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what if ozzie created hell's version of ao3 and then radiostatic became one of the most popular ships but alastor didn't find out because ew, technology, until one day he did, but the top 69 fics are written by the same person & have incredibly realistic aspects that only one other person in hell would know
well, i wrote it. see below the cut for what i have so far
vox writes fanfic (and his username is alastors_babygirl)
Alastor goes nearly a century without acquiring any of those ridiculous, overdesigned electronic devices that the rest of Hell rots their brain with.
×
Things have been odd as of late. Angel Dust has been giving him strange looks—not the usual objectifying leer meant to evoke discomfort, but something more inquisitive—and Niffty has taken to giggling every time he walks past that tacky television they keep in the lounge. It hadn’t bothered him at first, as Angel Dust has always been a strange fellow, and Niffty is… well, Alastor isn’t sure if even she understands her own whimsy, sometimes.
But now, it’s getting a bit out of hand.
“Niffty, my dear,” Alastor says, “I have a question for you.”
She giggles, likely because he is standing next to the television. She manages to get it under control, though he can still hear the laughter in her voice as she says, “Yes?”
He glances pointedly at the television, then back at Niffty, and her grin widens. She kicks her feet and covers her mouth to hold back the giggles that threaten to erupt, and Alastor sighs. He is not going to get satisfying answers from her. “Never mind,” he says, weary. “Perhaps Charlie knows.”
×
Charlie blushes a bright red and flips her phone face-down in a panic, when he finally asks her in her office.
“Um—um, well…” she trails off, body language broadcasting her discomfort.
“This is getting tiring,” Alastor says, letting irritation bleed into his voice. “Despite my confidence that it is not the case, because who would be so foolish, I feel as though I’m being mocked. It is quite unpleasant.”
“No! No no no!” she squeaks. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” she takes a deep breath. “The fan fiction.”
“The what now?” Alastor asks, eyebrows furrowing.
She bites her lip, glancing down at her phone. “Asmodeus um… launched this new website,” she starts, and Alastor wrinkles his nose in disgust. Ugh, not this nonsense again. “And, well… people write stories on it about... about media or things they’re fans of. Like—like use the characters and setting, and… andyou’rethemostpopularship,” she says in a rush.
Alastor looks down at himself, and then back up at Charlie. “I didn’t take you for the type to be critical of somebody’s figure, regardless of the inaccuracy of your statement,” he says, clearly disappointed, and Charlie gasps.
“No! Ship—ship, like relationship! Not—I would never.” She’s offended now, frowning at him. “Why would you think I’d—”
“Please, Charlie,” Alastor says sharply, “Explain to me in plain language.”
She bites her lip, then shrinks a little in her seat. “Sometimes people… um, write stories about people, who they think would be good in a relationship… like romance stories.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” Alastor snaps.
“You’re the top—you’re the um, most popular, uh, ship. Relationship. Well, not just you, it takes two—anyway.” She stops, and smiles at him nervously.
“Who is the second party in this ‘relationship’ involving myself?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
When she tells him, he very politely demands to be shown this website, and she meekly flips her phone over and slides it toward him. He looks through it, smile fading slowly until it’s just a barely-there quirk of the lips. “Who?” he asks, unable to hide the venom in his voice. “Who is writing these?”
“Many—many people, Alastor. It’s—there’s—I, I mean, you see how many stories!” she squeaks.
“Do you read the ones where I’m involved with your father?” he asks, suspicious, as he points at the device. She gasps.
“No!” Charlie practically yells. “No, I do—I do not read sex stories about my—”
“Sex stories?” Alastor asks, voice thick with radio distortion, and she covers her mouth in horror at her own mistake.
“I—I mean, not all of them are—I mean, there are a ton that are just—and not just with my dad, but with—you know, him, and they’re—they’re so sweet, Alastor!”
The exhaustion is settling in his bones now, his ever-present smile twisted into a sardonic grimace. “I fail to understand how there can be any stories involving me and that—that walking billboard that are sweet.”
“Well, um…” she hesitates, nervous. “You could… you could read some?”
“I will most certainly not be doing that,” he says. “I will be going now. I appreciate your transparency, as painful as the information was to extract from you.”
Alastor leaves with his signature flourish, melting into the shadows.
×
He goes a week before he folds, though he has one of those egg creatures Sir Pentious left behind procure an electronic device for him instead of trying to find one himself. He then commands it to demonstrate how to navigate to that vapid archive of obscenities everyone seems so enraptured by.
Though there are a lot of these creepy little stories, and just as many writers, the most popular of these ‘fan fiction’ novellas are all written under the same pen name and have very specific personal details that only one other person in Hell would know.
Well, he supposes it has been quite a while since he’s gone to terrorize that tower in person. Why, he’s been positively angelic since his return to the public sphere. It’s time to pay his old friend a visit.
×
He could go in the front door, cause a scene, really ham it up for Vox’s pervasive cameras, but that’s too easy. Too predictable, and what sort of performer would he be if he didn’t improvise and change things up a bit?
Alastor materializes in Vox’s office, behind his chair. He is, unfortunately, not alone, as Alastor had hoped. Startled, Velvette screams, and Alastor turns to blink at her owlishly.
“Was that really necessary?” he asks.
Vox spins around in his chair so fast it keeps spinning, makes 3 revolutions before Vox manages to stop it. Alastor looks Vox up and down, nose wrinkled in distaste.
“I just greased it!” Vox says defensively. “It doesn’t do that all the time, I can—I can control my chair!”
“Why is he here?” Velvette hisses, and Vox points menacingly at Alastor.
“Yeah! Why is he—why are you here?”
Alastor inhales deeply, and lets out a slow, disappointed sigh. “We need to talk.”
“Get out of my fucking tower,” Vox snaps.
“I’d love to,” Alastor says, “as soon as you answer some questions about the creepy little love stories you’ve been writing online.”
Vox blanches, as much as a television screen can blanch—that is, his face turns greyscale, reminding Alastor very distinctly of the picture shows his mother used to take him to as a child. It’s very amusing, on Vox.
“Velvette, get out,” Vox orders, voice sharp. The color slowly bleeds back into his face, one pixel at a time.
Velvette gets up, looking like she’s about to argue, when Alastor turns to face her directly, twirling his microphone in hand as his smile grows.
“Fine, fuck you,” she spits, and makes her way out.
Then it’s just Alastor and Vox. Vox and Alastor. Two old friends. Two old buddies. Pals. Former pals. Ex-partners.
“I can explain,” Vox says, panicked.
“Oh,” Alastor says, sounding delighted. “You’re admitting to it so easily? Usually you’re more difficult than that.”
“Fuck,” Vox groans.
#voxal#radiostatic#staticradio#alastor x vox#vox x alastor#radiostatic fanfic#radiostatic fanfiction#hazbin fanfic#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin vox
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Pure Imagination: sitting on top of his amp
Pairing: Eddie Munson x female!Reader
Practice makes perfect. That’s what people say. Eddie thinks practice makes thinks automatic. Boring. He kinda likes the thrill of not being sure if he has what it takes to make it right- he’s used to feeling uncomfortable, on the brink of being not enough.
The rest of Corroded Coffin, on the other hand, enjoy knowing that their next performance will always be the best. And Eddie may think it’s boring to play the same song twenty times in one afternoon, but he loves his friends too much to bail on them.
Besides, now that he can play all the songs even while asleep, he can put his attention somewhere else. To hell with Jeff’s cue. His hands will do what they have to do, right on beat. Meanwhile, his head can focus on more stimulating thoughts.
Like you.
Eddie loves a good audience. And there is no better audience than you. He’d know. You were there once, at the talent show.
He was far less experienced than now. He loved playing the guitar just as much, though. You were in the third or fourth row, not that far from him. Eddie was nervous. You were laughing with your friend, but not at him. When he stepped on stage, you stopped talking and started paying attention. The smile was most likely the remnants of whatever had made you laugh earlier, but Eddie likes to lie to himself and believe it was for him.
When he started playing, you didn’t look away from him once. He supposes it would’ve defeated the purpose of a show, but still. His fingers felt your eyes. His arm. His neck, his cheeks. Eddie hoped you’d think the blush was because of the heat from the lights and not because of you. To this day, he’s a little ashamed you saw him with the buzz cut.
He doesn’t regret it, though, because you made him feel important.
Eddie wants to return the favor. That’s why he plays looking at the amp. It’s easy to picture you there. Back in high school, he noticed you like to sit on furniture. The art class tables, the kitchen counter at someone’s house party… And his amp, hopefully.
He starts playing and the beat paints you there. You’re sitting crisscross, hands on your knees. Eddie improvises a little and your fingers follow, little taps that echo his heartbeat. He shakes his hair and you laugh, and he’s happy. Truly, really happy. Who cares if he’s trapped in a dark garage. Who cares if no one will really appreciate his art when they play at the Hideout. Eddie, for once, doesn’t give a crap.
He can still pretend you’ll catch his guitar pick. He can convince himself you’ll keep it in your wallet for good luck, or that you’ll make it into a necklace. Eddie can convince himself you’ll keep a piece of his music hanging next to your heart. It’s easy to believe a part of him will always be warm, on top of your skin, under your t-shirt in a space that is exclusively yours.
It feels natural to be exclusively yours. His music is. His inspiration, too.
If Gareth wants to play another million times the same song they already perfected, great. Amazing. Eddie will happily take any chance to play for you.
A/N: me?? Posting Pure Imagination again?? Who is this diva?! Sabrina said "short and sweet" so that's what I did. I won't let this series die- instead I'll drag the suffering for as long as possible (that is to say it's taking longer than expected to finish). Anyway, hope you like it! If you want me to add you to the taglist, just comment or send an ask.
Btw, I used dividers for the first time to introduce a new series (The Heartbreak Chronicles, in case you want to check it out), and I was thinking maybe I should find a divider for this one too. Maybe something Alice in Wonderland related? Or just Eddie in general? Pls let me know if you have any suggestions.
Masterlist here
Taglist: @whataboutbibi , @hellfirenacht , @daisyridleyss
#fanfiction#lennadanvers#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie x reader#pure imagination#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie x you#corroded coffin#music#i'm back#bet you didn't expect this one huh#happy new year i guess
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Velvet Minds -S.Reid-
Famous Singer Reader x Spencer Reid
Summary: When the BAU is assigned a case involving murders linked to the music of the enigmatic singer Y/n, Dr. Spencer Reid is drawn into their world of haunting melodies and vintage allure.
Author’s Note: Hi, lovely readers! First, thank you for choosing to dive into Velvet Minds. This story contains mature themes and darker elements, so please read the warnings carefully. I tried to keep the balance between mystery, emotion, and romance, and I hope you find yourself immersed in their journey. Happy reading, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Your feedback means the world to me.
Warnings: Violence and Crime, Mental Health Themes, Mature Themes, Mystery and Suspense, Emotional Content
———————————————————————————-
The small Nevada town was unremarkable, a blur of cracked asphalt and sun-faded storefronts. The crime scene, however, was anything but. Reid stood in the center of the motel room, his keen eyes cataloging every detail.
The room was steeped in 1950s nostalgia: a rotary phone sat on the nightstand, a cigarette still smoldering in an ashtray. But the focal point was the record player. It sat in the corner, spinning Y/n’s “Midnight Motel” on repeat.
“Looks like our unsub has a theme,” Morgan remarked, gesturing to the décor.
Reid nodded but didn’t respond. His attention was consumed by the music. The melody was melancholic yet mesmerizing, the lyrics a tapestry of longing and despair.
“Y/n,” he murmured to himself.
“What was that?” JJ asked, glancing over.
“The artist. Y/n. They’re known for this retro aesthetic and emotionally charged music. Their songs are often about isolation and nostalgia.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as a fan of cinematic dream-pop, Spence.”
“I’m not,” he replied quickly, adjusting his tie. “But their cultural significance is undeniable.”
Unshaken by Reid’s deflection, JJ smirked. “Right.”
As the team worked, Reid couldn’t shake the feeling that the music held more than just atmospheric appeal for their unsub. It felt personal, almost like a signature.
Back at Quantico, Reid dove into research. Y/n’s career was a study in contrasts. They had skyrocketed to fame with their debut album, Echoes of Velvet Dreams, yet they remained elusive, retreating from public view between releases.
“They’re like a ghost,” Garcia said as she tapped away at her keyboard. “No scandals, no sightings outside of carefully orchestrated performances. Even their interviews are cryptic. The fans eat it up, though. They call themselves the ‘Velvet Hearts.’”
“They’ve cultivated an aura of mystery,” Reid observed. “It’s part of their appeal. People project their own emotions onto the music, creating a deeply personal connection.”
Garcia spun her chair to face him. “Sounds like you’re one of those people.”
Reid ignored her, focusing instead on the patterns emerging in the case. Each victim had been found in a space meticulously designed to mirror Y/n’s aesthetic. And always, one of their songs was playing.
The team’s investigation led them to Kansas, where Y/n was performing a rare, intimate show in a vintage lounge. Reid and Prentiss attended under the guise of being fans, blending into the crowd of retro-clad concertgoers.
The atmosphere crackled with anticipation. When Y/n finally appeared, the room fell silent. Draped in a sequined gown that shimmered under the dim light, they looked like a vision from another time.
As their haunting voice filled the space, Reid felt a strange pull. He couldn’t tell if it was the music, the case, or something else entirely, but Y/n had an undeniable presence that commanded attention.
After the performance, Reid approached their manager, flashing his badge. “We need to speak with Y/n about a case we’re working on.”
Moments later, he was ushered backstage. Y/n sat at a vanity, their reflection framed by dimly glowing bulbs. When they turned to face him, their gaze was sharp, cutting through the haze of their ethereal persona.
“You’re FBI,” they said, their voice softer but no less commanding than on stage.
“Yes, Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied, extending his hand.
Y/n studied him for a moment before shaking it. “What’s this about?”
Reid hesitated, momentarily distracted by the way the light caught on their features. “There’s a string of murders. Each scene is styled after your music, your image. We believe the unsub may be targeting people in connection to you.”
Y/n’s expression didn’t waver, but their hand gripped the edge of the vanity. “If someone’s using my art to hurt people, I want to help stop them.”
Over the next few weeks, Y/n became an unlikely collaborator. Reid found himself spending long hours with them, combing through fan letters, interviews, and obscure references in their lyrics.
Their dynamic was an odd but comfortable rhythm. Y/n’s introspective nature balanced Reid’s analytical mind, and their conversations often veered into personal territory.
One evening, while reviewing letters in a small recording studio, Y/n asked, “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong in the world you’re in?”
Reid looked up, startled by the question. “All the time,” he admitted.
Y/n smiled faintly. “That’s why I write. It’s the only way I know how to connect.”
Reid nodded, understanding more than he expected to. “For me, it’s knowledge. Facts and patterns—they make sense when nothing else does.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the case, the unsub, the danger—it all faded away.
The case reached its climax in a derelict diner on the outskirts of St. Louis. The unsub, a disillusioned fan, had recreated a scene from Y/n’s song “Midnight Motel”, complete with neon signs and half-empty coffee cups.
Reid and Morgan cornered the unsub, who ranted about preserving Y/n’s art, his obsession spilling out in fractured sentences.
“Y/n doesn’t want this,” Reid said, his voice steady. “You’re twisting their message.”
As the unsub was subdued, Reid’s thoughts drifted to Y/n. The case was over, but he wasn’t ready to let go of the connection they’d built.
Months later, Reid received an unmarked package. Inside was a vinyl record: Y/n’s latest album, Velvet Minds.
He placed it on his turntable, the familiar hum of the needle filling the room. The first track began, a delicate piano intro leading into Y/n’s unmistakable voice.
“Dedicated to Spencer,” the liner notes read.
As the music played, Reid leaned back, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Somewhere, in the vastness of their respective worlds, he and Y/n had found a melody that was uniquely theirs.
#mgg#mgg fanfiction#mgg pics#mgg x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#criminal minds fluff#i love mgg#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!readr#mgg fluff#spencer reid fic#famous reader#mgg x y/n#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid comfort#criminal minds angst#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x oc#x reader#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid angst#bau#bau team#writing
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need a rafe fic please where reader is part of the pogues, her and rafe have been on and off for forever obviously due to everything he’s done but deep down he’s so down bad for reader and maybe she’s pregnant instead of sarah and he doesn’t find out until morocco because the pogues are hovering over her idk angst fluff whatever you feel!!!
Two lines — Rafe Cameron
Summary : Fem!Reader is pregnant with Rafe’s baby, but he doesn't know until pope accidentally mentions her baby (season 4 ep 10 spoilers!! ⚠️)
Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader
Warnings : mentions of vomiting & language (english is not my first language)
A/N : as requested 😉 hope u like it anon!
Two lines, and the father was long gone, off doing god knows what. Rafe was the last guy I'd hooked up with, and even after we broke up, we somehow kept finding our way back to each other, especially after the Kildare Enduro. He knew no one else could satisfy me the way he did, and so it became this endless cycle, break up, hook up, make up. What Rafe didn’t know was that I was pregnant. I hadn’t planned on telling him, at least not until we made up.
There I was, back on Rafe’s boat with my friends, setting off to Morocco in search of the Blue Crown and Chandler Groff. My friends had locked Rafe up, tying him up in a small room, just in case. We all knew better than to trust Rafe Cameron, not after everything he’d done.
I walked into the dimly lit room, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a plate of food, and a couple of aspirin for his black eye. The sight of him, bruised, tugged at something deep inside me.
“Here,” I murmured, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “I brought some aspirin, just in case you’re feeling dizzy or something…”
He snorted, cutting me off. “What? You’re just gonna throw it in my mouth like I’m a fuckin' seal?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but his sharp tone made me bristle. “Nobody trusts you, Rafe,” I replied, my voice steady. “Not after what you did.”
His jaw tightened, and a flash of anger sparked in his eyes. “I saved your asses!” he shot back, his face flushing with frustration. “And not even a thank you was said.”
I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “I know, Rafe. I know,” I said softly. “Thank you, really.” I offered him a small, sincere smile.
He looked at me for a moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice quieter, a bit more vulnerable. I bit down on my lip, feeling the pull he always seemed to have on me.
“Yeah,” I admitted, almost reluctantly. God, he knew exactly how to get to me.
He looked at the ropes binding his wrists and nodded toward them. “Then untie me. Get this shit off me.”
I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt but holding my ground. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my resolve. “Just… eat the food. We wouldn’t want you dying in here.” With that, I turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind me, leaving me with a sigh that I didn’t even realize I’d been holding back.
As I stepped out of the room, I was met by Kiara’s anxious expression, her arms folded tightly as she waited. The moment she saw me, her face softened slightly, though worry still flickered in her eyes.
"How’d it go?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to hear the answer.
I shrugged, trying to mask the mixture of emotions stirring inside me. "Same old Rafe," I replied, keeping my tone light, but my gaze drifted, unable to meet hers directly.
Kiara studied me for a moment before speaking again. "Soo... did you tell him?"
I frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Tell him what?"
She raised an eyebrow, giving me a pointed look. "That you’re pregnant, with his child."
Oh, right. That one.
I swallowed, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. "Uh—no, not yet," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how he’d react." My hands found each other, my fingers nervously fidgeting as I tried to imagine how that conversation would even go. "What if he doesn’t want to keep the baby?"
Kiara sighed softly and reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her warmth grounded me, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts. "Look," she said firmly, her gaze locking onto mine. "You have us. We’ll help you through every single part of this. That’s what friends are for, right?"
I looked at her, the tension in my chest easing slightly. Her words held a strength that I so desperately needed. "Yeah," I whispered, a small smile breaking through my worry. "Thank you, Kie."
She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and for a moment, the uncertainty and fear faded. In her embrace, I felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that I wouldn’t have to face this alone.
After battling fierce winds and waves, we finally arrived in Essaouira. The coastal city spread before us, its whitewashed buildings with blue shutters gleaming under softened storm light. Narrow streets twisted through the medina, lined with shops selling handmade crafts and drenched in a timeless, rustic charm.
The Atlantic crashed against the ancient medina walls, sturdy and weathered, while blue fishing boats bobbed in the harbor—just like the skiffs in the Outer Banks. The salty air and easy warmth of the locals, the slow rhythm of the sea, and the hum of daily life brought back memories of home, as if Essaouira was a Moroccan echo of the Outer Banks.
We continued to wander through the narrow streets of Essaouira, the sound of bustling market vendors and the distant call of seagulls filling the air. John B and Sarah led the way, their steps light and carefree, like they had no care in the world. Following behind them was Cleo, Pope, and Kiara, their conversations flowing easily as they walked, with JJ and I bringing up the rear. But it was Rafe who trailed behind, his presence almost ghostlike, like a lost puppy, following silently in our wake.
As we strolled through the maze of alleyways, I felt a sudden, sharp wave of nausea hit me. It was sudden, and intense, as if something in my stomach was threatening to rise up. I let out a soft huff, pressing my hand to my stomach, trying to hold back the overwhelming feeling of sickness.
JJ, who had been walking beside me, must've noticed the change in my posture because he looked at me with concern. "Y/N?" he called, his voice laced with worry.
"Oh god," I muttered under my breath, the nausea worsening, my head spinning.
"What's wrong? You okay?" JJ asked, his voice low, concern evident on his face.
I shook my head, barely able to focus on him. "No... I need to sit," I said, my voice strained. I felt like I was going to collapse if I didn’t stop moving.
JJ quickly guided me to a pile of carpets that were stacked outside a shop. The soft fabric felt like a relief under me as I sat down, trying to steady my breathing. The rest of the group quickly noticed, and soon I was surrounded by their concerned faces. Kiara dropped to her knees in front of me, her eyes searching mine, her hand resting on my knee in a comforting gesture.
"What's up? What are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with genuine concern.
"I'm really nauseous," I managed to answer, my hand covering my mouth, just in case. I didn’t trust myself to hold it down any longer.
Cleo, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "She probably needs food. It’s been like two days..or what?" she said, her voice tinged with practicality.
"Yeah, the baby’s probably hungry too," Pope added, offering a casual shrug, as if it was just an obvious conclusion.
I froze, my stomach twisting. The mention of "the baby" caught me off guard, and suddenly, all eyes turned to me. Rafe, who had been hanging back, still distant, looked like he was suddenly paying attention. His gaze shifted from me to Pope and then back to me, his brow furrowing.
"What baby?" Rafe asked, his voice sharp, as if something about the situation didn't sit right with him.
Oh god, here we go.
Pope went silent, and I could feel the tension rise in the air, thickening around us. I glanced up at Rafe, who was now standing a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that was hard to read. His eyes narrowed as if trying to make sense of what he had just heard.
"No, seriously, what baby?" he repeated, his voice insistent, even stern now.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. There was no easy way to say it, but it had to be said. "I’m pregnant, Rafe," I said quietly, locking eyes with him. "With your baby."
The words hung in the air between us, like they were too heavy to carry. For a long moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. He just stood there, silent, his expression unreadable. The others were watching him closely, waiting for a reaction, but he remained eerily still.
I could feel the tension growing, an awkwardness settling in the space around us, as if everything had just shifted. My hands were shaking slightly, not from the nausea anymore, but from the weight of what had just been revealed. And Rafe, he was just staring at me, his mouth slightly parted but no words coming out.
"Go get her something to eat," Rafe suddenly snapped, his voice cutting through the tension that still hung thick in the air.
Without another word, he dug through his small waist bag, the leather creaking under his movements. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but then, with a small grunt of satisfaction, he pulled out a wad of cash—several bills, all stacked neatly together. As he unfolded them, I saw that he had about $400 in his hand, a small fortune for street vendors in Essaouira.
"Wait what?" JJ’s voice broke the moment of disbelief. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "They don’t take dollars, you idiot—"
"I said go," Rafe interrupted sharply, his tone hardening. There was no room for argument, no sign of hesitation in his voice. It was almost as if he was trying to regain some control over the situation, and in doing so, he completely dismissed JJ’s protests. His words were a command, not a suggestion.
The rest of us exchanged uneasy glances, the shift in Rafe’s demeanor catching everyone off guard. But without further discussion, John B, Sarah, Cleo, Pope, and Kiara reluctantly turned to start walking back toward the market, their steps unsure but obedient. JJ hesitated for a moment, clearly frustrated by Rafe’s abruptness, but eventually followed along as well.
Rafe’s eyes lingered on me for a second, his expression unreadable. He stood still for a moment longer, his gaze momentarily drifting over to the group before returning to me. He didn’t say anything else. His words had been clear, and I could tell that something about the situation had shifted for him.
"I don’t care whether you want the baby or not, but I’m keeping them," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. The truth was, I had made up my mind. I had to keep the baby, and nothing anyone said or did would change that. Not even Rafe.
Rafe’s eyes widened at my declaration, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at me, his face unreadable. Then, he kneeled down, and he let out a sharp breath. "Hey, hey, hey—who said I don’t want to keep the baby?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it, as if my words had hit a nerve.
I blinked, caught off guard by his response. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say next. His eyes were fixed on me now, intense, searching. It felt like something was shifting between us, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.
"We’ll take care of them," Rafe continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "I’ll be with you throughout the whole journey, Y/N. You’re not doing this alone." His voice held a kind of resolve, as if he had already decided, as if he was offering something that felt almost too good to be true.
For a split second, it felt like the world around me had stopped moving. The noise from the market faded into the background, and all I could hear was the steady beat of my own heart. The words he said felt surreal, like they were echoing in my head. "I’ll be with you, 'aight?"
I blinked again, almost feeling like I was in a dream, like I had slipped into some alternate reality where everything suddenly made sense. But when I looked at Rafe, his gaze never wavering from mine, I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. It felt like a nap dream, a momentary illusion that would disappear when I woke up.
"What?" I said, my voice coming out in a whisper of disbelief. "Sorry—"
Rafe seemed unbothered by my shock. He placed his hands on my knees, his movements deliberate. "You heard me, Y/N." His words were firm, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in them.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken thoughts, and I could feel the weight of what he had just said settle in my chest. It was almost too much to process. I had always expected Rafe to pull away, to make this harder for me. But here he was, standing before me with something I hadn’t expected, a promise. A promise to be there. A promise to face this together.
My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. I glanced away for a moment, as if hoping the world would shift and reveal the truth. But when I looked back at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He was still looking at me with those steady, unwavering eyes.
"You’re serious," I murmured more to myself than to him.
Rafe didn’t flinch. "Yeah," he said simply, as if there was nothing more to discuss, as if the decision had already been made. "I’ll be there for you. For us."
For the first time, I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still racing, but for a different reason now. There was a part of me that wanted to believe him, to hold on to this moment, to trust that things might actually be okay. But there was also a part of me that was terrified of what this all meant, of how my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t predict.
I stared at him in utter disbelief, barely able to process the reality unfolding before me. It felt like some kind of miracle. My vision began to blur as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the emotions welling up and spilling over, probably caused by the pregnancy hormones, but I couldn’t stop them. I tried to blink them away, but they only gathered faster, until a warm tear rolled down my cheek.
Rafe’s expression softened when he noticed, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close in a way that felt so natural, so steady. He didn’t hesitate for a second, and his embrace was warm, reassuring, holding me together when I felt like I was on the edge of falling apart, and God, it felt good to be back in his arms.
His hand rubbed gentle circles on my back as he murmured, “We’re gonna be parents.” His voice was soft, filled with awe and disbelief, as if he was speaking the words for the first time and couldn’t quite believe them either.
I nodded against his chest, clutching onto him as tightly as I could. The weight of his words settled over us, the reality of what lay ahead, and as much as I wanted to be brave, I couldn’t shake the fear that started to consume my mind. I let out a shaky breath, my voice coming out in a whisper, “I’m scared, Rafe.” The words felt small, vulnerable, but they were the truth.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands gently cupping my face as his thumbs brushed away the stray tears still slipping down my cheeks. “I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I am scared too.” There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored my own, a glimmer of uncertainty about the unknown future that lay ahead.
“But we’re in this together,” he continued, his voice growing stronger, as if he was convincing himself as much as he was reassuring me. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what’s coming… but I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and rested his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”
His words washed over me, filling some hollow place I hadn’t realized was empty. In that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of my fears, giving me a glimpse of something that felt almost like hope. The future was terrifying, yes, but it felt a little less daunting with him by my side.
I looked up at him, my voice steadying as I replied, “I’m glad it’s you.” And as I said the words, I realized just how much I meant them.
He offered me a small, crooked smile, a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “We’re gonna figure this out together,” he promised. “One step at a time.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. And in that moment, held in his arms, I felt a little less afraid.
Suddenly, as if on cue, the rest of the group appeared, each carrying an assortment of food and drinks. It was almost comical, watching them return all at once, each of them holding something different, John B with a handful of pita bread, Cleo balancing a bowl of yogurt, JJ carrying bottled water, and Sarah clutching a small bag of fruit, including a shiny red apple that she immediately extended toward me.
“Here,” Sarah said softly, her face easing with relief as she offered the apple. I took it gratefully, feeling the cool skin of the fruit in my hand, and took a tentative bite. The crisp, sweet flavor flooded my senses, soothing the nausea that had been twisting in my stomach. They watched with eager anticipation, and as they saw me begin to nibble, their worried expressions started to relax.
“Feeling better now?” Pope asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern as he studied my face.
I swallowed another bite and nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. “Yeah, yeah… thank you,” I replied, glancing at each of them.
They exchanged glances, visibly relieved, and a sense of warmth spread through me as I looked around at their familiar faces, each one showing their own brand of care. I realized then just how much I’d come to rely on them, not just as friends, but as family. I felt a comforting wave of gratitude for each of them, knowing they’d been there for me without question, supporting me in ways I hadn’t even thought possible.
As I took another sip of water, Rafe moved a little closer to me, his hand resting gently on my thigh. His touch was subtle, but the gesture was enough to let me know he was still there, holding his promise to stay by my side. There was something calming in his presence now, something steadying that I hadn’t noticed before.
The others began chatting among themselves, sharing their own stories of haggling with the vendors, laughing about who’d paid the most for what they’d brought. They were giving Rafe and me a moment, I realized, a chance to talk without the pogues’ attention fixed on us.
Rafe leaned down slightly, his face level with mine, his voice low and steady. “You really okay?” he asked, his hand still warm on my thigh.
I took a deep breath, the initial dizziness and nausea fading, leaving behind a feeling of clarity I hadn’t expected. “Yeah, I think so." I paused, looking up into his eyes.
He smiled, a soft, almost vulnerable expression, and for a moment, he seemed like a different Rafe—one who wasn’t weighed down by pride or bravado. “That's good” His voice was filled with a sincerity that softened something inside me. "Don't want our little one and her mommy to starve, do we?" He smiled making me let out a low chuckle.
In this quiet moment, I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the father of my child. Everything just felt right. Despite all the chaos, the ups and downs, there was a steady comfort in knowing me and Rafe would face it together.
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>゜))彡 taglist — @rafecamerons-national-anthem @ts1mp0ne @vheavxly @enjoymyloves @tv-girllover07 @husherstan @smthabsolutelyunhinged @multisection @onlyrealjoy @hoelesslyt @nina357
#outer banks#rafe cameron#netflix#drew starkey#rafe cameron imagine#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron fluff
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FICMAS #3— LOVE POTION / mattheo riddle
december 7th
mattheo riddle x reader
summary: when he’s all over you after a love potion gone wrong… aka pussydrunk!mattheo
warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, kissing, nipple sucking, swearing
words: 3.3k
a/n: forgot to post this earlier whoops 😵💫 also kind of unedited… so yeah!
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You barely registered the weight of him collapsing onto the worn leather couch beside you before his hands were reaching for yours, clumsy and sure all at once. His curls were wild, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and his eyes—merlin, his eyes—were soft and unfocused, tracing your face like he was committing every detail to memory.
“You smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick and honey-slow, like the words had been dipped in sugar. His nose brushed the side of your neck as he leaned in closer, the faint scent of chocolate and cedar lingering on his skin. “Like… I don’t even know. Just you.”
You froze, heat flooding your cheeks as you tried to process what the hell was happening. “Mattheo, are you drunk?”
He pulled back slightly, blinking at you with an almost childlike confusion, his lips curving into a crooked grin. “Not drunk,” he whispered. “Just…completely, utterly—” He sighed dreamily, his head falling against your shoulder. “Gone for you.”
Your book slipped from your lap, thudding against the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You stared down at him, utterly bewildered, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck with a contented hum.
This was not normal. Mattheo didn’t do dreamy or loopy or any of this. He was sharp edges and biting sarcasm, a bundle of contradictions wrapped in leather and cigarette smoke. And yet, here he was, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
It wasn’t until his fingers began absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee that the pieces clicked into place.
It started two days ago, in Slughorn’s Potions class. Extra credit was practically a lifeline for you, so when he’d offered it for creating “innovative applications of potion theory,” you’d jumped at the chance. The result? A batch of chocolate truffles laced with a mild love potion—just strong enough to evoke fondness and infatuation in the eater. Slughorn had been delighted, declaring your concoction “a stroke of brilliance.”
But the love potion had a catch: it required a strand of DNA from the intended target to work. In this case, your own hair had made its way into the mix.
You’d left the chocolates on Slughorn’s desk after class, only to find them gone by the next morning. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. But now…
“Mattheo,” you said slowly, trying to untangle yourself from his grip. “Did you eat any chocolate recently?”
He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with unrestrained affection. “Mmm, yeah. Some girl gave them to me. Said they were a gift.”
Of course. Of bloody course.
You sighed, gently prying his hands off you as he pouted. “Mattheo, those weren’t for you. They were part of an assignment, and—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, his voice a low murmur. His hand found yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Your heart did an embarrassing little flip at the sincerity in his voice, but you shoved it aside. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. It was just the potion talking.
“Mattheo, listen to me,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “This isn’t you. It’s the potion. It’ll wear off in a few hours, and then you’ll—”
“No,” he said softly, cutting you off again. “It’s not just the potion.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
His hand slid down to rest just below the hem of your skirt, and his face inched closer, his lips brushing your ear.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words tumbling from his lips as though they’d been locked in his chest, yearning to escape. His voice was low, reverent, thick with desire. “I—I’ve always wanted… this.”
Before you could respond, his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, urgent and consuming, like a man starving for his first taste of salvation. His lips moved against yours with fervent precision, soft yet commanding, coaxing a needy whimper from deep in your throat.
You melted into him, your arms curling around his neck as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual, desperate dance that left you breathless. When he nipped at your lower lip, the sting was fleeting, soothed instantly by a gentle, teasing lick before he plunged back into the kiss.
His hands roamed over you, slow yet deliberate, mapping every curve with a reverence that made your heart race. Fingers glided down the line of your spine, dipping beneath your shirt to stroke the bare skin at the small of your back. His touch was electric, each graze igniting sparks that radiated through your body. When his hands slid lower, palming your hips, you gasped softly, arching into him instinctively.
The kiss broke only for his lips to blaze a trail down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the delicate skin there, leaving behind faint marks that bloomed like fire beneath his touch. He moved to your jaw, his mouth brushing over the sensitive ridge with maddening gentleness, only to return to the hollow of your throat, where he lingered, his warm breath sending shivers through you.
As his hands slipped beneath your shirt, pushing it upward with quiet urgency, the soft swells of your breasts were bared to his smoldering gaze. He paused, drinking in the sight with an expression so raw and unguarded it made your knees weak.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered hoarsely before diving in. His lips closed around one hardened peak, his tongue swirling in slow circles as he suckled. A soft moan escaped you, your back arching into him as your fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently.
His free hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive underside before teasing the nipple, his touch so light and precise it sent jolts of pleasure racing through you.
“Mattheo…” you breathed, your voice trembling, thick with desire. His name was a plea, a confession, a surrender. You could feel the press of his body against yours—the hard, unyielding planes of his chest and abdomen in stark, tantalizing contrast to the softness of your curves.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he shifted to lavish the same attention on the other side. You bit your lip, desperate to stifle the moan threatening to spill from you as your hips instinctively rocked against him, seeking relief from the mounting ache between your thighs.
When his lips finally left your skin, you felt bereft, aching for the contact he had so willingly given. Driven by need, you tried to climb into his lap, but Mattheo’s hands stopped you, firm but gentle, one resting on your hip, the other cradling your cheek.
“Wait,” he murmured, his voice thick, rough with restraint. “Let me…”
With that, he sank to his knees before you, his hands sliding up your thighs with agonizing slowness, brushing the hem of your skirt higher until his thumbs grazed the waistband of your panties. His gaze burned into you, his voice low and rasping when he spoke. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “I’m yours to command.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, a jolt of heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers found his curls again, tugging lightly, guiding him closer as a teasing smile curved your lips.
“Took you long enough to realize that,” you teased, your voice soft, edged with playful defiance.
Mattheo chuckled, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against your inner thigh. “Patience has never been my virtue,” he admitted, his words muffled against your skin as he peppered slow, lingering kisses along your thighs.
His face nuzzled against you, his nose brushing the dampened fabric of your underwear as he inhaled deeply, savoring you. Then his tongue flattened against the cloth, dragging torturously slowly over the heat of you, the thin barrier between you doing nothing to muffle the sensation.
“Fuck,” you whispered, hips tilting forward in silent, desperate encouragement.
Mattheo obliged, his lips closing over you as he sucked gently at your puffy lips through the fabric. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging the thin fabric down your legs in a torturously slow motion that made your pulse race.
Once you were completely bare before him, his hungry gaze roamed over your glistening folds, before he spread you open with two fingers, exposing your slick, swollen flesh. He leaned in, dragging his tongue along your slit in a slow, languid stroke that tore a whimper from your lips.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your trembling skin, his voice thick and husky. “You taste even better than I imagined.”
He didn’t wait for a response, diving back in with reckless abandon. His tongue circled your clit with maddening precision, alternating between feather-light flicks and firm, deliberate pressure that had you gasping his name like a prayer.
“Mattheo… oh gods…” you choked out, your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging sharply as he worked you into a frenzy. His hands gripped your thighs, his strong fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he maneuvered your legs over his broad shoulders.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled between kisses, his breath hot against your drenched core. “Such a sweet little cunt.”
His tongue plunged into you without warning, fucking your tight, clenching heat in a rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of your heart.
“Faster… please,” you begged, your voice a broken plea as you ground your hips against his face, chasing the release that loomed just out of reach.
Mattheo growled his approval, his hands tightening on your thighs as he obeyed, doubling his efforts. His tongue moved with punishing speed, thrusting in and out of your dripping heat while his nose brushed against your swollen clit, each movement pushing you closer to the precipice.
When his lips closed around your clit with brutal intensity, the coil inside you snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you like a violent storm, shattering you into a million pieces as your body convulsed in pure ecstasy.
Mattheo didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and bucked against him, he continued his assault, his mouth and tongue relentless as they dragged every last aftershock from your trembling body. His lips and chin were drenched in your essence, and the musky, heady scent of your arousal seemed to drive him into a frenzy.
He angled his head, delving deeper with his tongue, his strokes long and firm as if determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you. His grip on your thighs tightened, the bruising pressure grounding you as your body jerked and twitched uncontrollably.
You let out a choked sob, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming sensations pushed you further. It was too much, yet somehow not enough—everything you needed, all at once, leaving you raw and undone beneath his unrelenting touch.
“Can’t get enough of you,” he rasped, his voice muffled and rough.
The world blurred around the edges, your vision hazy and your body trembling uncontrollably. All that existed was Mattheo—his mouth, his hands, and the electric firestorm of sensation he’d ignited in you.
Mattheo groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against your sensitive flesh and sending another jolt of pleasure through your overstimulated body. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you even wider, holding you open for his devouring mouth. His tongue curled around your swollen bud, flicking and sucking with a desperate intensity, while his other hand slid lower. Two fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing for the briefest moment before plunging into you to the knuckle.
The stretch was delicious, a perfect complement to the maddening rhythm of his mouth. Your moans spilled freely, loud and desperate, your voice cracking as you gasped for air. “Fuck! Please, I can’t—” you wailed, trying to close your thighs, your hands tugging weakly at his head in a futile attempt to create distance.
Mattheo growled against your core, his grip unyielding as he anchored you in place. “Oh, yes, you can,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination, his breath hot against your drenched folds. “And you will.”
Lost in the intoxicating taste of you, he buried himself even deeper, his fingers curling upward, dragging against your inner walls in a way that made your entire body quake.
“Mattheo!” you whined, your voice hoarse as the pressure built rapidly, coiling impossibly tight in your belly. He felt the way your walls clenched around his fingers, the desperate flutter signaling your impending release, and he doubled down.
The dual stimulation proved too much to withstand. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming, your pussy gripping his fingers with an almost punishing force.
Mattheo groaned again, savoring every shudder, every broken whimper that spilled from your lips. He drank you in like a man starved, his tongue lapping up your release as though it were a precious elixir. His own cock throbbed painfully against the rough confines of his jeans, the ache only spurring him to continue.
Even as your orgasm began to ebb, Mattheo didn’t relent. His fingers kept pumping into your fluttering heat, coaxing out every last ripple of pleasure while his lips sealed around your clit. He suckled greedily, tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles that had your oversensitive body twitching uncontrollably.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your soaked skin, his voice ragged but reverent. He didn’t care that his breath came in short, uneven pants; the sheer need to taste more of you consumed him.
Your hands clutched weakly at his hair, trying to tug him away, but Mattheo was lost to the haze of lust and obsession. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not until you were utterly spent, until your body was reduced to a limp, satisfied puddle beneath him.
He drove his fingers deeper, angling them to hit that sensitive spot inside you that made your legs jerk and your cries escalate into desperate, breathless sobs.
“Mattheo… too much…” you gasped, your voice trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the edge of unbearable pleasure.
He merely hummed in response, the vibrations dragging you into another devastating high. Your release hit with even greater intensity, your body wracked with shuddering spasms as he milked you of every last ounce of bliss.
Even then, Mattheo didn’t let up. He licked and sucked at your oversensitive flesh, devouring you with single-minded determination, his face and chin slick with your arousal.
His face was a picture of unrestrained lust and satisfaction, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a wicked gleam. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, his lips curling into a sinful smirk as he leaned in for more.
Your body felt utterly boneless, every nerve alight and trembling as Mattheo continued his merciless assault. Pleasure and exhaustion warred within you, your mind a haze as you struggled to grasp the sheer force of your release. He’d unraveled you completely, pulling sensations from depths you hadn’t known existed.
Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your hips rolling involuntarily, a primal search for friction despite the screaming protest of your muscles.
"Mattheo... I can't," you choked out, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper, trembling with raw vulnerability. But he didn’t stop—he didn’t even falter.
“Can’t stop,” Mattheo growled, his voice guttural, almost feral, as his tongue flicked over your swollen clit. “You’re too fuckin’ sweet. I’m not done. Just give me one more.”
“Please,” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, arching into his mouth as his lips sealed around your sensitive bud once more.
His movements became messy, wild, every lick and suck driven by pure, unrestrained hunger. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working against your soaked sex filled the air, mingling with the raw cries spilling from your lips.
His free hand slid upward, cupping your breast through your clothes, kneading it with rough, possessive squeezes that bordered on desperation.
The ache in his jeans was unbearable now, pre-cum soaking the denim as his cock throbbed with every moan, every tremor of your body beneath him. Yet Mattheo didn’t stop to ease his own suffering—he was consumed by you, intoxicated by the heady scent of your arousal and the way your body responded to him.
“Mattheo,” you sobbed, nails tearing into the cushion beneath you as you fought to anchor yourself. But there was no escape from the storm he’d unleashed.
The tension inside you snapped violently, and your fourth orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, stealing the very air from your lungs. Your back arched off the couch, lips parted in a silent scream as pleasure consumed you utterly.
When he finally pulled away, your body slumped against the cushions, utterly spent and quivering. His chest heaved as he looked down at you, his lips and chin glistening with evidence of his unrelenting hunger.
A string of saliva clung to his swollen lips, connecting them to your slick folds as he licked his mouth clean with a satisfied hum. His dark, fevered gaze roamed your form, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, tear-streaked cheeks, and trembling thighs.
Mattheo looked utterly primal, his expression a perfect blend of satisfaction and raw, unbridled desire. But as his eyes dipped to the insistent bulge straining against his jeans, it was clear your night was far from over.
ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan
#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle smut#mattheo riddle fluff#harry potter#slytherin#mattheo riddle fanfic#benjamin wadsworth#smut#fluff#ficmas#leona-hawthorne ficmas
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TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l
warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10.2k
author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3
banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
You’d never go through something like that. Never.
And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.
You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.
But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.
He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
“Ouch, that looks painful.”
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”
You gulp.
What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
“Test me.”
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”
“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”
“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”
You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.
Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”
Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”
“Oh. Weird.”
“Sorry.”
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”
“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—
“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”
“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”
“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.
Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.
But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”
“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even feel it.”
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”
“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️
You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋
“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”
On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—
“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”
“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?
“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”
“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”
The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.
“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.
You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”
“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”
Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
“Jeongguk.”
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”
He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”
There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff, “I regret coming here.”
“Yeah, why did you come here?”
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”
“Bye!”
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”
You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”
He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”
“With a really good time.”
“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”
“I’m not—”
“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”
“I love Christmas.”
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”
You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.
What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—
“Hey, dimples. You okay?”
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.
Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”
The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”
You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”
“But—”
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”
Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”
“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.
Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”
You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.
When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?
Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.
You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.
Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺
He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.
What’s the purpose of this?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
It’s been such a bad day.
So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.
He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”
Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.
“How… How was your day?”
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.
But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”
Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
“On one condition, though.”
You chirp, “Yeah?”
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”
Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”
Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”
He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”
“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”
You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”
Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”
There’s no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.
When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”
You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”
#jungkook x you#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook au#jungkook imagine#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook x female reader#jungkook x original character#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#bts smut#bts imagines#bts fic#bts series#bts x reader#bts#bts fluff#bts x fem!reader#bts x y/n#bts x you#🦌: christmas & chill#📁c&c: true love
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interruptions
PAIRING: nerd!rafe cameron x popular!reader
SUMMARY: you keep on interrupting rafe’s rambles with your kisses.
WORD COUNT: 565
WARNINGS: lots of kisses; fluffy mostly, just very slightly suggestive in between; usage of nicknames; rafe being kinda shy and flustered my baby :’)
EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is inspired by this fic by @xoxochb. it’s a percy jackson one, and if you are interested in that fandom i definitely recommend reading this fic and checking the rest of their stuff out!
and, thank you to @maddsxfall too who helped me write this fic :) I love u maddie! <3
I hope you all enjoy reading this! as always, reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated 🌌
masterlist / join my taglist / requests / moodboard and concept for my nerd!rafe x popular!reader fic
“The cosmos is made of isolated points – the stars, which are connected by invisible lines of influence, and similarly, our brains are also made of isolated points, in this case, the neurons, which are also connected by–”
Rafe’s ramble is cut off with your lips pressed on his, his eyes immediately shutting close at the reaction.
“What was that?” He mumbles, eyes barely open as you pull back and look up at him, gently pushing his glasses above the bridge of his nose.
“You just looked so cute rambling about whatever it was you were rambling about,” you laugh softly.
His own lips lift up to a small smile as he softly shakes his head. “As I was saying, our neurons are also connected by invisible lines of influence and– mmph neurons create patterns of thoughts and memory while– mmh stars create– hmm patterns for navigation and storytelling,” Rafe looks at your grinning face, the way you feel so victorious about interrupting his ramble again and again with kisses.
“What else?” You mumble softly, pressing your lips back to his in a firm kiss, allowing both of yourself to stay in your bubble for a moment or so before pulling back.
“Uh, also uh…” Rafe clears his throat, a little flustered from your kisses, which you can visibly see from the pink flush beginning to color his cheeks. You giggle softly, watching how his glasses slide down his nose again and just decide to take them off, carefully keeping them to the side.
“Mhm, go on,” I hum softly, giving him another small kiss.
“There are 86 billion neurons in a human brain,” Rafe murmurs against your lips, and you kiss them softly again, “and when we zoom out enough– mmh the web of neurons looks a lot like–” A soft gasp leaves Rafe lips when you begin to trail your lips behind his ear, gently kissing the delicate skin there before trailing down to the side of his neck.
“Yeah baby?” You mumble into his neck, your voice vibrating against his skin which sends a shiver down his spine.
“looks a lot like… the cosmos, like the… galaxy clusters connected… with…” he lets out soft breaths between words, feeling his eyelids getting heavier. “dark matter…” he finally breathes out.
You are pressing gentle kisses over the sensitive skin of his neck, soft shallow breaths leaving his lips as he feels a certain tingling sensation on his neck.
“You’re so smart…” you mumble softly, kissing up to his sharp jawline and over his cheek before reaching his lips again, and pressing a soft kiss to them. “I love hearing you ramble,” you mumble against his lips, pulling back slightly and smiling at his flustered cheeks.
“You… you do?” Rafe mumbles quietly, “it’s not boring?”
You shake your head with your smile still proud on your lips. “Never. Do it as much as you want to,” you murmur.
“Did you know there were countless stars that were a part of ancient constellations, but they just dimmed or have gone supernova?” He blurts out, his voice quiet.
You let out a soft chuckle and give him a soft peck on his lips. “Oh yeah?” You murmur, kissing his lips again. “Tell me more.”
Rafe can feel his heart warming as you kiss him repetitively and ask him to tell you more.
Oh here we go again.
⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹
taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @r4fe-cam3ron
tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron prompt#drew starkey#nerd!rafe#nerd rafe cameron#𓂃𓏲 ⋆˙ ₊˚⊹ nerd!rafe ꒷ ᵎᵎ#𓂃𓏲 ⋆˙ ₊˚⊹ popular!reader ꒷ ᵎᵎ#𓂃𓏲 ⋆˙ ₊˚⊹ written by edith ꒷ ᵎᵎ#𓂃𓏲 ⋆˙ ₊˚⊹ edith writes rafe cameron ꒷ ᵎᵎ#𓂃𓏲 ⋆˙ ₊˚⊹ divider by ianrkives ꒷ ᵎᵎ
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contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.
Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.
You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.
You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.
Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.
No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.
Everyone except you, apparently.
You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.
He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.
And it terrifies him.
Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.
But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Tonight is no different.
The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.
“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.
He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.
You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.
He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.
He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.
“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”
It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.
He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.
You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”
He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”
The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.
“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”
Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”
He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.
You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.
He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.
You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.
When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.
#simon x reader#call of duty x reader#tf141#task force 141#simon riley imagine#cod fic#cod ghost#cod drabble#ghost cod#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#this got away from me#did i slay your honor#i can fix him#ghost x reader#love me a sad man#call of duty ghost
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REALISTIC EXPECTATIONS ― S.JY
What should have never been an option became a routine over the years. This year is different though. It’s time to face what’s been done and put an end to it for good…except your step-brother Jake isn’t ready to face it, and your little boyfriend isn’t going to stand in the way of getting what he wants either. or the one where you made a bad decision in fooling around with your step-brother during your early college days and he refuses to let you put an end to it.
leave feedback and reblog to support me please!
minors do not interact.
WORDCOUNT― 8.9k
PAIRING― step-brother jake sim x afab reader (ft. boyfriend sunghoon)
WARNINGS ― step cest, dub-con/non-con, blackmail, nonconsensual phone sex
NOTE― MIND. THE. WARNINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALSO, shoutout to anon for giving me this idea.reminder that this is not a representation of me or the idols as real life people. anyway, not proof read.
smut tags under cut::
smut tags― non con/dub con, normal size dick jake and mentions of bigger dick sunghoon, implications from jake that sunghoon is actually gay for him, camera use, fisting, degradation, manipulation, phone sex-ish, choking, suffocation, cum stuffing, cream pie, unprotected sex, forced blowjob, crying, break-up implications
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“You’re being ridiculous.” Jake scoffs, leaning against your bedroom dresser with his arms crossed. “We did it last summer, why is this year any different? We always do it.”
You roll your eyes at him in an attempt to hide the guilt you feel, holding the blanket tightly to your chest in case he tries to pull them off of you again. Jake knows damn well why. Not only should it not have happened last year, or the year before that, or the year before that, but to actively and truly believe it’s something that can continue is something only a mad man would think.
Not to mention, you have a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend, one who matters in your life.
“Sunghoon have anything to do with this?” He questions you now, reaching for the blanket and tugging. “Come on, playing around isn’t gonna hurt anything. It’s not like anyone is going to know anyway–”
You huff, yanking your blanket up a bit to pull it from his grasp again. You get why he’s asking and why he’s confused because, well, last summer you were all over the idea like usual. You knew he would expect the same this summer, but honestly, it has to stop. Things have changed. Things needed to change.
“Jake, we can’t be doing that stuff anymore.” You say as if it’s fine, a bite to your voice that hits him right in the gut.
In all honesty though, you really do feel guilty. Like you’ve led him on all these years with his sweet, borderline boyfriendly words. You lived in the fantasy with him for a while, like it could work out despite the family ties. There’s a reality though, one that you found yourself living in upon meeting Sunghoon, and there’s a fantasy that you need to pull Jake out of. You feel awful, especially knowing there’s a part of you that would if you could. But…you can’t, nor can he.
Never again.
Jake feels singled out at this moment. Like he’s the weird one for even asking when you were the one who came onto him when it happened the very first time. All those talks of “we aren’t blood related, it’s not that bad.” and “If our parents divorce, maybe someday we can go on a date or something–” Do they mean nothing now? You’re going to blame him for expecting it?
“Why the fuck not?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Gonna act like you weren’t the one who tried to fuck me at Jay’s party last summer? Acting all high and mighty now, like suddenly it’s so wrong?”
You look away from him, feeling worse because he’s right. Given, the guilt should have hit you after the first time, but it didn’t. You had your fun pushing boundaries but now that graduation is coming up it’s like..it doesn’t feel right. Did he really just expect the two of you to keep fucking well into adulthood? Did he expect you to get married to someone else and still get on your knees during family Christmas parties?
Did he expect to be the one marrying you?
“We have to grow up.” You finally say, shifting your eyes back to him. “This is starting to feel really—gross.”
“Hey–” He looks at you now, almost pleading. “It’s not gross, we aren’t gross.” He takes two steps towards the bed in a fit of desperation, leaning with his hands now palm-down on your mattress. But…when he tries to follow up on his words, he knows you’re serious.
Realistically, despite having been your step-brother since the beginning of high-school…actively choosing to fuck each other as soon as college started was maybe not the best idea. Hormones were high, the freedom to fuck was blatant, and well…it’s not his fault you’d walk around in all those slutty little pajama shorts and try to jump his bones every time you found yourself alone with him. If anything, you’re the one who pulled him into this. He really did think it was gross at first, but thinking with his dick outweighed that, and then his heart decided to play a part in all of it too.
He really does think there could be something here if the two of you worked for it. After all, you’re entirely his type, despite marriage ruining it. The breaking of morals eventually became the best part for him, having what his father wishes he could have solely because you’re just a younger, hotter, version of your own mother.
You even said it yourself all that time ago when it first happened. “It’s ok jakey, you’re a guy. guys have needs.”
Well, what about his needs now?! He was so happy to be able to come home and see you again. He misses you so much when you’re both away at your respective colleges, and he thinks about you all the time. He should have known that something was changing all those months ago when you stopped texting him back as much as you usually would. Now what? He just has to accept that you’re done?
“You’re seriously not going to give it up?” He pushes his hands under the bottom of your blankets, quickly running his fingers up your legs just to try and encourage a giggle, or a smile from you.
That’s when he notes how you haven’t even shaved your legs. Which, it’s not like he gives two fucks on whether you do or not but like…you always shave. Your skin was always so smooth, plump, soft, and moisturized when you knew you’d be wanting to play around with him. And clearly, you don’t expect to be getting fucked this summer.
Ah, he’s starting to resent you.
“Does that boyfriend of yours know about us?” He finally says, standing tall at the end of your bed and looming much darker than his usual, bright persona.
You stare at him, eyes widening.
“Excuse me?” You furrow your brows. “Jake, what the fuck are you sayi–”
Before you can even finish or get a response from him, he’s leaving your bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
Already you know this is going to be a long fucking summer.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake knew you were a smart girl. You always believe everything he says, but never once has he used that against you until now. That little mention of Sunghoon seems to have made you panic, and he can’t help but find it endearing that you took his threat so easily. Each time he comes home now, from hanging out with your boyfriend, you’re always sitting on the couch like a cute little puppy greeting him with a wagging tail.
If at all, he knows you’re doing it to try and butter him up. To distract him from what you’re taking away from him. Dangling yourself like nothing has changed but denying him time and time again of it. You’re nice, but never this nice. Offering to hang out, watch movies, go out. You’re promising just about everything to him except for the one thing he needs from you.
He’s thankful though, with all circumstances considered, that the good ol’ parents don’t notice a shift in how you’re acting solely because the two of you have always been close. Even before the sex stuff. You were his best friend. He protected you from highschool bullies, potential assholes trying to steal your first kiss, virginity, and even the first experience of sneaking out.
Back then, it’s not like Jake ever wanted to be your first kiss, the one to take said virginity, or sneak you out to parties you shouldn’t be at. Truly, he just wanted to protect you. It wasn’t until the two of you were away from each other for the first time as freshmans in college that he felt some type of way towards you. Which, again, was entirely your fault.
Ah, he still remembers that first summer back home walking into the house and being smacked in the face with a sensual, fruity scent radiating off of you. After not seeing you for three and a half months, he was entirely shocked at how much you had changed. You looked…confident in yourself. Like you’d been growing internally and learning what you want in life. He found it very attractive of you, believing that once you get a boyfriend, they’d be very lucky to have you in their life.
Then of course, you’d bend over in those shorts and look back at him smirking. Like you only saw him as a man now, and not your protective step brother. You’d whine to him about ruined hook-ups, about the frat parties, about all the guys trying to touch you and wishing he was there to keep them off of you. All while…doing that. All while waltzing around like you’d invite him to do the same.
And you did invite him. That first night has been burned into his memory. The fear, the guilt, the disgust, the love he felt for you. So quiet in his bedroom, giggling to each other with all the lights off in the silence of his room, trying to pretend it was only a one-time thing to satiate a specific need. There was nothing kinky, nothing weird outside of the dynamic of who you were supposed to be to each other.
It kept happening after that, and each time the guilt would wash away with the sweat that always dripped onto you from his temple. You could even say it was shy at first, both of you were very generous to each other. It only started getting dirty as the summers at home continued.
And now…nothing? After all of that, nothing?!
If you think you can change so drastically over a single semester, so be it. Jake can change too, and he already has. Both of you now, entirely different compared to that first summer together. You, all jittery and freaked out, him, with all the power.
You though, truly you’re fucking panicking. If your boyfriend found out about all of this, he’d think you’re a freak. Or a slut. Or a piece of trash. Maybe all three of those things and then some. And you know, you’d think Jake is bluffing…really. Except you got a text from Sunghoon the same night Jake tried to get in your pants. You remember reading those words, the pit in your stomach digging deep. “Your bro is gonna come hang out with me for a bit, you’re coming too right?”
Nevermind the fact that Sunghoon lives an hour away from your hometown, where the two of you get to meet in the middle during active semesters on campus. What about the fact that Jake barely fucking knows him?! Through mutual friends (Jay and Heeseung) all three of you were aware of each other, but you’re the one who got the closest to Sunghoon.
You’re his girlfriend now. Which, apparently demoted Jake from popular-porn-trope to actual step-brother.
And that pisses him off.
So, is it weird for Sunghoon to get a sudden hang out text from a guy he assumed is just wanting to get to know him? No. After all, he knows Jake is your “brother.” What he doesn’t and hopefully will never know is that you’ve fucked said step-brother.
Is it weird that you don’t go with Jake to see your own boyfriend? Yes. Unfortunately, Jake basically demanded you “stay in your fucking place. if you wanna get fucked so bad, I’ll be home after.”
Even Sunghoon doesn’t find it weird and texts you everyday as usual. It sucks actually, that he’s so willing to let you do as you please and trusts you to an extent that he doesn’t even ask why you don’t come with Jake. Instead, he’s too busy saying you should definitely join next time, that Jake is super cool and seems to like him a lot.
The good news: Sunghoon offers no mention of knowing, so…it seems you really do have to stay at home. Empty. Wanting to be next to Sunghoon so bad but forced to deal with any oncoming feelings alone.
Since when was Jake even capable of being so awful? Since when did he hate you so much?
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Jake–please.” You beg quietly, shaking his arm gently in the soft light of the morning. Everyone is sound asleep, which must be fucking nice.
It’s been two weeks now of such loneliness, such lack of sleep, such intense need to just let yourself spiral and drown in anxiety. Jake is barely talking to you now, only giving you sarcastic and evil little smiles from time to time. As if to remind you of what’s at risk. Sunghoon is normal, too normal. So normal, in fact, that he tried to jerk off on facetime last night for you and you ended up crying and apologizing because you couldn’t even get turned on.
Even if Jake hasn’t told him anything, your relationship is already starting to fall apart because of him. He fucking knows it too.
“Please,”
“Please, what?” Your step-brother's sleepy voice croaks out, turning himself on the bed towards you with a single half opened eye.
“I’m losing sleep, please stop doing this to me.”
“No.” He says now, closing his eyes again and turning away from you, nuzzling against his pillow without a care in the world.
“Please.”
“Fuck off–” He complains, throwing his arm behind himself to shove you away and surprised to find that you’ve crawled up on the bed with him.
Just like that night so long ago, the first time the two of you broke past any boundaries.
“I’ll do anything.” You nearly cry, so sleepy, so anxiety ridden, so out of your mind at this point that you genuinely would do anything to feel normal again.
“Anything?”
You feel slight relief in his interest, nodding your head aggressively with a broken voice. “Yes! I promise. I swear, anything you want. Please, just–”
“Then get the fuck out of my room.”
You know better than to disobey at this point. All you can do is sulk back to your room and hope that sleep overtakes you this time. If anything, maybe he will consider your plea in the morning.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It’s surprising, honestly. Jake didn’t even know he was into seeing you suffer like this, let alone having power over you. He spent so much time protecting you that he never realized how attractive it is to see you fear him. The joy that runs through him now, the orgasms he gets out of it, fuck. Who cares if it’s his own hand doing the work right now? With the thoughts of you doing “anything” like you said, being disgusting, begging, pleading, crying. He might be a little insane for you now, if he wasn’t already.
And still even today, you look so desperate for any amount of relief. Jake finds joy in the fact that you can’t even go to your boyfriend about it.
He’s never felt so powerful, truly. Especially now, watching you try to seduce him as if you didn’t deny him of it before. The slutty shorts are back. You’re not wearing bras anymore. You’ll leave the bathroom stark fucking naked if it happens to just be you and him at home.
Ah, heaven on earth. Honestly, his days are so fun now. Save for when he has to hang out with that fucking idiot of a man Sunghoon. What a loser, honestly. Openly sharing all the stuff you’ve done in bed with him like Jake isn’t your step-brother? If anyone is weird, it’s Sunghoon. Hell, Jake isn’t even sure now if the dude would care if he found out that you’ve ridden some related-by-marriage cock before.
He hates hanging out with him. Always having to hold back the scoffs when Sunghoon is drunkenly slurring out more sex acts you’ve performed on him followed by a love confession and a whine of how much he misses you. As if you didn’t do all of that for Jake first. Ugh, he genuinely can’t believe that you’re even with Sunghoon at all.
After a little while longer though, with the great days and the annoying hang outs, a nice month into summer vacation– Jake’s been ready to take what he needs. You’ve been begging for it, after all. He loves looking and seeing you so desperate for him to stop the mind games but goddamn it’s getting hard to think straight himself by now.
Thankfully, he’s thinking clearly enough whether it’s through his cock rather than his brain to come up with how he’ll go about it. He waits a little more, cock throbbing in his pants due to not allowing himself to get off in the past two days in preparation for this.
Every night when everyone goes to bed, you call Sunghoon. And every night, Jake has listened. Tonight though? Sunghoon will be the one listening.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Like clockwork, the parents have gone to bed and Jake hears the hushed muttering just a room over. He’s already standing to his feet, shooting a hand directly to his bulge to adjust it with a silent groan in his throat. Before he can even leave his room he’s rolling his eyes back with another grope of his sensitive cock, almost unable to stop touching himself after denying himself of it. He’s practically drooling at the image of having you all to himself again. The anticipation he feels inside right now is insane. He feels his skin prickle and his eyes are barely able to focus on his own bedroom door out of sheer arousal of what he’s about to do to you.
He composes himself shortly after, as best he can anyway, tiptoeing to your room and chuckling at the way your eyes light up when you see him. He’s ignored you for too long. Not a single response to anything you’ve said to him, hell, he even stopped letting you see him look at you.
Of course your eyes light up, it means he’s going to stop. It means he’s going to tell you what he wants.
And you’re happy, even with Sunghoon on the line sweet talking to you about his day like usual.
“Hoonie, can I call you back?” You ask quickly into the phone, only to see Jake take a seat next to you on your bed and shake his head at you.
You tilt your head in question, feeling your heart thump in your ears to the point you barely even hear Sunghoon at all.
“Keep talking to him.” He whispers to you now, nearly just mouthing it.
You never knew you were so good at reading lips, but you listen to him. Furrowing your brows in question and adjusting your phone against your ear.
“Nevermind, we’re good.” You say in a voice too calm for Jake’s liking.
And it’s like that for a few minutes as Jake lets you get into the groove of conversing with your boyfriend again before he makes a move. The move he makes? Leaning against you, pressing you back against your pillows, and licking your neck.
He smiles against your skin when he feels it prickle and lets out a whispered chuckle at how much he’s missed the taste of your skin. So warm, so soft. The fact that you’re letting him tells him all he needs to know, despite the way your shoulders stiffen, he knows you’re going to give him anything.
“Gonna let me fuck it again, yeah?” Jake whispers as he moves up against your ear, pinning your arms to your chest, forcing your phone closer to his mouth compared to yours. “Gonna let him hear it too.”
Ah, there she is. You, in all your glory, are already tearing up at the very idea of it.
“Jake, no.” You say, holding your hand over the speaker and body language trying to twist away from him.
“You said anything.” Jake corrects you quietly, slapping your hand off of the speaker and quickly thrusting his own hand between your legs.
He chooses not to be gentle with you this time. He’s not going to be what you’re used to, not after that shit you tried to pull with him. His finger pushes in dry, and he smiles at the way you hold your breath and try to squeeze your legs shut to stop him. Sunghoon on the other end is muffled, but still heard by both of you.
You stay silent throughout his ministrations, pissing him off further, only making him move his hand faster, forcing a reaction, daring you to stop him.
“Phone.” Jake instructs, loosening his other grip on your hands as a means to let you raise the phone back up to your ear. “Talk.”
You stare at him, feeling the burning between your legs of where your body has yet to do anything more than tighten around his fingers. Still, they drag painfully due to your body feeling no pleasure in this. In fact, you’re afraid.
You’re afraid Sunghoon will find out, afraid of Jake, afraid of showing that you like what he’s doing, afraid of realizing you’ll always like this, afraid of losing either of them solely because you can only love, fuck, and be with one of them.
And it’s obvious who the one has to be because…the other isn’t possible. It’s just not.
So, you try. You try to talk, try to relax, try to do everything Jake asks of you solely to prolong the situation enough to where you can find a way to put a proper, healthy end to it.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” You finally croak into the phone, having not heard a single word from Sunghoon this entire time and trying not to focus on that same drag Jake only pushes harder into you with that terrifying smirk.
“I asked if that was Jake I just heard–” Sunghoon responded as brightly as always, bless him.
“Speaker.” Jake mouths to you, and of course you listen. Reluctantly, but you still do it, shaking fingers hitting the speaker-phone button so Jake can hear what’s being said.
“What are you guys doing? Let me hear what?” Sunghoon continues.
Jake flashes a full grin at you and wiggles his eyebrows before he’s pulling his fingers out, sucking them into his mouth, then moving back down with three before shoving them back in with even more force.
“Yeah– Tell him.” Jake says as casually as ever. “Go on, let him in on the secret we’ve been keeping from him.”
Sunghoon hears Jake all too well, but doesn’t question that it’s anything weird. If at all, he wonders if maybe you two have been planning something behind his back considering you never come over when Jake does. Which is actually weird, but he tried not to question it. He and you are practically attached at the hip during the semesters, so, this would make sense.
Of course there is a secret surprise for him!
“I–” You yelp both out of pain and unintentional pleasure, cutting yourself off in a gasp.
You can feel the pit in your stomach dig deeper and deeper, arousing you when it’s the last thing you could ever want at this moment. You know Jake feels it though, with the slide of his fingers becoming easier, and that permanent smile on his face.
Sunghoon feels so far away right now…Like, who are you kidding? He can’t get you out of this and you doubt he’d even want to if you were to ever even consider explaining it to him.
“I–I miss you a lot.” You try to come up with words, missing him being all that you can muster up right now.
Unfortunately, Jake’s scary smile is less terrifying compared to his face now, where he narrows his eyes and glares straight through you for saying such a thing in front of him. He’s trying to crowd four fingers into you now, making you squirm and squeeze your legs together again. He is quick to disallow you though, forcing one of your legs open with his shoulder and spitting directly on your stretched and pulsing hole.
“I miss you too baby–” Sunghoon says in a slightly confused voice. “What else?”
You pause, taking a moment to feel Jake between your legs and how much it…god, it feels so good. But– you’re unsure of how to balance speaking with Sunghoon and dealing with Jake right now. If you have to deal with them both at the same time…this isn’t what you’d prefer.
“I wish you were here right now.”
Sunghoon smiles on his end, assuming Jake has now left your room due to the silence and lack of hearing him now.
“Is Jake still around?” He mutters to you through the speaker, because based on your tone of voice, he knows what mood you’re in.
Jake shakes his head at you, encouraging that you lie before focusing back on watching the hole he’s missed so much. The one Sunghoon’s probably played with before, that fucking loser.
“Nope–J–Just me!” You find yourself forcing a smile as you say it, just to hope your voice comes out in a way that sounds brighter than it feels.
“You wish I was there?” Sunghoon says now, his own voice growing deeper. “Why’s that?” He spreads his legs out wide against his bed, assuming it’s about to be a regular session of facetime fucking.
“Mhm,” You accidentally moan, a bit too obvious. “Just feel safe with you when I’m feeling like this.”
Jake rolls his eyes, slowly forcing his thumb in beside the rest of his fingers, growing more angry, more aroused, and more insatiable towards you.
“How are you feeling right now baby?”
“Empty.”
“Wish you were full of something?” Sunghoon smiles, a cheeky voice calling out to you. “Of me?”
You groan at that moment, all of Jake’s fingers stretch you open until you feel knuckles trying to force past the boundary. Your hands shake at the feeling as your eyes cross momentarily, tears prickle from the pain but it feels so…good. And only a moment goes by before you, quite literally, kick Jake away.
The sudden emptiness you get from that feels so much better, but Jake is too quick to get back up. Fire in his dark eyes as he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you roughly down the bed. There is a small sound that escapes your lips at the action, almost a giggle. You’re quick to tighten your lips though, trying to will your body to stop liking the way Jake is being with you right now. You don’t want this, you don’t like it. You never should have in the first place, and to be honest, you’re trying to force yourself to believe you’re making the right choice in continuing to deny him of this.
It’s only natural that your body wants it, just like it was natural to kick him off of you from the pain, right? And then, Jake reminds you of just how much you regret denying him the first night back home, because he's leaning over you so fast, hugging your waist and forcing all five fingers back into you.
You kick, squirm, whine, and ultimately shout out a “No, no, no!” despite your hips chasing up to let him, almost to invite him. And–oh, fuck. You forgot Sunghoon can hear all of this.
“Baby?” Sunghoon’s voice rings back in your ears. “Are you okay? You’re already touching yourself? Why do you sound so–”
Jake’s own ears are ringing watching your body fight your brain. You still want him. He can tell by the way you look at him with those tear-filled eyes, with the way your pussy is dripping for this, the way your hips beg him to keep abusing you. Who is he to deny you? He has never denied you pleasure. So, he tries to force more, more, more into you. There’s a boundary here, your pussy clenched so tight around his fingers already, but you want him to keep pushing until he breaks the boundary. You want to feel the pain of it and…finally, he does get it in. His entire hand being gripped so tightly that even he seethes out a pained moan for you.
“Fuck–” He holds his fist in place, removing himself from your waist to look at you. “You really took it all.”
There’s tears in your eyes by this point and you can’t tell if it’s from realizing how much you need Jake, or the fact that Sunghoon definitely knows something is up. No words are coming out though, you’re more afraid to speak what you feel than you are of Jake right now.
“Jake?” Sunghoon questions, confused.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Jake responds with a smile instantly, staring right at you as he begins to fuck a size far too big into you, watching you bite your tongue to keep from showing him how much you love it.
“Wait–” Sunghoon continues with a pause. “What’s going on?”
“I couldn’t help myself.” Jake smiles at you, wiggling his eyebrows again. “After all those things you told me about her, I guess I needed to see for myself.”
And then, you moan. That searing pain inside of you somehow subsides, shaking legs and hands are gripping onto Jake in his entirety now, you’re practically drooling for it.
“I guess you were right.” Jake continues. “She really can take a lot, huh? Bet your dick didn’t feel this good for her though.”
You’re truly unable to comprehend most of what’s happening right now, even the phone vibrating in your hand as Sunghoon goes silent and instead, hangs up before instantly facetiming you. You’re so hyper-fixated on the feeling of knuckles dragging against your tightly clenched walls, choking back every sound or word you want to scream out.
Jake watches as you cry a bit harder now, probably a bit too overwhelmed with the situation. Like the good step-brother he is though, He’ll take care of it for you, of course he will.
“What’s the hold up?” Jake laughs, halting his hand as he reaches for the phone and instantly answers it. He stares down as you continue to fuck yourself on it, smiling at your brief whine before he speaks into the receiver with a confident voice. “Cat’s outta the bag.”
Sunghoon is there on the screen, witnessing the way Jake angles the phone more at himself and your hole than your face. His entire fist has disappeared inside of you, glistening with a sticky mess that spills out of you.
Nothing else is said as Sunghoon stares at it. Jake being a cocky bastard and sticking his tongue out like some idiot frat boy, and then? He hears you.
“Jake, stop!” You cry out.
He doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks his fist into you quickly making damn sure Sunghoon can not only see how your wet spurts out around his wrist, but hear it too.
“Stop what? Showing your boyfriend what you really want?”
“Hang up the phone!” You cry out again, showing Sunghoon that perhaps…you don’t miss him at all.
Jake isn’t doing anything you don’t want. You just don’t want your boyfriend to witness you be so honest with yourself.
“Awh,” Jake pouts now, angling the phone back at himself and feeling proud of the way Sunghoon appears to be entirely shocked, mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. “But he needed to know, baby, didn’t he?” He adds now, lying the phone down briefly to pull his cock out.
“Come on now, don’t be shy.” Jake continues with his confidence, picking the phone back up and angling it towards you.
He intentionally drags his fist in and out of you a few more times before gently pulling it out, moaning at the way it sounds, obsessing over it really. Sunghoon watches in horror at the way you squeeze your eyes shut, sadly wondering what Jake must be doing off screen for you to look so fucking guilty. The horror only grows when he has to watch Jake’s cock come on screen, pussy soaked hand jerking himself off before shoving the head right against your lips.
God, you know Sunghoon hates you now.
Jake knows it too, and doesn’t care as he uses that same soaked hand and pries your lips apart before pushing it into your mouth. He thrusts forward too quick for you to take a breath, and you feel the leaking tip hit the back of your throat in a way that makes you choke and gag around him.
Your eyes shoot open, looking up at him and barely able to comprehend the camera just inches from your face.
Sunghoon has seen you look up at him like this too. Why aren’t you fighting Jake though? Why are you willingly gagging, choking, and drooling all over yourself with such a forceful fuck to your face? You always pull off of him when he tries to thrust even a little bit…but you’re..
“I–” Sunghoon goes to say, still staring at you and the way you’re shamefully getting your mouth fucked open. “That is fucking disgusting.” He finally lets out, but he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to see this but…he can’t bring himself to hang up.
“Yeah, that’s what she thinks too.” Jake chuckles with a heaved breath, enjoying himself, now angling the phone at his face. “I think she likes it though– wouldn’t you agree?”
There goes the camera again, pointing right at your choking mouth. Jake pushes all the way in too, letting your nose rest against his pelvis and moaning loudly for Sunghoon to hear.
“Shit, see? She’s not even fighting it.”
Sunghoon can’t tell only because Jake doesn’t let him. You’re gripping Jake’s hips and trying to push him out of your mouth, but he stays in place, enjoying the way your choking and suffocating throat jerks him off better than his own hand ever could.
The best part? He knows you’re only pushing him away to breathe because you weren’t fighting at all at first. In fact, he felt you silently hum against him like you want his cock so bad. So, he’s not actually lying. He just thinks it’s polite to not let Sunghoon know how you’re suffocating right now.
Oh well.
Only after your eyes start to fog over and roll back does Jake pull out, relishing in that wet gasp you lend. He looks down at the phone now, wanting to make sure Sunghoon witnessed all of that before realizing he fucking hung up.
Who the fuck hangs up on imagery like that? Fucking idiot, is what Sunghoon is.
To be fair though, Sunghoon hung up shortly before Jake pulled out. He had to force himself to do it, because he didn’t quite enjoy the way his cock jumped at the image of his girlfriend letting her step-brother fuck her mouth like that. He’s entirely blindsided. Like, not only are you cheating on him, but he had to see it like that?! In 4k?! God, his stomach would be in knots to catch you like this with anyone, but the fact that it’s with…Jake. Of all people.
You’re fucking your own brother.
None of that matters to Jake though, nor does it matter to you at this moment as the tears continue to pour from your eyes knowing that Jake did this on purpose and for a reason. It’s insane how kind he is to you now that Sunghoon isn’t watching, actually. Lending you a deep, meaningful kiss before sinking back down the bed and resuming his previous position.
“You liked this.” He comments, seeing if his hand will still fit, and moaning when it does. “You’re so fucking wet it’s insane.”
God, you know he’s punishing you yet you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it because already you can feel the bubbles in your stomach threaten an orgasm. Proving to both Jake and yourself that…you do like it. Never have you even imagined wanting a whole goddamn fist in you before now but–you more than like it. You love it.
In fact, feeling his hand dragging in and out of you now makes you forget about the way you nearly just died with a cock in your throat. You’re already moaning again, actually.
And fuck, you promised you’d do anything to keep this a secret, and while doing that anything for him, no matter how willing, he still fucking told. He fucking showed the dirty acts to the last person on earth you’d ever want to see, hear, or know. The crying is a given, from both the anxiety, the fear, and the pleasure because you can’t stop the oncoming orgasm or the love you have for the man giving it to you either.
The way he holds you through it should disgust you, with his fist buried so deep your orgasm comes in long, drawn out and painful waves. He grips onto you though, whispering more to himself against your thigh than to you, “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, it’s okay.”
You don’t want to melt for him, but you do. Even through your ringing ears it’s like your body instinctively hears his whispers when you shouldn’t. The words bring comfort, reminding you that he’ll still protect you even from Sunghoon and what he feels about this situation. Even from your parents, from outsiders, from everything.
The orgasm feels like it bruises your brain, a throbbing headache coming shortly after when Jake takes on a more gentle persona and pulls his hand from you. He inspects your open cunt for a moment, seeing how wet it is inside for him before it pulses closed and he averts his gaze to his hand.
Glistening, so wet. You needed that, he thinks. The reminder that he’s the only one who can love you in more ways than you truly need.
“You did so well.” He compliments, crawling up and over you to wipe those tears with the same hand.
You don’t move away, if anything you need this comfort now more than anything because you simply don’t know what to feel, or think, or admit right now. You think Jake already knows, he wouldn’t need you to say it simply because he’s always read you like a book.
“No more pretending you don’t want this.” He says now, in a darker voice. “Even with Sunghoon listening, you moaned my name. I don’t think you remember doing that, do you?”
You cry more, closing your eyes tightly and pretending like Jake’s hand is Sunghoon’s. You really liked Sunghoon, genuinely thought you could have a future with him. Even so, pretending that Jake is him doesn’t bring safety because you almost would prefer it be Jake. A hand you’re so familiar with.
He had been so awful to you recently, and only now do you realize that…maybe it really was for your own good.
“You don’t need him.” Jake says now, adjusting himself between your legs.“Not when you have me. You know I’ll take care of you.” He continues, slipping his cock deep into your already loosened hole.
He’s shocked that you still manage to be tight after all of that, but he guesses that’s just how pussies work. Or how yours works, anyway. He knows it more than he knows his own cock at this point, which is insane.
Feeling him inside of you, so familiar, slightly smaller than Sunghoon– it’s…comforting. The tears that spill from you now are more for missing him than anything. You can’t help it when you wrap your legs around him or throw your arms around his shoulders, shivering and clinging to him like he’s your last line of sanity despite everything about this being entirely insane.
“Jake–” You moan at how he fucks you, so much softer than with his hand but…normal. Like the first time you ever did this with him. “I really want you but,”
Jake pauses, feeling that same pit in his stomach at how you say those words.
“What you just did to me could ruin my life.” You finally say, still clinging, not at all asking him to stop. “What you’re doing right now, will ruin my life.”
“Don’t be silly. Your life will be ruined without me, baby, you know that, right?” He says, reminding you of who has the power by quickening his hips and pointing his cock directly at your already sensitive g-spot. “You can’t say no to me, you tried and still you want me.”
You nod your head in agreement despite wishing he was wrong.
“We can’t.” You say to him in a half-groaned whisper. “I’m begging you to stop.”
If at all, you’re just begging him to stop being what you want. To stop being able to have a hold over you like this. To stop being everything that Sunghoon isn’t and still being the most desirable man in your life. To stop being your step-brother. To stop being a taboo in your life, if only to become someone you’re allowed to need like this.
“No.” Jake says, unknowing of what you’re actually asking of him. “I’ll never stop.”
With those words, you moan. He’s promising something that neither of you should feel or need, but you accept it. Shocked at the way you feel him inside of you like always, no pain, or lack of feeling from the previous size fucked into you. It’s just…Jake. Intentionally fucking you harder to punish you for words that are actually fighting more for him than against him.
“Okay.” You whimper, falling silent with your broken voice fading into nothing but cries of the inevitable.
For all Jake knows, you’re asking him to stop this. What he’s doing to you right now, not for anything else that you meant it for. For your own sake, because you know that after this, you truly may not be able to pull yourself from this fantasy with him. Technically, he’s showing you that he’s willing to hurt you to keep you. To take it from you if that’s what it takes to get what he wants. And that hurts a lot to know, a pain deep within you making you spiral a little more than you ever thought you could.
He’d really go as far as to keep going when you’re crying for him to stop? If just to show you that he…loves you? No, maybe just that he wants this, he wants you.
You want this, but it’s the fact that he just knows. Even if you say no, even if you beg or plead for him to stop, he’ll just keep going because he knows better than you that you’ll always want him in return. Even if you’re lying to yourself, even if you were able to truly convince yourself that this isn’t at all what you want. Even if it feels like Jake is committing atrocities right now, he knows he’s not. He’s not, even if you say he is.
And at the end of the day, right now. He truly isn’t.
You can feel your heart rotting at all that’s lost now. A life with someone normal. A life where you’re normal and can be seen hand in hand with the love of your life as you grocery shop, or get ice cream, or even just take the future dog on a walk. Your dreams are dying, and you can’t stop them.
You feel a burning pain throughout your body at the force of him now, seemingly trying to fuck your concern away from you. Only now do you open your eyes to look at him, he’s just shapes now. Your tears are messing up the normal clear view you’d have, but you can tell he’s smiling lovingly.
He doesn’t care that he just ruined your relationship, he doesn’t care that you’re his step-sister, he doesn’t care nor think of how the future could work if he were to keep trying to follow this path, and continue to make you realize you’ll willingly walk down it with him….not when he’s getting this from you.
Not when he knows that, now at least, he’ll always get what he wants.
You cling harder to him now, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you lift to his shoulder and tuck your face there, replacing your lip with his warm and pulsing skin. Jake is pleasantly surprised by this, after all that he did to you, he really thought he’d have to work harder to get these lips to willingly suck on his skin again without him puppeteering you.
“Yeah?” He turns his face against your forehead as you suck, still crying and tasting the salt from your tears mixed with the saliva you’re drooling onto him. “Sunghoon can’t make you feel this good?” He continues to talk himself up.
You remain silent as you try to drown out your thoughts with the pleasure he gives instead, feeling the way his normally gentle hands are rough holding you up, feeling the way your body shifts with each thrust up, hearing the way he breathes for you, speaks for you, and moans for you.
You hate to say you love it right now. Hate that you let your dream of a normal life die so easily. Hate you love him enough to let him do this to you, really.
“Jake–” You hiccup, exhausted. “I can’t believe you’d go this far.”
Only in those words do you realize how taboo and…erotic it is. To have a man willing to not only claim you as his own through forcing jealousy on your boyfriend and pain on you, but you guess the borderline sexual assault is another thing.
It’s not that you’re into it. In fact, you’re terrified of that. But it’s just…the way he knows you is attractive. The way he will protect you from any situation he caused…turns you on, even if he’s the one you need protecting from. God, the way he’ll fuck you through all the lies you tell yourself.
Shit.
“I’d go further.” He chuckles, out of breath as he chases the expanse of your clenched walls. “Would’ve brought you to his house and fucked you right there at his front door. Let everyone know.”
You shake your head out of fear of that situation at first, and then suddenly find yourself smiling and losing your mind a bit. God, that would be hot if it were like, you know, not something that would get you disowned by not only family, but literally everyone aside from Jake.
“Should’ve seen his face, baby–” Jake moans just thinking about it, loving that he has what no one else can have. “Said he was disgusted but…I think he was turned on. Really, couldn’t look away from you sucking my dick like that– God,” He cuts himself off by grabbing at you, shoving you back down and into your pillows, both hands running up your shirt and pushing it up to your collarbone. He gropes and pinches at your tits, half of his plush bottom lip caught between his teeth as sweat drips into his eyelashes.
“Couldn’t tell if he wished he was me–” A sarcastic laugh. “or maybe even you.” His moans continue to mesh with his laughter, now moving one hand to your neck and leaning down to lick against your lips with another pointed thrust. “I’d never fuck anyone better than I’ll fuck you though.”
“Gotta say, if he wanted it bad enough, he’d look pretty choking on it too. Never as pretty as you.” He continues talking, and talking, and talking.
You don’t really process his words though, or recognize if he’s being truthful or just making shit up, nor do you care. To be fair, there isn’t anything in this world left to care about aside from him now. Not yourself, not Sunghoon, your parents, or anyone out wandering the world right now.
“Stop–” You moan at the way he rubs his pelvis against your clit with his now, deeper thrusts. “Stop fucking talking about him.”
He smiles wide against your lips in victory, feeling his muscle tense up at you asking to forget about Sunghoon. And so, he listens to you for the first time since you’ve been home, he fucking listens.
Jake says nothing now, instead he focuses his hips and notes how now, your pussy feels too used. Or maybe his cock is just numb and oversensitive, he’s not sure. It’s not hard really, to reach down and shove three fingers into you alongside his cock, offering extra sensation to both his balls and the underside of his length as he continues to fuck into you with what he can only assume to be a painful stretch.
His body shivers with an embarrassing moan at that, rolling his eyes back.
“You hate him?” Jake says, but it sounds more like a plea for you to agree as he chases an orgasm far too fucking close.
You don’t respond because at this point his words are just there as fluff in your head. You’re more focused on the insecure feeling inside of you at how he’s had to use his hand to help him get off. It...feels so bad knowing that you can’t give him what he wants after all this. After you promised. And, so, you build up the courage to lift quickly, catching him off guard, and hug him around his neck.
There, his fingers skew slightly, to the point it’s painful for him to keep them in place and he’s forced to pull them back and instead, hold you up in his own hug as he spirals. God, he missed you so much. Look at you now, after trying to deny him, deny yourself of wanting this. You’re bouncing on him like you always have, frantically moving your hips with no rhyme or reason, solely to get him off.
He lets out a loud moan, not caring if your parents wake up to it. Not caring about anything but the pussy choking his cock out now. The change in position offered a new form of tightness, and he doesn’t need an extra boost of pleasure anymore. Not with you breathing against his mouth like this, still crying, except now it’s like you’re crying because he hasn’t gotten off yet.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He nods his head, lips playing with yours with each nod of his head as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, you always know what I like.”
Just like that, all of your insecurity is washed away. You feel him twitch inside of you, and the way his hands nearly bruise you in this hug feels…right. It’s what you need, what you want.
“He ever cum in you?” Jake pants out, noting the way you aggressively shake your head in an answer.
And normally, he’d pull out. Normally, there’s a condom involved in this. Not today though, even as you note the familiar sound choking from his throat, and that even more familiar twitch of his cock. You try to pry yourself away from him, palms pressing on his chest as you argue.
“Jake! Pull out, Let me up!”
He doesn’t let you though. Instead, he grabs both of your wrists and presses you right back down on the bed, overpowering you through his orgasm and fucking all of that cum right into you. Intentionally, with purpose.
“No,” He croaks out in a breath, still lost in his orgasm. “I won’t.”
You try to wiggle away from him still, despite knowing he’s already started cumming. What’s the point now if not just to still have some type of control over your own body? He, again, doesn’t let you, pressing your wrists painfully into your own stomach, forcing you to feel each pulse and spurt of him for the first time through the pressure of his hold.
He’s never done this to you before, then again, This isn’t the same Jake you’re used to no matter how much you try to relate the feelings and love to the Jake you were with last summer. And…you need to lie to yourself right now at how good it feels to have him fuck his cum into you well past his orgasm, because admitting it would be the last thing you could do tonight to really throw you off the deep end.
He makes you admit it though, still fucking his cock into you regardless of how it’s growing softer and softer by the second. Doing it solely because he knows more cum will drip out as he shrinks back down. He wants to feel each second of your walls clenching, trying to push him out and knowing it never can.
He holds you down harder now, wincing at his own sensitivity as he plays with himself inside of you, lending pained chuckles and eye rolls with each sound of disgust you make towards him for it. And only after he slips out and can’t manage to fold it back into you does he really look at you.
Tilting his head with an innocent smile on his face, he releases your hands and shoots his own up to your face, cupping both cheeks before leaning down and kissing you as hard as he can with what little breath he has left.
“I deserved that.” He says between kisses. “You deserved it.” He sounds slightly irritated saying that part, but his kiss stays gentle and sweet. “You owed me this.”
You’re not sure if he meant any of that, but you find yourself agreeing.
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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)
TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.
Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.
Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.
The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.
You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.
You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten.
Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.
In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close.
Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.
~~~~~~
“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.
“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.
“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.
He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.
“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.
“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.
Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?
“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.
Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.
“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.
“Where would you go?”
“Huh?” You blink in surprise.
“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.
“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”
“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”
“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”
“Is that what you think?” He questions.
“Am I supposed to think any differently?”
“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”
There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.
You unconsciously take a careful step back.
Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.
Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear.
“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide.
“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”
“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”
“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”
The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”
“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.
“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”
But you’d still leave when the time comes.
Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.
He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.
As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.
It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.
You show up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore?
You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.
The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.
You freeze.
“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.
“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”
“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”
Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.
“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.
You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.
“B-But, I can’t–”
“Did that sound like a suggestion?”
You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.
“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.
He didn't have to tell you twice.
Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.
Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf.
You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.
Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.
You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.
As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.
The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.
When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.
Looks like another night of shitty sleep.
Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader
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a moment | s. reid
summary: two times there was a ‘moment’ between you and spencer, and one time he did something about it.
warnings; best friends to lovers, fem reader, pinning, this based off a lorelai and luke edit i saw, idk if its edited or makes any sense tbh!! sorry! longing, kinda self doubt idk, happy ending yay!!
an; this is for lia. And was written in like an hour so i really dont want the hate guys. If it sucks i cannot be held responsible.
You walk into the bullpen, scanning the usual chaos of the bullpen The day’s already running long, and it’s barely even noon.
"Look who finally decided to join us," Spencer says, glancing up from his desk. His eyes are sharp behind his glasses, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s half-hidden behind a wall of case files, as always, but somehow manages to throw his snark with precision.
you and spencer had been best friends since you started together, you got along with anyone but gravitated towards Spencer more than anyone else. Him and Penelope were the easiest for you to be around, you loved everyone but you had your favourites.
While Penelope had been bugging you to either kick up the courage to do something about your friendship with Spencer, or move on, you did neither.
"Oh, save it,," you fire back, tossing your bag on your desk. "I’m fashionably late. It’s a thing."
"Yeah, fashionably late in a profession like this. Very chic. Theres other ways to get here you know — from your house-“
“Don’t even” you cut him off.
“Im just saying if you keep missing the same turn off every time maybe it’s a sign you should be going a different way.” He muttered.
“I didn’t miss the turn off.” You argued. You lied.
“You did.”
“No”
He said your name and you huffed.
You roll your eyes, biting back a grin as you sink into your chair. "Can we pretend, just for today, that you’re not right?"
"Well," Spencer says, leaning back in his chair, "I’m only right about ninety-seven percent of the time. So, technically, you’ve got a three percent chance of being right today. Want to take a gamble?"
You throw a crumpled paper at him. "Your math is annoying."
He catches it, eyes twinkling, and throws it back at you. "Annoying?"
“Yes, annoying. It hurts my head”
It’s easy between the two of you—this banter, this back-and-forth. It always has been, ever since the first case you worked together. Over time, it’s become second nature to tease him, push his buttons, and he always gives it right back. The tension slips away with every joke, but today, there’s something different about the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.
You ignore it. You have to.
"So, what do we have?" you ask, holding out your hand for the file in his lap.
He passes it to you, fingers brushing against yours. It’s brief, but the touch sends a spark up your arm. Your eyes meet for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say.
Spencer clears his throat, looking back down at the file. "This unsub’s a real charmer. I think he's using manipulation tactics to lure his victims. He’s got a pattern, but it’s subtle. Took me a while to piece it together."
"Took you a while? So, like... five minutes?" You grin, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced by something softer.
He laughs, a sound that always surprises you because it’s rare, but so genuine. "Try thirty. It was a real struggle."
"Wow. I almost feel bad for you."
His smile fades just a little, and when he looks at you again, there’s that shift. Something hovers between you, just under the surface, where the teasing usually stays. His eyes flicker over your face, and suddenly, you wonder if he’s about to say something else, something that would cross the line you’ve never acknowledged before.
Your heart skips, and before you can stop yourself, you lean forward a little. Your breath catches.
"So..." Spencer starts, but before the sentence can land, your phone buzzes on your desk. The sharp sound breaks the moment like a snapped thread. You jerk back, grabbing your phone.
"Hotch needs us in the conference room," you mutter, more to yourself than him, trying to get a grip on the swirling thoughts in your head. "We’ve got a lead."
Spencer blinks, clearly shaken out of whatever that was, and you stand up quickly, focusing hard on the case and not on the fact that you were about two seconds away from… what? Leaning in? Kissing him?
No. That’s not what this is. This is Spencer.
"Race you to the conference room?" he asks suddenly, the playful lilt back in his voice, but there’s still something lingering behind his eyes, a question neither of you seems ready to ask.
"Race? You’re literally taller than me, that’s cheating. I’m wearing heels!!"
"You can run in heels, can’t you?" He shoots you a smirk, the tension easing just enough for you to relax, even if your heart is still racing.
"Could. But i don't want to damage my gorgeous shoes," you huffed, yet already heading for the door.
"Gorgeous shoes?" He repeated, raising his eyebrow.
"Yeah that was actually the name of the shoes when i bought them. They had 'gorgeous shoes' written in big letters across the box." You smiled, tilting your head.
"Really?"
"No."
You make it halfway to the conference room before he catches up, the two of you slipping back into your usual rhythm. But as you walk into the room side by side, the unspoken thing still hangs between you. You don’t talk about it, and maybe you never will, but it’s there.
“Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked, looking down at you, eyes lingering on yours. You nod.
“It’s pizza night. Of course I am.”
And once again, you’re reminded that with Spencer, things have never been as simple as just best friends.
You’re standing in Spencer’s tiny kitchen, flour everywhere. And when you say everywhere, you mean it—on the counters, in your hair, smeared on his cheek where you definitely didn’t mean to slap him with dough earlier.
“This is going really well,” you deadpan, holding up the limp, misshapen pizza dough.
“Um.” He squints as he looks at the mess.
“Well.. you’re the genius who can outsmart anyone but apparently can’t figure out yeast,” you argue, pinning the blame on him. “Is it supposed to look like this?” You muttered, tilting your head.
“I think it’s fighting back. Maybe we’re the victims now.”
You both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. This was supposed to be simple. Homemade pizza sounded like a cute idea, something easy to do on a night off, but it’s turned into chaos. The dough’s not cooperating, the sauce might be too watery, and you’re pretty sure you added way too much garlic. But that’s what makes it fun.
"Okay," Spencer says, hands raised in surrender. "I officially give up. This dough has outsmarted me."
"You’re giving up? Dr Spencer Reid, defeated by pizza dough?" You snatch the rolling pin from him, trying to take over, but the second you press down, the dough tears. "Okay, maybe it’s smarter than both of us."
Spencer steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the mess you've made. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and for just a second, everything feels different. The banter pauses. His breath is soft on your neck, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches to touch the dough. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, unsure of what to do next.
But then, with no warning, Spencer flicks flour at you.
"Hey!" you squeal, spinning around to face him, eyes wide. He looks so pleased with himself, a mischievous grin on his face.
"What? You had flour in your hair. I was just trying to help.”
"Sure, you were." You reach for the bag of flour, holding it up threateningly. "I will not hesitate to make this a war, Spencer."
He grins widely, almost daringly.
You grab a handful of flour and toss it at him in retaliation. "You are such a child."
“I’m just helping!” he protests, dodging your attack and grabbing the rolling pin like a shield. His laughter is contagious, and soon you’re both caught up in it, the tension slipping away into something lighter, easier.
You try to swipe more flour at him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid-throw. His fingers wrap around your wrist gently, but the touch sends an unexpected shiver up your arm. You both freeze, the room suddenly too quiet again, his hand lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary.
His gaze flickers down to where his fingers rest against your skin, and then back up to meet your eyes. There’s a pause, just long enough for the air between you to thicken, something unspoken hanging between you. His thumb brushes your wrist lightly, and you wonder if he feels it too—the tension that’s been simmering all night, just beneath the surface.
You swallow hard, pulling your hand away, but not before you catch the briefest flicker of something in his expression. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and just like that, the moment slips away.
His eyes narrow playfully, and for a second, you think he might call your bluff. But instead, he just chuckles and steps back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s not escalate this. We’re adults, after all."
"Adults who can’t make pizza," you mutter, dumping the ruined dough into the trash. "Guess we’ll have to order in. Again."
Spencer wipes his hands on a towel, still smiling. "I’ll let you pick the place this time. As long as it’s not that one with the weird crust you made us try last month."
"Oh come on, that was a bold choice! You just have no sense of adventure."
"I have a very good sense of adventure," he says, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling in that way that makes you feel like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. "I just like my pizza to taste like pizza."
You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning, too. "Fine. We’ll get the boring pizza this time."
As you both settle into the living room, waiting for the pizza to arrive, you can't help but feel that lingering tension again. The kind that sneaks up on you when things get quiet, when the laughter dies down, and it’s just the two of you sitting side by side, closer than necessary.
You smile, nudging him with your elbow. "Who knew you were such a terrible cook, though?"
"I think we share equal blame here."
"Maybe," you admit, glancing at him. His eyes catch yours, and for just a moment, the playful air between you shifts. It’s small, like the brush of his hand earlier, like the way he’s looking at you now. Your heart skips again, and you wonder—just for a second—if maybe, possibly, you weren’t imagining it. You ignore it, there was too much that could go wrong if you didn’t.
It’s late in the afternoon when you hear the knock at your door. The sun's still out, casting a soft golden light through your living room windows, but it’s the last thing on your mind.
You’re dressed in something more put together than usual because, of course, Penelope had insisted on setting you up on this date tonight. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but she’d been so enthusiastic that you’d caved. You’d said yes to humor her, to get her off your back.
She had insisted that you needed something to get your mind off Spencer. You wondered if that was actually possible.
So when the knock comes, your stomach churns, thinking it might be the guy arriving too early. But when you open the door, it's not your date.
It’s Spencer.
He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair slightly disheveled, and there’s a look on his face you can’t quite place. It’s tight, maybe a little frustrated, though he's trying hard to keep his expression neutral.
“Spence?” You lean against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away, eyes scanning you briefly before he looks down, then back up again. There’s tension in his posture, the kind you recognize when he’s overthinking something. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”
You don’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”
His face tightens even more, though he tries to hide it with a half-hearted shrug. “Did Penelope set you up with some guy?”
“Yeah?” You squinted trying to figure out how he knew that. You hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to talk about what had caused your sudden date or have to lie to him about why Penelope suddenly set you up when you have shown no intention of being interested in dating.
“Penelope told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair as if he was stressed. You didn’t understand, not really. You told Spencer everything so you could understand why he would be annoyed that you didn’t tell him this, but it seemed as if he took it personally.
You squint at him, crossing your arms. “What is your issue? You look like you want to strangle someone.”
He lets out a huff, avoiding your eyes again. “It’s nothing.”
You tilt your head, studying him. There’s something under the surface, and you’re not about to let it go. “Well you’re here so, obviously its not nothing … What’s going on?”
He finally looks up at you, his eyes sharp and filled with something you haven’t seen before. It catches you off guard for a moment. “It’s just—there was a moment.”
You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “A moment?”
His voice drops, a little rougher now, a little more real. “Last week. When we were making pizza, and the week before that— and during- there was a moment.”
Your heart skips. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you stay silent, letting him continue.
“I thought there was a moment,” he says, his frustration starting to leak through his words now. “I thought maybe something was… happening.”
Your chest tightens, the air in the room shifting as you meet his eyes. “There was.”
The confession comes out of your mouth before you even realize it, and the tension between you two spikes instantly, filling the space with an electric charge. You can feel it, the way everything has changed with those two words.
Spencer just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to admit it. He takes a step forward, you step back almost unconsciously, and your heart beats faster in your chest.
“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice low, unsure.
He doesn’t stop moving, closing the gap between you even more, and his voice is soft but firm when he speaks. “Will you just stand still for a minute?”
Before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening, his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and his lips are on yours.
The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it’s full of all the unspoken things that have been building between you for so long. You feel the world tilt, your hands instinctively moving to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. For a second, everything else fades away—your date, the case, everything.
When you finally pull back, breathless, you just stare at each other. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and his eyes search yours, full of something that feels too big to name.
Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence thick and heavy with everything that’s just shifted between you.
Then, as if in slow motion, you take a small step forward. It’s your turn now, the tables flipped, and you can see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he instinctively steps back.
“What are you doing?” he asks, echoing your earlier words, his voice low and a little breathless
You give him a small smile, feeling the tension twist tighter in your chest. “Will you just stand still for a minute?” You mirrored his words
His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move, and before he can say another word, you close the space between you and kiss him again.
This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss is deeper, more insistent, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s like everything you’ve both been holding back is finally breaking free, all the tension and the unspoken feelings rushing to the surface.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, faces inches from each other. Your hands are still gripping the front of his jacket, his fingers still digging into your sides like he’s afraid to let go.
You don’t move, neither of you do. You just stay there, staring at each other, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about the job, or the cases, or anything else. It’s just him.
He’s the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and almost disbelieving, He exhales, a long, relieved breath, his hand still resting on your waist. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”
You shake your head, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “No. You weren’t imagining it.”
Another beat of silence passes, and then his lips quirk up into that small, crooked smile you’ve always liked so much. “Well, I guess we have Penelope to thank for this.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “Yeah, and she doesn’t even know it.”
His thumb brushes your side, a subtle touch, but enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Are you… still going on that date?”
The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost laugh. The idea of leaving now, of going out with some guy Penelope set you up with, feels absurd.
“No,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “I’m not.”
His smile widens, just a little. “Good.”
You grin up at him, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Yeah? Why’s that good?”
Spencer’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see the real reason for his frustration, for all of this. He steps even closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his voice low and sincere.
“Because, there was a moment.”
Your heart stutters in your chest, and you meet his eyes, that familiar warmth spreading through you again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, his lips ghosting yours, and the last bit of tension that’s been sitting between you melts away completely. He smiles, and before either of you can say anything else, he closes the gap and kisses you again.
#spencer reid#reidmania#criminal minds#criminal minds show#criminalmindsfans#spencer reid x reader#spencer criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x oc#bee talks#spencer reid angst#spencer reid edit#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid#dr spencer reid mm#dr spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid x oc#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid cm#spencer reid core#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal mind imagines
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I Missed My Funeral
jason todd x reader
aka you learn what happened to jason
warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort
You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.
Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.
It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.
Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.
You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities.
Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.
“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual.
You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”
His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”
“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.
He goes still.
You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”
He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”
He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.
“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.
You nod.
“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”
You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.
His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”
You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that.
It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.
His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”
Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.
You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part.
“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”
Oh.
You can physically feel your chest sink.
That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people.
You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to.
“How old were you?”
He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.
Oh.
You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.
But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?
He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”
“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”
He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go.
He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.”
“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”
It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”
While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.
“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”
He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…
He does remember the other part.
You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up.
“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”
“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.”
The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.
His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”
You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”
You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.
You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose.
There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family.
You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.”
You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.
He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.
You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”
He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.
You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”
He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.
It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.
You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”
He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”
He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.
Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.”
You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.
“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.
“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”
You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”
“The robin suit.”
You pause.
“That robin suit?”
He nods.
…what
for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well
🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮
#i may have cried a little#had this son of a bitch in the drafts since MAY#unofficial part one to the previously posted#jason todd loves his gf#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood x you#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x y/n#jason todd/you#jason todd/reader#red hood fanfic#red hood fanfiction#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc x you#dc fanfiction#dc fanfic#batfam imagine#batfam x reader#jason todd thoughts#red hood/you#red hood/reader
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guess | spencer reid x reader
wc: 2.3k, rating: explicit/18+
tags/warnings: slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, alcohol consumption (reader is not drunk during sex), lingerie, munch!spencer, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex
a/n: heavily inspired by guess by charli xcx ft. billie eilish, specifically billie's verse. yes the song dropped yesterday. yes i listened to the song once and decided to write a fic about it. i'm insane about s7/8 reid rn so :) (also posted on ao3!)
You swear you don’t mean to show off, but the miniskirt you’re in doesn’t help your case in the slightest.
Spencer had told you to join him at the bar for drinks with his coworkers, the bar just a couple blocks down from the club you were at with your friends. Your boyfriend had been away for most of this week and you really wanted to see him, so you don’t think twice about popping by to see Spencer. Besides, you hadn’t seen Penelope, JJ and Emily in a while either, and those girls treat you too kindly.
You realise how skimpily dressed you are when you walk into the bar, though, when you approach the very properly-dressed group of FBI agents at a booth in the corner. Your top is cropped and low-cut, revealing your cleavage, and you were wearing a little black miniskirt, the hem of which barely skirted the tops of your thighs.
Spencer has never commented on your fashion choices, often being the very satisfied recipient of your sometimes revealing outfits. But as you greet the BAU, his eyes are dark and hungry as they roam your figure. You smile at him with a whispered “Hi, baby,” before you kiss him chastely. The look on Spencer’s face is unreadable, other than the fact that you know he appreciates the view.
His gaze darts up at Derek from across the booth when he whistles at you.
“Looking good, mama.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at you, earning him a smack to the chest from Penelope and a hearty chuckle from Emily.
You lean over to hug JJ, Penelope and Emily in that order on the other side of the table, and you feel Spencer’s hand quickly snake across your waist, pulling you back to sit down. You glance over at him briefly, but he only keeps his gaze straight ahead.
“You are one lucky guy, Reid,” Emily laughs, and you feel Spencer’s arm curl around you tighter, pulling you in closer.
The rest of the night is pretty fun, cracking jokes and talking with Spencer’s team, but with the alcohol in your system from earlier, it only takes a few more drinks for you to get drunk. You’re extra giggly, half-sitting in Spencer’s lap, his hand not leaving your side. You feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, saying, “I think we’re going to head home first. This one here seems a little drunk already.”
“I’m not drunk,” you lilt, rolling your eyes. You lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder, blinking hard before you meet Penelope’s gaze. You hear Emily defending you about how you aren’t drunk, but Penelope smiles at you and says, “I think boy genius is right.”
You frown deeply, almost comically so. “Penny! You’re supposed to back me up here!”
Penelope laughs, always so kind to you. “Come on, honey. Let Reid take you home.”
You huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You don’t notice the way Spencer’s gaze darts down to your chest shamelessly. Derek whistles, and you assume Spencer must glare at him because Derek is raising his hands in surrender, telling Spencer he doesn’t mean anything. What were they even talking about? You don’t know, but Spencer is murmuring in your ear about getting a taxi home, and after you say goodbye to all of his friends, you’re letting him guide you out of the bar and into the cool night.
You shiver, the very little fabric you have on not doing you any favours when the temperature drops. Spencer is quick to shrug off his jacket and help you put it on. His jacket is long enough on you, considering Spencer’s height, to cover your skirt.
“I swear alcohol’s supposed to warm you up,” you grumble, holding your arms close to your chest as you try to stay warm. “I’m fucking freezing.”
“You feel warmer for a bit because the alcohol is a vasodilator – it causes the blood vessels under your skin to dilate, increasing blood flow, which makes you feel warmer. If you drink more, the higher levels of alcohol actually work to shrink your blood vessels instead and make you feel cold. Do you have a headache?”
You shake your head, but take the chance to snuggle up to Spencer now. “You feel nice and warm.”
“Good,” Spencer says, holding you close. In no time, he flags down a taxi, and you two pile in and drive towards his apartment.
Spencer’s hand is drawing circles into the side of your thigh, mindless, but the touch is incredibly distracting. You ask him softly, “You’ve been touching me all night, Spence. Something on your mind?”
“You,” he whispers back. “Can’t stop thinking about your underwear.”
You squeak at his brazenness, smacking his chest. “You– Spencer!”
“I got a good look when you were practically bent over the table just now,” Spencer continues, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “Didn’t even give me a chance to guess.”
You gape at him like a fish, but Spencer smiles and murmurs in your ear, “You know how much I love when you wear that lacy black pair.”
You bite down on your lip, trying not to moan like a whore in the back of this taxi. You just look at him, silently wishing he’d do something. Spencer presses a kiss to your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat.
Thankfully, the driver is quick to announce that you’re at your destination, and you and Spencer stumble out of the cab quicker than you’d like to admit. Spencer doesn’t even wait for his change before he slams the car door shut.
Spencer crowds you against the back of the elevator, an old, rickety thing with no camera, so you feel less bad when Spencer slips his hand under your skirt and past your panties, his finger sliding between your wet folds. “Spencer!”
“You’re so wet for me already,” Spencer groans, kissing down your neck desperately. His fingers are so tantalising, rubbing up against your clit, your hole. “You’re so sexy.”
“Spencer,” you whine. “Hurry up and fuck me.”
The elevator doors creak open on Spencer’s floor. “Let’s go, then.”
Spencer barely locks the door behind you before he’s kissing you, eager and sloppy and desperate. It’s so hot, his large hands on your waist pulling you closer to him, and you feel the growing problem in the front of his pants.
“Spencer,” you moan. You feel his hands push up your skirt, feel him wedge his leg between your thighs. You must be soaked through your underwear by now, and you shamelessly rut your hips forward to grind against his leg.
“You know I love your fashion sense, my love, but this is slutty even for you.” Spencer’s voice is dark when he says it, and you whimper. “You’re dressed like you want somebody else’s attention.”
Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “No!”
“Derek was eyeing you like a piece of meat earlier. Emily, too.” Spencer frowns.
“I only want you, baby,” you insist, holding onto Spencer’s arms. “Only want you to notice me.”
“I am the only one who knows the colour of your underwear,” Spencer hums, his fingers skirting the waistband of your panties. “And fuck, you look good in them.”
“Please, Spence,” you whine, your plea lilting off into a gasp as Spencer lifts you, getting you to wrap his legs around him. You’d seen how he looked when he was younger, so scrawny he looked like he’d get swept away if the wind blew too hard, but now, he’s got more meat on his bones. His body is a pleasure to look at, let alone feel under your hands, which you’re happy to do now.
You touch the firm lines of his body through his shirt, as Spencer carries you to his bedroom. You mumble, hands frisky, “You’re so hot.”
“Says you,” Spencer smiles. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”
You grin as he lays you on his bed, gasping when he slides his palm over your wet cunt through your underwear. His thumb flicks over your clit through the lace, the material dulling the electrifying sensation. you whine, “Spencer, please.”
Spencer tsks, looking down at you. “Let me take my time with you, darling. You’ve been teasing me all evening.”
He presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, making you moan loudly. While he tends to tower over you in bed, you also deeply appreciate the view of him getting on his knees so he can make a home between your thighs. His hair is wild, unruly, and you run your hand through it, admiring it. Keeping your gaze, Spencer leans down to kiss your pussy.
You feel his warm breath on you, the scratch of his stubble on your skin, pinned down simply by his gaze as his tongue darts out to lick you over your underwear. You whimper, as Spencer wraps his arms around each of your thighs, using you as an anchor as he presses his face between your legs.
You sob, because what Spencer’s giving you just isn’t enough, not when you need to feel his tongue on your cunt. He thumbs at your hole through the fabric, dipping into your wetness in a cruel approximation of the pleasure he usually gives you.
“Fuck me,” you groan. “Take my panties off already.”
“Not yet,” Spencer hums. Instead, he pushes your panties to the side, lets his fingers slide over your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, his rough, calloused fingers sliding over your wetness, and then you feel the warmth of his tongue.
The sounds his mouth makes as he eats you out are filthy, obscene. His tongue flicks over your cunt with a practised precision, familiar with what makes you tick, the wet, slick sounds too overwhelming. Your toes are curling with how good Spencer makes you feel – legs trembling, breathing heavy. You can’t stop the whimpers that leave your lips, almost helpless in the way you moan for him.
“Please,” your voice is shaky as you cry out for Spencer. “I need you so bad, baby."
Spencer hums against your cunt, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine in your pleasure. “Okay, my darling.”
Finally, finally, he’s sitting up and pulling your panties down, your little skirt still pushed up to expose your cunt. You look up at him, silently wondering why he hasn’t taken it off. He plays with the soft fabric in his hands almost absentmindedly and says, “I think we should keep it on.”
You blink up at him, not coherent enough to say anything about it. Instead, you watch him take his shirt off – you whistle at the sight, while he just rolls his eyes. He unbuckles his belt and push his pants down, his cock bobbing up, hard and red and leaky. You bite your lip, thinking about how he’ll feel inside of you.
“Kiss me,” you whine, and Spencer smiles at you. He tastes of you when his lips press against yours, and he’s quick to deepen it, his tongue in your mouth, like he's close to devouring you whole.
While he kisses you hungrily, you feel his hand between your legs, moving to line himself up with your entrance. You moan as the blunt head of his cock presses up against your hole, the sensation you’ve been craving all evening. Cruelly, he rubs up against you just like that, sliding between your folds but not giving you the satisfaction you need. You’re close to biting his head off.
“Spencer–” you start, but Spencer decides to press his cock into you right at that moment, and you sob with the way his thick length splits you open. Every time he fucks you, you feel like he was made for you, filling you up in all the right ways, feeling so perfect on top of you, inside of you.
You meet his lips and kiss him lazily as he starts to thrust into you, at the perfect pace, just deep enough to hit all the right spots. It’s too good, Spencer knowing you and your pleasure like the back of his hand.
“Fuck,” Spencer groans against your mouth, finally showing some sign of his unravelling. “You’re so tight, darling.”
You gasp, groaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, feeling like you could fuse into one person with how much you’re clinging onto him. You press your forehead to his shoulder, moans punched out of you with every one of Spencer’s thrusts.
“Feels– Feels so good, Spence, love you,” you cry.
“I love you too,” Spencer groans, voice low and rumbly in his chest. “You’re so perfect, my love.”
You sob as your orgasm hits you, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You shake as you come, feeling so positively overwhelmed with the way Spencer fucks you, the way he holds you, the way he kisses you. You can’t feel your legs as you come down from your high, head spinning with all the pleasure. “Spence…”
“I’m– Fuck–” Spencer’s tripping over his own words as he comes right alongside you, your clenched pussy sending him over the edge too. He blows his load deep inside you, sticky and hot and so satisfying. You can feel how hard he’s breathing as your mind clears, his arms trembling as he holds himself up so he doesn’t end up collapsing onto you.
“You’re perfect,” you hum in Spencer’s ear, soft and gentle as you kiss the side of his head. You pull him in close, letting him rest his weight onto you, and your hand goes to stroke his hair softly. “So good. I love you.”
“Thank you. I love you more,” Spencer groans, his voice a little raspy already. “I’m sorry if I was too possessive over you in front of my friends tonight."
“All is forgiven, especially since you were sexy as fuck,” you grin up at him. “You’re always sexy.”
“Says the girl in a miniskirt and black lace panties.” Spencer smiles.
“All the more I know what I’m talking about, then,” you giggle, before kissing him slow.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem reader
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walk the line || one shot
joel miller x f!reader
masterlist | ao3
pairing: boston qz!joel x f!reader summary: you and joel have a deal: sex in exchange for supplies. no questions asked. so what happens when you do? or joel fucks you while you’re in a headlock. that’s pretty much it. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: boston qz era, undefined relationship, mentions of sexual favors, choking, rough unprotected p in v sex, dark!joel, mean!joel [in the sense that he doesn’t let her come oops :( ], dubcon [reader tries to loosen his grip], noncon [i’m putting this here just in case], no aftercare. think that’s it. word count: 1.2k
a/n: just….don’t ask. i don’t know what this is. thank you to @papurgaatika for holding a gun to my head so i would post this looking this over, love you schmooks <3
please heed the tags. protect your peace if this isn’t for you.
He’s being rough. Rougher than the countless times he’s fucked you before.
In the time since you and Joel started this whole arrangement, you never needed to tell him to fuck you at a blistering pace. He just did it.
Because you and him are the same. He told you that once. He said that you and him are two sides of the same coin. Both of you are always keeping your walls up and people out. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length. It made this arrangement easy, simple.
There was just one rule: Nothing personal. A rule you happily got on board with. Getting personal is not really your thing. You learned that it was easier to survive at the end of the world without having someone to care about. Staying detached worked for you. You didn’t care enough about Joel Miller to even bother giving him a second thought.
At least, that’s what you wanted to believe.
A few minutes ago, you made the mistake of doing just that.
You got personal. Flicked open the glass casing and pushed the big red button. Nobody gets personal with Joel Miller. Most importantly, you don’t. No. Never you. And now he’s punishing you. Maybe he’s punishing himself too, because he didn’t stop you. Didn’t stop this.
He’s being brutal, intense, and mean. And usually you could handle it because, like plenty of times before, you wanted him to.
But this time, you didn’t.
Your cunt is sensitive, and it hurts; it burns more and more with every rough snap of his hips; warm liquid pricks at your eyes in discontent. Your swollen cunt betrays you, squeezes around his wide girth, and he grunts against the shell of your ear in response. You’re sure he thinks you're begging him for more. To him, the swift flutter of your cunt is a silent tell to pick up the pace.
And he does. Relentlessly.
With every unforgiving thrust of his hips, knocking the wind out of your lungs, and the firm hold of his forearm against your neck, compressing your throat, you were barely hanging on. Black spots spatter across your vision, and your eyes slip closed; tears of anguish streak down your cheeks.
It’s too much. You choke on a sob, and your hand comes up to his left arm, weakly tugging at it, attempting to make space between the crook of his elbow and your neck to suck in an ephemeral breath of air.
Instead, he tightens his grip on you; his left arm pulls you into his chest, and his right hand moves heavily to the top of your head as he brutally fucks up into your throbbing hole. Your head dips back beneath his chin, and the crown of your skull stings as the plastic clip hanging out at the bottom of the valve of his gas mask digs into your scalp.
Your failure to follow his rule — his only rule — had pissed him off so immensely that he didn’t even waste a second to remove his mask.
His muffled voice cuts through the thick haze that took over your mind. “Stay,” he orders through gritted teeth, and you obey.
Because he’s teaching you a lesson.
With him, you mind your tongue.
With him, you do as you're told.
With him, you don’t ask questions.
With him, you don’t get fucking personal.
And with your head locked between both of his strong arms and his fat cock hammering your cunt, punching at your cervix — forcing himself in — he makes certain of that. Makes your mind go fucking blank. Because when your sloppy cunt is stuffed full of his cock, your mind goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp in his hold, you are in no position to question him. To pry. To challenge him. To fight him. A brutal, shattering reminder that Joel Miller calls the shots.
And Joel doesn’t say a word. Not this time. Not when he’s using your body as a way to cope with his anger — to get himself off. It’s all breathless groans and grunts that tell you your holes are enough to satisfy him. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if this is how he always saw you — a means to an end.
Maybe you felt the same way about him.
You don’t have time to dwell on it because then you feel it — he twitches inside your aching cunt, signaling his rapid release. He hisses as he pulls out of your wasted hole, his length bobs against the crease beneath your ass, smearing your sweaty skin with your mixed wet. His cock throbs against you as his seed spills onto your quivering legs, coating your inner thighs, and leaking onto the tattered, moth-eaten mattress.
You whimper pathetically as his arms release you, and your shuddering form falls forward, crashing into the dusty mattress beneath you. Your chest heaves as your hand comes up to the column of your neck, your weak fingers pressing at the sharp, searing pang there. You don’t doubt your skin has already begun to smart. You cough profusely as your lungs fill with air, a humiliating attempt at catching your breath.
Joel’s left hand comes down beside your head on the mattress, cushioning his fall as he hovers over you. He groans as his other hand replaces your cunt, and with every fast, wet pump of his fist, the pulsing tip bumps against your skin; his release now paints the small of your back.
A first.
And in the back of your mind, you try telling yourself it’s his way of claiming you — that he still wants you after you stepped out of line. Your stomach lurches at the same time your cunt flutters at the thought. You’re not sure how you feel about it, but you do know you feel empty without him inside you. And other than what happened here, he typically makes you feel good. Leaves you satisfied before he chases his own release.
Today, he didn’t. He used your body as a means for punishment, and you let him. A penance. For crossing the line he told — you both agreed not to overstep.
A few moments later, you’re pulling your distressed jeans over your cum-coated thighs while your glassy eyes watch Joel as he zips up his own, his eyes fixed on the molded wooden floor in front. “Joel,” your voice hoarse and raw.
He peers up at you beneath his lashes, the sunlight clawing through the taped-up window catches on his eyes; the amber in his hazel irises glowering in the light.
“It won’t happen again,” you whisper.
“No,” he leans forward, grabs his gas mask you didn’t notice he pulled off, and the orange pill bottle you were meant to deliver to him without sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, and he grunts while he moves to stand, “it won’t.”
And only when his heavy footsteps fade down the dark hallway of the abandoned building on the outskirts of the QZ, leaving you alone to stare back at the pale, rotten wallpaper with a painful and pleading ache between your trembling legs, do you realize exactly why no one defies Joel fucking Miller.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller one shot#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tw dubcon#tw noncon#wazoo!!!#noelle's workshop
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A LITTLE LIFE
pairing. tyler owens x fem!reader
summary. when a storm tyler is chasing changes course, putting you and your daughter in the direct line of danger, tyler drops everything to reach you.
warnings. established relationship, descriptions of injuries, reader gets hurt, angst w/happy ending.
word count. 2.7k || masterlist
You watched as Tyler slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and patted his pockets to ensure he had everything he needed for his latest storm-chasing adventure.
“Are you sure you have everything? Did you pack your charger? Because-” Your husband cut you off with a gentle chuckle.
“It was the first thing I packed,” he said. The one time he had let his phone die while on a chase nearly sent you into cardiac arrest. He hadn’t sent you his usual indication that the chase went well and he and the rest of the Wranglers were just fine. You were in a fit of panic until Lily called you with words of reassurance and a promise to scold Tyler for his forgetfulness. Since then, you always bugged him to ensure he had his charger and that he used it.
But he had gotten a lot better about checking in since you had your little girl. The reckless Wrangler pumped the breaks just slightly, calling every night he was away to hear the little baby babble before he fell asleep. He’d taken a rather long break from chasing when she was born, but you knew he missed it dearly. And while you’d miss him, he promised to keep his trips to a couple days tops and he’d come home the second you felt overwhelmed or needed help, no matter the size of the storm they were after.
You were nervous to let him go, but you always had been. Yet, Tyler’s love for the dangerous weather wasn’t something you wanted to stand in the way of. He was doing what he loved, with the people he loved even more. You were proud of him and his friends for sticking to their guns and doing everything they could to help the people affected by the storms.
Tyler moved to stand in front of you and your little girl, who you held on your hip. She was all smiles as Tyler kissed her cheeks. “You keep an eye on your momma for me this weekend, okay? She’s a handful.”
You playful rolled your eyes. “Right, because I’m the one who refuses to sleep at bedtime.” That had been an ongoing battle. Your little girl liked to stay awake all night and nap off and on through the day, leaving you and Tyler on the backward schedule too.
Tyler pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling away too soon for your liking. He looked unsure of himself, eyes flickering between you and your daughter. “You sure you’re gonna be all right?” he asked, for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. He always checked before he left, over and over again just in case you changed your mind, but you never did.
You placed a hand on his cheek, smiling in reassurance. “I promise,” you said.
He nodded, kissing you once more as he muttered, “I love you,” against your lips.
“I love you too.”
With your baby’s backward sleep schedule, you had managed to put her to sleep by mid-afternoon. She slept soundly in her crib, and you collapsed on the couch with a tired sigh. The TV droned on, playing some old sitcom that you’ve seen a million times, lulling you to sleep slowly before it overtook you completely.
The gentle breeze swept in through the open windows, filling your home with a springtime sweetness you thought would remain throughout the weekend, sprinkled with a few rain showers throughout. But as you slept, the pretty blue skies started to shift, changing into something much more sinister.
The storm was glorious. Tyler’s veins were filled with adrenaline as they followed the twister down an empty backroad, watching as it gained speed. Boone stayed steady filming it, hollering in excitement the whole time. They didn’t get a chance to catch their breath until the tornado was choked out, dissipating before their eyes like it had never been there at all, but leaving behind a clear path of destruction across the open plains.
The weekend was supposed to host a slew of storms just north of Tyler’s home, and he and his team felt pretty good about their luck based on the first tornado they caught. Maybe it was a little superstitious, but they often used the first storm they chased as a baseline for how lucky they’d be during that outbreak.
Meeting back up with the rest of the Wranglers, Tyler watched the sky with his hands on his hips, his mind split between the storms and you. Even though he had been chasing since your daughter was born, he was still a little hesitant, especially considering how much of a hassle it was to get her to sleep through the night, but you were just as supportive and wonderful as ever. His responsibility to you and your daughter was his first priority, but his responsibility to the Wrangles was second.
“We got another big one brewin’ southeast,” Dexter said, eyes glued to the radar. Peering over his shoulder, Lily watched it too. The fixed small smile on her lips faltered before her brows furrowed. She patted Dexter’s shoulder to get him to step aside from the device.
Tyler could tell she was thinking hard about something, her lip pulled between her teeth and shoulders rolling back.
“Lily,” Tyler said. “What is it?”
“It’s heading right for town.”
Boone’s face pinched in confusion. “What town?”
All Lily had to do was look at Tyler before he felt a cold twist of dread overtake his body. The storm was heading straight for you.
You were exhausted. So much so that you didn’t wake up until a loud crash jolted you out of your slumber. You shot up from the couch with a gasp, heartbeat quick in your chest. The curtains that framed the open windows whipped around wildly as a harsh wind blew through screen. It pushed over the vase of flowers that were resting on the end table in front of the window, leaving broken glass and water strewn across the floor.
You hurried over to the window, only to be assaulted by the violent wind and rain that seemed to be coming down sideways. Cursing under your breath, you went around the living room, closing the windows and blocking out the loud howl that rose goosebumps on your skin.
Thunder rumbled loudly, rattling the house and waking up the baby. You hurried down the hall, scooping up your daughter with her woven pink blanket. As you tried to calm her down, the sirens rang out with a fury.
Tornadoes were as common in spring as rain, but your nerves never vanished whenever the sirens sounded. You had been lucky, always just out of the direct path of the storm resulting only in a fallen tree or ruined patio furniture, but nothing too damning. Yet, you never wanted to take your chances, try to outsmart the force of nature by testing your luck. And you had another person to be responsible for. So, you grabbed the diaper bag hanging on the back of the closet and started toward the basement.
It was half-finished, but home to an emergency stock of supplies if worse ever came to worse during tornado season. Usually, you stayed calm during storms, either reassured by Tyler or able to talk yourself out of any worry as the storm passed by without too much rocking of the house. But Tyler wasn’t there, and it was your first big storm with the baby.
Panic welled in your chest, pushing against your ribs as you sat on the old cot set up in the far corner of the basement, beside the shelf of food, water, and a radio. Your baby girl had stopped crying, lulled by you gently rocking her. Flipping on the radio, you listened as the weather overhead worsened. The weatherman only confirmed your fears when he listed your county as being right in the path of the increasingly powerful tornado.
With one hand, you fumbled around in your pockets, in search of your phone, only to realize you had plugged it in not long after Tyler left. It remained upstairs. You heard the howl of wind increase and you knew you’d missed your window to safely venture upstairs. Instead, you were stuck, huddled in the corner of the basement silently praying your luck hadn’t run out and the storm would switch its path or disappear before it reached your home.
But your luck seemed to have run out.
Tyler was sure he’d never been so terrified of a storm before. Normally, he found the beauty in them, but he also had seen their destruction firsthand. It was always devastating to see people’s homes flattened and watch them in a desperate scramble to find their missing loved ones in the rubble. That was why they put their money towards helping those people; it wasn’t much, but it was the only way he knew how to help.
It was a different kind of heartbreak when the devastation plagued a familiar place. As soon as he turned down the little gravel road that led to his neighborhood, he felt violently ill. It was like a swift punch in the gut, nearly causing him to double over at the wheel. The homes he had memorized along the street were gone, old trees completely uprooted, and cars overturned and totaled.
“Oh my God,” Lily muttered from the backseat, bringing Tyler slightly out of his increasing panic. He didn’t know what he expected, based on the damage leading down the road toward your guys’ home, but nothing prepared him for seeing his little house in ruins. His mind didn’t even register what was happening until he abandoned his truck, running across what used to be the front yard.
“No, no, no,” he whispered, unable to say much of anything else as he climbed over the rubble of the house. His chest felt impossibly tight, like his heart had been flattened alongside the homes, because his heart wasn’t in his chest anymore, not really. His heart was with you and your little girl; he’d given it away to you long ago and then again when he held his daughter for the very first time.
And neither one of you were anywhere to be seen.
The Wranglers started to yell your name before Tyler found his voice and joined them. He peeled through the debris, numb to the pain in his hands as they cut against the mangled pieces of what once was a house. With each second that passed that he couldn't see you or hear you, his whole world seemed to darken around him.
In the very back of his mind, he held a worry of something happening to him while he was chasing; he was as careful as he could be, making sure to only get into situations he could get himself and his team out of, but he never had considered he’d one day he at risk of losing you.
Tyler had never considered having a little family of his own until he met you. He’d never felt so at home with a person since you crash-landed into his life. And after you two married, and you told him you were pregnant, he was faced with a brighter future than he’d ever imagined for himself. The idea that he may have lost it so suddenly was excruciating.
“I got ‘em!” Boone yelled above the blood rushing in Tyler’s ears. Boone was on the other side of what used to be the house, grasping a bloodied hand that poked out of the rubble. “I need some help over here!”
Tyler sprinted across the yard, as did the rest of the Wrangles. Lily, Dexter, and Dani ripped back the pile of debris while Boone and Tyler pulled on your hand, helping you out of the basement. You landed on your knees, one hand still clutching Tyler’s while your other was holding onto the baby.
A cry of relief left Tyler’s lips as he fell to the ground in front of you. Your hand wasn’t the only thing that was bloodied, it ran down the side of your face and stained the sleeve of your shirt.
“Baby,” he muttered, carefully grasping the sides of your face to get a better look at you. Your eyes were a little unfocused, red-rimmed, and watery. He wiped some of the blood off of your cheek, causing you to wince in pain. “Are you okay?” Clearly, you weren’t, but he needed to know if there was more damage than the cuts and bruises. Your eyes instantly fell onto the baby in your arm, panic taking hold of your features.
“I-I don’t know,” you cried. You pulled back the blanket slightly from your daughter’s face, and there were a couple drops of blood smeared across her delicate skin. “I don’t know,-” Your voice caught in your throat, resulting in a shaky sob.
Carefully, Tyler took the baby, who looked up at him with a quiet contentness, despite the chaos. She babbled quietly, reaching up toward him. He let her wrap her little hand around his fingers and quickly looked her over for any injuries. When he wiped the blood away, he quickly realized it was yours, not hers, which made him both feel relief and panic at the same time.
“There’s EMTs comin’ in now. I’ll grab one!” Dani said before she took off down the road where the sirens wailed.
Boone kneeled beside Tyler, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Do you want me to take the kid to get checked out while you wait here, with her?” Tyler nodded, passing off the baby to Boone, who smiled kindly down at her and started talking nonsense in the way that always made the little girl smile.
Tyler’s full focus was on you as your shock started to wear off. You grabbed a fist full of his shirt, struggling to breathe as you tried to speak. “I fell asleep,” you choked out. “S-She went down for a nap, and I fell asleep. I didn’t…” A sputtered breath fell from your lips as Tyler held you close, hand placed firmly on the back of your head and the other rubbing something circled across your back.
“It’s all right,” he whispered against the side of your head that wasn’t cut. “You’re okay.”
You buried your head into his chest, sagging against him. “I’m sorry,” you said between hiccups.
Confusion flushed Tyler. “What in the world are you sorry for?” He was the one who was sorry. He knew tornados were unpredictable, that was all a part of their nature. But he felt like he should have known the storm was coming for you, even if it was something completely out of his control. You had done everyone right; he left you alone.
You didn’t answer, though. Instead, you squeezed your eyes closed just as Dani led an EMT back to where you two sat in the front yard. Not too far, Tyler could see Boone holding onto your baby girl while she was looked over too. By the little smile on her lips when Boone made a funny face, Tyler knew she was okay, and that was all thanks to you.
You had to spend a couple of hours in the hospital, getting a couple stitches and diagnosed with a minor concussion. Other than that, both you and your daughter were okay.
Since your guys' home was torn apart, the three of you posted up in one of the nicer motels just outside of town. You lounged on the bed, smiling softly as you watched Tyler and your daughter engage in a riveting conversation of nonsensical words and babbles that almost sounded like words. He felt your gaze and met it from his position at the end of the bed.
The bumps and bruises would fade, and homes could be rebuilt; the most important thing was that all three of you were okay. Your little family, something you only wanted to protect, was still standing strong.
Tyler scooped the baby girl up in his arms before he moved it sit right beside you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he did the same to your daughter. You rested your head on his shoulder, brushing a gentle finger across the little girl’s chubby cheeks.
“We’re okay,” you whispered, like a reminder to yourself.
Tyler wrapped an arm around you, pulling you impossibly close before he repeated, “We’re okay.”
#twisters#tyler owens#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens x you#glen powell#glen powell fanfic#twisters fanfic#tyler owens fanfiction
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wanna be the sequel: sim jaeyun
part two of chilling & killing 🔪 | spotify playlist
pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: 11.6k
synopsis: you decide to keep jake’s secret of him being the mysterious ghost face killer, always taking up for him and playing dumb to the cases. but as jake’s love for you starts to overpower him and blurs his lines, his killer instinct reaches new heights.
genre: situationship, ghostface!jake, journalist!reader, smut.
warnings: swearing, jake is fucking insane, blood & m*rder, reader has a dream of being k!lled, knife play, fingering, oral (m. rec), cum eating, multiple unprotective sex scenes, one public sex scene bc jake got jealous, reader gets fucked against a mirror, reader gets cut at some point, if I missed everything please let me know!
His smirk sent chills down your spine as he buried himself deep within you, one hand was on your neck and the other squeezed the plush of your thighs. His thrusts were rough and relentless, that evil smirk growing wider and wider as the clock ticked along.
“I’ve dreamt of this,” he cooed, cock twitching against your walls, “Fucking you to death, it’s so hot.”
His hand left your thigh, and where it went, you had no idea. You just knew his thrusts were now sloppy and his cum was filling you whole.
“Hmmm, so pretty,” he cooed again, breathing hard after his release, an unbearable amount of pain now being felt at your side, “So pretty with how you bleed out for me.”
You looked to your left, seeing his knife pushed between your skin and your blood gushing onto the handle, his hand, and the floor.
You gasped for air, tears swelling your eyes as you looked up at him, begging for him to stop.
“Awe, sweet baby,” he slowly pulls the knife out of your side, bringing it up to his face, “Your blood is pretty too, everything about you is so pretty.”
You tried to pull yourself up, to throw him off you, but your body weighed millions, arms like lead.
He presses the tip of his knife to your bare chest, aiming right atop your heart, “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to kill you, feeling your blood on my hands,” he slowly pushed the knife in, and your gasps came in a rush and slowly dragged. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Sweet honey, so pretty even when you’re dying.”
He laughs. You blinked at him as the tears fell down your cheeks, taking one final breath and everything turning black.
You shot straight up in your bed, hands reaching for your chest and side, not feeling the wounds. It was just a dream…just a dream.
Sweat droplets slid down your face and you wiped them away with the back of your hands. The cool air of your apartment helped cool you off from the dream. Creating goosebumps on your skin.
The dream. Where was Jake?
You looked to your left, seeing his side of the bed empty, “Jake?” you called out, your heart racing faster, “Jaeyun?”
You glanced at the chair in the corner of the room, seeing his duffle bag still there, the ghost face mask hanging from the top of the chair, staring directly back at you. His side of the bed was cold, proving he’d been gone for a while, “Jake?” you called out again, the silence was starting to make you go crazy, crazier than you already were for homing a serial killer.
You had feelings for him, despite everything he has done and will do. You wanted to fix him, praying that having him by your side twenty-four-seven was doing the trick, even if it was a little at a time.
But you started to panic, slowly starting to crawl out of bed when your bedroom door opened and your heart stopped.
“You called for me, honey?” Jake asked with a quart of cherry vanilla-swirled ice cream in his hands and a spoon hanging from his mouth. You stared at him, not knowing what to make of this. He looks down at the quart in his hands and back up at you, “I was craving a late-night snack.”
How was the man in front of you a serial killer? How was he clinically insane and batshit crazy, but craved ice cream? Being so soft and gentle at this moment. You’d never guessed he’d murdered so many people.
Jake pulled the spoon from his mouth and reached it back into the quart, “Want some?”
You shrugged but nodded, might as well right?
With a cute smile on his face, he sits down on the bed in front of you and scoops up the creamy goodness, and holds it to your mouth, “Say ah!”
You let him feed you, feeling your heartwarming by how cute he was right now. How…angelic he was. Jake’s happy expression quickly changes to a concerned one, “Honey, what’s wrong?” He sat the ice cream down on the nightstand table and placed his cold hands on your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t realize were still there, “talk to me.”
You didn’t know how to tell him you dreamed of him killing you. Mostly when nearly two months ago he was so willing to slice your throat open on your kitchen floor. “It was just a bad dream.”
Jake pouts, “My sweet baby,” he lays down beside you and pulls you to his chest, cuddling you close to him, “I’m sorry, want to talk about it?”
You shook your head, wrapping your arm around his waist, “I just want to be close to you, it’s helping. I promise.”
Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what you dreamt of. The look on your face gave it away. Jake expected it, honestly. He almost killed you, so you have a very valid reason for having such horrid dreams as that. Jake couldn’t lie, he wanted nothing more than to slice his knife across certain parts of your body to watch you bleed, but not kill you. How could he kill the love of his life?
He held you close, listening to the sound of your breathing and how it slowed down as you drifted back off to sleep. He slowly traced his thumb up and down your back, his eyes locking onto his mask hanging from the chair, and a smirk spread on his lips.
It was almost time.
—
You leaned against the table, crossing your arms and staring at the corkboard. Eyes tracing along the red thread that connected each murder case. The murder cases against Ghost Face…against Jake. You mindlessly kept your eyes tracing, acting like you were busy trying to figure it out, acting like you normally would on any other day. It’s been a rough couple of months of lying to the rest of your club, that’s for sure. How did Jake do it this whole time?
“YN!!” You whip your head around to the new recruit of the club, seeing her bright cute smile as she walks up to you, and then look at the board, “You’ve been staring for a while, find any new clues?”
Danielle Marsh, a freshman and such a sweet girl who came from Australia on a journalism scholarship and has the brains—and the grades—to make it big one day. She is just as invested in the Ghost Face murders almost as much as you were. Lying to such a sweet soul every day was heartbreaking.
“Nope, not yet? Dani,” you said with a fake sigh, looking back at the board, “Nothing new.”
“Well darn!” her cute Aussie accent puffed, “I’ve also been staring at this all day, and going through your old journals and notes about the cases to get a brighter idea, but nothing.”
You thinned your lips to a line and looked down to the floor, “It’s rough out here.”
It was silent in the club room until the doors opened, both you and Danielle looking to see Jake walking in with a bag, “I brought lunch!”
Danielle clapped her hands, rushing to Jake and taking the bag, “Thank you!”
He smiles at her, both of you watching as she makes herself comfy at the table and pulls out everyone’s food.
You sit across from her, feeling Jake wrap his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin atop your head.
Danielle hands you a box with your food but notices there are only two boxes, “Are you not eating, Jake?” you ask him.
He shakes his head, “Nope, I ate earlier. I have somewhere to be here soon. Only stopped by to drop off lunch and head out.”
You hummed, wondering what he had to be doing here soon. You already knew, or assumed, what he was doing, but you also couldn’t ask, not with Danielle in the room.
So you both ate in silence, her eyes glancing on and off from you and Jake, a small smile on her face, “Jake have you figured anything else out about the murders?”
You tried to act normal, to keep your body calm and a poker face on, continuing to eat as if that question didn’t trigger something.
Jake just sighs, deciding to sit beside you now and dropping his face into his palm, “Not a thing. Whoever he is, he’s smart, that’s for sure.”
Way to boost your own ego there, Jake Sim.
“He’ll get caught someday,” Danielle casually says, taking a bite of her chicken.
Jake’s eyes lit up as he smiled, “Oh yeah? You think so?”
You carefully watched him. Jake knew your eyes were on him, watching his body language and how he looked at Danielle. He knew you were probably worried about her, possibly what he’d do to her. But you needn't worry, he wouldn’t harm her. Not unless she got too close.
Danielle nods, “He’s killed over thirty people and somehow stolen evidence from the police station after his first mess up. He’s bound to make another mistake.”
Jake raised his brows, heart pounding fast with excitement. Silly little thing, thinking he was fucking stupid enough to make another mistake like the first time. He was more careful than ever to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. Plus he had you now, you’d make sure nothing bad happened to him.
“Anyway,” Danielle said, changing the subject, “Suspects,” she giggled, “Who do you think the man behind the mask is?”
It was Jake’s turn to watch you, a smile still on his face, “Yeah, honey, have any ideas or clues?”
You wanted to punch him, knowing he was doing this on purpose to tease you, to test you.
So you shrug, keeping your eyes locked to your food, “No idea. I thought I was close once, but after the evidence disappeared, it was back to the drawer board.”
Good fucking girl.
Jake wanted to kiss you so hard right now. It turned him on hearing you lie for him. To act so dumb and oblivious. All for him.
He glanced up at the clock on the wall, his smile only growing wider.
“I’d love to stay with you lovely ladies,” Jake stands up, wrapping his arms back around you, “But I need to head out.” You nod, noticing Danielle’s mouth and eyes are smiling at you both.
Jake kisses your cheek and squeezes you tightly then is out the door.
“You two make such a good couple,” she coos, “Not only are you both the best journalists at this college, you’re the IT couple too!!~~~”
You softly chuckle, “We aren’t together though…” you sigh staring down at your chicken, “More of a situationship than anything else.”
Danielle frowned, “But he moved in with you, didn’t he? He holds your hand around campus and even shows you off on his Instagram. Totally thought you’d be an item.”
You shrug, taking a bite out of your food and swallowing, “He hasn’t asked me out or anything, so there’s technically not a label.”
You honestly didn’t know what Jake wanted with you. He treated you like a girlfriend, made love to you like a girlfriend, and did everything a boyfriend would do. Yet you still had no idea what he wanted. You were more surprised that he agreed to move into your apartment with you, considering he spends his free time, ya know, killing people. You mostly only asked him to move in to save poor Sunghoon, but also because you wanted him close to you. Maybe you were more insane than Jake was.
“Well,” Danielle sighs, “You two still are really cute together. I hope it eventually turns into a real relationship.”
You and me both, Dani.
—
Jake pulls a cell phone from his pocket, quickly dials a number, and presses the device to his ear, adjusting his duffle bag on his shoulder.
“Jake!” she sang on the other line, “Where are you?”
Jake smirks, “I am looking for you, Luna.”
She softly giggles over the line, “I am standing right where you told me to.”
Jake knew where she was. He could see her standing in the alleyway across the street from him. She wore a cute red glittery dress with matching high heels. Blonde dyed hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that was braided. She was cute, but nothing compared to you, his sweet honey.
“I am almost there,” he says, dropping his duffle bag to the ground. He was also standing in an alleyway, it being too dark for anyone to notice him, or even notice Luna across the street from him, “I might have taken a wrong turn.”
She giggles again, “Aren’t you like, top of your class or something? It’s what your dating profile said.”
“Ahh,” Jake chuckles, pulling his black suit from the bag, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he puts it on, “I’m book smart, not street smart.” It took everything in Jake to not laugh at how gullible this woman was. It’s why he picked her in the first place. It was so easy to create a fake dating profile on some random ass app with a fake last night and profile picture. This woman doesn’t even actually know what he looks like. Made this all the more fun. It wasn't just because of how stupid she was, she openly has it on her profile that she’s a Ghost Face enthusiast. Imagine that! A personal fan of his, what an honor it was to kill a fan. And an honor to her to be killed by him. Pity though, she was really pretty. He didn’t drive three hours here and wasted another two waiting around for night to hit just to make this an easy kill for her. No no, he was going to make this fun.
Jake continued to watch Luna as she laughed across the street, kicking her heels into the rubble of the street and pulling out his mask. “Wait,” He says, “I think I see you.”
Luna looks up and down the street and even behind her. “I don’t see you.”
“I’m across the street from you,” he smirks, tossing his duffle bag behind some abandoned boxes, and taking further steps back into the dark alleyway, “Walk over to me?”
She smiles and tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, looking both ways before jumping from the curb and rushing across the street, “You better be giving me the best fuck of my life for making me run in heels.”
Jake’s smirk only grew, adjusting his mask over the top of his head, “Oh, don’t worry I’ll fuck you real good, I promise.”
He slid the mask down in place, holding the phone back between his shoulder and ear to slide his gloves on his hands.
“Good,” Luna let out a huff, taking a deep breath as she reached the other side of the street, “snow where are you?”
Jake hid in the darkness, “Hiding, gotta come find me,” he said in a teasing voice, watching how she smiled and walked down the alleyway. Stupid woman.
“I don’t see you, and why do you sound muffled?”
“Must be the shitty connection.”
She shrugs, slowly but surely making her way towards Jake. The closer she got, the more he could tell she was getting uncomfortable, “Jake it’s really dark out here, where are you?”
“Hmmm,” he hums, “I’ll tell you if you answer my question.”
She stops walking, clicking her tongue, and turns around, facing away from him.
Perfect.
“What?” she says annoyed, “If you’re pulling a prank and are actually on the other side of the street I swear.”
“I’m not, don’t worry,” Jake clenched the voice changer attached to his suit, “I just need to ask,” he pressed the button, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”
Luna’s heart dropped, her blood going cold, but a smile on her face, nevertheless, “I didn’t know you were also a Ghost Face enthusiast,” she giggled, “That kind of hot, actually. Didn’t think I’d find anyone else from this town who also was into it.”
Jake creeps up on her slowly, his knife being pulled from his pocket, “You see, the thing is, I am not from this town,” Luna’s smile fades, “I’m also not an enthusiast.”
Before she could turn around, Jake ended the call, tossing the burner phone somewhere in the abyss of the alley, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and pressing the knife to her neck.
Luna gasps, dropping her phone and purse to the ground, hands flying to Jake’s arm. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sharpness of Jake’s knife cut deep into her throat, the warm red liquid spilling from her neck and down the front of her hands and arms, her dress, and Jake’s arm.
“I am the Ghost Face,” he whispers as Luna starts to struggle against his hold, clawing at his arm with her nails, ripping the long sleeve of his suit, and digging into his skin.
He hisses as pushes her to the ground, her body landing with a thud. Using all the strength she had in her dying body to try and crawl away from him, her blood staining the concrete.
Jake was pissed now. He’d have to sew his suit back together and probably stitch up his arm once he’s back at the apartment. Oh, how worried you’ll be once you see him tonight. His anger flourishes even more, pissed at Luna for how she will make you worry about him.
Jake looped his boot at her waist, lifting her up and forcing her to flip over. He quickly dropped down, straddling her, loving the scared look on her face. The look of death looming over.
“Awe,” he coos, his Aussie accent mixed with the voice mod sent chills down her spine, “You really tried your best to get away,” he pins her arms down with his knees, and free hand pinned her shoulder to the ground, “You really shouldn’t trust random people on the internet. Haven’t your parents taught you that?” She gasped for air, trying to find some way to scream out for help. Jake clicked his tongue, hovering the tip of his knife to her chest, “Don’t you also know it’s rude to ignore people?” he slowly pushed the knife in, “Your parents didn’t teach you a damn thing, no wonder you’re so gullible.”
The sounds of her gasps mixed with the gurgling sounds of her blood pooling out from her neck and chest were music to his ears. He quickly pulled the knife out and slid it back in, creating a new wound. Jake repeated the process, spreading Luna’s blood all over himself, his mask, her dying body, and the ground. Loving how his knife sounded as it repeatedly broke her skin.
Jake was sweating, feeling the droplets stream down his face, needing some air.
He slid the mask up, finally revealing his true face to her. Blood dripped from her mouth as she stared blankly at him, vision going blurry. He laughs, “Still kicking? What a trooper.” He lifted up his right arm, shoving the sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the deep cuts her nails left, “No wonder you left such a nasty wound, you’re a fighter even when you’re fucking stupid.” Luna tried to fight, to say anything, her heartbeat barely holding on.
Jake traced the tip of his knife down the side of her pale face, “My girl might kill me when I return home after seeing the damage you did to my arm,” he tilted his head, “I promised her I would be careful,” he chuckles, “Oh well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”
“fuck…you…” was all Luna managed to say with her dying breath.
Jake’s smile grew, “That wasn’t very nice.” He was done playing now, wanting to return home and cuddle you the rest of the night. He wasted enough time here, “So long, Luna.”
Jake made his final strike, her blood splattering across his face as she took her final breath.
—
You paced about the living room, arms crossed over your chest and hands rubbing your upper arms. Where was he? It’s been hours and he was nowhere to be seen. You called Sunghoon asking if he was with him, only to your dismay, Sunghoon hasn’t seen him since soccer practice this morning.
You already figured out what Jake was doing. His duffle bag wasn’t in its normal spot in the bedroom. The endless thoughts of the worst possible scenarios raced through your head. What if something happened? What if he got caught? What if his victim fought back and he couldn’t get away? Many more different thoughts spilled about your brain. And you wouldn’t rest until he either walked through that door or called you.
You’ve called him multiple times. Texted him too. But got no response. Jake normally turns his phone off when he…to keep from someone tracking his location or disturbing him. It only made you worry more.
The spots on the hard floor were now warm from your pacing and your neighbors below you were probably getting ready to grab a broomstick and start hitting their ceiling.
But all your worries faded when your ears picked up the sound of keys jingling from the other side of the front door, being pushed into the lock and turning. The door opened and finally, Jake stepped inside. He smiled at you, “Hi my sweet honey, you waited up for me?”
You wanted to rush to him, to hug him and kiss him and yell at him for being gone so long and making you worry. To beat the shit out of him for committing another murder and how you felt like shit because all you want to do is fix him. But to your dismay, you know you can’t fix insanity, not when you’re also insane.
Jake tilted his head, “Not going to welcome me home?”
You noticed the dried blood on his face and hair, you pitted whoever the victim was, “Welcome home, Jake.”
“That my sweet honey,” he drops the duffle bag to the floor and walks over to you, embracing you to his chest. He smelt of sweat and blood, causing you to scrunch your nose.
“You need a shower.”
Jake chuckles, squeezing you tightly, “I know.”
You ran your hands from his shoulders down to his forearm, his face wincing. You looked up at him, “What's wrong?”
Jake awkwardly smiled, “Nothing.”
You looked down to his forearm where your hand gripped onto his hoodie sleeve, noticing how pale his skin looked on his hand. Something happened. You quickly pulled up the sleeve, seeing four deep cuts to the skin.
“Now…honey—“
“What the fuck happened?!” You snapped, pointing your finger to the kitchen table, “Sit the fuck down.”
Jake quickly nodded. Shit, she might actually fucking kill me.
You pulled the first aid kit from the bathroom and quickly rushed back to him, kneeling down in front of him. He was lucky you decided to buy the most expensive one and had first aid training. Ya know, in case something like this happened. Jake explained to you the series of events that led up to now, with an insane smile on his face the entire time.
“It was perfect,” he coos, “You should have seen it, honey.”
You gently smiled at him, deciding to keep your thoughts on how you were perfectly fine not being there to witness it. You cleaned up what you could of the wounds, “You’ll need stitches.”
He cocks his head, eyes filled with so much endearment for you, “Good thing I have you to take care of me, ya?” He caresses your cheek, thumb gliding to your lips and pulling the button one down, “So good for me.”
You pulled from his graze, reaching into the kit and pulling out the tools, dissolvable stitches, and bandages, “This will probably hurt.”
Jake shrugs, “I’m a soccer player, I’ve had stitches and broken bones before.”
You pushed off his sassy attitude, preparing the needle and the string. Jake sat through it like a champ, only winching when the needle pierced through his skin. You placed ointment over the stitches and bandaged it up, “All done.”
Jake leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead and then leans back into the chair, “Thank you, honey.”
You packaged up the kit, another thought shooting in your mind, “She dug her nails into you, correct?”
Jake inhales, “Yeah? Isn’t that what I said?”
You glared at him, “She probably has your DNA under her nails, you fucking idiot!”
Your chin was between his index finger and thumb before you even had the chance to blink, his face inches away from yours, “I’m not a fucking idiot!” he hissed between his teeth, “I took care of it.” He dropped your chin, running his hands through his dark sweaty, and blood-soaked hair, keeping eye contact with you. Your pissed-off glare was relentless, and oh man, it was turning him on. Seeing you so pissed off at him yet so worried about his well-being. What did he do to deserve you?
Jake drops his hand to his crotch, palming his hardening length, “I love it when you look at me like that,” he tilts his head, “You know what I’d love even more?”
You waited, feeling your arousal starting to pool on your panties.
“Your mouth wrapped around my cock.”
Jake slowly unbuttoned his jeans, looping his thumbs in between the fabric of his boxers and skin, sliding both his jeans and boxers down to the floor, his fully hard dick resting against his abdomen. He tilted his chin up, signaling for you to touch him.
So you did, wrapping your hand around his base and slowly pumping him, taking the precum spilling from the tip and spreading it around the head. Jake groans at your touch, cock twitching, “Stop teasing me, baby.”
He places his hand on your head, gently pushing you forward, his tip touching your lips. You place a few kisses to the tip, sneaking your tongue out and wrapping it around the head, hand sliding up and down the shaft as you slowly take him in your mouth, bobbing your head in a slow motion and flattening your tongue to fit him in deeper.
“Fuck, honey,” he moans, moving your head with his hand to help you pick up the speed, “Your mouth feels so good.”
His tip hits the back of your throat, kicking in your gag reflex, sending vibrations against him. Jake hisses, flinging his head back over the chair and bucking his hips up, “Fuck, YN, oh fuck.”
Your hands now held onto his thighs, feeling the muscles flex against your palms as he bucked his hips up into your mouth, your nose brushing against his pelvis. You tucked your feet beneath you and squeezed your thighs together, trying to feel some fiction of your own as your arousal pooled in your panties, more than likely soaking through the thin material and your shorts.
Tears swelled your eyes as you tried to breathe through your nose, relishing too much in this pleasure of having him so far down your throat to even dare think about coming up for air. But the twitch his cock did against your tongue told you enough that he wouldn’t last much longer.
You fluttered your eyes up, already seeing him staring back down at you. Jake’s eyes were completely blown out, mouth gaped open, and breathing deeply. The dried blood on his face—for whatever reason—mixed with the facial expression of pure bliss, was so fucking hot on him.
It didn’t make sense to you, how you could find blood splattered across his beautiful face to be so attractive. Maybe it was just your plain attraction to him, the feelings you felt for him that ran so deep that he made blood look good.
Jake loved this moment, loved you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, watching how his cock disappears down your throat. God, it was perfect, way better than the murder he committed hours ago. He loved how the tears swelled your eyes but you loved every moment of his cock in your mouth.
“You look so pretty wrapped around my cock, baby,” he bucked his hips up harder, hitting the back of your throat and you moaned around him. His fingers tangled in your hair, “I’m gonna fill that pretty little mouth of yours with my load and you’ll swallow it, understand?”
You tried to nod but instead batted your eyes at him in understanding, he just smirked, “Good girl.”
With a few bobs of your head, Jake pushed you down onto him, hips snapping up to meet your nose against his pelvis, his cum shooting down your throat. He took a few deep breaths, rocking his hips to chase out that high, flinging his head back against the chair.
When his grip on your hair released, you slid him out your mouth, causing Jake to look back up at you, waiting. You swallowed his seed, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, showing the proof.
Jake smirks, leaning forward and giving you a quick kiss, “I’m so in love with you.”
He stands from the chair, kicking his legs out of his jeans and boxers and pulling the hoodie and shirt off too, tossing them to the floor.
You narrowed your eyes at him, piercing daggers into his back. He just got the best head of his life and he’s stripping and dropping his nasty bloody clothes all over your floor?
“Honey?” he calls for you, pulling out his bloody suit and mask, “Would you mind please washing my clothes for me? I’ll repay you by making breakfast in the morning.”
He turns to you, picking up all the clothes he left on the floor and handing them to you, his naked body distracting you.
“Hey,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at his face, “I’ll make love to you after my shower, okay?” He gives you a wink, “Please wash my clothes?” You quickly nod, how could you turn down getting dicked down later AND breakfast tomorrow morning? He placed one last kiss on your lips and made his way to the shower.
—
You leaned against the arcade machine, watching as Jake and Sunghoon slapped their palms onto the buttons of the Tekken game, both their faces with full smiles and concentration. Your eyes wandered down to Jake’s arms and hands, his beautiful veins popping out.
“Be careful,” you said, fully noticing just how hard the two boys were slapping the buttons, “This is an old machine.”
“YES!!” Sunghoon screamed, raising his hands in the air and causing you to jump back from being startled by his outburst, “Suck it Jake!”
Jake dropped his face into his hands, resting his elbows on the machine, “I was so sure I had you!”
Sunghoon patted Jake’s back, “Can’t win them all buddy.”
Jake quickly shot up from the stool, his index finger pointing across the arcade, “Dance battle me!”
Sunghoon smirked, “You’ll lose again.”
Jake flipped him the bird, shoving the middle finger in his face as he walked away, “Try me.”
The two of them rushed to the Dance Dance Revolution game, fighting over who would use their coins for the round.
You still get whiplash every time you see Jake doing normal things. That this man—who is a fucking serial killer—is fighting with his best friend over who is going to pay for the game, just like any normal set of friends would do. Besides the fact that he is far from normal.
“Kids, am I right?”
You got startled for the second time today, jumping and quickly whipping your head around to see where and who the voice came from. You recognize that dyed blonde hair and smile.
Jay Park. A student in the film department. You’ve worked with him plenty of times on different projects for the college. He even helped you and Jake on one of the first few Ghost Facer murder cases. It’s been a while since you’ve actually gotten to see or really speak to him besides in passing.
You leaned against the Tekken arcade machine and crossed your arms, your eyes wandering back to Jake and Sunghoon, watching as they competitively danced away, “Yeah, boys will be boys, I guess.”
Jay follows your gaze over to them, chuckling at them, “Are they always like this?”
That…was a good question. You and Jake didn’t hang out with Sunghoon very often. Even before you found out about Jake’s Ghost Face persona you didn’t see a lot of Sunghoon. Nothing was different now.
So you just kind of shrugged, “When I see the two of them together, yeah.”
Jay was looking at you again, eyebrows raised, “When you see them both?” you nodded, “Oh, well figured you would since you’re dating Sim.”
“Actually,” you sigh, once again being reminded how he’s not yours, “We aren’t…dating.”
Jay was now even more confused, “Doesn’t he live with you?”
You thinned your lips and gave another shrug, “It’s complicated.” Complicated because I’m housing a serial killer who has yet to slap a label on what we even are.
“So you’re single then?” you nod again, “In that case.” Jay leaned closer to you, his face a few inches away from yours and his arm resting behind you against the gaming machine, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? If I am being honest, I’ve always found you super cute.” Jay couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down your body, stopping at the ruffles of your skirt, loving how the cute flowered laced ends looked against your pushed thighs, “I would pay and everything, be my treat.”
The dance ended with Jake and Sunghoon practically coming to a tie, Jake only by three points ahead of him.
“Fuck…” Jake pants, “You…” he said with another pant and once again giving his best friend his middle finger, “Beat your ass.”
Sunghoon shoved his friend's hand out of his face, rolling his eyes, “By three points!”
Jake just smiles, happy with his win, “YN did you see…” Jake barely turned around to speak with you to see you still by the last game they played and Jay in your personal space. His blood boiled and his fists clenched, “Why is Park in my girl's space?”
Sunghoon took a deep breath, still tired from the intense dance battle, and turned, seeing the same thing Jake was, “Maybe he's just being friendly?”
Friendly? HA. Right. That look on Jay’s face was anything but friendly. Jay was looking at you the way he does, “Friendly my ass,” Jake hissed, “I don’t like it.”
Sunghoon sighed, “Well, maybe if you made it official between the two of you, he wouldn’t be in her space.”
Make it official? Wasn’t Jake living under your roof, sleeping in your bed, fucking you so good every single night not proof enough that you two were exclusive? That you’re his and no one else’s?
Jake’s anger boiled further, seeing how you shook your head at Jay but kept smiling at him. His smile only became bigger. Jake’s nails sank into his palm.
“Damn, dude,” Sunghoon whistled, “Never seen you so jealous before.”
Jealous? Ridiculous.
“Why don’t you go get us a table at that restaurant we planned to hit up after this,” Jake said with a killing calm, “YN and I will meet you there soon.”
Sunghoon agreed, mostly because he wanted no part of whatever it was Jake was about to do. He’s never seen him so jealous over something. Sunghoon definitely didn’t want to be around if a fight broke out. Praying to every god possible that you’re able to keep Jake calm.
Once Sunghoon was out of the arcade, Jake stepped down from the dance game, eyes blazing at seeing Jay trace his fingers down from your shoulder to your wrist.
Jake was on you in an instant, “Hands off my girl,” he growled, shoving Jay away from you and pulling you behind him, his killer instinct coming on full display. Oh man, how badly did Jake want to kill Jay. To slowly sink his knife into his neck and watch the life drain from his eyes and blood stream from the wound.
Jay chuckled, “Your girl?” he smirked, leaning back against the gaming machine, “Didn’t realize she belonged to you.”
This was the first time you were actually scared of Jake. You’ve never seen him so pissed off, so protective. His grip on your wrist was growing tighter the longer he pierced daggers at Jay.
“I came in her this morning, making her mine,” Jake smirked, the fire in his eyes not relenting.
“Are you a dog?” Jay scrunched his nose and raised a brow, “Marking your territory or some shit?”
“Fucked her in doggy, so yeah.”
“Jesus fucking christ.” Jay stood up straight, taking a few steps back, “What the fuck man.”
“Woof.”
“Jake!” you slapped his arm, trying to yank your wrist free, your cheeks flushed from him exposing your morning deeds, “Stop, let’s just go!”
You tried to pull Jake now, only for him to yank you back closer to him, you tripping over your feet and landing against his back, “What’s wrong baby? Am I embarrassing you?” he coos, “Were you so bored of me that you had to slut around and flirt with someone who wasn’t me?”
“Hey!” Jay barked, “Don’t talk to her like that!”
“Or what?” Jake said with a chilling calm, taking a few steps closer to Jay, being inches apart from his face, “Don’t fuck with me.”
“Get out,” Jay scoffed, “Before I kick you out.”
Jake raised a brow, “Yeah?”
“Yeah, asshat, my family owns this arcade. I work here, get the fuck out.”
Jake smirks, walking backward and sliding his arm over your shoulder, “Nah, we got some coins left to use.”
The last thing Jay wanted to do was call the police and have to explain to his family it was all over a girl. So he watched Jake cling to you as he turned you both around, placing a kiss on your temple, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. Jay didn’t know Jake well, but the man he was seeing right now, scared the shit out of him. Like he could kill him in a heartbeat. So Jay left it alone, walking over to the front counter and sitting down on the stool, keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.
Jake dropped himself in front of another fighting game, pulling you into his lap, lips on your ear, “You better fucking talk me out of this one,” he growled, “because if you don’t I’m returning here later tonight, and fucking killing him and stringing his body from the ceiling for his family to find tomorrow morning.”
Your heart sank, eyes looking over to Jay and seeing his eyes staring back at you, “Jake please,” you whispered.
“Please what?” he whispered back, both his hands rubbing at your thighs, “You were so flirty with him and now you’re begging me to not kill him?”
You hated how his voice in your ear was making you wet. How his hands squeezing your bare thighs was sending chills up your spine. Jake knew it was turning you on, he wasn’t stupid. He knew your body and how it works and how to work it, he was using this to his advantage.
You leaned back into him, slightly turning your face so you could see him in your peripherals, “Jake, you know I only want you.” And it was true. You wanted only Jake. You loved him. Yeah, you got kinda flirty with Jay, but it wasn’t going anywhere, you kept turning down his advances and he wasn’t taking no for an answer, but that doesn’t mean Jake needs to kill him. You had to play Jake’s game and be in control, “Only you.”
Jake chuckles, sliding his hands to your inner thighs and spreading your legs, exposing your red panties to Jay. Jake took a quick glance at him, seeing his face turn red and his eyes widen. Jake didn’t just chuckle because of what you said, he was chuckling at you. He found it so cute that you think you’re the one in control, “I love watching you think you’re controlling me,” he licks at the shell of your ear, “You can’t play mind games with a serial killer, baby,” Chills went throughout your body as his fingers slid up to your core, “Nice try though.”
“Jake,” you gasped, clenching your fingers to the stool, his knuckle rubbing against your folds, “I truly only want you, I don’t want him.”
Ahh your words were music to his ears. Your voice so full of truth, and your cunt so wet for him. Only him, “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he whispers, “You’re going to pull the last few coins from my pocket and play this game here, got it?” You nod, slipping a hand into his jeans pocket and taking out the golden arcade coins, “Don’t put them in yet,” he licks another stripe up your ear, his thumb looping into your panties.
“What are you do—Jake!” you softly moaned his name, feeling the cool air hit your exposed cunt as he split your pussy lips open with his index and ring finger, the middle sliding up and down from your fuck hole to your clit and back down, “Jake, we’re in public,” you finally managed to say, eyes rushing back to Jay, seeing him dead staring.
“And?” he laughs, sliding his middle finger into your cunt, “We’re going to give him a show.”
You knew Jake was insane, knew something like this was nothing compared to the things he’s done, yet it still surprised you nevertheless that he had your legs spread and pussy out for another man to see.
Jake kept a firm grip on your thigh as his finger slowly pumped in and out of you, his eyes piercing at Jay. Jake kept eye contact as he flattened his tongue against the end of your neck and licked up and up until he reached just below your jaw, planting an open-mouthed kiss on that sweet spot. Jake loved how agitated Jay was getting. How he tried so hard to look away from the two of you but couldn’t. It was a mind game, one Jake was going to win.
But GOD you felt so good against his finger, so good he slipped his index and ring fingers in along with the middle, stretching your pussy. You moaned out, it being loud enough Jay was able to hear it from across the arcade, the tips of his ears turning red.
You clenched around Jake’s fingers and he hissed, his cock begging to be freed from the confinements of his jeans. He didn’t want to want any longer.
Jake lifted you off him, “Put the coins in the machine.” You listened, sliding the golden metal in one by one until the start-up screen loaded, “Now play the game.” You tried to focus on the start of it, but the sounds of Jake’s belt unlatching and zipper being pulled down, made it hard.
He spreads your pussy’s lips again, lining the tip to your entrance, “Slide down on me baby.”
Heat rises to your face cheeks, eyes darting around the arcade, Jay’s eyes being the only ones watching you, the only pair that even noticed what was happening in this corner. You slowly slid down onto Jake, him hissing out a soft “fuck,” when his tip kisses your cervix.
Jake squeezed your hips, thanking whatever little voice in your head that told you to wear a skirt today and making this so much easier on him and it is so fucking hot.
He bucked his hips up, not even giving you time to adjust to his size. You bit down on your lip as you played the game, trying to focus on the fight in front of you. Your palm squeezed the joystick so hard you were afraid you’d break it.
Fuck you felt so good wrapped around him. And it felt so good to fuck you in front of Jay, relishing in the look spread across Jay’s face and how tightly his jaw was locked. Jake just smirked, fucking into you harder and faster.
You couldn’t keep control of the game, eventually giving up and gripping onto the sides of the machine, trying with everything you had to not scream out in pleasure. Jake took this as an opportunity, him grabbing you by your neck and pushing you against his chest, his knees lifting up and spreading your legs further apart.
“You don’t know how badly I want to kill him,” he whispers in your ear, being so out of breath, “I can’t fucking stand how he was looking at you, looking at what’s mine,” The anger returned, the jealously. Fuck he was jealous. That was a first for him, “I want to kill him for looking at my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. He called you his girlfriend. You clenched around him after hearing that, the pleasure washing over you tenfold at having that label.
“Hmmm fuck baby,” he groans, “keep clenching me like that and I’m going to spill into you.” You clenched again, not purposely, it just felt so fucking good to be fucked by your boyfriend, it felt good knowing he was jealous of another man to the point of wanting to kill for you. And maybe that made you just as crazy as him.
“Jake,” you softly moaned, forcing yourself to keep quiet.
Jake kisses your temple, “Moan my name louder, honey. Let our friend Jay over there know who you belong to, who is the only one that can make this pussy wet.” He bucked his hips harder, his skin slapping against your ass.
You moaned his name louder, making eye contact with Jay again.
“Fuck yes,” Jake smirks, “You’re so good for me.”
You clenched around him again, your climax fast approaching. Jake moans at how your walls hugged him, his arms wrapping around your body and holding you tightly to him as he fucked into you harder, fixing to burst, “Cum with me baby, oh fuck please cum with me.”
With his wishes, you both came together, him continuing to buck his hips slowly, mixing your cum together.
Jake leaned back against the wall, still holding you to his chest, smirking at Jay as he catches his breath, watching how his eyes go from your face and travel down to your cunt, watching the mixture of your and Jake’s cum leak from your hole.
You took deep breaths in, grabbing your skirt and pulling it down as far as you could, “Jae,”
Jake kissed your cheek, “Let’s go and meet up with Hoon now, ya?”
You nod, pulling him out and readjusting your panties and skirt as Jake fixes his jeans and then leaves the arcade with Jake’s chilling laughter echoing within the walls.
—
You sat at the edge of the bed, watching Jake sharpen his knife. He sat in the chair he usually kept his duffle bag and mask on, fully clothed in his Ghost Face attire, the mask resting at the top of his head. His brows furrowed in concentration, lifting the knife in front of his face and smirking at his work.
You wanted to ask him who he was planning on killing tonight, if it was someone you knew or a random person off the street. But you didn’t know if you actually wanted the answers to those questions, not knowing if Jake would even give you those answers. He glances at you then goes back to sharpening, “What are you thinking about?”
Shit. He caught you. You tried to find anything—literally anything—to come up with in a bullshit way to answer his question, your eyes falling onto the mask, “Why that mask specificity?” It was a real genuine question, you’ve always wondered it ever since the murders first started happening.
Jake smiles at you, “Why not this one?” he tosses the sharpening tool into his duffle, reaching up and sliding the mask down onto his face, “It’s scary, isn’t it?” You nodded but also shrugged. You weren’t scared of Jake, so seeing him fully in this outfit wasn’t affecting you. You couldn’t see, but he was grinning ear to ear underneath the mask, “It’s better with the voice mod,” he chuckles, flipping the switch on the voice changer, “It makes all the difference, doesn’t it, honey?”
Chills went down your back and you pressed your knees to your chest. The look on your face told Jake everything. He was right, it made a difference. If you didn’t know it was him beneath the mask you’d be terrified. His Aussie accent was no longer present and you couldn’t even tell it was his voice. No wonder his victims were always so scared.
Jake tilts his head at you, honestly getting hard at how scared you look. That look, that pretty and scared look on your face was what he wanted that night he tried to kill you. Oh, how time has passed since then. But he didn’t have time to reminisce about the past, he was running late for a killing date.
He stood from the chair, “You’re leaving already?”
Jake slides his gloves onto his hands, “Yes. I’ll be back soon.” You wouldn’t be able to get used to that ghost face voice.
You wanted him to stay home. It was the weekend and he BARELY spent the weekends with you. If he wasn’t off committing crimes, he was at soccer practice or with Sunghoon, or sticking himself in a study room at the library on campus to study. So you acted fast, not just in a way to stop him from ending someone else’s life, but to beg him to stay home.
“Jae,” you called his name, stepping in front of him, “Why don’t you stay home?”
He chuckles, adjusting the gloves and then flexing his fingers, “I have to go.” Jake was fucking crazy, he knew he was. He loved the thrill of the kill, the screams and blood and smells. It was intoxicating, almost like a drug.
Jake goes to step around you, but you keep blocking his path, “Stay home with me.”
He was getting irritated, “Move, honey, I am asking nicely.”
You shook your head, “Spend the weekend with me.”
Jake takes your chin between his fingers and pulls your face to the mask, “I won’t ask again, be a good girl and listen to me.”
You noticed he gripped the knife in his hand and could only imagine how pissed he must look underneath the mask. But you were desperate, wanting to find some way to keep him home, and what better way than to use your womanly charm? You pressed your breasts against his chest, knowing he could feel how braless you were under his favorite rock band tee shirt, “Please Jakey.”
He almost caved—almost—he slid his fingers from your chin down to your upper arm, ready to brush you out of his path, but your desperateness only pushed forward. You reached for the knife in the hope if you took it from him things would go your way and he’d stay home.
But you forgot for a solid second who it was you were dealing with.
You were now facing away from him, your back to his chest and knife pressed against your neck. Your eyes widened as you looked into the mirror in front of you. Seeing how his gloved hand pressed tightly to your stomach, how his head rested to the side of yours and his knife pressed to your throat. You swallowed, rubbing your thighs together.
“Ahh, it’s a sight to see isn’t it, honey? This is what you looked like the first time I held my knife to your pretty neck.” Jake was hard looking at you in the mirror with him pressed to you. It was one thing seeing you beneath him, but to see it in reflection? While he’s in his attire with the love of his life in front of him? It was even better than before.
“Is this what all your victims look like?” you whispered, placing your hands on his forearms, tilting your head back onto his shoulder, exposing more of your neck, “How it goes before you cut their throats open?”
Jake hums, “Yes, but seeing them like this never got me hard, not as you do.” He rubbed his clothed cock against your ass, “Fuck you get me so hard. I love the way my knife looks against your skin.”
You backed your ass against him, grinding on his cock, “Use it on me then.” what the fuck are you saying?
“Fuck don’t say things like that baby,” he tightened his grip on you, “Don’t say things like that to me.”
Jake would enjoy using his weapon on you, to cut you open and see how pretty you looked covered in blood, god it made his cock twitch. But he couldn’t do it, not at the risk of accidentally killing you. He loves you and can’t live without you. The risk wasn’t worth it.
You continued to rub against him, “Stay home with me.”
Fuck it.
He pushes you forward, forcing you to reach your hands out to lay flat against the mirror, your nose brushing against the cool glass, “You want me to stay home?” the voice mod hissed, his hand leaving your waist to pull the mask from his face, his eyes full of lust as they stared at you through the mirror. He tossed the mask to the bed, pressing his lips to your ear, “Want to be dicked down that badly?” you nod, the knife getting pressed tighter to your throat, “Use your fucking words.”
“Yes,” it came out in a loud moan, “I want you to stay home, to fuck me this whole weekend.”
“Hmmm,” he hummed, pulling you off the mirror and back against his chest, “Let’s rid you of your clothes, yeah?”
Jake traced the tip of the knife down your throat and to the edge of his favorite band shirt, not giving a single damn that he cut into the fabric, slicing a line down to the middle, then using his hands to tear it apart, revealing your bare upper half, sliding the torn shirt to the floor.
The leather of his glove tickled when he placed his hand back to your waist, tracing the knife from your belly button up, moving it underneath your breasts, and circling them, slowly and carefully grazing your nipples. It made your core clench and the hair on your skin rise. Oh how badly he wanted to cut your skin, even if just a tiny bit, just to scratch that itch he’s been craving since day one. Deciding he was just going to do it.
But he was going to fuck you first.
Jake didn’t waste any more time and pulled your shorts and panties off your body and pressed you back against the mirror, ridding himself of his suit and other clothing, leaving you both bare, skin-to-skin.
Jake kicked your legs apart, a string of your slick connected both ends of your thighs, showing off how wet you already were for him. Jake licked his lips, scooping up your juices with two fingers and placing them into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around his digits. His body shuddered at your taste, cock twitching, needing to feel you.
He lifted your hips up, and slid inside you with ease, not being able to wait, and fucked into you. Pressing his hand down on your lower belly, feeling his thick length push in and out of your cunt, “Oh, fuck,” he moans, throwing his head back and fucking his hips harder. He was more sensitive right now, not knowing why or even really caring why. He doesn’t even care if he cums first, because he’s going to spend this entire night fucking you. Making you cum over and over and making him cum over and over. He’s going to spend the whole weekend with his cock buried inside you. Who gives a fuck about the people he could be killing when he can be balls deep in your pussy.
He pressed his hand against you harder, feeling more of himself move against your walls and squeezing tighter around him, “Baby, I’m gonna cum soon,” he flings his head forward, leaning it against yours as he looked at you in the mirror, seeing your fucked out expression, pupils blown out and mouth open and moaning out with each thrust he gave you, his knife sitting pretty against your neck, “Fuckkkkkk,” he moans, “I can’t hold it in.”
One final thrust and his cum painted your gummy walls white. Jake kissed your cheek, gently sliding the knife from your throat, down your shoulder, and stopping halfway on your upper arm. His hooded eyes lock with yours, asking for permission, but before you can even give it to him, he presses the metal into your skin, the crimson liquid slowly oozing from your body.
Jake bit his lips, slowly pulling his cock out to the tip, and ramming it back inside you, already ready for round two.
You were moaning louder this time, chanting out his name as your fingers gripped the mirror, feeling your blood streaming down your arm and onto the floor.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, cutting another wound below the first one, not being able to control himself, “You look so pretty bleeding out for me.”
Your brain went dizzy and you weren’t sure if it was from the loss of blood or from how good Jake was fucking you. It was probably both.
You released one hand from the mirror and cupped it to your arm, trying to stop what you could from it staining the carpet. But Jake’s thrusts were unrelenting, working faster than before and hitting your g-spot. The knot threatened to snap and it made you dizzier, almost losing your balance, forcing you to place your now bloody hand on the glass, leaving bloodied handprints.
“Jae,” you moaned his name, “Fixing to cum.”
Jake bit your ear softly, “Cum for me, honey.”
The pleasure of your release formed goosebumps on your skin, mixing with Jake’s previous cum.
You don’t know what came over you in the second, but you felt powerful. You had your boyfriend a cumming mess within minutes of him being inside you. You got him to stay home, to be with you. You were in control right now. You’ve taken over in the mind games.
You pushed yourself off from the mirror, forcing Jake out of your hole and stumbling back. You were quick to whip around, your hands finding home on his chest and pushing him to the bed, forcing him to sit on the edge as you climbed into his lap, sliding your cunt back down onto him.
Jake was in heaven, feeling pure bliss as how quickly you dominated over him. He was a turn on, for sure, but he wouldn’t let you catch him off guard like that again, accepting your win.
Jake was even more surprised to feel your bloodied hand gripping his jaw and his knife in your other hand being pressed to his throat. How did you get it out of his hand? And when did you do it?
You smirked down at him, “What’s wrong Jaeyun?”
Oh, FUCK.
Jake’s hands found their home on your waist, pulling at you to start moving, “Ride my cock and maybe I’ll tell you.”
You leaned closer to him, pressing the knife closer like how he’s done to you. His cock twitched, begging to be ridden. You click your tongue, “Does it turn on the killer to see his girlfriend turn his weapon against him? To have you like fucking putty in my hands?”
He didn’t understand how this happened, but god was he relishing in it.
Jake could easily turn the tides. Could flip you over and take the knife back and fuck you senseless. But he was enjoying this too much, letting you think you still had full control.
“Baby,” he whispered, lifting up and placing a kiss on your lips, “Please ride my cock, I need to feel you.”
You honestly loved seeing your little killer beg for your sex, it was a power move and boosted your ego. You rocked your hips, taking the point of the knife and pressing it up to the bottom of his chin. This was exciting, no wonder he enjoyed knife play with you.
But alas, your power move eventually faded as you lost yourself on his cock, the knife was now tossed somewhere in the room. One of his arms was wrapped around your waist, and the other behind him to keep balance as he fucked his hips up into you at the same motion of you fucking on him. Your bloody hand prints now covered him: his face, shoulder, neck, chest, all over his back and bicep. Everywhere. The wounds on your arm finally clotted and crusted over, no longer spilling.
You came again and then Jake a few seconds after you. But he wasn’t done with you yet, picking you up in his strong arms and carrying you further onto the bed, laying your head on the pillows and placing your legs over his shoulders, “I love you.”
You cupped his face, “I love you too.”
Jake was true to his word when he swore he’d fuck you until you both came over and over and over again until the overstimulation was too much, cumming once more, then falling asleep in each other's arms.
You woke up that next morning with bandages on your arm and in fresh clean clothes. The bedsheets were stripped from the bed and a blanket was covering you. The blood from the mirror was now gone, and Jake was on the floor at the end of the bed doing what it looked like scrubbing your strained blood out of the carpet. You smiled, quickly closing your eyes and falling back to sleep, never in your life have you felt so safe in the presence of a serial killer.
—
You winced in pain as you dropped yourself onto the couch, your legs completely sore.
Jake chuckles from the kitchen as he prepares lunch for you both, “You okay in there, my love?” You peek over the couch, glaring at him, “Don’t look at me like that,” he says sweetly, “You’re the one who wanted me to fuck you until you couldn’t walk the entire weekend.”
Jake stayed true to absolutely destroying your cunt the entire weekend. Man has some STAMINA, that’s for sure. Any chance he got, he was balls deep inside you. You just tried to enjoy a nice warm shower, was halfway through when Jake pulls the curtains back and stepped in, immediately pinning you against the wall and fucking you until you couldn’t stand. You couldn’t complain though, you got him the entire weekend to yourself.
The only thing that sucked was going back to classes tomorrow, meaning you’d have to share him again with everyone.
“I didn’t think you’d actually make it where I could barely walk.”
Jake just smiles, “What can I say, I love my girl weak in the knees for me.”
You made a fake laugh at his joke but still smiled brightly. You reached for the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through channels until a quick scene of the news was on, catching your attention and forcing you to go back.
“Yesterday evening, two bodies were found near a dumpster on the south side of the campus—“
“Jake,” you called for him, “Come in here.”
Jake stood behind you, leaning his body against the back of the couch, “What’s up?”
You point to the TV, “The two bodies have been identified as a young couple, we were last seen walking the campus, heading to the dorms—“The camera pans to the crime scene, their dead bodies being covered up by white tarps and police and investigators surrounding the area, one of the policemen pulling something out of the dumpster, your breath hitched “—a ghost face mask has been found at the scene of the crime—“
You whip around to look at Jake, “What the fuck Jake?!” but as soon as you yelled at him, you realized the look on his face.
He was livid.
“I’ve been with you the entire fucking weekend,” he snapped, “I didn’t do this.”
You faced back to the TV, watching the rest of the news coverage, “If it wasn’t you, then who did it?”
Jake pushed himself from the couch, ruffling his hands in his hair, pacing back and forth, “I don’t fucking know, but whoever they are, they are a fucking imposter!”
Jake was angry for more than one reason:
1: Whoever the fuck this person is, they fucked up so hard by leaving their mask at the scene. 2: They were trying to impersonate him. 3: WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY IMPERSONATING HIM?!
You stared at the TV screen, trying to process everything. Jake noticed it, how quiet you were, getting scared you were doubting him. So he rushed to you, kneeling before you and taking your face in his hands, “Honey. I promise you it wasn’t me. I’ve been here with you the whole weekend.”
You nodded. You knew he was here with you. He didn’t leave your side because he was too busy burning his cock in you. It just didn’t make sense. The last Ghost Face killing was about two weeks ago the same night Jake fucked you in the arcade. It was some random guy Jake happened to pass on a late-night walk to clear his head to not go back to the arcade and kill Jay. Jake has been clean since then.
Jake looked back to the TV, gritting his teeth, “I swear to—“ then his phone started ringing. The vibrations made his skin crawl.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, seeing Unknown Caller on the screen.
Jake looked up at you, and it was the first time you saw a small hint of fear in his eyes.
He accepted the call, placing the device to his ear.
“Hello, Jake.”
His eyes widened, hearing the voice changer nod that he uses on the other side of his call, “Who the fuck is this?”
“Hahaha, you don’t seem surprised that I know your secret?”
Jake stood up, quickly glancing around the room, “Why would I be? You’re playing the exact same game I do.”
Whoever this was, they knew Jake’s secret. Studied him. Knows how he kills and even the exact mask brand he wears. If this person was playing Jake’s game, then being in this apartment was no longer safe. Because they were already watching, already listening.
They laughed again, “Did you like the news? I did it special, just for you.”
“Go to hell!” Jake barked.
“Oh, but I’d see you there,” they chuckled, “I very much rather just send you there.”
Jake was tired of these games, “What do you want?” he clenched his fist, “You wanna be the sequel so damn bad don’t you?”
Silence, but then, “What do you think it is I want?”
“To be a shitty ass ghost face, but news flash, you’re already doing that.”
“I’d watch your tone, Jake Sim. It’d be a shame for something to happen to our precious little YN / YLN, wouldn’t it?” Jake’s heart stopped, “Check your texts.”
Jake removed the phone from his ear, clicking on the newly received texts. The first one was a photo of you at the college in the journal room looking over the corkboard. The second text was a video of you from the bedroom, the curtains were slightly drawn back and you were lifting your shirt off your body, revealing yourself in a black laced bra, and then the video cut off. The third and final text that came through, was a photo of both Jake and you on the couch yesterday morning, both naked as you rode his dick.
He pressed the phone back to his ear, “I swear to fucking god if you touch her.”
More laughter, “Maybe you should keep her closer and double check to make sure all windows are closed next time if you don’t want others seeing your…activities.”
Jake pulled you off from the couch, holding you close to him and repeating, “What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want.”
They clicked their tongue, “You’ll know soon enough. Goodbye, Ghost Face.” Then the line went dead.
Jake tossed his phone across the room, pulling you to his chest tightly, teeth gritting.
“I’m going to fucking kill whoever that is, and I won’t let them hurt you.”
For the first time, you were genuinely scared. And so was Jake. He wasn’t scared of this imposter, he was scared of what they’d do to you.
And he won’t stop at nothing until they are six feet under.
— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez
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