine, past the hooks of your bra. He shook his head, "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Something’s definitely going on because I was about to suck you off and you haven’t looked at me once.”

Yeosang gently placed his hand on the back of your head and flipped you over, landing you on your side.

He then adjusted himself, kicking off his jeans with a nonchalant flick of his ankle. Scooting closer to your flushed face, his silence was starting to make you a tad more nervous than usual.

“Is everything okay?” You shifted closer to his body.

“I wanted to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

“Oh. Sure.” Your eyebrows rose. “But maybe we save the serious talk for after, you know, the fun stuff?” You started trailing your fingers along the faint ridges of his abs.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he stared down at your joined hands. “Do you…” He trailed off, recalibrating mid-sentence. “How long are we going to keep having fun?”

“Well,” you said, blinking like it was the most obvious answer in the world, “A few rounds, a few hours—though if you do that thing I like, I might have to keep you here a bit longer.”

You leaned in for a kiss, slow and deliberate, your lips skimming his bottom lip. His hand slipped to your ass like muscle memory, but instead of diving in, his brain just had to keep working.

“No, not this,” he mumbled between kisses before pulling away with all the self-control and focus in the world. “I mean… this—as in, us. How much longer are we going to keep this going?”

“Oh.” You paused, your eyes darted between his face and the diminishing gap between your bodies. “I don’t know… as long as we want to?”

His jaw tightened, his expression unreadable.

“Do you not want to anymore?” You asked.

“It’s not that,” he sighed. “I’m starting my internship next semester. I just… I needed to know if I have a reason to turn down that offer in Busan.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond your creaked window.

“Well,” you said. “I told you…if you want to, you should.”

“So you think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happiest.”

“And what if what I want doesn’t make you happy?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But it does. It matters to me.” His voice dipped, tinged with frustration, though his gaze softened into something you hadn’t seen before.

“So… what do you want me to say?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” His voice cracked just enough to make your chest tighten. “That you want me to stay. That this is something important to hold on to or that…” He gestured vaguely to himself, as if it physically pained him. “…that I’m not just someone you fuck when everyone else is busy.”

Oh.

You sighed, sitting up to rake your fingers through your hair while pulling your knees to your chest.

Maybe it was one of the guys you’d been seeing who ran his mouth. Word gets around campus pretty easily when you have mutual friends. It’s also not like you were deliberately hiding it, but you somehow still felt a little ashamed for him to find out.

Yeosang, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather dissolve into thin air. Maybe insecurity had sucker-punched him or he was catching feelings and scared you’d bolt the moment he brought it up.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he muttered, voice soft and far away. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” He shifted to sit next to you, his posture mirroring yours.

“It’s fine,” You tried to sound reassuring, but the weight of his question hung in the air.

You glanced at him, and damn his side profile wasn’t helping you think straight. “So, what is it? You don’t want me seeing anyone else?”

His sharp inhale said it all. “I can’t tell you what to do, but just so you know, I’m not seeing anyone else,” his voice was rough, like he was trying to swallow the words before they came out. “I don’t even want anyone else. I don’t know how you do it, how you can… be with anyone else.”

Yeosang turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I just… I want to know if it could ever be… just me.”

He’d meant it when he swore off relationships — especially after what happened to San, he believed that was more than enough to convince him that relationships weren’t worth it.

But the more he saw you, the more his wishes began to crack. The more he wanted it to be only him you came back to.

“What am I to you?” he asked finally, the question breaking the silence.

You swallowed, searching for words that felt like truth but wouldn’t cut too deep. “You’re…” The answer wavered, unsure even as it left your lips. “You’re someone I care about. A lot.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, trying to drown out the conversation in the only way you knew how.

His fingers gripped your hips tightly, grounding you against him, and you felt a flicker of guilt at the way you were avoiding his question but it melted away when you felt his tongue slip in.

When you pulled back, he was breathless and flushed, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from underwater. His hands stayed firmly on your love handles, and his forehead leaned against yours.

“For fuck’s sake…” he muttered, the frustration thick in his voice. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair like that would somehow untangle the mess in his brain. “Why me?”

“Yeosang?”

He realised right then and there, there was no changing your mind.

He snapped back to reality, his grip tightening as his hands slid down to your thighs. In one smooth move, you were on your back and he was settling himself right on top of you.

Yeosang settled between your thighs. He rocked his hips, grinding himself against you, seeking friction and relief as your lips wouldn’t leave his alone.

You cupped the side of his face, looking up at him between breaks of the kiss to slide a gentle slow finger into his mouth for him to suck as he held your stare.

Your other hand pushed away the curtain of hair falling from his face, admiring his bare beauty in your touch.

You liked how he reacted to your touches, how at a single command he kneels, he’d do anything for you if you’d ask — maybe that’s what scared you in return but you’d never tell him that.

You both eventually fell on your sides, not a single word besides the usual moans and gasps of “yes”, “like that”, and yeosang’s personal favourite: “i need you right now.”

Before you knew it, your back faced him and you were both entirely undressed.

He held you tight, pressing his face into the sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder. His lips trailed kisses there as his hands explored your familiar curves. Your hips ground back against him, rubbing your ass over his erection.

His fingers danced across your stomach before slipping lower. You groaned, feeling his fingers open to a ‘V’ to graze the sides of your entrance with light strokes.

His focus on you was primal and hungry as he started circling the your folds in a distinct pattern. He sunk two fingers deep inside your slick clenching heat, earning a breathy whine that was turning him on relentlessly. Your breath was hot against his ear as you watched him work, your inner muscles clenching greedily.

Yeosang knew your body the best out of the others. He always paid attention to your physical reactions to what you really like and what hurt you. After a while, he got the hang of it pretty damn quick.

Between the gentle caresses and firmer strokes, he was driving you higher, teasing you mercilessly—and yet, he hadn’t even gone all the way. But holding out much longer wasn’t an option; the things you were saying were wrecking his focus, leaving his restraint hanging by a thread.

You’re the only one I want.

You make me feel so good.

I want you so bad.

Don’t get him wrong, the sex was great — but even with you naked in his arms, swearing he was the one you wanted, he didn’t feel it. Because desiring him wasn’t the same as making him yours—and you never would.

You held his face behind you, anchoring your hand on the nape of his neck as he pounded into you with his hard throbbing cock into you at an angle that was blurring your vision.

He was eagerly grabbing a handful of your breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers as he sucked onto your neck, whining against your skin.

He pushed your knee higher. Gripping your side like he was holding on for dear life, he thrust into you with the determination, only to pull out slowly, and savouring the moment.

The increasing pace turned your moans into a symphony of pleasure, loud enough to give the neighbors an unsolicited introduction to Yeosang’s name. They might not have seen him, but they sure knew who he was now.

The sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by the occasional slap of his hand against your ass made you grin.

“Fuck! Yeosang!” You exclaimed.

“I know baby, I know,” he replied, his voice a low, reassuring rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

His focus unwavering. It was as if he had a singular mission: to bring you to the peak of pleasure and join you there.

He eventually sent you over the edge. You bit down on your lip as he showered you with open-mouthed kisses on one side of your face.

“Shit… Yeosang, that was— you felt so fucking good.” You barely caught your breath.

You held his face over your shoulder and he smiled back, feeling your thumb stroke the side of his face before coming in for a rewarding kiss.

Yeosang had it all—looks, charm, the perfect height for you, and you always had a soft spot for the shy types. Sure, his borderline obsession with video games wasn’t exactly your favorite thing, but hey, at least it wasn’t destructive.

Still, no matter how great he was, Yeosang realised the truth you’d never admit: a relationship wasn’t exactly your thing.

Still, his visit to your neighbourhood didn’t end on that note.

After a few rounds of small talk and a necessary bathroom breaks, you were back to your usual routine — with a few new surprises.

It included him kneeling before your parted legs as you sat on the edge of the bed, watching him savour, and lick up your core. It wasn't long before your leg found its way over his shoulder, trembling and quivering as you held onto the back of his head.

Then came the moment when he held your wrists behind your back, taking you from behind. Fucking. Hell. The spanking returned, accompanied by a string of praises in that low voice of his and it turned you on more than anything else he’d ever tried.

You were so caught up in the bliss and pleasure of the moment, reveling in how he truly outdid himself tonight, that you missed two things:

Yeosang had whispered "I love you" at the peak of his final climax.

And this was going to be the last time.

Yeosang was so haunted by the painful realization that if he ever walked away, you wouldn't miss him.

After all, there were plenty of others ready to take his place by your side, as if he were just another face in the crowd.

He knew you were never going to change your mind, even when he was the one on the line.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were fast asleep. Yeosang watched the steady rise and fall of your bare back, the room quiet except for your soft breathing. The faint jingle of his belt buckle broke the stillness as he slipped into his jeans.

He caught sight of himself in your full-length mirror in the corner, you sound asleep behind him, and all he felt was emptiness. The faint marks on his neck and chest—your handiwork—didn’t even draw the usual smirk.

He slipped his shirt back on and crept out of your place, the same way he’d done countless times before.

Standing on the corner of your street, he pulled out his phone and fired off an email accepting the position. One press of “send”, he raised his arm, hailing a taxi without a second glance back.

A yellow coloured taxi pulled up just as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He climbed in, saying the name of his street and sinking into his seat, completely worn out.

The driver nodded without saying much from the rearview mirror where a string of beads with a tassel hung. The car pulled away from that street.

He stole another glance at Yeosang, whose watery eyes and faraway stare made it seem like the weight of the world was crushing his shoulders.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang muttered, leaning against the glass. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket, and his gaze dropped to the screen—Wooyoung’s name lighting up, accompanied by that dumb photo he’d set as his own contact picture.

He’d hoped that by the sixth missed call—during the time Yeosang had your arms pinned behind your back—Wooyoung would finally give it a rest.

But if there was one thing everyone knew about Wooyoung, it was that his commitment to annoying his friends was unmatched.

“Fucking finally, where are you?” Wooyoung’s voice came through, loud and chaotic, with the telltale background noise of a busy restaurant.

“Home,” Yeosang lied, voice barely above a mumble and cleared his throat. “Why?”

“Perfect, so you’re close. Everyone’s already here—your roommate, Hwa, the usual. San and Mingi bailed though. Typical. Anyway, you promised you’d show up tonight, so—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Yeosang cut him off, not in the mood for one of Wooyoung’s endless rambles.

Wooyoung, sharp as ever, caught the attitude immediately. “Don’t be a dick. We’ll just see you at the club if you’re gonna take forever.”

“Yeah, sure. Bye.” Yeosang ended the call before Wooyoung could get another word in. He didn’t even flinch when he heard Wooyoung start to curse—cutting him off mid-sentence was the point.

The driver glanced at him as they pulled to a stop at a red light, an eyebrow quirking in silent judgment. “A lot going on, huh?”

Yeosang’s eyes stayed fixed on the city lights, streaking and blurring as they sped past. “You have no idea.”

The driver shrugged, settling back into his seat. “Well, it’s a long drive to where you’re headed. I’ve got time.”

[gf2bellamy]

fear — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: after a difficult day at work, spencer is now convinced that continuing to date you puts your life in danger. content warnings: mention of death, talking about an officer watching his girlfriend die, lots of angst and sadness a/n: hello why did i break my own heart writing this

Spencer ascended the stairs to your apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Cases always took something from him, left invisible scars no one else could see. But this one? This one had carved into him deeper than most. 

By the time he reached your floor, he stopped, staring at your door at the end of the hall. His hand gripped the keys you’d given him months ago, the metal cold against his skin.

You had handed them to him with a soft smile, saying it just made sense considering how often he stayed over. He remembered the warmth in your eyes, the way you’d trusted him so easily. 

But now, standing outside your apartment, that memory only added to the knot in his chest. 

This case hadn’t just been hard—it had been devastating. The victim’s name echoed in his mind: a woman who had been vibrant, kind, and full of life until her boyfriend—a detective working the case—had been unable to protect her.

The unsub had used her as leverage, exploiting the detective’s devotion to gain the upper hand.

And just like that, she was gone. 

Spencer had watched the man crumble. The detective had blamed himself for being too close, for caring too much, for letting his personal life overlap with his work. 

It hit too close to home for Spencer. 

He took another step forward, his heart pounding as he stared at your door. His fingers tightened around the keys, and for a moment, he debated turning back. 

The words the detective had said haunted him. “If I hadn’t loved her, she’d still be alive. I should’ve kept my distance.” 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was he putting you at risk just by being with you? His job didn’t allow him to separate personal and professional—every case bled into his life.

Every loss, every fear, every failure. And if one day his work found its way to you? He didn’t think he could survive that. 

He unlocked the door, the familiar sound of the tumblers clicking echoing loudd in the quiet hallway.

The soft light spilling from the kitchen gave the space a warmth that felt almost jarring after the day he’d had. 

His gaze found you instantly, your back turned as you moved around the kitchen. You were making tea. 

He must’ve made some noise, maybe the soft click of the door closing or the shuffle of his feet, because you turned around. 

The second your eyes landed on him, your face lit up with a smile so genuine it made his heart ache. 

“Spence,” you said softly, setting down your cup without hesitation. You crossed the room in a few quick steps, your arms already reaching for him as you enveloped him in a tight hug. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, while his instinctively settled around your waist. For a moment, he just stood there, letting himself be held.

You smelled like chamomile tea and faint traces of your favorite lotion—comforting and familiar. 

“You’re home,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice filled with quiet relief. 

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “Yeah,” he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. 

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. Your brows knit together as you studied his face. “Rough day?” 

He nodded slowly, his hazel eyes dark and heavy with exhaustion. “You could say that,” he admitted. 

Your fingers moved to his face, brushing a stray curl from his forehead as you searched his expression. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice soft. He stared at you for a long moment, his heart aching with a mix of love and guilt. 

You studied him carefully, your brows furrowing as you tried to read him. Something was off—more than just the usual weight he carried after a hard case.

He wasn’t just tired; he was troubled, deeply so. 

“Do you want tea?” you asked gently, hoping to coax him into some sense of comfort. 

He shook his head, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. “I, uh…” he stuttered, his voice unusually small. “I’m not staying,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear. 

The words hit you like a jolt, and your hand, which had been resting lightly on his arm, fell away.

“Oh,” you breathed out, the single syllable heavy with confusion and concern. “Why? Are you okay?” 

You tilted your head slightly, searching his face for an explanation, but he barely met your gaze. His eyes darted everywhere but to yours. 

“I think we—” he started, then stopped abruptly. His jaw clenched as he closed his eyes, as though trying to summon the strength to get the words out. “I think we should break up,” he finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of it. 

Your mouth fell open in shock, the air suddenly feeling thick and hard to breathe. “What?” you whispered, barely able to process what you’d just heard. 

“I…” Spencer’s voice faltered as he ran a trembling hand through his curls, his shoulders slumping. “I just think it’s for the best,” he murmured, still refusing to meet your gaze. 

“For the best?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Spencer, what are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?” 

“No!” he said quickly, almost too loudly. He flinched at his own outburst, finally glancing at you before looking away again, his guilt written all over his face. “It’s not you. It’s not anything you did. It’s me. My job. My… everything.” 

“What?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and disbelief. You stared at him, trying to make sense of the words he was saying, but they didn’t seem real. Your brain felt foggy, like it was struggling to keep up with what was happening. 

Your chest tightened as you fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

Not now, not like this. 

Spencer still wouldn’t meet your eyes. His gaze darted to the floor, to the wall, back to the floor—anywhere but at you.

But occasionally, his eyes flickered up, and in those fleeting moments, you saw it. The pain. The guilt. His own tears welling just behind his lashes. 

“Spence,” you said again, your voice breaking as you bit down on your lip to steady yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so softly it was almost inaudible.

You shook your head, your brow furrowing as you stared at him, searching for some kind of explanation. “Where is this coming from?” you asked, the tremor in your voice betraying the effort it took to hold yourself together. 

“Why, Spence?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly, tinged with desperation. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.” 

His lips parted, but no sound came out. He seemed to struggle, as if the words he wanted to say were caught somewhere in his throat. He dragged a hand through his curls, a shaky breath escaping him as he finally forced himself to speak. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. 

You blinked, your tears finally spilling over. “Lose me?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “Spencer, what are you talking about? You’re the one pushing me away right now!” 

He winced at your words, his head bowing as though they physically hurt him. “Because I’m trying to protect you,” he said, his voice cracking. 

“Protect me?” You shook your head, utterly bewildered. “From what? Spencer, I don’t need protecting. I just need you.” 

His head snapped up then, his eyes finally locking onto yours, and the sheer pain in his gaze nearly broke you. 

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice shaky. “This job—it’s dangerous. Every day, I see how fragile life is, how quickly it can be taken away. I see people lose the ones they love because of… because of monsters like the ones we chase. And I—” He stopped, his voice catching. “I can’t let that happen to you. I can’t let you get hurt because of me.” 

You stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. Then you took a step closer, your voice trembling. 

“And what about me?” you asked. “Do you think it’ll hurt less if you leave? Do you think I’ll stop worrying about you just because you’re not here anymore? Spencer, I’ll still love you. I’ll still worry. The only difference is I’ll have to do it alone.” 

Spencer shook his head, his curls bouncing slightly with the movement as a tear slipped free and traced a path down his cheek.

His lips parted, trembling with the weight of his words. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m really sorry.” He repeated it, the words tumbling out of him like a mantra as if saying them enough times would make it all hurt less. 

And then he took a step back. 

“Spencer,” you uttered, your voice so quiet, so heartbreakingly fragile that it felt like it could shatter under the weight of the moment.

It was a sound he would not forget—a sound that would haunt him. 

His gaze flickered to your face, and when he saw the tears freely falling down your cheeks, his breath caught in his throat. You weren’t trying to hide them. You weren’t even wiping them away.

They were just there and it was his fault. 

He couldn’t believe that he was the reason for your pain. The reason for the hurt that now etched itself into every inch of your expression.

But he told himself it was for you. He told himself it was for your safety. 

Spencer cleared his throat, his voice hollow as he tried to explain. “There was an officer on this case,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, as though forcing himself to relive it. “He was one of the first responders to the crime scenes. Dedicated. Smart. He had been working the case for weeks, just like us.” 

You stayed silent, your watery eyes locked on his face as you listened. 

Spencer took another shaky breath, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “He had a girlfriend,” he said, his voice cracking on the word. “She wasn’t involved. She had nothing to do with the case—she wasn’t even in law enforcement. But somehow…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. 

“Somehow the unsub found out about her,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And he—” Spencer stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “He used her to get to him. Killed her. Right in front of him.” 

Your breath hitched, as you took in the horror of his words. 

Spencer’s tears were falling freely now, his voice trembling as he kept going. “I saw the officer after it happened. He was… broken. Completely destroyed. And I kept thinking… that could be me. That could be you.” 

“Spencer,” you said softly, but he shook his head, cutting you off. 

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice rising slightly in frustration—not at you, but at himself. “Every single day, I walk into work knowing that I could lose someone I care about. Knowing that I could be the reason they’re gone. And if that someone, is you—” His voice cracked again, and he looked away, unable to finish the sentence. 

“But it won’t be me, Spence,” you said, your voice trembling but determined. You took a small step closer, desperate to reach through the wall he was building around himself. “It doesn’t have to be me. We don’t have to let fear decide this for us.” 

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stared down at the floor. You could see the battle raging within him—the love he felt for you colliding with the fear that had taken root in his heart. 

“Spence,” you said again, softer this time. “I know you’re scared. I know you’ve seen things I can’t even imagine. But just because something terrible happened to someone else doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to us. It doesn’t mean I’m going to get hurt.” 

He finally looked up at you, and the anguish in his eyes was enough to shatter your heart all over again. 

“You don’t know that,” he said, his voice low but steady, like he was forcing himself to say the words out loud. “You can’t know that.” 

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you reached for him again. “No, I don’t know that,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But you don’t know it will happen either. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. No one does.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply. “This is about protecting you.” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure that you don’t end up another name, another victim, because of me.” 

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “But you’re hurting me now,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re so afraid of something that might never happen that you’re pushing me away before it even has a chance to.” 

Spencer flinched as if you had physically struck him, his shoulders sagging. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a shaky breath. 

“I’d rather you hate me for this,” he said finally, his voice barely audible, “than lose you because of me.” 

The silence between you was deafening. You stood there, your tears falling freely now as the meaning of his words sank in.

He wasn’t going to change his mind. No matter how much it hurt him, no matter how much it hurt you, he was convinced this was the right thing to do. 

“Spencer,” you said, your voice breaking, “please don’t do this.” 

His breath hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he might break—like he might give in to the love that was so clearly written all over his face.

But then he closed his eyes, shaking his head as he stepped back once more. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his decision. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps heavy with regret. He paused for just a moment as he reached for the doorknob, his hand lingering.

But then he opened the door.

When he stepped out, the sound of it closing behind him was like the final nail in the coffin. 

You stood there, frozen in place, staring at the spot where he had just been. Your chest ached, your hands trembling as you tried to process what had just happened. 

Spencer Reid—the man you loved, the man who loved you—was gone. And no amount of love or pleading had been enough to stop him. 

So you stood there, letting the tears fall, your heart breaking for both of you. Because even though he had made his choice, you knew that he was walking away just as shattered as you were. 

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 15)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦 Part 15 - Silence smut💦📍

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: While you set out to find the perfect accessories for your love confession, Brady stopped by Alastor’s home. Alastor lost his temper and scared Brady off the property after giving a tour of the greenhouse. Brady knows just who Alastor is now.

Helpful definitions this part

Box - Bar ✦ Cheese it - Run away ✦ To be pinched - to be arrested ✦ Hooch - Alcohol ✦ Nightcap - A drink before bed, often times alcohol and often times an excuse to be alone together privately

Part 15 Silence

Alastor decides secrets shouldn’t exist between you after his last fuck up and gets straight to the news, which puts a slight kink in your plans for the evening. Namely, professing your love for your suave killer boyfriend. Luckily he has some ideas! Well, one.

「Warnings/Promises: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader, mention of sexual assault in the context of stating things not happening,  sexy sex time, confessions, coppers, Mimzy’s unlabeled alcohol, the water table, love, partial writing credit to Kellin Quinn, the meaning of flowers, Mimz is short for Mimzy, if you see MINDY or MINZY no you didn’t」

MDNI 💖 🥃 💐

“He knows.” Alastor’s eyes were closed and his palms facing towards heaven, hopefully in prayer to spare his life as he felt sure you’d strangle him.

“Excuse me?” There was a ringing in your ears, vision darkening a little at the edges. You knew exactly who he meant and what they knew, but you needed a second longer to live in your life before.

Alastor had hummed the entire way home from your errands, fingers dancing along the steering wheel. You managed to hide the contents of your bag behind your back as he held the front door open for you, sliding it under the kitchen table when Alastor asked you to take a seat because he had news.

“She knows.” Brady hissed it into the receiver of the first pay phone he found upon leaving Alastor’s home.. His car was parked at a hasty angle just across from a small restaurant. “He killed Tommy.”

He heard Freeman exhale before shuffling off somewhere, “Who?”

“Alastor!” He said it louder than he had meant too, but the confused question his partner sighed slowly in reply seemed to be nothing short of wasting time.

“Alastor.” You breathed it out, you felt your fingertips go cold. Blood flowed to your core, protecting vital organs from the danger your brain knew was nearby. 

“Don’t fret, my love. He will never find a body, never a drop of blood in my home or car.” A clap of his hands, a sparkle in his eyes, “Let's go dancing!”

You shot up, the ludicrous suggestion physically pulling you out of the chair. The wooden legs squeaked as they rubbed against the flooring. This was it, your heart was going to beat so fast and so hard it just gave up the effort. A gulp of air before you felt the room spin again.

Every muscle in your body went slack just as quickly as they’d roared with fearful vigor barely a second before, causing you to lean onto the table with both hands for support. “This is no time for dancing, Alastor!” A wave of nausea made your head hang heavy between your shoulders. Heaviness was a good word for your entire existence at the moment.. 

He fought back a self confident chuckle, knowing the look you’d give him would be sharp enough to cut. “This has been my singular focus for years. I’ve made no mistakes. He has two options left to him. Go crazy hunting down something that doesn’t exist ooor,” he sang the word, “he tells his superiors he thinks a popular radio host and public figure is a mass killer, in which case—,” a wicked grin curled up his face.

“They’ll put you on desk duty, if not send you away on medical leave. You sound… unhinged, Kenny.” Across the lake, in a diner too lit for his migraine, Brady stared at the table between him and Freeman.  “You gotta let it go. You went on his property and insulted his mother and think his reaction is proof he’s a murderer? No, no sir. You need to go home and take a shower. Maybe ask for a couple days and go visit the in-laws. Get out of the city for a bit. Come back fresh faced and bushy tailed, yeah?”

Brady growled, hands running down his face in barely contained frustration, “He threatened my life and then said that he killed Tommy, Ed.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I asked if it was a threat, he denied it, and I said he killed Tommy, and he said on second thought, yes.”

“He was more likely agreeing that it was a threat. Which is his right, you were trespassing, Ken! With a gun on your hip, bud.”

Brady’s stare was absent of any indication he was there.

“Just— go home, buddy.”

“Let’s go out!” Alastor’s hands slipped around your waist and held you assuredly against him. You were a scared sailor tied to the mast in a storm. You’d survive together or go down as one piece as long as his hands were wrapped around you. The bonds of love keeping you safe.

Love, your eyes looked down to the table beside you, the bag of surprises underneath.

“I thought we were playing it quiet.” Your own voice was miles away. Like a death, you needed time to grasp how changed your world was now. A scrap of your mind tried to remember the story of pandora. 

“That was before. Now there’s no reason to hide! I want to twirl you around a room and steal everyone’s attention. I want people flocking to your theater to see Alastor’s girl in her element.”.

A sentiment so sweet it sliced through your panic with a stark efficiency. The deep seated desire to be more than just wanted, but to be flaunted, eclipsed your very real fear of Brady’s next moves.

“You want people to know you’re with a dancer?” 

Brady who? More important things had come up now. 

Alastor’s smile dropped, thumb wiping a lonely tear from your cheek before you could realize it was there. Backing up from his firm hold, your hands shot to your face. Confused, wiping away the tears forming, you let out a self conscious chuckle. Rarely did you cry let alone around others, yet since Alastor’s arrival it seemed you didn't recognize yourself anymore. 

“You’re a marvelous performer. Why would I not want that?” His smile was mega-watt in the darkening kitchen. “Another bragging point for myself, really.”

Your chin quivered, a thawed anger boiling in your chest. How many times had other women told you how worthless you were for your profession? How many men promised to keep you their dirty little secret, well kept and taken care of? Brady knowing meant… freedom. You could say Alastor’s name as much as you wanted, to whomever you wanted. You could make a scene together. 

“Fuck it, let’s go out.”

“But I’m right.” Brady’s eyes finally met Freeman’s. 

Freeman laughed, a little too loudly, and offered to the waitress and other customers apologetic little bows of his head in their directions. “Fine, maybe. But who fucking cares? Did he kill a kid? Is he raping people? Bustin’ up mom and pop shops for money?” He wasn’t at the station, he wasn't on duty; he could be honest. What harm was there in that?

In the depths of his obsession, Brady took the rhetorical question as a genuine one. “Not that we know of! Where there’s smoke there's fire!”

“For fucks sake. Kenny. Enough. The only thing catching fire here is your reputation. There’s no evidence this man’s done a damn thing, even less than none that he’s murdered multiple people. You’re unwell, pal. You need to back up before you—,” his hand came to rest on his partners across the bright white table. “You’re gonna ruin your life like this.”

“What were your wise words again? Right,” Brady set his money down and slid from the booth, “Who fucking cares.”

“Kenny!” Decorum damned, Freeman shot up and followed Brady, “Don’t be like that. Please.” Heads turned as their peaceful afternoon meals were interrupted by the raised voices. 

“Excuse me! Are you going to finish paying?” A line cook hollered, “Or do we need to call the cops?”

Freeman turned back to see Brady walking off into the rising darkness of the night, a bright ember orange sun setting on his shoulders. A sure sign of fall dying to winter’s early evenings. “No, it’s alright. Sorry.” He closed the door and returned to his booth, wondering what exactly he was witnessing. The fall of a good man? The end of a career? Or something worse? 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It felt like your first date all over again. That same nervous energy hummed between your skin and your bones. The bag had been abandoned beneath the kitchen table for a hasty change of outfits, Alastor practically skipping to the car. 

As you had been buttoning your dress you did have a wild, ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ pass over your head.

It felt like a celebration of …. Being found out?

All the relief of finally admitting a lie without any of the fall out. 

And as the car jostled over the bridge into downtown New Orleans Alastor was grinning brightly. It absolutely was a celebration. He’d finally made a move toward Brady, he’d left his place in the shadows and it was liberating. No more hiding. The scariest part of his hobby had been confronted and nothing would come of it. 

Nothing could come of it. Brady had made too many missteps. It was all over the body language of his partner as he shifted in Alastor’s office chair. You’d been released with a promise of an apology, a clear indicator no one was sympathetic to Brady’s witch-hunt. Alastor was reckless, and impulsive, and sometimes dismissed consequences, but he wasn't stupid. He hadn’t done or said anything conclusively to Brady. The detective had unlocked the door all on his own and Alastor merely held it open as the man stumbled into an unbelievable situation. 

When he explained the interaction to you in more detail (though you were admittedly distracted by him undressing) you felt a small easing of worry roll over you again. He hadn’t found any proof to bring back to the station. It was all conjecture. It was words, and without someone to corroborate, they were as good as a fairy tale. The only person who could back up what had happened was you and you’d take Alastor’s secret to your grave. A little smirk crept up your cheek and you pursed your lips to pull it back. You could imagine his face, Detective Brady’s, asking you to confirm what he knew was true. And how it’d fall when you denied him.

A chill, the wind from the river was cold and unimpeded by the safety of the trees. But soon you were sheltered by buildings and basking in the glow of the lights. 

Your relationship had quickly gone from carefree and curious to a bond held together by a dangerous secret. There was a still a secret to be kept but Alastor’s lungs seemed to take in more air now that the little worm that was the detective was ejected. He hummed freely, fingers again dancing across the broad steering wheel as if across a piano’s keys. The deliciousness of the moment was still stirring in his guts and tingling down his spine. The flash of fear. The panic. His favorite part, arguably. Normally it’s so short lived. 

But even now, he knew Brady had that fear in his heart. And it made Alastor ecstatic. 

Reentering the far-too-fancy restaurant was mortifying, but the host looked at you with a pleasant surprise that let you know you did much better this time around. No smeared makeup, no mussed hair. You got to follow him through the dining room and into the secret door that led down the stairs to Mimzy’s speakeasy. 

Funny, the wealthy had well lit hotel bars with no false front and you all had secret basement floors. 

Which made you pause, ignoring Mimzy’s greeting entirely. A basement in Louisiana? That didn’t make a lick of sense. The river was just a block over, how was this entire place not flooded. You couldn’t linger on it too long though, Alastor pulling you forward by the hand and presenting you to Mimzy.

“Mimzy, the often spoken of but never seen!” His hand gestured to you like a magician to a rabbit. 

“We met already when she came to gather you off the floor.” She didn’t offer her hand, instead keeping one on her hip and one on a drink. Alastor grumbled, he hadn’t wanted to remember that night. 

“Pleased tah meet ya!” 

You noted how her accent only got thicker when she tried to enunciate. 

“Pleasures all mine.” Your own hands fidgeted with your dress. “It’s nice to see Alastor actually has friends.” Alastor protested, you’d met his friends before. But when you asked him to recall anything of depth about them he rolled his eyes. Mimzy laughed too loudly at the comment.

“I’m not sure he’s got many of those. He’s a little hard to love. I think he’d let me drown if his shoes would get ruined.”

“I didn’t invite her here to create a clique of bullies. We came here to drink and dance. In that order, preferably.” Alastor slid onto a stool, “And leather will absolutely get ruined if submerged Mimzy, have some sense.”

Slipping into the seat beside him, you let the two bicker as you focused on the oddness of sitting there with him. Going out was rare, a night in was easier for you both for obvious reasons. The last time you did so you were at his side for less than an hour before he was whisked away to his mistress (murder).

“Three shots sweetheart. We’re celebrating! I took your advice.” Alastor patted the bar when he said it and you tuned back in. What advice?

“And a water.” You added at the risk of sounding like a square.

“Of course you did!” A withering snicker that melted into an embarrassed giggle from Mimzy, “what did I advise, exactly?”

“The ex.” His hand reached over to gripped yours on the bar, “Put the fear of God into him.”

Eyes on your hands, you wondered what exactly he’d said about your ‘ex’ to Mimzy. But you had to trust him. A little nod of your head before you met Mimzy’s smiling eyes. She whirled around and set up the glasses.

As she poured she overflowed the tiny flutes and spilled with every move. Once they were all too full, she let the nondescript bottle come down with a thud. 

Mimzy tapped one shot glass on the bar and raised it, “To God!” She beamed.

“To Fear.” A smirk so wicked you thought you saw his shadow dance across the far wall. He raised it higher than hers.

You quickly raised your glass too, toasting to the real reason for your prolonged freedom, “To Alastor.” His sharp eyes came to wide eye you and softened, smile shortening before pushing his glass forward. A clink and you downed it in time.

“What,” Alastor sputtered, tossing his head back to keep from wretching, “the fuck is that?!”

“How the shit would I know. He rolls it down here and I drink it.” Mimzy shuddered but didn’t seem too affected.

You had both hands gripping your glass of water, gulping it down to wash away the distinct taste of ethanol.  “I don’t think that’s safe for human consumption.”

“This is the stuff that makes people go blind.”  Alastor inspected the shot glass closely. She just shrugged. “Whiskey next. Actual whiskey. As in, it was made to be whiskey and people waited for it to become whiskey.” She rolled her eyes again and leaned down beneath the bar. 

A drop fell on your cheek and reminded you of your question from before, “Hey Mimzy, are we… under the water table? How'd you get a permit for a basement.” Your head turned up to the ceiling, painted black to hide the pipes and beams exposed there. You couldn’t be sure what was above you now, the kitchen? A dining room?

“Permit, ha!” She croaked, “This isn’t on the fucking paperwork. This room doesn’t exist to the city of New Orleans.” She pointed along the far right wall, “We’re built on a hill, this is tech-na-cully the ground floor! Clever, huh?” Mimzy batted her lashes and waited for the praise. Her sweet tone dropped to her natural tenor, “Tell me I’m clever.” She hissed. 

“As ever! Since we’re asking questions, I’ve always wondered why it's called CD?” Alastor’s hand left yours to bring the newly poured whiskey to his nose.  His eyebrows rose in a surprised approval.

Mimzy’s eyes flashed over with anger before she hurriedly looked around for something to fuss the emotion out with. She settled on a dish rag she twisted and wrung tightly, “You nit, it’s a G and a D. It’s called the Golden Dish.” You heard some threads snap. “You’ve been coming here for ages and thought it was a C and D??”

Alastor shrugged, unbothered by the raging bar owner as he took a second large sip.  She whipped the rag at the counter with a snap, “I’m the golden dish!! I’m fancy and beautiful!!” A wet pop of the small towel with every word.

An enlightened, “aah” from Alastor before he turned his head to you, “Ready for that dance?” He told the whiskey he’d be back and spun around to pull you to the center of the small bar.

The music had to stay low to avoid alerting the patrons upstairs with their virgin drinks, but a lively tune had Alastor guiding you through a foxtrot,  Alabama Slide. The piano was all they could allow but it was good enough for the various couples taking to the open space. 

Your right hand in his left, his hand on your back and yours on his shoulder, you moved. Alastor walked forward and you walked back, a turn and you switched your direction. The embrace was arguably everyone’s favorite part of the foxtrot. You had to be close, and you had a good excuse for it. As you turned the edge of your dress slid across your shins just below your knees, free and loose. The bare shoulders were a little cold for the changing weather but it made you feel unrestrained. Your coat was nearby if you felt a draft in the buried first floor Mimzy called a bar. 

Maybe it really would be okay. You’d trusted him so thoroughly so far and Alastor never failed to put you first. If he wasn’t worried, and he truly wasn’t, then maybe you could settle into a comfortable (if still trepidatious) relaxation. When you looked up at Alastor, body pressed into body, you felt small. But again, not in the diminutive sense like some men happily made women. Small in the sense that he could hold you so securely with such ease. 

Your focus shifted to where your hands touched him. Skin on skin in one hand, your fingers just below his collar on his upper back on the other hand. The fabric was cool to the touch. But as your fingers lingered the heat of his body began to bloom through the weave. A blossoming of your own, cheeks tingling pinker. Touch for touch’s sake. No dance to give an illusion of need. You could do more with each other, and that lack of barrier between you two made even a hand in public seem like polite restraint. You knew his appetites now well enough to know what he needed; the excited intimacy of witnessing his worst compulsions and the ease with which touch could replace difficult to articulate words for him. His need to please, to be needed without seeming needy, also spurred him on. But less and less did you see that motivation pushing hungry touches past heavy petting. 

A little jolt of excitement shook up his arm, imperceivable to your hand. 

The difference a bathroom door makes to how much touch felt like scandal was astonishing. The things he felt compelled to do to you in dance halls was thrilling, and yet now, he felt bare under the dim glow of the illicit bar. You felt different than before. He was suddenly embarrassed to remember he dragged you into a bathroom once, but then he remembered how you inspired his hunger and his skin warmed from his neck down. He could taste you in a crowded place with only a piece of wood between you both and a crowd, but dancing so closely with the eyes of arguably his closest friend on him was making him uncharacteristically bashful. 

He opened his mouth to speak but played it off, instead licking his lips and turning you both again as the modest crowd spun around. 

Since he cried so openly into your lap, this was your first time in public with him. Was that why you felt different? He tried to find a word for it but failed. He’d touched you many times, his smirk couldn’t stop itself but he managed to keep it pulled to the left, but now it felt like the first time.

A first date. A first dance. He worried about how heavy his hand was on your back, how sweaty his palm was pressed against yours. There was a worry he could feel at the bottom of his spine, a little itchy thread of wool wrapped around his lower vertebrae. Would you become bored now?

The excitement would be gone with Brady, he feared. Things could be normal, and then you’d see once the blood was washed away and the trunk was empty he was just a man. What good was a man to you? 

He shifted and let you be the one to walk forward while he walked backwards blindly. He needed to step with confidence in your direction to keep the dance graceful and effortless. 

When he looked down at you, you were watching closely behind him. You were focused. And then your eyes flitted back to his and your brow unfurrowed and he watched the shoddy overhead lights sparkle in your stare. The moon could only wish to ever reflect light with such a brilliant clarity. 

He didn’t notice the music had stopped, the piano player flipping pages to find the next tune. You had to tap the shoulder to get his attention back to the room. 

Alastor wondered if songs had always been so short. He gestured to the bar again, where his drink was still waiting. He needed a little more lubrication, just enough to drown the butterflies.

You asked Mimzy if she had rum, and she confirmed she had brown liquor. That wasn���t what you asked, but you just nodded. As you scanned the room, you noticed some people entering from a double door past the dance floor and the piano. A mixed race couple lowered their head as they came down the wide stairs that were maybe half as tall as the ones you came down before. Their hands tightly laced, they joined a group already settled at a table. 

“… it’s nice you let everyone in here, Mimzy.” You said it softly, not necessarily to her just a sentiment you felt the need to express. 

Her eyes shot up and followed the direction you were looking, “Their money's green ain’t it?” She half assed a glass cleaning before pouring the ‘rum’, “Only color I care about.”

You hummed before tilting your head to the double doors, “What's back there?”

“That leads to the backdoor. When I can’t bring people in through the front doors or they’re too drunk,” she paused to glare at Alastor, “to walk through the dining hall.”

Alastor’s posture was perfect as he sipped the drink. He’d only been pushed out through the secret door once before which seemed a reasonable number given Mimzy’s heavy handed pours.

His mind wandered to Brady again, with much annoyance. The way he had smiled when he first appeared on his property. It was a smile that darkened the edges of Alastor’s vision, until all he could see was shining teeth. 

“Have you ever met someone whose smile just feels sinister. Nothing behind it, just teeth.” He mused.

“That’s how most people smile.”

“Mimz, that’s not what I mean—-“, Alastor’s hand came to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Ugh I hate you flowery men with your secret meanings. My beau just says what he means and we’re peachy!”

“Simple.” Alastor exhaled through his nose.

“Exactly!” Mimzy didn't notice the insult. 

It was admittedly what he liked about her. He could unwind and relax without worrying too much, as she never dug deeper than the topsoil. 

“Let me speak more plainly, when a wolf bears its teeth do you call it a smile?” Alastor asked the ether. 

Mimzy was stumped, a little huh escaping her perfectly colored lips. That was less plain to her. Alastor gave her a pat on the hand and offered you another dance. 

A cycle of hooch and dance, until you were happy to sway with the room against Alastor’s chest. The butterflies were still, and he could let his head rest atop of yours. How many more nights could he have like that?

You let your vision wander around the room. The bar was quite nice for a speakeasy. The floor was a pretty vinyl. The tables were few but looked like nice sturdy dark wood. 

The walls had posters of singers and ads for cigarettes very lowly lit by small flower shaped sconces. 

A loud bang above your heads stopped you, nearly everyone looking up at the ceiling. Someone had to hit the piano man on the back to silence him.

Another bang and a series of scuffles before a loud knock came to the hidden door most of you had taken down to the bar. 

“Cheese it or get pinched!” Mimzy crawled over the bar and led the charge for the double doors. You and Alastor had barely turned your bodies before the door above the stairs flew open and the light flooded down to the small room. 

You felt hands on your back pushing you through the doors before Mimzy was grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to the right. Your coat was in your hands as someone passed them around in the dark and you put it on out of instinct. Well, you were somewhat sure it was your coat. 

Looking over your shoulder you saw the doors shut as the men began tying the handles together with their ties. It was dark now with the doors shut, you couldn’t see where your man was in the mix. You were being swept up in the half a dozen or so women rushing to something on the wall. 

“Alastor!” You turned back but Mimzy grabbed your wrist and tugged. “We can’t leave him!” Her hand gripped your shoulder and head and pushed you down to make you crouch. A faint light came in before leaving again. Then again. There was some kind of door a few feet up the wall. 

“Leaving the men behind is our right!” She said.

“The only perk.” A stranger giggled. Their mood was mischievous despite the sounds of cops hitting against the double doors.

“Not the only perk.” Someone laughed before a hand in the dark found your shoulder and pushed you down a little further. “Out the little hole ya go.”

You stumbled, shoe catching up the square cut out lip. Another woman helped you keep upright until you were free. You watched the others all emerge from the same place you had — what looked like the exit of a trash shoot. But it was lower than usual, and cleaner. And also obviously not a trash chute once you’d seen it from the inside. Looking around, you realized you were in an alley that ran along the right side of the restaurant. You could hear the water and the bugs that always lingered there coming from behind you. There was a slope to the ground beneath your feet that rose up to meet the road you met Alastor on before.

“Scatter, you idiot!”

“How do we find the men later?”

“They find us, at home or back here next week.”

You ran toward the back side of the building, where the hill sloped down. The bar is going to flood with the first hurricane, you thought as you felt the slick pavement beneath your shoes. The river was so close.

Finding you wasn’t really going to work unless you met at the car. You just pressed your back flush to the wall of the neighboring building and waited. You couldn’t stand the idea of just hoping he made it out. Sure enough, some men flew past and you managed to snag the arm of yours. It was easy to see which one was Alastor in the rush, his height paired with his complexion made him stand out.

He turned back with his free arm cocked but realized it was you. “I almost decked you!” A kiss instead of a fist, his smile not leaving even through the peck. “Come on, to the river.”

Another tugging of the arm as you were taken to the edge of the hill and began sliding down as you tried to get down it. Your heel was flatter than you would normally wear and slid down the hill easily instead of getting caught in the ground.

“Why?!”

“No ligh-,” the word ended in a small yelp as the slick grass and fallen leaves won out, his shoe losing its grip and him slipping down the hillside on his ass. You were shortly behind. The moisture immediately soaked through and you felt your ass and thighs become cool with the wetness.

With an oof you came to a stop against his back. “Shhh,” he pulled you down by the ankles until you were neatly pressed into his side and your dress lifted a little too high up your thighs. 

Your fingers pulled up the end of his coat, showing him a tear. A rock must have snagged it as he slid down the bank, you whispered. You presented it like you’d found a dead bird on the porch.

His hand’s weight came to settle on yours and pushed both them and the offending rip back down. He didn’t care. Evident in the sincere and calm smile he gave you. A giddiness in his eyes the only tell that his heart was pounding. Alastor let his back rest against the sharp slope of the hill to escape the full reach of the warm street lamp’s glow and you followed. 

In that silence between you was something else you didn’t recognize until it fully materialized; safety. It’d visited you in fleeting moments through life, but in that moment it’d come to settle like a rock. Unlike the one who tore his precious coat, any sharpness was hand chiseled by Alastor, surely.

Alastor flourished in the tension before a kiss. An anticipation mirrored in the moments before the killing blow. The will he or won’t he in the other person's eyes. Daisies had fields and water lillies had still waters and Alastor had prescience. You often robbed him of his arena with your unpredictable nature, but that was, as people said, the zest of life. 

Except right now. Now you let him have his slow lean towards you. 

As he got closer the question moved from will he to where will he? 

Just beside your ear, close enough that his breath made you shiver. Alastor deeply enjoyed the ways he could make people’s bodies respond to him. 

But then a light shone down onto the crowns of your heads and interrupted the fun. Alastor squinting to try and see past it. 

“You again? Geez…you’re becoming a nuisance. Get a room, sir.” The cop shouted down the incline. “And have a little more self respect, miss.”

You moved to sit up and shout back at the man about respect but Alastor’s hand came to set on your arm.

“Thank you officer!” He nodded away the cop’s look of disapproval and waited for him to go back to looking for the box’s patrons. 

“Do you think it’s him who sent the raids?” You asked when the cop was out of sight, “My former fella.”

Alastor shook his head no, “Mimzy’s had three bars raided. This was definitely just a consequence of her loose lips.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you made it home and did away with your coats, Alastor poured you both a nightcap. You were leaning against the back patio railing when set down the glasses and pulled you into a hug.

“I should apologize for always magically summoning the police.” He beamed, all charm. “How should I show you? A good cuddle?” His nose knocked softly against yours as he teased another kiss. You could tell by his smile you’d be swept away if you let him continue. 

“No, nope. I’m not letting you distract me any longer.” You pushed him away with both hands and made a beeline inside for the kitchen. He leaned back to watch you through the screen door. 

You stretched up and over the counters, pulling out a small vase he forgot he had, and grabbed the paper bag from beneath the table. He could only see your back as you fiddled with it on the table before marching to the sitting room. Taking a few steps forward, he could see you through the window now as you unsleeved a record and inspected both sides before setting it down and lifting the arm to place the needle.

A trumpet played and buzzed through the speaker. As a song he didn’t know began to play he turned back to see you at the screen door with your little vase of flowers. 

Alastor was taken aback. A new sight. A new thing to dream about. You in the glow of the dim kitchen light, it bouncing off the back of your silhouette as you looked at him like a shark was in your tub; unnecessarily scared.

Music drifted through the open window to his right. Extending his arm, he beckoned you to him. 

Lead feet made you nearly trip with your first step. 

Your hands were trembling as they gripped the glass and brought the flowers up. 

“What's all this?” a little nervous laugh as he looked down at the bouquet you fussed over at the shop just some hours before. How many hours exactly was lost to the bootleg hooch. “Red Tulips. Wild roses. Daisies.” you pointed them out just how the shop attendant had for you, “And cornflower.”

Alaster smiled over them and then back to you. 

“For you.” You lifted them just a tad higher.

“Oh!” He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his pants before gingerly taking them from you. “That happy I didn’t kill him?” Alastor joked, knowing you had to have gotten them before you learned of the newest developments.

Your throat was closing. Well, it felt like it was. 

Looking up, there he was. As brilliant as in the sun, dim light casting sharp shadows across his face as he brought the bouquet up to his nose. The light passed over his glasses as he did so, and when his eyes flitted back up they looked over the rims and down to you. Your heart skipped a beat as a new rhythm took it by surprise. 

“And the– I heard it. This song. And I thought you'd like it. So.” You fidgeted, tapping the back of one shoe with the toebox of the other, “I got it for you. As a gift. It’s pretty new, by Ozzie Nelson, whoever that is.” He laughed at your flippant description. 

His head turned slightly to the sound before setting the flowers on the porch banister. The speaker popped a little with the tune. 

Stars shining bright above you. 

He put his hands out to ask you to dance, and you eagerly took up the offer. It bought you a little time. While you danced, you could think. 

Nightbreezes seem to whisper I love you.

Fuck. 

Say nighty night and kiss me.

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.

While I'm alone and as blue as can be.

Alastor wasn’t listening as intently as you were. His palms could feel you beneath your dress, feel the shape of your hips as you lazily swayed together to the song. 

When had he last received a gift, he wondered as you chewed on your bottom lip. He couldn’t remember. His swaying slowed as he reached back into his memories. No, he really couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a present. Had anyone ever given him flowers?

No. 

He was brought back to the moment when you leaned forward, pressing your cheek against his collar bone. He shook away the thought and resumed the slow move from left to right. Your feet did little steps in the same direction. It was dancing enough for you both. The porch wasn’t exactly conducive to a lively foxtrot and your tipsy body wasn’t up for the turns. 

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear. Still craving your kiss. 

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

What time was it, you wondered. Was it almost time for the sun to rise? No, it couldn’t be. Would it be more romantic to wait for that? That was what people liked in these moments, special light.

You were overthinking it, looking for an excuse to delay it. 

Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. 

“And what's the occasion? I’m the one who owes you flowers.” 

His chest rumbled and you inhaled the scent of him. What if you said it and you never got to get this close again?

What was the better world to live in…The one where he was yours, or the one where he knew he was loved?

Dream a little dream of me. 

It was too much to bear. The feeling was crowding your chest and stealing your air. Obviously the better world was the latter, and now you were holding up its descent. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer or the words themselves would slice through your throat. The song ended and the speakers popped as the record finished its rotation. 

Like a wolf showing its neck you filled the silence with vulnerability, “You know I love you, right?” You couldn’t muster the courage to look at him. The entire world was spinning but the swaying stopped.  “It bears repeating, so, listen up. I’ll always meet you where you are. Don’t go feeling around in the dark for me. I’ll find you, I’ll wait around the nearest corner or in the car or wherever. Because I love you. Terribly. Against my will.” You swallowed hard but your mouth was dry, “Now and forever.”  What a terribly uncomfortable thing to say, what a horridly sensitive wound to inflict on yourself. A fresh expanse of exposed nerves and muscles. 

A practiced author would call it a whirlwind romance, but that didn’t capture the violence that tangled you two together. A maelstrom love.

He didn’t say it back. He didn’t say anything at all. His eyes were heavy as he brought your knuckles to his mouth and kissed each one. That didn’t sting or alarm you. You hadn’t said it to hear it back. This wasn’t a token slid to him for anything in return this time.  You said it to make sure he knew. If anything, you hadn’t really expected the sentiment to be returned. Because it hadn’t ever been about you, love apparently never was. 

Alastor was too scared to speak, too overwhelmed to reply. You’d said it first, atleast, you’d said it thinking you had. A weakness came over his muscles and for a flash he thought he'd go weak in the knees. But what you said stirred a fire in his chest and he didn’t know what to do with it. Too many words crowded in his guts and choked at the stop gap that was his own throat. Words were, as they rarely were for him, useless. So his hands slipped down your body, then back up, and he found your cheeks despite his eyes still hiding in the shadow of his lashes. He leaned down to meet your lips and pressed into them. Chaste, as if neither of you had ever kissed anyone before. He hoped at that moment he’d never have to kiss anyone again. 

No, he decided at that moment he never would. A relief. A heavy load he could set down. You felt the little self assured smile against your mouth. 

He needed to move, fresh electrical impulses twitching down his spine and igniting that little wool string of fear.  So he took a few steps backward, bringing you with him, and let his hands cage you into more desperate kisses as his back pressed into the wall. The passion was mounting with every return, his tongue willing your mouth open so he could retreat into the honesty of your body. Pulling away, you took his face in your hands too. 

“Do you want to keep going?” You asked, feeling his hips move to grind up into you. He nodded, his smile small and tight. His lips were barely visible. “You know you don’t have to, right? You don’t owe me anything. My love isn’t….there are no strings attached.” He nodded again. His eyes were shining, the light of the kitchen giving them a comforting and golden band. Were they wet or just bright? “Do you want to …talk?” 

His smile widened, and he shook his head no. 

“Then we won’t talk.”

The expression on his face was enough for you. His eyes soft and half lidded, pupils blown. You never knew what he saw when he looked at you like that, but you knew you wanted to be whoever it was. The corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly with his smile, which was pure and sweet. He was happy, and that was all you’d wanted. All of it in your hands. No fireworks, barely a moon above you both.  

You’d really not wanted to mingle the words with the actions. But Alastor’s assurance reminded you that you weren’t alone in the situation. Maybe for him they were already entangled together. Maybe he wanted them to be. You stopped acting as a monolith long ago, whether you had felt comfortable admitting that until that moment or not.

He dropped slowly down to his knees, you following with your mouth on his. With a crawl, he leaned forward and you leaned back until you were lying down. 

It wasn’t quite as deep as that for him, instead acting on instinct with the magnets in his fingertips unable to break the pull and separate from your skin any longer. He was going to find out now, for the first time, if he could feel love. Could he translate it from his mouth through your skin, words unspoken still? The gasp you made when he licked up your neck made him confident he was saying something. He didn’t want to get off in that moment, nothing about you was screaming sex, but there was no earthly method he could express the way your confession made him feel. He needed you close. He needed you closer than anyone had ever been, and your words had already pulled him skin deep. Perhaps now, in this moment, if he had sex with you he’d find an unseen depth of comfort in your embrace than he’d felt before. A new level of connection for him to feel held by. 

People had said they loved him before, but it was just words. It was the next thing to say before I do and it's a boy! They had loved well pressed clothes and a shiny smile, quick fingers over keys and a pretty voice. Such love was nothing short of tissue paper wrapped around a gift he didn't want; a promise of a boring and hidden life. 

He wondered why you always told him to not seek you out. He had no plans on leaving, and if he ever lost you in the crowd like he had tonight, he’d still wander around for you. It was a silly request. You might as well ask him to not kiss your forehead before sitting on the sofa beside you or to not smile when you smiled. 

So clever but so naive. 

Please.

His nose nuzzled behind your ear, a voiceless whisper. His hands were scratching down your thighs and over your stockings, surely snagging the delicate weave. 

Closer.

Hastily you rolled them down and did the same with your panties, Alastor seemingly too focused on gathering as much of your body into his arms as he could physically manage. You gasped when two firm hands slipped under you and pulled your ass off the porch to press up into his core. 

Alastor drew his knees forward to kneel, dragging you up into his lap by the hips. Back bending, you looked up wordlessly as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

“It’s cold.” You whispered, no hint of wanting him to stop but genuinely concerned for his comfort.

I’ll make it warm reverbrated across time, a little changed but the promise still intact that Alastor would heat up the cold with embraces, sexual and otherwise.

“Oh!” You squeaked, realizing this was your cue to start undressing too. You ignored the burning in your thighs at the position and reached for your own buttons, a long line down the back meant for women with husbands as it was impossible to do up alone.

As he leaned over you and hot palms slid up your arched back, his face came close to yours. No scared deer in the headlights. He looked much more self assured than something built to flee.

Ah.

Right.

An image of clashing antlers and the ringing crack they produced blocked out your second squeak as you were pulled up to be chest to chest. Arms snaking around his neck you held on tightly as he worked on the buttons for you.

His chin rested on the taut muscle that connected neck and shoulder, breaths even and hot slipping down between the skin of your back and dress as the clothing loosened under his grip. 

A flutter of nerves filled you both. The space between romance and sex was always a no man’s land for you two. You preferred to rush through to the act, and Alastor struggled with transitioning loving touches to wanton ones.

But you didn’t feel that awkward gap now. Alastor seemed very confident in his movements, marching across that space to take you from love to lover. 

He couldn’t see your smile as he undid the dress. This was a good answer, you thought. This didn’t feel like him pushing to give you what he expected, like he had always done with the others. It felt, very honestly, like someone wanting to do the dreaded thing you always avoided; make love. You couldn’t say you had ever thought what made fucking and love making different, you just knew you hadn’t cared for mixing sex with emotion. But this was all emotion now. An act of surrender for you, an act of commitment from him. A deep slow breath to steady yourself. You’d give him whatever he wanted and needed. And if that was more than you’d managed before, you’d find a way to be more than you had been. You could still be yourself. Just…a little extra. For him. When he pleaded so sincerely.

You rose on your knees to lift your center from his lap, allowing him the space to undo his belt and free himself from his pants. His hands moved under the curtain of your dress and you kept your eyes on the wall behind him. Looking him in the eyes would happen, you knew that, but you weren’t ready to get stuck in his stare just yet. 

Clinging on to his shoulders you worked together to lower yourself back down, a slow seating down onto his member. You swallowed a gasp and let your body weight fully settle. An ache radiated from deep within you as he bottomed out and then pressed further with your relaxed form giving way. His hands slipped up your back and held onto your shoulders, face pressed into your neck and tickling you with every breath. 

Your body pressed tightly against his, you found the space to lift up and drop. Reluctantly, Alastor loosened his grip to allow you more freedom of movement. Just enough you could get more height and not an inch more.

The burn in your thighs and the sting of your knees digging into the old wood patio quickly fought for your focus. But then your riding produced rewards, Alastor’s breath coming out ragged and weak. His own little gasps each time you took him back in fully escaped to your pleasure. You were warm and clinging, inside and out, and Alastor found the base of his skull beginning to feel fuzzy. All that lightning was now in his lap and leaving his mind to go slack as if in a tepid bath. He liked this part, where things could go quiet internally except for the most basic of senses: touch. You were all around him, and that was satisfying him so completely he worried he’d run out of things to seek out in life. A small worry that came and went as quickly as your hips began to move. Fast and even.

He could say with confidence you hugged him in a loving embrace and it let his body relax into the moment. The gasps and dryness of his lips went unnoticed by him. But not you, if you closed your eyes all you could hear was his breathing. Instinctively your arms tightened until you were holding his head to you. Sex with Alastor never felt like being fucked. Like being used as some sleeve for a man. You always felt like you were receiving much more from him, never like you were giving. Except now, with how his lips left lazy open mouth kisses on your collar bone, it felt like you were providing him with something.

Alastor pulled away and you slowed before stopping in response. The part you knew would come, because you knew Alastor. Both hands took your face for a proper kiss. His lips stuck a little to yours, but he licked them and tried again. Such a slow kiss for the occasion, passion could be languid when you had the time for it. And you had nothing but time now. That was what you promised him when you confessed, to be there through time now and ever.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. This was intimacy, this was what existed between you both as something was communicated from his eyes to yours. The instinct to look away was clawing at you but you fought it. His eyes were so beautiful, even in the dark. That was how you first saw them, in the dark of an alleyway. 

Without warning he broke the longing look and kissed you again.

Forever, you’d said. And Alastor held those words as tightly as he held you now. Forever was all that he needed. 

His tongue roamed around your mouth hungrily. 

Closer.

Your own hands held tightly to his head as he leaned forward. Gently, his kiss slowing as he focused on setting you down on the porch, you were returned to your back. It took strength to do it so smoothly, that hidden muscle that betrayed his slender frame. 

Letting him take the lead was easy, in that moment every move  dripped with an arousing confidence. The sweet gasps melted into tiny grunts that made you clench around him, the kiss breaking with his thrusts.

His belt was cold, hitting against the top of your ass with every slap of his hips. You used the heel of your shoe to try and push his pants down further but didn’t get far. You whispered a ‘fuck it’ and let your legs hug onto him.

A rain of ‘please’ fell from your mouth, begging him to maintain that strong even pace but also praying he’d finish inside this time. You wanted that liquid heat pooling in your guts. 

Alastor wanted to kiss you more, but he knew better than to interrupt his rhythm. He wanted to feel you spasming around his cock, feel your body tighten and go stock still under him. 

Maybe he imagined it, maybe it was your slight  embarrassed blushing, but you did feel different. He could have sworn you felt warm, softer. He felt he was getting lost in your touch like someone losing their way in the safety of a well maintained park. No danger, but no idea where he was or what he was really doing there. But it was lovely. That midsummer day glow and warmth you could only enjoy in the shade of tall trees.

There he was again, mind wandering with flashes of beautiful places and sensations as his muscles began to tire.

You bit your lip and tensed your core to help along the rising pressure. Fingers raked down his scalp and neck as you crossed the peak and came on his slowing cock.

A second was given to you to come down before he began his own finish. 

It didn’t take long for his hips to go weak and for him to lose his rhythm. Apart from you, the sensation of a wet and writhing organ against his slit was vaguely alien and gross. But your twitching insides was a trophy he was always eager to earn. He had to lean back which meant your chest making contact with the cold air that filled the void. His handkerchief was quickly pulled from his chest pocket and brought to his cock as he managed to hold off cumming until he was safely free of you.  It worked poorly, semen leaking through the threads and sticking to his hand. He hissed but wiped his hand clean the best he could on the handkerchief’s edges.

Alastor leaned over and kissed your cheek, and then your nose, and then because he felt the compulsion, your already kiss swollen lips. When he moved his head to carry on down your collar bone you unclenched your eyes.  You could see the flowers above your head on the banister. 

You remembered reading The Language of Flowers poster to the florist as you chose your bouquet. When she pointed out each one to you, you repeated the meanings in your head. 

“Red tulips,”

 I declare my love. 

“Wild Roses,”

I love you truly. 

“Daisies,” 

Pain and Pleasure. 

“And, lastly,” the shopkeeper sounded sentimental as she gestured to the blue petals, “Cornflower.”

Be gentle with me.

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[soulofapatrick]

Always Her - Garrick Tavis x female reader 

Summary: You're sick of Garrick always choosing Violet over you because Xaden says so

Warnings: angst

Words: 2K

Notes: I hope this does the request sent justice and sorry for ant typos this hasn't been proof read

Y/N’s POV

The hallways are eerily quiet as I make my way back toward the Riders’ dorms, the cold stone walls amplifying the echo of my footsteps. Shadows pool in the corners, stretching long and heavy under the faint glow of mage lights. My stomach twists as I think of the untouched meal sitting on the table in my room. It’s gone cold by now, the once-perfect plans I had for Garrick and me unraveling yet again.

He didn’t show up.

Again.

I tell myself not to be surprised. I knew this would happen. Garrick has been distant for weeks now, and every time I try to reach him, to pull him back into us, he slips further away. Still, it doesn’t stop the simmering frustration from clawing up my spine as I round the corner.

That’s when I see him.

He’s sitting on the stone floor outside Violet’s door, his broad shoulders leaning against the wall. His arms rest casually on his bent knees, but I know better. His head is tilted back just enough to suggest he’s relaxed, but the tension radiating off him tells another story. He’s on high alert even now. Watching. Guarding. Protecting.

Always her.

My steps falter, anger sparking like a match struck too close to dry kindling. I pause for a moment, staring at him in disbelief, before the sharp echo of my footsteps announces my approach. His head snaps toward me, his dark eyes narrowing at the sound. At first, his expression is unreadable, that cool, professional mask he wears so well. But the second he catches sight of my face—stormy, unyielding—his shoulders tighten.

He knows.

He knows he’s in trouble.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” My voice is sharper than I intend as I stop in front of him, my arms crossing over my chest.

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “Forgot what?”

The audacity.

“Are you serious, Garrick?” I snap, my voice rising. “The meal we planned! Weeks ago. You swore—swore—you’d make time for us, but here you are. Again. Camped outside Violet’s room like some guard dog.”

His jaw tightens as he pushes to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate. He towers over me, his height imposing in the dim corridor, but I don’t back down.

“I’m following orders,” he says evenly, though the edge in his voice betrays his irritation. “Xaden asked me to—”

“I don’t care what Xaden asked you to do!” I cut him off, my voice breaking with frustration. The words spill out faster than I can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “You’re so focused on her that you don’t even see what you’re doing to me! To us!”

“This isn’t about you,” he says firmly, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying to rein himself in.

I laugh, bitter and sharp, the sound echoing between us like a slap. “Isn’t it? Because it sure as hell feels like it’s about me when I’m constantly being pushed aside. Do you even realise how much you’ve been ignoring me? Or is Violet’s safety just more important than the promises you made to me?”

His eyes darken, frustration flashing like lightning across his face. “This is bigger than you and me,” he says, his voice rising slightly. “Violet’s not safe. Not after what happened to Liam. She needs someone looking out for her.”

“And that someone has to be you?” I step closer, my voice trembling with barely-contained anger. “Every second of every day? She’s not a helpless child, Garrick. She doesn’t need you to hold her hand and tuck her in at night!”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, his composure slipping.

“No, I do understand,” I snap, my fists clenching at my sides. “You think it’s your duty to carry everyone else’s burdens, to play the hero, and you don’t care who you hurt in the process. But guess what? I’m done being an afterthought. I’m done being the one left behind while you break every promise you’ve made to me.”

The air between us feels like it might shatter under the weight of my words. His mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but no sound comes out. For a moment, the only thing I can hear is my own ragged breathing.

I shake my head, my chest aching from the effort of holding back tears. “Forget it,” I whisper, the words hollow and final. Turning on my heel, I force my legs to move before he can stop me.

“Y/N,” Garrick calls after me, his voice rough and pleading.

I falter for the briefest of moments, but I don’t stop. Not this time.

Let him sit with the emptiness I’ve felt for weeks. Let him wonder what it means to be left behind.

By the time I reach my room, my vision blurs with tears. The weight in my chest feels unbearable, pressing down on me until I can barely breathe. I slam the door behind me, the sound echoing in the hollow silence, and collapse onto the floor. My hands shake as they press against my face, desperate to contain the flood of sobs I’ve been holding back for far too long. But the dam breaks anyway.

The tears come in heavy, wracking waves, each one a testament to the hurt and frustration that’s been building inside me. I clutch my knees to my chest, feeling as though the walls are closing in.

I don’t know how long I sit there, trembling and broken, before there’s a hesitant knock at the door. The sound barely registers through the storm of my emotions. I don’t answer. I can’t.

The knock comes again, softer this time, but I remain frozen. A moment later, the door creaks open. My heart stutters, but I keep my face buried in my hands. I don’t need to look to know who it is—I can feel his presence like a pulse in the air.

“Y/N.” Garrick’s voice is low and raw, his tone steeped in regret. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t respond. The effort to speak feels insurmountable. Instead, I stay hunched over, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief.

He steps inside, his movements careful, almost hesitant. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing us in the same space, though the chasm between us feels immeasurable.

Garrick kneels in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. His hands hover in the air, uncertain. “I screwed up,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I did.”

His words hit a nerve, but I keep my head down, my tears falling freely.

“I’ve been so focused on protecting Violet,” he continues, each word weighted with guilt. “So caught up in trying to do the right thing for everyone else, that I stopped seeing what it was costing me. What it was costing us. And I hate that I’ve made you feel this way.”

His words are a balm and a fresh wound all at once. They dig deep, unearthing the raw ache inside me. “Do you even care, Garrick?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Or am I just… another thing on your list of priorities?”

He inhales sharply, his hands finally settling gently on mine. His touch is warm, grounding, but it’s not enough to ease the ache in my chest.

“I care,” he says firmly, his voice steady despite the crack I can hear beneath it. “More than anything. You’re not just a priority—you’re everything to me. And I hate that I’ve made you feel otherwise.”

I lift my head then, my tear-streaked face meeting his. His storm-gray eyes are wide, almost frantic, as though he’s afraid I might disappear right in front of him.

“You can’t just say that, Garrick,” I choke out, my throat raw. “You have to prove it. I can’t keep doing this if I’m always going to come second.”

“I will prove it,” he says, his gaze unwavering. His fingers tighten around mine, a silent plea. “I’ll make this right. I don’t know how yet, but I will. I can’t lose you, Y/N. Not over this.”

The desperation in his voice gives me pause. I search his face, trying to decipher the truth in his words. His usual stoic mask is gone, replaced by an unguarded vulnerability that cuts through my defences.

“Okay,” I whisper after what feels like an eternity. “But this is your last chance, Garrick. Don’t make me regret it.”

Relief floods his expression, and before I can say anything else, he pulls me into his arms. His embrace is fierce, almost crushing, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers. I let him hold me, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t care,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice quieter now, almost broken. “Because I do, Y/N. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze again, my hands still clutching the front of his shirt. His eyes are searching mine, filled with something raw and desperate, something that looks like it’s tearing him apart.

“Then why do you make it so damn hard to believe that?” I ask, my voice soft but no less cutting.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks away, as if he can’t bear the weight of my stare. “Because I don’t know how to balance it all,” he admits, his voice heavy with self-loathing. “I’ve always been the one who follows orders, who puts the mission first. And now… now I’m trying to figure out how to be the guy who puts you first, too. But I’m screwing it up.”

“You are,” I say bluntly, though there’s no venom in my voice anymore. “And it’s not just about Violet or Xaden. It’s about you deciding that what I need isn’t as important as what everyone else needs. That’s what hurts the most, Garrick. Feeling like I’m not worth the effort.”

His throat works as he swallows hard, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than me. But if you’ll let me, I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re the most important thing in my world.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. My walls begin to crumble, brick by fragile brick, as I let myself hope.

“Words are easy, Garrick,” I say, my voice trembling. “Actions are harder. And I need to see that you mean it. I need more than promises right now.”

“I know,” he says, his hands cupping my face with a tenderness that steals my breath. “I’ll show you. I swear I’ll show you.”

Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It’s desperate and raw, filled with all the things he’s been unable to say. For a moment, I freeze, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. But then I melt into him, my hands fisting his shirt as I pour everything I’m feeling—hurt, love, anger, and hope—into that one moment.

When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping for air, our foreheads resting together.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

My heart stutters, and for a moment, I can’t speak. But then I let out a shaky breath, a small, tentative smile tugging at my lips. “I love you too, Garrick,” I whisper. “But you need to stop breaking my heart.”

“I will,” he promises, his lips brushing softly against my forehead. “I’ll prove it to you. Every day. For as long as you’ll let me.”

For the first time in a long time, I feel something like hope flicker to life in my chest. It’s fragile, uncertain, but it’s there.

And for now, that’s enough.

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[loonsloon]

@into-the-jeggyverse, january 25, luck words: 955, cw: blood, but nothing too explicit

Yes, Regulus was aware that he had a bit of a crush on James Potter. After all, the guy was warming up to him fast. It was terrifying to admit, but after spending some time with James—not by his choice, mind you—they could maybe even call each other friends. It was unavoidable, though, because James was everywhere. And if he wasn’t, he’d always find a way to be.

Like right now.

Regulus had been helping Madam Pomfrey these past few days. It all started one random afternoon while he was delivering potions for Slughorn. After admitting that he was interested in becoming a healer, Pomfrey offered him the chance to learn basic healing spells under her guidance, and he agreed. So far, his duties were simple; some minor injuries, like a scraped knee, a bruised elbow, or a first-year’s sprained ankle after tripping on the moving staircase.

What he hadn’t anticipated, though, was how often his idiot brother and his even more idiotic friends would show up. They were in the hospital wing more often than clumsy first-years after flying lessons.

And here he is. James Potter. Bursting through the doors still fully dressed in quidditch gear, grinning ear to ear despite the blood oozing from his forehead. A Gryffindor-themed towel was pressed against the wound, doing nothing to stop the bleeding. Regulus swore his heart skipped a beat���whether from the sight of the blood or the way James’ shirt clung to his torso was debatable.

“Madam Pomfrey! I think I need stitches!” James exclaimed, glancing around for her.

“She’s not here,” Regulus sighed, and James’ eyes finally landed on him.

Moving the towel for a moment, James revealed a cut slicing through his eyebrow. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad, and it missed his eye entirely.

James’ grin somehow grew wider. Regulus was already regretting being here today.

“Reggie! I didn’t know you were in today,” James said cheerfully, jumping to sit on one of the beds, his feet swinging like an overexcited toddler. Regulus refused to admit that it was adorable. In fact, James and the word adorable had no business being in the same sentence.

“She went to get some potions. Barely anyone’s been in today. She’ll be back soon,” Regulus explained, turning his attention back to organizing the supply cabinet.

“Well, aren’t you training to be a healer? I know you can heal this; it has to be easier than Sirius’ broken nose last week!”

Yes, but Sirius is his brother. Regulus didn’t care if he fucked up his nose. It might’ve even been funny, considering how much Sirius loved to brag about it.

James, though? That was a different story entirely. There was no way Regulus could risk getting so close to him. He was terrified James might suddenly look at him and realize: Oh, so you’ve got bit of a crush on me, huh? And Regulus can’t have that happening.

“I’m not doing anything without Pomfrey’s approval. I haven’t perfected the stitching charms yet, and that looks like a nasty cut,” Regulus lied.

All of that was a lie. Regulus had already handled worse injuries without her. The cut wasn’t even that bad; the blood was only flowing because James was still sweating from practice. His body was literally, and figuratively, hot.

“It’s not that bad! Just a bit deep. C’mon, Reg, at least clean it up,” James pleaded, a cute pout on his face. He’d taken off his glasses and was now holding the towel across his right eye, somehow managing to look ridiculously endearing.

“Fine,” Regulus muttered, utterly defeated. James wasn’t going to leave him alone, so he might as well make himself useful.

“But I’m not stitching it up. You’ll have to wait for Poppy. I’ll just stop the bleeding and clean it up for her.”

He rolled over the medical trolley and stopped it in front of James, positioning himself between James’ sprawled knees. Grabbing gauze and alcohol, he prepared to clean the wound.

“Hi,” James said, smiling down at him. His dimples popped, and his grin was somehow even more genuine than usual.

Regulus felt the blush creeping up his cheeks but refused to show weakness.

“Hi, idiot.”

And there it was—that beautiful fucking laugh.

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

“Something, something, Sirius accidentally hit you with his bat,” Regulus guessed, not bothering to look up. It wasn’t a difficult assumption; the two of them were a disaster in the air, always bickering and pushing each other.

“Hey, how did you know?”

“You’re predictable,” Regulus sighed, starting to dab at the wound with alcohol. James winced.

“That stings!”

“Don’t be a baby. It’s what you get for being careless,” Regulus muttered absentmindedly, still focused on cleaning the cut.

“Aw, do you care about me, Reggie?” James teased, leaning back to look him in the eye.

Regulus felt the heat rising again and glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. And stop calling me that, Potter. I told you I hate that nickname.”

Grabbing James by the shirt, he tugged him back into place to finish his work. Desperately trying to hide how flustered he was.

“Alright, alright,” James relented, settling down.

Finally, some silence. Regulus worked quickly, trying to ignore the way James’ knees kept brushing his sides, sending tingles up his spine.

After finishing the cleaning and stopping the bleeding with a quick charm, Regulus stepped back.

“There. You’re done,” he said, moving the trolley away from James’ reach before he could cause more problems.

“Aww, thanks, Reg. Aren’t you going to clean the rest of my face?” James asked, his tone playful, his cheeks still covered with dried blood.

Regulus shot him a glare. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

[meowsgirldrawing]

Soft is a Need too (Spite x Rook Drabble I could NOT get out of my head)

Obviously Lucanis x Rook too, but I like to explore Spite and his constant need for Rook just as much as Lucanis does too.

Not proofread so apologies for any mistakes, I am but a wee human in this wee world.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Soft, subtle hands play into ‘his’ hair, twirling a strand around a finger so gently before letting it fall to the rest before carding through once more.

Spite couldn’t tell what need rang better- the need to close ‘his’ eyes or keep them on Rook as they read their novel peacefully from their other hand. 

He only gets so much time with them, and yes- while that time has for sure grown since Lucanis finally did something worthwhile and said how he felt towards Rook after their long-awaited return, he still itches for the times Lucanis finally lets himself rest and him take over. 

He’s been what Rook calls ‘Good’ and laid with them instead of trying to leave. But why would he leave now? Before, he was just bored. Now, he’s not bored anymore! Rook is! With him! Him!! Spite!

And with the way they giggle after a particular hair caress has him sighing in content and nuzzling into their stomach, he can tell they like it too. Not think like Lucanis does, Knows!

“You’re not falling asleep either, are you?” They tease lightly.

Spite glares up at them with fiery purple hues marking their face, “No. Can’t now.”

Their brow raises and a light smirk has him smirking fully back. “Oh?” Their tone has him tightening his arms around them better. Better for them not to leave. “And why’s that, hm?”

Spite nudges into the palm cupping his face, lightly nipping at it that has Rook booping his nose in response for his assault. 

It takes him another moment to realize the look set on him is one of expectation, not just playfulness with tender touches added in. 

It’s simple. “Can’t loose. Our Rook. Again.”

Rook’s hand holding his face pauses as does the one clasped with a book freezes, turning more stiff. 

They blink, then an odd look comes about their face. Spite doesn’t like it. 

They look worried and runs a more concerned felt hand through his hair. He practically purrs like those creatures he sees them constantly petting in Lucanis’s home town. 

“Spite…you know I’m not going anywhere again, right?”

“Yes. Because we kill. Whoever changes that.” His eyes flash momentarily, and he brings a hand to their face instead. Soft skin meets his hand followed by a sweet flutter of eyelashes as he cups around the side of their face. Gentle as Lucanis told him. Like he would ever hurt Rook. They are theirs! Theirs to protect! To fight with, to have fun with!

And finally feel soft with after so long of pain and hurt. 

All Spite knew since getting forced to share a body with the most stubborn human alive was pain. 

From being ripped from the fade and into the already tormented body itself, to the harsh experiments and trial and errors the mages did on him and Lucanis-just to see how ‘they’ reacted as host and demon, to sitting to the side as Lucanis curled into a sopping broken ball for months every night, frozen cold and having to listen to the irritating drip drip drip of the cell door. 

Spite felt the hunger, the aches, the burning anger and nagging sadness, and above all- the undeniable fear. 

Lucanis inadvertently made Spite feel it all, thus leading to his own want to leave, to go back to this ‘home’ Lucanis kept thinking about night and day. 

It all stopped the day Rook and her little team of misfits came into their life. With Rook leading the charge, they managed to get out and end up entirely into a new contract in return for helping them escape. 

It all stopped when Rook smiled and offered their assistance with anything the two needed. 

It all stopped when Lucanis got a flutter in his chest that grew and grew until the very sight of Rook had him blushing and Spite grinning. 

That was until that bastard mage, Solas as they called him, decided the brightest idea was to take their Rook. 

No more. 

Spite eyes them as they mark their book for later reading time and he starts sitting up further with glee when their arms stretch out to him. 

He’s a bit fast in globing them up in a hug only to have them laying across their large couch. He buries his face into their neck, smirking and chuckling as hands run up and down his back. It tickles. 

They settle into his favorite position at that point. Him laying on their chest, face nosing into their collarbone, and them holding them like how his wings hold them when keeping them safe. Away from the painful world. Away from mages and Solas. 

“Mine.” He presses a kiss into the bone underneath him. "Mine." They murmur it back just as easily. He smiles. 

He feels..safe..soft here. Lucanis thought it first but Spite couldn’t help but agree more the first time their hands touched them. 

The same hands that card his hair from his face to press light, fast kisses on his forehead. His nose. And he tilts up to meet their lips. They pinch him and they yelp as he does it back with a chuckle. Others would be scared of such a noise, but their hands are still on him, still giving him soft touches and loving caresses. 

He won’t sleep, he doesn’t need it nor wants it right now. He has his and Lucanis’s Rook and that's all he needs. 

That and their soft touch as always.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Through time and space; you're Mine.

Summary; Alt end to 'The girl who shattered time!' instead of staying, (y/n) goes back to her time, only everything is different. Way different.

warnings; Tom Riddle(way more on point in this version), obsessive Tom, possessive Tom, referenced murder and implied murder, horcruxes used to make 'kids' so Tom can have 'you.'

i like how this came out, its not long! hardly even 2,500 words! but it feels good so i left it where it was~ the requester of the girl who shattered time did request an alt end but their idea was different and i wasnt, really into it? so i did this instead because this feels...more like Tom. enjoy!

=

“Please stay,” he said, achingly, pleadingly, his jaw clenching horribly as he stepped towards her-she stepped back-he stopped.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter and he took a deep breath, holding the diary with both hands.

“Stay. Please.” He said again, begging. “Don’t go back to your time-don’t go back to…that war. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered, looking up at her.

“How can you ask that?” she whispered, clenching her jaw, fists tight at her sides. “You saw it all, you know why I can't stay, you know why I’ve been avoiding you-why I want to go back.”

Tom’s eyes were hard yet sad-anger, not at her, filling his face.

“I won't stay with someone who becomes…him.” (y/n) said, not even daring to say the name and Tom nearly flinches, his eyes going back down to his diary, trembling.

“If you go back. I’ll find you.” he says, voice low and dark with promise, looking up at her-his gaze intense. “I'll find you, no matter what-I’ll track you down.” He steps closer and (y/n) backs away, gasping as he grabs her wrist and pulls her close- the diary falling to the floor, his eyes locked onto hers.

“I’ll make you mine again, I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to get through-I will find you, and we will be together again.” (y/n) shakes her head,  panic filling her whole body, she does not want to be with Voldemort, she didn’t want him-she didn’t want this.

She slaps him with her free hand and his head snaps to the side-his eyes going wide, before turning back on her as she runs back towards the dorms. “You can’t escape me (y/n)!” he roars, knowing he couldn’t chase her into the girls dorms, the barrier keeping him away from her. “I will find you! you will be mine again! Dark lord or not-I will have you!”

He loved her. And he would never let her go.

-

She rushes out of the Slytherin common room before sunrise, panting heavily as she books it down the hall towards Dumbledore’s office, tears in her eyes as she rapidly knocks on the door and he opens it. “ah-I have yet to leave for the ministry Ms-are you okay?” Dumbledore's voice turns to concern as (y/n)’s shoulders jump with a sob and she slumps into him as the weight of everything crashes into her.

Tom’s ‘promise’, the threat of the war, returning to a world where she’d be hunted down-it’s all too much.

But still-she wants to go home. She wants to see her friends again, and if need by-die next to them.

Dumbledore hugs her and after the sun rises, he goes to the ministry through the floo network, (y/n) curled up on the seat in front of his desk until he and a ministry worker returned-holding the time turner that would send her back. “Okay, you traveled back in the defense class room right?” the ministry worker asked, following Dumbledore to the DADA classroom.

(y/n) nods, quietly standing beside Dumbledore as he unlocked the DADA classroom and the three entered, the ministry worker handing her the time turner. “All right, here you go, just finish the loop and it’ll send you to your time, and then to send it back to us-just take it off and leave it in a safe spot and the time turners fail safe will send it back to us. Understood?”

(y/n) nodded again, putting on the time turner and lifting the two ends in her fingers, twisting it to complete the loops and she felt her stomach turn as she was sent forward in time-May 2nd, 1998. She landed in the DADA classroom-it was untouched by the chaos that sent her here in the first place so she quickly took the time turner off and put it in a safe spot-near the book cases, far away from where she’d gone back the first time.

She looks at the desk that she’d knocked over that held the original time turner, sneaking over and opening all the drawers-eventually finding the time turner that had sent her back. She looks up as she hears someone approach the door and quickly hides. Except…there's no blast of magic or chaos of battle.

Instead, there’s hushed whispers, and light laughter. “Go go-“ a voice whispers, one that is vaguely familiar. (y/n) peeks around her hiding spot, seeing herself sneaking into the DADA classroom, a group of girls-her friends from this era, including Luna, oh goodness it’s so good to see her-all watching her sneak in. (y/n)’s brows furrow, why was this so different? It should’ve been the same, right?

She’d expected to return to the battle of Hogwarts but…there seemed to be no battle…What changed?

She looked back at her past…alternate self and she tripped in the darkness, knocking open the desk drawer and it slid out completely-making a loud noise and then things began to whirl around-past/alt (y/n) gasping and then she was gone-the broken time turner sending her to the past.

…HUH?!

(y/n) stared in shock-this was not how it happened at all! She’d been chased and blasted into the room by snatchers! Not dared to sneak around and then accidently knocked the desk over!? What happened?! What changed so much! Her friends all rushed into the room-whispering out her name in worry and (y/n) winced, coming out of her hiding space.

“uh-something went wrong.” She said and the girls all screamed and jumped-eyes wide as they looked at her.

After a long moment, and some panic-(y/n) was able to explain, sorta. She explained that she’d been sent back in time by a broken time turner and she’d just gotten back from the 1940s, only to see how she got sent back in time but-differently.

It was a bit confusing to explain but her friends, especially Luna, took it in stride and soon (y/n) was back in her dorm, lying her ravenclaw bed-finally her bed.

Things had changed in this world.

After some digging from her friends-who took her questioning in stride since the timeline (y/n) knew was now gone.

There was no Boy who lived. That was a shock to see her friends be confused when asked about Harry Potter-to them, Harry was just a regular boy, no lightning scar, no dead parents-captain of the quidditch team and all.

“what-what about-death eaters?” (y/n) asked and her friends looked terribly confused.

“What In the world was happening in your timeline?” her friend Ruby asked and (y/n) slumped back onto her bed, eyes wide.

No death eaters. No boy who lived.

…no…Voldemort? She sat up, asking if they heard that name before-their reaction this time was different.

“oh yeah-Minister Voldemort? He’s been minister for magic for nearly 30 years now,” Irene said and (y/n) nearly fell out of her bed.

Minister for Magic Voldemort-not dark lord. What in the actual fuck?!

“I need to sleep.” (y/n) croaked and her friends agreed, Luna giving her a hug and a necklace to keep the wackspurts away. “Thanks Luna, I missed you.” (y/n) said softly, hugging her friend back and Luna hummed, floating back over to her bed, brushing through her wavy hair.

(y/n) laid back in her bed, struggling to sleep.

What had changed? Tom had said he’d find her-and yet it seemed this world was so much better. Voldemort now minister for magic-but she’d have to find out if this was a good thing or not in the morning.

She needed sleep.

-

She heads right for the library in the morning, clad in her Ravenclaw uniform once more and her bracelet from Julia feeling strangely heavy on her wrists. She pours over recent history textbooks, finding newspapers from the last 50 years in search of finding what changed.

1943-a girl dies in the Hogwarts bathroom; rumored to be killed by the Chamber of secrets monster, a student is expelled-blamed for the girls death, an accident. Prefect Tom Riddle is praised for his heroism in finding the culprit.

(y/n) swallows harshly, looking at the picture of Tom, he looks angry, beneath the proud look on his face that seems forced. Anger that simmers beneath the surface, heartbreak.

She looks through more newspapers.

1945-world war 2 ends, Grindelwald is defeated by Dumbledore.

1950- a woman named Hepzibah Smith is poisoned by her elf

1954- Tom Riddle-youngest to run for ministry for Magic, supported by the rich and famous pureblood families-such as the Malfoy’s, Black’s, Lestrange’s, Flint’s, and Rosier’s.

1955- Youngest Minister for Magic; Tom Riddle.

1960- Minister Tom Riddle; while no interest in marriage, reveals newborn son, named after him. Tom Riddle Jr.

1961-Tom Riddle once again elected for Minister of Magic.

1970-Youngest Minister for Magic changes name to Voldemort, support from purebloods is great for Voldemort ‘abandoning’ his Muggle birth name.

1968- Voldemort is elected as Minister once again.

And so on and so forth.

(y/n) rips through newspapers like a wild animal-searching for anything that can tell her why things changed so much. Had Tom really given up on the whole ‘dark lord’ thing? Instead going for a more diplomatic way of taking power? Becoming the minister for magic?

She pulls up another newspaper. 1982- Minister for Magic proudly announces his Grandson, Tom Riddle the third. She looks at the picture, it’s Voldemort, uncomfortably human looking-a silver fox if one to describe him, though he has a slight…oddness to him-standing beside him was his ‘son’ Tom Riddle Jr; who was in his early 20’s, hardly even 21 actually-holding a newborn boy.

All three looked exactly the same-like they weren’t truly born, but copies.

(y/n) looks at the date again. 1982. January.

Something nags at the back of her head-telling her something was wrong.

She looks through the papers again. Her heart freezes.

1982-Headmaster Dumbledore passes away, Deputy Headmaster McGonagall to take his place. Cause of death unknown, found dead in office on the morning of June 15th-only days before the school year ended.

That was the exact day Dumbledore died in the original time line-except more than 10 years earlier. Voldemort had been the one to order his death before-he must’ve waited until Dumbledore's guard was down to kill him-this time also having a new vendetta against him-for sending her back.

She leaned back on her heels, newspapers everywhere around her, the one about Dumbledore's death tight in her hands.

Voldemort was minister for magic-he’d had two copies, one son and one grandson, the grandson her age.

She didn’t know how, but this was all a way to get to her-to find her and have her. He knew she’d never accept her as Voldemort, but if he had copies-younger versions of himself, one the exact same as she left him-then she’d have no choice.

“You seem antsy,” A chillingly familiar voice came from just next to her and she glanced-yelping at the sight of Tom’s face in hers; almost the exact same as she left it not a day before-but for him? Almost 50 years ago. “Woah, jumpy much darling?”

Tom teased, picking up newspapers with a flick of his wand-this one dark brown in color, snakes and (fav flowers) carved into the wood.

“Wha-how-you-“ (y/n) panted, back pressed against the table edge of a bookcase as Tom stalked towards her, his eyes almost…red under the dim lighting.

“Oh, my love-did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Tom said softly, almost eerie-he traps her against the table, arms on either side of you. “You’ve read it all, haven’t you? Seen what we’ve done for you?”

Tom whispers, forehead against hers, his eyes intense and terrifying as he slowly grips her face in his hand-it’s cold. “You feared the dark lord, feared to return to war and death-I stopped it all. Can't you see? You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of me.”

“How are you here?” She asks-voice cracking from the swell of emotions she feels and Tom smiles-its unsettling- pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, his arm wrapping around her to keep her close.

“Oh, my dear, Horcruxes can be used for so much more than immortality.  I was the first.” He pulled out the diary from his uniform inner pocket, pressing it to her upper chest, his eyes still intense on her. “I made this, so when I found you again-I had all my memories of you. Voldemort, or as everyone thinks him to be-my grandfather, birthed me from a simple-allowed me to be born with you.”

He kissed her cheek, soft but it felt wrong and (y/n) pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. “Don’t you see my love?” he whispered against her ear, the diary achingly cold against her neck as he pushes it up against her throat. “I did this for you. I split my soul for you-to be with you. You don’t have to fear me, or Voldemort-we did it all for you.”

“You’re insane.” (y/n) spits at him and he coldly smiles, thumb brushing over her lip-pulling at it slightly.

“I’m a man in love, insanity is only the tip of it.” he whispered, eyes on her lips, flickering between deep brown and red. Snake-like. “we did it for you-there is no war, there is no boy who lived-I kept peace, for you.” he said, his lips connecting with hers in a cold kiss, his hand leaving the diary to cup her head, not letting her pull away.

Her eyes snapped closed-tears burning-her hands fisting into the fabric of his uniform sleeves.

She hates that it still feels so good to kiss him. He pulls away, feeling her tears on his face and he wipes them gently with his thumb, kissing them away. “Don’t be afraid my love-there's nothing more to fear. There is no dark lord, only me.” Tom murmurs and (y/n) sniffled, allowing him to brush her bangs back-both her eyes now on him. His thumb runs over his scar-which was growing fainter as time went on.

“He never touched you.” Tom whispers, her brows furrow-unsure of what he meant and Tom smiles-still intense. “Your uncle, he never touched you-i-or well ‘my father’, killed him before he could even think about touching you.”

(y/n)’s breath stutters in her chest as Tom holds her close-now in a hug, his head tucked against hers. “no one will hurt you again. Including me.” He whispers, clutching tight to her robes and she gasps for breath, unsure of how to handle-anything that was going on.

“I’ll never let you go.” He whispers, a finality to it.

She knows that he’d make sure to keep that promise, whether she wanted it or not.

-end of alt end-

[wendichester]

Hello Darling

Should I be working? Yes…

Have I instead read almost your entire posts about Dean? Maybe…

Do I regret the overtime I now need to work? Absolutely not!

You are so gifted! And I was wondering if I could request a little something… if it’s not up your street that’s totally fine as well!

Maybe Dean knows the reader from way back like high school or something an now he meets her again in a bar that she owns… maybe feelings resurface that both had tried to keep buried and it gets steamy in baby?

Luv ya 🍄

☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ coming home,

summary. there's nothing like coming back to a place where you once felt like home.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1115

notes. hiya hun! thank you so much for sending this through. honestly had me giggling and kicking my feet with the beginning of this ask. love you! 🩷🍄

Dean pushes the bar's door open, being immediately met by the smell of whiskey and old wood, the low hum of classic rock filling the air. His boots scuffing against the floor as he scans the room. It’s nothing fancy—just a neighborhood joint with a dartboard in the corner and a jukebox that’s probably been there since the 80s—but something about it feels warm. Familiar.

And then he sees you.

You’re behind the bar, hair tied back, moving with easy confidence as you pour a drink. Dean stops in his tracks, the years between high school and now melting away in an instant.

It’s been over a decade since he’s seen you. You’d been the smart, sharp-tongued girl who didn’t take crap from anyone, not even him. And if he’s being honest, he’d had it bad for you back then—your quick wit, your easy laugh, the way you saw through all his bravado. But he’d buried those feelings, just like he buried everything else, and life moved on as his dad forced him into another life; a new start because of yet another hunt.

But now, watching you laugh with a customer, that same spark in your eyes, it’s like no time has passed.

He must’ve been staring too long, because suddenly you glance his way—and freeze.

“Dean Winchester,” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you set down the glass you were polishing.

“Y/N,” he says, a little breathless as he steps closer. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

You lean against the bar, arms crossed, and he tries not to notice how the years have only made you more beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Passing through,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, though his heart is pounding. “Heard this place was good. Didn’t know it was yours.”

You laugh, the sound wrapping around him like a warm blanket. “Yeah, well, someone had to turn this dump into something decent.”

“Looks like you did a hell of a job,” he says, glancing around before meeting your eyes again. “How long’s it been?”

“Too long,” you say, your voice softening. “You want a drink, or are you just here to reminisce?”

“I'll take both,” he says with a grin, sliding onto a barstool.

The conversation flows easily, memories spilling out between sips of whiskey. You tease him about his old leather jacket that somehow still fits, and he reminds you of the time you beat him at pool and made him buy you ice cream.

But there’s a weight to the air now, a tension that wasn’t there before. Every brush of your hand as you pass him a drink, every glance that lingers a little too long—it all feels electric.

When the night winds down and the bar clears out, you lock the door and turn to find him still sitting there, watching you with that look in his eyes. The one that used to make your knees weak in high school.

“You sticking around town for a while?” you ask, leaning against the bar.

“Maybe,” he says, standing and closing the distance between you. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’d wanna go for a drive,” he says, his voice low, his lips quirking into a smirk.

Your heart skips a beat, but you play it cool. “Still using Baby to pick up girls, huh?”

“Only the special ones,” he says, and the way he’s looking at you makes it clear you’re at the top of that list.

Before you know it, you’re sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala, the engine rumbling to life as he pulls out of the parking lot. The night air is cool, the windows cracked, and the hum of the road beneath you feels like old times.

When he pulls off onto a quiet stretch of road and kills the engine, you turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “This where you murder me?”

“Funny,” he says, leaning closer, his hand resting on the back of your seat. “Nah, just figured it’s been too long since we really talked.”

“Talked, huh?” you say, your voice teasing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Missed you, sweetheart. More than I realized.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance, your lips crashing into his.

The kiss is fire, heat, and years of pent-up tension unraveling in one heady moment. His hand slides into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch, while your fingers curl into the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer. The air in the Impala feels stifling, the windows fogging up as his tongue slips past your lips, the taste of whiskey making your head spin.

“Damn,” he breathes when you finally pull back, his forehead resting against yours. His hand slides down to your waist, fingertips tracing the curve of your hip. “Should’ve done that years ago.”

“You’re a little slow on the uptake,” you tease, but your voice is breathless, and your fingers are already trailing down his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah?” he grins, leaning back just enough to take you in, his eyes dark and heated. “Why don’t you catch me up then?”

You shift, climbing over to straddle his lap, the tight space forcing you to press closer, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, the heat of his palms searing through your jeans as his gaze sweeps over you.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice, the way his hands tighten their grip.

“Always have been,” you whisper back, capturing his lips again, this time slower, deeper, your hips rocking against his.

The Impala creaks as you move, your bodies fitting together like a puzzle. Dean groans into your mouth, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay against the small of your back, his calloused fingers drawing shivers as they skim your skin.

“You keep this up, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice rough and low, “we’re not making it back to your bar tonight.”

“Who said we need to?” you counter, your lips brushing the shell of his ear before you nip at his jawline, making him curse softly.

His head falls back against the seat, his eyes blazing as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, his hands sliding up your thighs, pulling you even closer.

And as you lose yourselves in each other, the world outside the Impala fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you and the years of longing finally spilling over.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze

[eremikayearner]

bewitched ‹𝟹 nagi seishiro

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, playboy, nagi seishiro’s psychology tutor is determined to lure him into her trap as he’d done to so many girls before.

ׂ╰┈➤ player!nagi x reader, one sided hatred, suggestive, a little bit 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, wc : 1.9k

banner cred : @9lvvs on pinterest :3

౨ৎ ‧₊˚ ⋅ there was something so sweet and cruel about torturing nagi seishiro. as his psychology tutor, you tortured him by forcing him to memorize, understand and recite terms for hours, even as he complained about how his head hurt and how it was too much of a hassle. the truth? you loved this. the biggest playboy and heartbreaker of so many girls, subject to his lazy demeanour and captured by his gorgeous appearance at your mercy.

you hated him for his carelessness. his carelessness towards all the girls he had. a change was necessary. and you would fucking bring it. it was about time nagi seishiro had his heartstrings toyed with.

nagi’s snowy head rested on the couch, his head tipped back and his legs sprawled out wide in front of him. he swallowed, and your eyes followed the column of his throat ; hatred, determination, and desire clouding your mind.

you sat across from him on the couch, with nearly just a couple inches of space between you, your notebook in your hands as you checked over his answers in the practice test you’d given him.

he didn’t look at you, but you knew you were approaching your goal rapidly every day. it was the heat in his lingering stares, the longing in his brief touches, the shortness of his breath whenever you became to close to him, the way he adjusted his posture in your presence, just small little things that told you everything you already needed to know.

nagi was fighting his attraction to you. he was fighting the urge to make the first move for once, fighting the need to weave his hands into your hair as he captured your mouth under his, the desire to hold you against his chest as you fell asleep. he was fighting all of it.

but you knew better.

you closed the notebook, glancing at the coffee table in front of the couch, littered with notes, diagrams and of course, his nonsensically gorgeous handwriting. he was certainly burnt out from your lesson today.

“unsurprisingly, you missed a couple questions.” you informed him, breaking the silence, your voice smooth and even. “for you, nagi, it’s good work. almost enough for a hundred percent.”

nagi turned his head just slightly to look at you, his hazy eyes landing on your face.

you gingerly closed the notebook and left it on the armrest of the couch, finally turning your head to meet his gaze.

“i just have a question, nagi.” you asked, your voice laced with sweet honey.

his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, taking a glance up and down at your face, your lips, then your figure, before returning to your eyes.

oh, you hated him. you hated him for the way he looked at you as if you were some forbidden angel, a blank canvas he wanted to put his painted fingers on and imprint his touch upon forever. you hated yourself even more for wanting him to touch you.

you tilted your head at him, your sweet soft mouth shaping around venomous words. “when are you going to stop being such a fucking pussy and kiss me?”

now you had his attention.

his eyes widened, a poor fawn caught in headlights, and his lips parted. he lifted his head from where it rested, and his thighs drew together ever so slightly in shock.

because there you were, l/n y/n, his forbidden angel he knew was dangerous to play with, crawling closer towards him. all painfully beautifully carved face, tantalizing lips, bewitching eyes and perfect curves invading his senses with cloying desire.

he backed away slowly as his heart leapt in his chest, propping himself up on his elbows and bringing his legs up on the couch to somehow back further away as you inevitably reached him.

your heart sang with triumph as you watched his wife eyes fill with want, need and panic.

"can you feel the tension?" your voice was hypnotic, as your much smaller hands landed on the couch and one of his legs between your knees, caging him under you. you dipped your head closer to his, manic excitement, hatred and desire in your eyes. "come on, nagi. don't play dumb."

nagi’s mouth opened to speak, his eyes flicking between yours and the position you both were in. finally, he met your intoxicating gaze once more, swallowing nervously, before his breathless voice managed a name. "l/n-"

this. this is what you wanted. an opportunity to curl your body around him like a viper, squeezing the life from him before sinking your venomous teeth into him.

"you're saying you don't want me to touch you?" you asked, a delicate hand going to the hot skin of his neck and sliding to his nape. you played with the white tufts of hair at his nape innocently, as your eyes lured him in.

"l/n, i-" nagi struggled for words.

you wouldn’t let him breathe.

"you don't want to touch me?" your other hand traced temptaciously down his bicep, marvelling at the hard muscle, before reaching his large hand and bringing it closer to your body.

nagi watched with wide, horrified eyes as his most forbidden fantasies came to life. he watched as you brought his hand to your tit, your fingers lacing through his hand to keep him in place.

"you sure?" you asked.

you wouldn’t let him breathe unless it was your scent he was inhaling.

"i'm-" nagi’s attempt at words was utterly pathetic.

his eyes darted between your face so impossibly close to his, and his hand frozen on your body with your fingers laced on top of his. his whole body was on edge with you on top of him, his hands on you and your hand playing with his hair and sending pleasant shivers down his spine. his heart was beating wildly in his chest as panic and want warred over his body and mind.

"look at you." you mused, tilting your head at the mess of a boy underneath you. it was utterly fascinating how much he reacted to your touch, your voice, you.

your soft lips curved into a fascinated smile, as you removed your hand from his and placed in back down on the couch, caging him in once more. your fingers continued their slow and teasing play with his hair, your nails scraping his scalp oh so perfectly. "you're fighting me. you want me."

"n-not true." nagi managed, for once, looking into your eyes when he spoke.

your tone darkened. "liar."

you moved closer to him, his breath hitching as your alluring lips just hovered over his. instinctively, his hand tightened on your body ever so slightly as his entire body went stiff. his pupils blew wide as you looked at him through lowered lashes with your captivating eyes.

"what if i went like this?” you asked, his warm breath brushing your lips as he struggling to steady his breathing and his rapidly beating heart. “you still don't want me?"

he looked absolutely sick. sick with desire. torn between the forbidden fantasy in front of him and his strong no first move morale. "l/n, i can't-"

"can't admit it?" you finished for him. "you know you want me." you looked down at his lips, then back at his eyes, just as he’d done to you. "i know you want me."

he looked so, so gorgeous like this. with his big hazy eyes filled with unadulterated desire. you could see it. you could see it in the way his fingers remained unmoving from your body, the way his heart hammered furiously in his chest, the way blood thrummed rapidly through his entire body, the way he caught his soft lower lip between his teeth, the way his cheeks flushed pink, the way his calm, collected gaze had turned mad with want. his body longed, ached and craved you.

"n-no, i-" his breathing became heavier as your fingers drifted from his nape to his neck, delicately pressing down on his uncontrollable pulse.

"your body betrays you, striker." you pulled away, just to give him the false illusion of his ability to breathe. your hand drifted from his neck to his jaw, directing his eyes to meet yours.

he looked like a poor tortured soul, completely and utterly at your mercy. completely and utterly bewitched.

"look me in my eyes and tell me you don't want me, nagi. go on. don't be shy now."

nagi was quiet. emotionally and mentally distressed, he looked into your eyes with pure panic and desire. his breathing was a harsh, uncontrollable thing in his chest, with nothing but the remainder of his resolve to calm it. he struggled to find a coherent though, a loss for words because this is l/n y/n making him feel this way. this is l/n y/n who’s caging him in. this is l/n y/n who put his hand on her tit. this is l/n y/n who’s got his jaw in her hands just inches from his lips. this is l/n y/n stealing the breath from his lungs. this is l/n y/n making his heart beat hard against his ribcage. this is l/n y/n who’s tearing his mind, heart and body apart at the very seams.

and you crave it. this chaos you’ve created. you crave it. you yearn for it. because there’s no better feeling than watching nagi seishiro fall apart at your mercy.

you hate yourself a little too. because you crave him as well. you crave his touch, his mouth, his body, his heart, his mind, him. you play your role just a little too well. enough to trick nagi seishiro. enough to trick yourself.

when you’re both a tangled mess of limbs and your breath begins to mix and your hearts begin to sync, you take his silence as an answer.

your hands slip from his body, his fingers slip from your body as you crawl off him, hiding the victorious smile that lifted your lips.

you’d sunk your venom into him.

"okay. well, nagi, i'll see you tomorrow." you said, leaning down to pick your school bag up beside the coffee table and standing up.

"what?" nagi said finally, lying there propped up on his elbows ; stunned, as he watched you sling the strap of your bag over your shoulder gracefully.

"we have tutoring tomorrow at my place, remember?" you replied, feigning innocence. you tilted your head at him. "feeling fuzzy?"

nagi couldn’t move. couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. his mind made a poor attempt to put his thoughts back in order as you walked towards his door, slipping your shoes on as if you weren’t on top of him just moments ago.

you turned, hand on the doorknob. "oh, and make sure you finish that paper tonight, nagi."

his words came out quick, a plea. "l/n, wait-"

but you were already out the door.

nagi’s elbows gave out as he finally laid back against his couch, white hair splayed out against the fabric like a halo. he brought his wrist over his eyes, as if that could erase what he had done. what he hadn’t done. what he wished he had done.

his body was painfully hot as his whole entire body seemed to thrum your name.

one thing he knew for sure was that you’d bewitched him and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let you go now that he had a taste of you.

well played, l/n y/n.

[azrielbrainrot]

Hey! I was thinking — "being overprotective of them in front of prospective partners" or "sharing cloths in a totally friendly way" with Cassian?

I think that's a cute print for him, and I'd love to see it ❤️

I love your writing and stories by the way!! 🥰

Say the Words

Pairing: Cassian x F!Reader

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I'm not sure this is what you had in mind and it turned out a bit angsty for some reason, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you for sending this in and I'm so glad you like my stories 🩷

The frigid winter air hits your burning cheeks, breath turning to mist as you walk away from the bar, but even if it was cold enough for the streets of Velaris to be mostly empty on a friday night, it's still not enough to calm the anger swimming through your body.

You had tried to decline Mor's invitation to come out tonight, preferring to sleep off the tiring week instead of drinking and dancing it away. Ultimately your blonde haired friend had gotten her away yet again, managing to bring everyone along to Rita's for a night out. You were doing your best to enjoy it despite your initial reluctance to come, drinking and dancing with your friends like you usually did.

A very well dressed and admittedly charming male started talking to you when you went to get another drink, his intentions more than clear behind his honeyed words and saccharine smile. You had no plans of going anywhere with him, only trying to choose your words to let him down easy, he hadn't been bothering you too much after all, but Cassian had suddenly showed up at your side, wrapping his arm around you in a possessive manner, scaring the poor male away with just a few words. You think you even saw him puff up his wings. All this to drop his arm as soon as he walked away, turning to go back to your friends like nothing had happened, making your temper rise at an alarming rate and prompting you to walk straight out of the bar, uncaring of the cold or the people calling your name.

The two of you have been toying with the line between friendship and more for years, lingering eyes and meaningful touches crossing it a bit more every day. It seemed that every time you tried to cross it, he took a step back though. You've gotten somewhat used to the push and pull by now, but, maybe because of your already dull mood, it reached a breaking point today.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you, a sigh escaping your lips. Of course he had followed you outside, he would have followed you to the end of the earth. Knowing that a confrontation would be unavoidable, you slow your pace, sitting on a bench by the river, eyes trained ahead even when he stops by the bench, watching you.

“It's too cold for you to sit here,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically serious but as caring as always.

“I don't want to talk, Cassian.”

Except you did, it was probably the only thing that would make you feel better right now. You were just tired of pretending, and it seemed like he insisted on it. You were starting to wonder if he knew how to do anything else.

You can see him nod at your words in the corner of your eye, looking down at the heavy jacket in his hands before taking another step and draping it over your shoulders, his scent enveloping you instantly. You had to close your eyes for a moment, telling yourself not to give in.

“Don't stay here too long, you'll catch a cold.” His hand lingers in the air, looking like he wanted to reach out, but he doesn't, he never does. “You can keep the jacket.”

No sooner the words had left his mouth than he turned around. It makes you look up at him at last, facing his back, wings curled into his back as he walks away slowly, braving the cold in favor of leaving you warm as you stubbornly stayed outside instead of winnowing home. You couldn't understand him at all.

“What are you doing?”

He pauses, body visible tensing as he hears the defeat in your voice. “You said you didn't want to talk.”

“So you'll just leave?” Some of the anger returns, standing up and walking closer to him, waiting for him to turn and look into your eyes, almost daring him to. “What was all of that for then?” Your heart skips a beat when your eyes finally meet, the hazel showing all the things he wouldn't say like they always did, but you were tired of reading them for yourself, you wanted to hear everything from him.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Help?” You can't help but scoff, swallowing down the burning in your eyes, the headache that was creeping in. “If you will not make me yours then you can't act like I am.”

“That wasn't-”

“Since when have you been such a coward?”

“I'm not a coward.”

“You're sure acting like one.”

“What do you want me to say then?” His voice was rising in volume, eyes sharp as he took you in. Good. “That I didn't want him anywhere near you? That I almost ripped off his arm when he reached for your hand? That I don't want anyone else touching you? Is that what you want to hear?”

His hazel eyes burned into yours but you weren't going to back down, not now after finally getting something out of him. You would end this game tonight, one way or another.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why don't you want anyone touching me?”

Cassian lets out a breath, eyes moving over your head to watch the river for a moment, gathering his thoughts as you push him into a corner. You were about to repeat the same question, or even throw a few choice words at him when he reached for your neck, bringing your face in closer as he bends down, his touch gentle despite the storm raging inside him.

His lips linger over yours for a second longer, maybe giving you time to push him away, as if you ever would, but his patience seemed to be wearing thin as he kisses you at last, lips moving over yours as his hands hold your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms wrap around his neck, getting lost in him before your mind catches up to you, making you reluctantly pull away so you could look into his eyes.

“Say it,” you whisper against his lips.

“Because you're mine.”

A smile breaks out on your face. If it hadn't been for the cold biting your skin, you might have thought this was a dream. Cassian's face mirrors yours as he kisses you again, lifting you up into his arms as you winnow you both home, your mouths only pulling apart when your back hits the mattress.

[rafecswhore]

that's just the way life goes - part 4

Saturn & more - dad! rafe cameron x mom reader

the evening grew darker as the three of you sat on the porch, the once-vivid hues of sunset fading into the deep blue of twilight. the school project—a solar system model your daughter had painstakingly assembled—sat proudly on the table as she explained every detail with a level of enthusiasm that made you smile despite the tension that lingered between you and rafe.

“and this is saturn,” she said, pointing to the ringed planet. “it’s dad’s favorite, remember?”

you blinked, glancing at rafe, who leaned casually against the table, his expression soft as he looked at your daughter. “how could i forget?” he said, his voice warm. “you’ve told me at least twenty times.”

she rolled her eyes, grinning. “because it’s the coolest one. duh.”

“obviously,” rafe replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

you stayed quiet, watching the two of them interact. rafe always had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world, and for that, you could never fault him. but it also made it harder to keep your walls up. harder to ignore the cracks in the carefully constructed distance you’d built between you.

“mom,” your daughter said, drawing your attention back. “what’s your favorite planet?”

you hesitated, caught off guard. “uh… earth, i guess.”

“that’s boring,” she said, scrunching her nose. “pick another one.”

“mars,” you said, smiling slightly. “it’s red. it stands out.”

“see? now you’re getting it,” she said, turning her attention back to her project.

rafe glanced at you, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “mars, huh? bold choice.”

you rolled your eyes, but the faint flush that rose to your cheeks betrayed you. “don’t start.”

“i wasn’t going to,” he said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. but there was a softness in his gaze that lingered longer than it should have, and you felt the weight of it settle in your chest.

as your daughter continued her explanation, rafe’s attention shifted back to her, and for a while, the moment felt almost… normal. like the three of you were just a family, sitting on the porch and sharing a quiet evening together. but when she finally finished and announced she was going inside to grab something, the atmosphere shifted again.

you stood, gathering the empty glasses from the table as rafe leaned back in his chair, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’d worn earlier.

“you don’t have to stay,” you said, your voice quieter now. “she’ll be fine showing me the rest.”

“i know,” he said, his tone even. “but i’m not in a rush.”

you set the glasses down on the counter just inside the door, your back to him as you tried to steady yourself. he was always like this—so calm, so sure, even when everything between you felt like it was hanging by a thread.

“why are you doing this, rafe?” you asked, turning to face him. “why now?”

he frowned slightly, standing and closing the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps. “doing what?”

“this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “saying the things you’re saying. showing up like this. you know how hard it is for me to—” you stopped, shaking your head. “it’s just hard.”

rafe’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost unsure. “because i can see it, y/n,” he said quietly. “the way you still look at me when you think i’m not paying attention. the way you hold back, like you’re afraid to admit that what we had—what we have—is still there.”

“it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “there’s too much history. too much… everything.”

“so what?” he asked, his tone firm but not harsh. “you think people don’t come back from worse? we’re not perfect, y/n, but that doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out.”

you shook your head, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “i don’t know if i can trust you, rafe.”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “then let me prove it,” he said, stepping closer. “let me show you that i’m not the same person i was. that i can be better—for you. for her.”

your chest ached, torn between the part of you that wanted to believe him and the part that remembered all the times you’d been let down before. but before you could say anything, your daughter came bounding back onto the porch, holding a small notebook.

“okay, so this is the next part!” she said excitedly, completely unaware of the tension lingering in the air.

rafe glanced at her, then back at you, his expression softening. “i’ll stay for this,” he said quietly, as if giving you the choice to send him away. but you couldn’t find the words to refuse him, not with the way your daughter lit up when he turned his full attention to her.

so you stayed. and for the rest of the evening, as the sky turned dark and the stars came out, you let yourself hope—just for a moment—that maybe things could be different this time. that maybe, just maybe, rafe could be right.

[soleilpinto]

Huracán de Barcelona (Carlos Sainz) ♱ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍷

“You’re not as different from me as you think,” 𐙚—🪽

Synopsis: Carlos Sainz, a devout church member destined for sainthood, finds his faith tested when he meets Y/N, a bold and beautiful woman known as Huracán de Barcelona or The Hurricane of Barcelona. Drawn into her world of defiance and temptation, Carlos faces a battle between his vows and his desires, questioning everything he once believed. Their forbidden connection will change both their lives forever.

Genre: Slowburn, Angst

AU: 1960s!au

Pairing: Priest!Carlos x Rebel!Reader

Warnings: Reader isn't exactly a good person, she's misunderstood. This fic is lowkey rooted in my religious trauma but we don't talk about that.

Note: I've been geeking out over Hilda Furacão for the longest time and decided to take my own spin on it because I thought, why not? I've tried convincing my friends to watch it so I'm no longer alone, and I hope you guys like it! Don't forget to + reblog if you enjoyed reading.

The warm glow of Barcelona’s neon lights cast vivid reflections on the rain-slicked streets of the red-light district. Carlos Sainz walked with quiet purpose, his simple black cassock stark against the gaudy opulence surrounding him. 

In his hands, a worn Bible—the anchor of his resolve, the symbol of his mission. He moved through the chaos of the night, determined to bring solace to those lost in the shadows of the city.

Inside La Rosa Negra, the district’s most infamous club, decadence thrived.

Music thumped, laughter rang out, and a haze of cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air. Among the revelers, you reclined on a velvet chaise, draped in a crimson gown that shimmered like liquid fire. 

A glass of champagne rested in her hand, its fizz catching the dim lights as your piercing eyes scanned the room. You were at home in this chaos, thriving in it, yet tonight her gaze landed on something—someone—who didn’t belong.

At first, you almost laugh. The man standing at the entrance, his black cassock and steady gaze, is a jarring contrast to the vivid world around him.

He clutches his Bible tightly, a solitary island of purpose in an ocean of indulgence. The faintest smirk pulls at your lips as you watch him step further into the club.

He begins to speak, his voice cutting through the din. It’s calm and firm, a steady current against the tide of indifference. But you can see it’s futile. Patrons glance his way with vague curiosity before returning to their drinks and conversations. Yet, he doesn’t falter.

His presence commands attention in a way that stirs something in you—curiosity, amusement, and perhaps a touch of challenge.

You lean back, taking a sip of champagne as an idea forms. The game practically writes itself. You set your glass aside and rise, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you move through the crowd. The familiar sound feels like a prelude to a performance, and the patrons part for you instinctively.

When you stop in front of him, you tilt your head slightly, letting your lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.

“You’re either very brave or very foolish, Padre,” you say, your voice laced with playful mockery.

His eyes meet yours for the first time, steady and unwavering. Up close, you notice the sharpness of his features, handsome in a way that doesn’t fit with his role—or this place. But it’s the strength in his gaze that holds you, a calmness that both intrigues and unnerves you.

“I come where I’m needed,” he replies simply, his voice measured.

You arch an eyebrow, amused by his composure. “And you think we need you?” you ask, feigning curiosity. A soft laugh escapes you as you shake your head.

“How noble. But tell me, Padre, do you even know what it is we’re looking for?”

His expression doesn’t waver. “I think you’re looking for more than this,” he says, gesturing subtly to the room around you.

You chuckle, the sound carrying a faint edge. “More than this? What makes you so sure?” You take a step closer, your voice dropping just enough to make it personal.

“You don’t know me, Padre. You don’t know what I want, what I need.”

For a moment, the distance between you feels like a thread pulled taut. His calm resolve remains, but you notice a flicker of doubt, so faint it’s almost imperceptible.

You lean in, catching the faint scent of incense on him, and let your voice drop further, almost conspiratorial.

“You think you’re different,” you murmur. “That you’re here to save me, to show me the error of my ways.” You pause, watching the tension build in his silence. Then, with a sly smile, you add, “But tell me, Padre—who’s going to save you?”

The weight of your words lingers, and his silence is an answer enough. Satisfied, you step back, your confidence surging as you give him one last knowing look. 

“Careful, Father,” you say, your voice light but tinged with something darker. “You might find yourself in need of saving after all.”

As you walk away, you feel his eyes on you, lingering longer than they should. A thrill courses through you, though you’re not quite sure why. Whether it’s the game itself or the strange pull of his presence, you can’t tell.

One thing is certain, though: this is far from over.

After your first encounter, Carlos couldn’t escape you. Even in the quiet solitude of his small, sparsely furnished room at the parish, your laughter lingered in his mind, like the faint echo of a song that refused to fade.

 He knelt in prayer each night, clutching his rosary tightly, seeking clarity and strength. He told himself that you were a test—an obstacle placed in his path by God to challenge and refine his faith.

But the memory of you was relentless.

It wasn’t just your beauty, though that alone was enough to unsettle him. It was the way you moved, the way you spoke with such confidence and defiance, as though the rules of the world—and of God—were mere suggestions to you. 

You had looked at him not with guilt or shame, as so many others in your world did, but with amusement, as though you held some secret he could never comprehend.

Carlos found himself questioning his resolve. Why had he been so affected by you? Why did your words, your presence, continue to haunt him? Every moment he spent thinking about her felt like a betrayal of his calling, a crack in the foundation of his devotion. But no matter how fervently he prayed, no matter how many scriptures he recited, your image remained.

For you, your encounter was less about faith and more about curiosity. Men like Carlos didn’t belong in your world—men with unwavering principles, who spoke with conviction about things like salvation and redemption. 

It fascinated you. 

He wasn’t like the others who passed through La Rosa Negra, indulging in its offerings while wearing masks of denial.

Carlos was genuine, and that made him an enigma you couldn’t ignore.

You found herself replaying the moment he had looked into your eyes, unwavering even as you pushed and prodded at his composure. There was strength in him, a quiet kind of power that she didn’t often encounter. Most men were easy to read and easy to manipulate. But Carlos was different. His devotion wasn’t a facade—it was real, and it intrigued you.

At first, you told yourself it was a game. He was a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to be conquered. 

What would it take, you wondered, to make him falter? Could you pull him from his pedestal of piety, or would he prove as unshakable as he seemed? The thought thrilled you, and yet, there was something deeper, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

For both of you, your encounter had created a ripple you couldn’t ignore.

Carlos returned to the district more frequently, under the pretense of his mission to save souls. But every time he stepped into the shadows of Barcelona’s neon glow, he found himself scanning the crowds, searching for you. And you, in turn, began to linger in places you knew he might appear, your interest growing with each passing day.

Carlos saw you as a test—a trial meant to strengthen his faith and reaffirm his commitment to his calling. But he couldn’t deny the unease you stirred in him, the questions you raised about his own humanity. 

You saw him as a challenge, a man who had built his life on principles you had long since abandoned. But as the days passed, you found yourself less interested in breaking him and more curious about understanding him.

Your worlds, so starkly different, began to orbit each other in a way that neither could fully control. And though neither would admit it, you were drawn to one another—not just by curiosity, but by the faint, undeniable pull of something neither of you fully understood.

Carlos found himself returning to La Rosa Negra more often than he would admit, even to himself.

He justified it as part of his mission—his duty to save those who had strayed farthest from grace. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t the smoky haze or the disillusioned patrons that drew him back. It was you.

Tonight, you were waiting for him, lounging at the same velvet chaise as though you’d expected his arrival. Your ruby-colored gown clung to you in all the right places, and your eyes sparkled with mischief as he approached.

“Back again, Padre?” You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Starting to think you like it here more than you’d care to admit.”

Carlos stood tall, his expression calm despite the heat rising to his face.

“I will continue to go where I’m needed,” he replied firmly, clutching his Bible as though it were a lifeline.

“Needed,” you repeated, leaning forward slightly, your voice dripping with mockery. “And here I thought priests only stuck to the safety of their churches. But no, here you are, in the lion’s den once again. How noble.”

He ignored your tone, instead meeting your gaze with quiet resolve. “I’m here for you, Y/N,” he said simply.

Your laugh was soft and melodic, tinged with incredulity. “For me? Padre, you don’t even know me.” You gestured to the room around you. 

“What makes you think I’m any different from the others? Just another lost little soul for you to save?”

“You are different,” he said without hesitation, his voice steady. “You’re not like the others.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because you’re not indifferent,” he replied, his words measured. “You challenge me. You question me. That tells me there’s a part of you that still cares—about truth, about meaning. Even if you hide it behind mockery.”

For a moment, your smirk faltered. The way he looked at you, with such earnestness, was disarming. But you quickly recovered, crossing your legs and leaning back with an air of practiced ease.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” you say, your tone light but eyes probing. “After all, you’re so sure of yourself, so convinced you have all the answers. It’s fascinating, really.”

Carlos hesitated, unsure if you were taunting him or speaking honestly. 

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted quietly. “But I believe in something greater than this—greater than what you’ve settled for.”

“Settled?” You echoed, voice sharper now. “You think I’ve settled for this? Let me tell you something, Padre—I chose this life. I’m not some poor, helpless creature waiting for you to swoop in and save me.”

“I don’t believe anyone chooses this,” he said gently, his gaze softening. “Not truly. You’ve been hurt, abandoned, lied to—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “Don’t you dare act like you know me. You hide behind your faith, Carlos. You’ve built your whole life around it because it’s easier than facing the real world. You sit on your little moral high ground, judging the rest of us for living in the mess you’re too afraid to touch.”

Your words hit him like a physical blow, but he didn’t back down. “And you?” he countered, his voice rising slightly. 

“You hide behind this life, this persona you’ve created. You pretend it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care, but I see it in your eyes. You’re lost, Y/N. You’re searching for something, and you think you’ll find it here, in the validation of strangers.”

Your jaw tightened, and for the first time, you didn’t have a quick retort. The silence between the two of you was heavy, charged with tension that neither could fully articulate.

Finally, you stood up, your movements deliberate as you closed the small distance between you and Carlos.

“Maybe I am lost,” you say softly, your voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “But at least I’m not lying to myself about who I am.”

Carlos met your gaze, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something he couldn’t name. “You’re not as different from me as you think,” he said quietly.

You tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe not,” you admitted, a ghost of a smile crossing your lips. “But I think you’re more lost than I am.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone once again, his grip on the Bible tightening as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

Carlos had always believed himself steadfast, unshakable in his faith.

His life had been one of service, guided by the tenets of scripture and the quiet assurance that he was walking the path of righteousness. But you had become a thorn in his conscience, a contradiction that burrowed deeper with each passing day.

He told himself that his feelings were not desire but pity, not longing but righteous concern. He prayed fervently, his whispered words to God growing increasingly desperate. 

“Lord, grant me strength. Let me see her as you do—a soul in need of salvation, nothing more.” Yet, no matter how many hours he spent in prayer, your image returned to him unbidden: the curve of your smile, the defiance in your eyes, the way you looked at him as though you could see the thoughts he tried so hard to suppress.

When he sought you out again, he told himself it was for your sake. You needed guidance, and he was obligated to provide it. This was his calling, his purpose. But when he saw you, lounging in your usual spot at La Rosa Negra, his heart betrayed him.

“Back for another sermon, Padre?” You teased as he approached, your white dress catching the dim light and making you seem almost otherworldly. Devil in disguise.

Carlos hesitated, gripping his Bible tightly. “I’m here because I care about your soul, Y/N. I can’t stand to see you waste your life like this.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine. 

“My soul? You’ve got quite the fixation on it, don’t you? But tell me, Carlos—” you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “—is it really my soul you’re worried about?”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he was struck silent. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the floor rather than her piercing gaze. “You’re trying to distract me,” he said, his voice strained.

“Distract you?” You tilted her head, smirk widening. “From what, exactly?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, his chest tight and his thoughts a whirlwind.

But he couldn’t stay away.

The next time the two of you met, it was outside the club, late at night when the streets were quieter. Carlos had been walking, lost in thought when he saw you leaning against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette.

“Carlos,” you greeted him casually, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Didn’t think I’d see you out here. Shouldn’t you be in a church somewhere, praying for all our souls?”

“I pray for you,” he admitted, his voice low. “Every day.”

Your expression softened, but only for a moment. “You shouldn’t waste your prayers on me.”

“They’re not wasted,” he insisted, stepping closer. “I believe you can change, Y/N. I believe God has a plan for you if you’d only let Him in.”

“And what about you?” You asked, tone sharper now. “What’s God’s plan for you, Carlos? To spend your whole life saving all these sinners while pretending you’re not just as human as the rest of us?”

“I don’t pretend,” he shot back, his voice rising. “I’ve dedicated my life to something greater, something sacred.”

“And yet here you are,” you say, stepping closer, your gaze unwavering. “Standing here with me. Tell me, Padre, is this sacred?”

Carlos felt his resolve crumble as you closed the distance between you. He could feel the warmth of your presence, and smell the faint scent of your perfume. His heart raced, every instinct screaming at him to leave, to run back to the safety of his church and his prayers. But he didn’t move.

“You’re testing me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not,” you replied, your voice soft now, almost tender. “I’m just being honest. Maybe it’s time you were, too.”

At that moment, the weight of his denial came crashing down. He didn’t just care for you as a priest cared for a wayward soul. He wanted you, desired you in a way that defied everything he had vowed to uphold.

“I can’t—” he began, but the words caught in his throat as you reached up, your fingers lightly grazing his cheek.

“You can,” you say, voice steady, almost daring.

And then, against every vow he had ever made, every principle he had sworn to uphold, he gave in.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and restrained, as though some part of him still tried to cling to the man he was supposed to be. But the floodgates had opened, and there was no going back.

When you broke apart, the silence between them was deafening. Carlos stepped back, his chest heaving, his hands trembling.

“What have I done?” he whispered, his voice laced with anguish.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “You did what you’ve been wanting to do since the moment you saw me,” you said simply.

He stared at you, torn between shame and something he couldn’t name. “I… I need to go,” he said, turning and walking away before you could respond, the weight of his actions threatening to crush him with every step.

Carlos shut himself away in the small, dimly lit chapel that had become both his sanctuary and his prison.

The once comforting scent of incense now seemed suffocating, the flickering candles casting shadows that danced mockingly across the walls. He knelt before the altar, his hands clasped so tightly in prayer that his knuckles turned white.

"Forgive me, Father," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I have failed You. I have strayed from the path You set for me. I let her pull me into darkness... I let myself be weak."

The memory of your touch, your voice, your eyes—everything about you—played on an unending loop in his mind.

Each moment felt like a dagger, twisting deeper into his soul. He had succumbed to temptation, and now the weight of his sin felt unbearable. He had been called to be a servant of God, to lead others to salvation, and yet he had fallen, allowing her to taint him.

"No, not her," he muttered aloud, his voice trembling. "She is not to blame. It’s me. I allowed it. I let her in."

But even as he tried to take responsibility, a darker thought lingered in the corners of his mind. Had you been sent to test him, or to ruin him? Had you been a temptation laid in his path by the devil himself?

Meanwhile, you stood outside the chapel, your arms crossed tightly over her chest. You had waited for days, hoping Carlos would come to you, that he would at least confront the feelings you both knew existed. But instead, he had disappeared into this sanctuary, avoiding you like you were some kind of plague.

Finally, your patience snapped. You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing through the stillness of the chapel. Carlos flinched at the noise, his head snapping up to see you silhouetted against the light.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and strained.

“What am I doing here?” You repeated, your tone sharp and incredulous. You stepped closer, your heels clicking on the stone floor. “What are you doing here, hiding like a coward?”

Carlos rose to his feet, his expression torn between anger and despair. “I am seeking forgiveness,” he said, his voice trembling. “For what I’ve done—for letting you... letting this happen.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you took another step toward him. “Letting me? Is that what you think this is? That I’m some kind of devil sent to tempt you?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “This... this isn’t who I am. This isn’t who I’m supposed to be. I had a purpose, a calling. And now it’s gone.”

“Gone?” You snapped, your voice rising. “You think you’ve lost your purpose because of me? Because you kissed me? Don’t you dare put this on me, Carlos.”

“I’m not putting it on you!” he shot back, though his voice lacked conviction. “But you—” He paused, searching for the right words, but they escaped him.

“But what?” You pressed, your tone laced with hurt. “Say it. You think I ruined you, don’t you? That I’ve tainted you and ruined your chance at sainthood.”

Carlos looked away, his silence speaking volumes.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the heavy air. “You know what your problem is, Carlos? You’re so busy trying to be a saint that you’ve forgotten how to be human.”

He turned back to you, his face a mask of anguish.

“I gave up being human a long time ago. I chose this life because I wanted to rise above it, to serve something greater than myself. And now—” His voice cracked, and he looked away again.

“And now you’re realizing that you’re just as flawed as everyone else,” you finished for him, your voice softening slightly.

“Welcome to the real world, Carlos. It’s messy and complicated and full of mistakes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

He clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t understand what this means to me. I’ve dedicated my entire life to this path. To fail now—it’s unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable?” You stepped closer, your voice firm but not unkind. “Do you really think God is up there keeping a tally of every mistake you make? Do you think He’s going to damn you for being human, for feeling something real?”

Your words struck a chord, but Carlos shook his head, unwilling to let go of his guilt. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your hand lightly touching his arm. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. 

“Carlos,” you say, your voice gentle now, “I’m not your enemy. I never was. But you need to stop using me as an excuse to avoid your own doubts. You’re questioning things because you’re human, not because of me.”

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with conflict. “I don’t know how to move forward,” he confessed.

“Then stop trying to figure it all out at once,” you state simply. “Start with the truth. What do you want, Carlos? Not what you think you’re supposed to want. What do you want?”

The silence that followed was heavy, but for the first time, it wasn’t suffocating. It was a space for honesty, for something real to take root. And in that moment, Carlos realized that the answer he’d been running from was standing right in front of him.

The sting of rejection lingers longer than you expected. For days after Carlos turned his back on you, his absence felt like a void in the chaotic rhythm of your life. 

You’ve always thrived on your ability to stay in control and to hold the upper hand in any interaction. But now, for the first time in a long while, you’re left grappling with an uncomfortable truth—you’re not as unaffected as you thought you were.

You pace the length of your apartment, the sounds of the city filtering through the windows—honking cars, muffled laughter, the occasional shout. Normally, the chaos outside feels like an extension of you, a reminder that life never stops moving. But tonight, it feels distant, irrelevant.

In the silence, memories creep in. The way Carlos looked at you—not with lust, like so many others, but with something deeper, something raw. 

The way his voice wavered when he spoke your name as if he were afraid of the power it held. You think about the way he walked away, his shoulders heavy with guilt, his words cutting sharper than they should have.

It’s not your fault, but I can’t be near you.

You scoff aloud at the memory, though the sound is bitter. “Coward,” you mutter, but the word rings hollow. 

Deep down, you know his rejection wasn’t just about you. It was about him, his faith, his struggle to reconcile who he wanted to be with who he actually was. Still, knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The truth is, Carlos made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time—seen. 

Not for your beauty, not for your confidence, not for the role you play in a world that thrives on appearances, but for something deeper, something more vulnerable. And now that he’s gone, that vulnerability feels like an exposed wound.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and for a moment, you barely recognize the woman staring back.

The black gown, the perfectly painted lips, the sharpness in your eyes—they all feel like a mask, a costume you’ve worn so long that you’ve forgotten what’s underneath.

“Who are you?” you whisper to your reflection, the question hanging heavy in the air.

The answer doesn’t come easily. You think about the choices you’ve made, the life you’ve built—a life of freedom, of defiance, of never letting anyone hold power over you. But now, for the first time, you wonder if that freedom has come at a cost. 

Have you been running all this time? And if so, from what?

Your thoughts drift back to Carlos, to the fire in his eyes when he spoke of his faith, of purpose, of something greater than himself. You didn’t agree with him—you still don’t—but you can’t deny the pull of his conviction.

It made you wonder if you’d been wrong to dismiss the idea of something more.

And yet, his faith had crumbled in the face of his desire for you. That should feel like a victory, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels hollow, like you’ve won a battle you never wanted to fight.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. The question lingers in your mind, persistent and unrelenting. What do you want, Y/N?

Not the fleeting thrill of the game, not the power you wield over others, not the endless nights of laughter that fade by morning. What do you truly want?

The thought scares you more than you’d like to admit because, for the first time, you’re not sure you know the answer.

The church is silent, save for the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. It’s the same place where Carlos once knelt in devotion, where he first took his vows and pledged his life to God. But tonight, the sanctuary feels different—less holy, more human.

Carlos stands at the altar, his hands clasped in front of him, though not in prayer. His cassock hangs loosely on his frame, as if it no longer fits the man he has become. The weight of his inner turmoil is etched into his face, and for the first time, he looks like someone searching for answers rather than providing them.

The echo of footsteps draws his attention, and he turns to see you stepping into the church.

Your presence feels out of place here, yet oddly fitting, like a storm finding its way into a serene landscape. You're dressed simply, without the usual glamour that used to envelop you, but it only makes you seem more striking.

Neither of you speak at first. The distance between you feels vast, a chasm of misunderstandings, pain, and the undeniable connection that brought you here.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Carlos finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

You walk closer, your heels clicking softly against the stone floor.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” you admit. Your gaze sweeps over the church, the stained glass windows filtering muted colors into the dim light. “But I needed to see you one last time.”

Carlos nods, his eyes fixed on you as if he’s afraid you might disappear. “I’ve been… thinking,” he begins, his words careful, measured. “About everything. About you. About me.”

He looks down, his voice faltering. “You changed everything, Y/N.”

Your lips curl into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I wasn’t trying to,” you say softly.

“I know,” he replies, meeting your gaze again. “But you did. I thought I understood faith. What it meant to be a man of God. I thought I knew who I was. But after you… I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

You step closer, the distance between the two of you shrinking. “And is that my fault, Carlos? Or is it because you were too afraid to question it before?”

He exhales sharply, the question cutting through him. “Maybe both,” he admits. “I convinced myself that my path was clear, that I was untouchable. But you showed me the cracks, the places I didn’t want to see.”

“And now?” You ask, your voice quieter, almost fragile.

Carlos looks around the church, his expression pained. “Now, I don’t know if I can call myself a man of God. I broke my vows. I doubted everything I believed in. And I—” His voice catches, but he forces himself to continue. “And I wanted you in ways I never should have. That’s not the man I was supposed to be.”

Your eyes soften, and you step even closer, close enough to touch him but holding back. “You’re not a saint, Carlos,” you say gently. “You never were. You’re just a man. And maybe that’s what you were running from all along.”

He stares at you, the truth of your words sinking in. For a long moment, neither of you speak, the silence filled only by the flicker of candlelight.

“What about you?” Carlos asks finally, his voice tentative. “What do you want now, Y/N? After everything?”

You look down, a faint tremor in your voice as you answer. “I want to stop running, too. I’ve spent so long living to defy everyone else, proving that I don’t need their approval. But I’m tired, Carlos. Tired of fighting battles that don’t even matter to me anymore.”

Your gaze lifts, meeting his, and for the first time, there’s no mockery or defiance in your expression—only vulnerability.

“I want something real,” you say. “Even if it’s not with you.”

Carlos flinches, your words hitting him harder than he expected. But he nods slowly, understanding. “I can’t give you what you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not even sure who I am anymore. But I hope… I hope you find it.”

You step forward, reaching out to touch his face lightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “And I hope you find yourself, Carlos,” you say softly. “Because whoever that man is, I think he’s worth knowing.”

You let your hand fall, and you both stand there for a moment longer, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Then, with a faint, bittersweet smile, you turn and walk away, your footsteps echoing through the empty church.

Carlos watches you go, his heart heavy but strangely lighter than before. As the doors close behind you, he turns back to the altar, unsure of what lies ahead but knowing one thing for certain—his life will never be the same.

Carlos left the church quietly, slipping away from the place that had been his refuge, his calling, and, ultimately, his prison. He carried little more than a small suitcase, the cassock folded inside as though packing away an old skin. 

For days, the road stretched before him, unfamiliar and daunting, each step taking him further from the life he thought he was destined to lead.

In the beginning, his prayers were desperate, pleading whispers in the night. “God, forgive me. Show me the way,” he’d mutter, clutching his rosary as though it could anchor him. But the words felt empty, bouncing back from a silence he couldn’t ignore. 

His faith, once unshakable, now felt fragile, brittle under the weight of his doubts.

He soon found himself in a coastal town far from Barcelona, where the salty breeze mingled with the scent of fresh bread from the local bakery. 

The town was simple, quiet, and unremarkable, but its stillness offered a balm to his restless spirit. He took a job at the bakery, learning to knead dough and shape loaves with hands that once held a Bible.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounding.

For the first time in years, his work felt tangible, the ache in his muscles at the end of the day a comforting reminder of his efforts.

Carlos thought of you often, though the memories came with less pain over time. He recalled your sharp wit, the way your laughter could cut through the most solemn of moments, and the way your piercing eyes seemed to see through him. 

You had challenged everything he believed, not out of malice, but because you saw the cracks in the foundation he’d built his life on.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, Carlos sat on a bench overlooking the sea.

A journal rested on his lap, its pages filled with reflections and unanswered questions. He thought of the arguments you’d shared, your voice sharp yet earnest as you tore into his defenses.

“You hide behind the church because it’s easier than facing the real world,” you’d said during one of your heated exchanges. “You call it faith, but it’s fear, Carlos. Fear of failure, fear of imperfection, fear of being human.”

At the time, your words had infuriated him, striking too close to the truth. Now, they lingered in his mind like an undeniable echo.

“You were right,” he murmured aloud, the waves crashing softly below. “I was hiding. I thought I was above the chaos, but I wasn’t. I never was.”

He closed his eyes, letting the breeze carry away his confession. For the first time, the weight of guilt seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile acceptance. He wasn’t the man he used to be, but perhaps that was the point.

In Barcelona, you wandered the city’s labyrinthine streets, your heels clicking against the cobblestones. The vibrant energy of the city felt muted now, a backdrop to your growing introspection. 

After Carlos left, you’d thrown yourself back into the familiar rhythms of your life—late nights, endless parties, and the intoxicating game of holding the world at arm’s length. 

But it wasn’t the same.

One afternoon, you passed a small, unassuming church tucked between two old buildings. Something about its modesty drew you in. The air inside was cool and quiet, the faint scent of candles and incense lingering.

You sat in the back pew, letting the stillness envelop you. It was the first time you’d stepped into a church without an agenda, without a performance to put on.

Carlos’ voice came back to you, unbidden, from one of your arguments. 

“You think rebellion makes you free, but it’s just another kind of prison,” he’d said, his gaze intense, his words cutting through your bravado.

At the time, you’d dismissed him with a laugh, but now, sitting in the quiet, you couldn’t shake the truth of his words. You weren’t free. You were running, hiding, masking the emptiness you were too afraid to face.

“Carlos,” you whispered, his name lingering on your lips like a prayer. You didn’t know where he was or if he ever thought of you, but you hoped he had found peace.

Months passed, and Carlos settled into his new life. The townspeople had accepted him as one of their own, though they never pried into his past.

His days were simple—early mornings at the bakery, evenings watching the waves, and nights spent reflecting.

One evening, after closing the bakery, Carlos sat at his small kitchen table with a pen and paper. He began writing a letter, not intending to send it, but needing to put his thoughts into words.

“Dear Y/N,

I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I hope you’ve found what you’re looking for. I used to think meeting you was a test, something I had to endure to prove my faith. But now, I see it differently. You weren’t my downfall. You were the mirror that forced me to see myself clearly for the first time.

I’m still figuring out who I am without the church, but I think I’m starting to like this version of me. It’s messy and uncertain, but it’s real. Thank you for teaching me that, even if it was painful.

Take care, Carlos”

He folded the letter and tucked it away in a drawer, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Life wasn’t perfect, but it felt honest, and for now, that was enough.

Though your paths had diverged, you and Carlos carried pieces of each other forward.

His voice remained in your thoughts, not as a haunting, but as a reminder of the lessons you’d learned. You no longer lived solely to defy expectations, nor did he cling to the rigid ideals of his past.

In your separate journeys, you found something precious: the courage to face yourselves. And though you would likely never meet again, the bond you shared—tempestuous, transformative, and unforgettable—would remain a part of you both, a testament to the way two flawed souls could change each other forever.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[badasoneandonly]

𝘗𝘜𝘛 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘈 𝘔𝘖𝘝𝘐𝘌 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,118𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N is manipulated by her neighbor Hwang In-Ho into a relationship, questioning it only to be gaslit into submission, ultimately losing herself to his control.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: MANIPULATIVE INHO, NAIVE READER, READER IS 22 WHILE INHO IS 45, NEO-NOIR, DARK ROMANCE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP.

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘏𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰 × 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 ;)

"C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the voice cooed from Y/N’s phone as Lana Del Rey’s lyrics flowed through her headphones. The eerie, saccharine melody filled her quiet room as she absentmindedly hummed along, the words settling somewhere deep in her subconscious. She wasn’t sure why she liked this song. Something about it felt unsettling yet intoxicating, a contradiction that mirrored her own life.

Her neighbor, Hwang In-Ho, had always been there. He had lived next door for as long as she could remember. While their families were close, her connection with In-Ho had always been... different. As a child, she idolized him. He was older, wiser, and had a calm, commanding presence that made her feel safe.

But now, things felt different.

---

Y/N was sitting in her backyard, flipping through a novel, when In-Ho leaned over the fence that separated their properties. His casual smile disarmed her, as always.

“You’ve been reading that book for weeks now,” he teased, his deep voice carrying warmth.

She smiled shyly. “I like to take my time.”

“Some things are worth savoring,” he said, his words laced with a meaning she couldn’t quite grasp.

They chatted for a while about nothing in particular, and before long, he invited her over for tea. She agreed without hesitation. It was second nature to her—In-Ho had always been like an older brother, someone she could trust implicitly.

But that trust would soon be tested.

---

As they sat on his patio, sipping tea, In-Ho began to reminisce.

“You know, I remember when you were just a little thing,” he said, his eyes glinting with nostalgia. “You used to follow me around everywhere.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “I was a kid. You were the cool older neighbor.”

“You still do,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for her to catch.

Her laughter faltered, and she looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his smile returning. “It’s just funny how some things never change.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but a strange tension lingered in the air.

---

That night, as Y/N lay in bed, the memory of his words replayed in her mind. “Some things never change.” It was such an innocent phrase, but the way he’d said it made her skin prickle.

---

The weeks that followed were filled with small moments that left Y/N questioning everything. The way his hand would linger on her shoulder during conversations, the way he seemed to watch her a little too intently when she laughed, the way he always seemed to be there when she needed something.

She told herself she was imagining things. This was In-Ho. He’d always been kind and attentive. He was like family.

But then he confessed.

---

It happened on a quiet evening, as they walked together through their neighborhood. The sun had set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement.

“In-Ho,” she said, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone gentle.

“Why do you spend so much time with me?”

He stopped walking, turning to face her. The look in his eyes was intense, almost desperate.

“Because I care about you, Y/N. More than you know.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always cared about you,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s not just as a friend or a neighbor. It’s... more than that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“I-In-Ho, I don’t know what to say,” she stammered, her mind racing.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said, his voice soothing. “Just think about it. All I want is to make you happy.”

---

Y/N spent the next few days in a fog of confusion. She had never been in love before, never even dated. The idea of someone feeling that way about her was overwhelming.

And then there was In-Ho. He was safe. He was familiar. Maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like.

---

She agreed to date him.

At first, things were almost perfect. He was attentive and thoughtful, always making her feel special. He would surprise her with her favorite snacks, take her on long drives where they would talk for hours, and tell her how beautiful she was in ways that made her blush.

But as time went on, the cracks began to show.

---

He would ask her not to wear certain outfits.

“You don’t need to dress like that,” he said one evening as she prepared for a dinner with friends. “You’re already beautiful. Besides, who are you trying to impress?”

The comment made her stomach twist, but she brushed it off.

He started isolating her from her friends.

“Why do you need to spend time with them?” he asked one afternoon. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”

The questions felt harmless at first, but they began to pile up, eroding her confidence.

---

One evening, as they sat together in his living room, she finally voiced her doubts.

“In-Ho, do you think this is right?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I just... I feel like something’s off. Like this isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

He sighed, reaching for her hand. “Y/N, you’ve never been in love before. It’s normal to feel uncertain. But I know what I feel, and I know this is right. You just need to trust me.”

---

“C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the lyrics played in her head like a taunting whisper.

She began to question everything: his intentions, her own feelings, the way their relationship had started. But every time she tried to pull away, he would pull her back in with words that felt like a lifeline.

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” he told her one night, his voice soft but firm. “No one else could ever understand you like I do.”

---

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this was love, that the unease she felt was just her own inexperience clouding her judgment.

But deep down, she knew.

She knew that something about this wasn’t right.

---

By the time she realized the truth, it was too late.

In-Ho had woven his way into every aspect of her life, his presence a constant shadow that she couldn’t escape.

And somewhere along the way, she had stopped trying.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @ehcausewhynot @akumazwrld @elledumplings @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog

𝘈/𝘯: soo that happened, ik this isnt the usual sad angsty sht i post but like hey its just me branching out to diff genres ^_^ let me know if u liked it, i would love to hear yalls thoughts...