#and on that same day my friend had to be rushed to the hospital so ofc i had to go with her and spend the whole night and next early morning
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least to say it has been a week 😪
#i am sooooo E X H A U S T E D i had a midterm this week which went well we thank God#and on that same day my friend had to be rushed to the hospital so ofc i had to go with her and spend the whole night and next early morning#with her bc i’m a 🎶 truueeee friiieeennndddd 🎵#and then i had to go sleep catch up on assignments and try and just get back on that Grind Mode Mindset bc the semester is slowly winding#down 😪😪😪 AND THEN ATTACK ON TITAN FINAL EPISODE CAME OUT AND IDK IF I CAN HANDLE THE FEELS OF IT ALL#also i felt like i hadn’t updated yall in theee longest time soo that’s what this dump post is all about#mutuals my beloved <3#vk overshares in the tags
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Crawling back to you
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up
Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?
You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.
The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.
You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.
But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.
And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.
You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.
But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.
You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.
You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.
So you ran away.
Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.
"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”
You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?
There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”
JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”
There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.
"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."
Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”
“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”
“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”
God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”
His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.
“I always want to see you.”
You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.
You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"
JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."
You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"
"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.
You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”
Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.
“I was,” he says softly.
There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”
“But now I don’t want to.”
There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.
You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.
But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.
Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.
His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”
Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”
“You’re even prettier than I remember.”
The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.
“Spencer. Don’t.”
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”
He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”
You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”
"What have you been up to?"
"Work."
"Anything new?"
"No."
He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"
You frown. “Huh?”
“Girlfriend?”
"Spencer."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
"Spencer."
He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."
“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”
His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”
“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.
He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”
“You look funny.”
A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”
“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”
"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”
You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."
"I ran through the sprinklers."
The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?
“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"
You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.
He wasn’t alone.
You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.
"It's not what you think," he slowly says.
You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."
"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”
“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”
You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”
You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.
You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.
He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”
You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”
“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.
You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”
"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."
You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.
"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."
The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.
Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?
You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?
Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything
You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.
Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.
He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.
At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.
A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.
You reach for the bottle of wine instead.
The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.
You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.
You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.
You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”
He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”
You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.
“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”
He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”
"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.
"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”
“Which isn’t necessary.”
“But appreciated, I hope.”
You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.
You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”
He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."
You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.
“So, what do you want to talk about?”
He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"
You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”
"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"
“I remember."
His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”
You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”
"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."
"I really wanted kimchi."
"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”
You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"
He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”
“That you’re craving for Korean?”
He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”
There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.
“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."
He nods slowly. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”
His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”
“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”
“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”
You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”
The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”
His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.
“I could never hate you."
You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”
If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?
You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.
“You know it’s never going to work.”
He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”
“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”
“How did we function?”
“Based on sex.”
“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”
“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."
“Why not?”
“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.
“Because the idea still terrifies you?”
You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”
The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”
"Oh I can name a few."
He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”
You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.
"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"
“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”
"You really think you can convince me?"
"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"
That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”
You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”
“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”
"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”
His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.
“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”
"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”
His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.
"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.
You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.
“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”
You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."
"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.
You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."
There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"
You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"
“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"
“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”
“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”
“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”
He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”
His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"
You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"
He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.
“But what if it does?”
All you can do is stare at him.
“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”
His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.
And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.
And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"
Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.
You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”
You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.
His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.
"Can I kiss you?"
You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.
The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.
This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.
There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.
Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.
He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.
Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”
His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”
He pauses for a moment. “Really?”
“If you want to.”
A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”
You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.
“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.
“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”
“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”
His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"
In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.
Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.
You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.
"Maybe."
His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”
You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.
You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.
“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.
“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”
You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”
He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.
“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.
You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.
It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.
“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”
You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.
“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?
Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.
There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.
He kisses the spot between your breasts.
“You’re always so pretty.”
He gives a soft peck just above your heart.
“So incredibly beautiful.”
Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.
He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.
He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.
Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”
He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”
You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”
A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”
You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”
He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”
Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.
It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?
He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”
You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”
He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”
He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”
“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”
If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”
You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”
“Then you’ll have me.”
You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.
There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.
You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.
And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.
You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”
"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.
Your grip in his hair tightens.
“Spencer…”
“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.
It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.
Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.
“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”
It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”
He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”
“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”
The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”
“Even up to a thousand?”
“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”
You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”
He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”
A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?
And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?
You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”
He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.
Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.
The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.
It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”
“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”
He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.
He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”
You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.
"Wait."
Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"
His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”
Shit. Neither did you.
You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”
“I was too focused with you."
And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”
“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”
“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”
He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”
“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”
He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”
“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”
“Pretty sure?”
You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”
The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”
“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”
He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”
An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”
You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”
He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.
Your walls squeeze around him.
“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”
You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”
He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.
“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.
Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.
“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”
You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”
“Do you think I can move?”
“Please.”
There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.
And truthfully, neither can you.
But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.
It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.
No more running away, you decide.
“Kiss me.”
He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.
“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”
You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.
“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.
He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”
You whine in approval.
The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.
You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”
But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”
He’s more than happy to oblige.
He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.
“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”
You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”
It’s enough to push you both over the edge.
The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.
Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.
He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.
You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.
“What?”
His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”
Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”
"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"
You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”
He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."
“And that makes you what, exactly?”
“Essentially indispensable.”
“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”
A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”
You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”
He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.
Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.
You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.
You quickly turn over to the other side.
“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”
He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.
“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”
That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”
You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”
“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”
You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.
“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”
When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.
Until now, maybe.
“Do you think I should climb out the window?”
You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”
“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”
You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”
“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”
You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"
Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.
But it's not your brother.
It's far worse.
You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.
“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”
You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.
“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.
"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."
The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”
Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”
But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.
Your heart leaps into your throat.
“Shit.”
“I should have climbed out the window.”
The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."
You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.
That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.
“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”
He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“
Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.
“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”
He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”
You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.
You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.
“Please don’t be mad.”
You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.
“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.
“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”
“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”
“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”
“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.
“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”
You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.
He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.
“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”
“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”
“Clearly,” he deadpans.
You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.
“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”
To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.
“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”
Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.
You clear your throat. “Last night.”
"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"
"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."
“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”
“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”
You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.
“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”
Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”
Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”
You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.
“It’s what I want.”
Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”
“In a good way?”
“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”
“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”
“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”
Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.
You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”
Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.
“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”
You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.
You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.
And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—
“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”
If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.
Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”
You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”
He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.
“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.
“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.
“It wasn’t.”
“Spencer, he held a gun.”
“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”
“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”
“He likes me.”
He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”
He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”
“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”
“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”
“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”
“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“And what makes you so sure?”
Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.
“Because I’m your mushroom.”
He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.
And you don’t mind him keeping it.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencerreid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fluff#Fanfiction#gifwriting
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growing old with kento nanami
word count: 2.8k
warnings: post-shibuya arc, descriptions of: surgery, recovery processes, depression, insomnia, trauma, therapy, coping mechanisms; pregnancy, marriage, crying. (18+ mdni!)
notes: this WILL have a part 2 and maybe 3! it will be very long so i'm splitting it up. even though the warnings seem kind of sad i promise it's a happy story :)
part 2 | masterlist
“marry me.”
proposing to you was nanami’s first conscious thought after being in a coma for 5 days after shibuya. you were reading a book, peacefully keeping him company in his hospital room, not even noticing he was awake. your eyes fluttered up from your book, back down, and then up again.
“marry me, please,” he repeated. you stayed silent for a moment, eyes widening and mouth dropping. he wasn’t supposed to wake up.
“kento, oh my god,” you yelped, dropping your book and rushing to the hospital bed to look at him. his eyes were open, only slightly, and the weakest smile he could bear rested on his lips. you gently settled your hands on each side of his face, barely hovering over the charred skin. he looked so tired, and yet, he was asking you to marry him.
kento groaned when you hugged him, but you couldn’t stop yourself, you squeezed him gently and with care. a weak hand rested on your back, in between your shoulder blades. he was too weak to repeat his question again. but the only thing on his mind was if you would be his wife.
“yes, yes, i’ll marry you,” you cried into his chest, wetting the fabric of the hospital clothing.
neither you nor nanami himself understood why he proposed to you in that moment. after waking up, his journey to recovery began with slow but steady progress. it took several months of intense rehabilitation and support from both sorcerers and doctors for him to regain his mobility. with their help, he was able to walk and move with a surprising degree of agility, nearly returning to how he was before shibuya. he also had a few cosmetic surgeries, in an attempt to minimize the scarring from all he had been through. within a few months, he was able to see his skin smooth out and hair grow from the side of his head. he wouldn’t look the same, ever; but you didn’t care. you loved kento, as he did you, the fact you were able to celebrate his recovery made you feel like the luckiest woman on the earth.
the loss of his previous strength and abilities weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits. yet, amidst the struggles, he found solace in small victories and the support of those around him, your support meaning the most to him. although kento was deeply troubled by the realization that he could no longer pursue his life as a sorcerer, he came to accept it as the best possible outcome given the circumstances. this acceptance marked a pivotal shift in his perspective, allowing him to focus on rebuilding his life in new ways. before he turned in his resignation, he had made sure to recommend ino for a promotion. it was his last wish as a sorcerer.
after the almost year-long recovery process, kento surprised you with a beautiful ring, one of the ones you had talked about before he went on his trip. he proposed again, in the place you first met, this time without weak hands and barely audible words. he was able to find a job, one not nearly as draining as his job from before he returned to jujutsu – and began making plans for your wedding. the planning process didn’t take long, he wanted the wedding to make you happy.
your and kento’s wedding was outright beautiful. it was a stunning venue on a beach, hundreds of guests attended, friends and family alike. kento shed a few tears when he saw you walking down the aisle, clad in the most gorgeous attire he’d ever seen you wear, as his bride. his voice shook as he said his vows – vows that he wrote, almost a good 1,000 words – and he made you a million promises. promises he wouldn’t dare to break, promises to grow old together and live the life you both deserve.
at the reception, you told kento you had a surprise for him, and ran off to go get something from one of your bridesmaids. he was confused at first, because he didn’t need any more surprises, he was the happiest he’d ever been. a newlywed, married to you. but when you came back to the table, two small pieces of paper in your hands, he didn’t think it would be possible to be more joyous.
“we’re going to malaysia, for our honeymoon, kento,” you excitedly told him, showing off the two plane tickets scheduled in a week.
nanami was speechless, a huge smile with teeth plastered across his face, and he gave you the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.
when the two of you traveled to malaysia, kento was at peace. he had never seen a place so charming and breathtaking, he remained entranced by the culture and landscapes. the two of you spent your time hiking in nature, watching waterfalls and having lovely picnics wherever felt right. kento was so ecstatic, a smile constant on his face as he watched his surroundings with never-ending wonder. he thanked you a million times over.
you had never seen him be so alive. he promised you that one day, he was going to build a house, right on the beach, just for the two of you.
once you were back at your shared apartment, the reality of the past year and a half hit kento like a train. so much time had been spent recovering, constantly in and out of the hospital, planning for your wedding and improving both of your lives, he never had a chance to reflect on the genuine trauma he went through.
you didn’t notice for a while, but kento grew depressed, and restless at the same time. he began to spend his nights awake, insomnia brewing like piping hot tea, staying conscious until the early hours of the morning, doing any exercise or meditation to calm himself down and go to sleep. yet the visuals replayed over, and over, and over. the blood, the curses, the flames, the death. it hadn’t bothered him before, he thought, but he just never gave himself the time to soak it all in. and the depression – the depression was an all-new low for him. when kento wasn’t working, he was at his house, in the bed, while you were working or off running errands. you only noticed his new behavior when you woke up in an empty bed at 4 a.m. one night, 3 months after your honeymoon.
“mm…kento?” you called, footsteps heavily plopping down the hallway towards the bright lights of your kitchen. when you entered the room, you saw kento sprawled out on the floor, knees bent, with sweat rolling down his forehead. stepping over towards him, you kneeled down to look at him, and his head rolled to the side to look at you, too.
kento’s eyes looked so tired, the eyebags you hadn’t seen in years were full-fledged, his eyelids were droopy and exhausted. just by the emotion his eyes conveyed, you could see he was silently suffering, and he had been that way for a while.
“kento, what’s wrong?” you asked, bringing a hand to the side of his face to rub a thumb over his sweat-glistened cheek.
“i don’t…know,” he replied, defeat in his voice, “i can’t sleep. i haven’t slept. i don’t know.”
your husband always had a plan. he always knew everything; he always took care of the unknown and intimidating parts of life. for kento nanami to say “i don’t know” meant something was wrong, seriously wrong.
“sit up,” you softly demanded, gently pulling his shoulders off the floor. you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and kento mirrored your actions, slumping when he finally sat up. “kento, honey,” you began, taking his hand in yours and resting it on his knee, “what’s going on?”
he was never one to talk about feelings, to talk about emotions felt deep down, because he wasn’t sure how to convey anything that would make him vulnerable. but as he sat in front of you, chest slightly heaving, such a burnt-out expression on his face, you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but that something needed to be said.
“i can’t…” kento muttered, stopping himself for a second, “i can’t stop thinking.” he finally admitted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows with concern.
“about what, honey?” you sweetly asked, thumb caressing the back of his hand, tenderly rubbing back and forth.
“everything.” he stated, eyes flashing away from you to look at the floor next to him. you knew what he meant, though, but you had never seen him so pained from his work, especially from something that happened so long ago.
“tell me, baby,” you soothed him. you grabbed his other hand, causing him to look back at you pitifully. kento stayed silent for numerous moments, unsure as to what you could handle. but you were his wife, someone he was supposed to be able to confide in.
“so many people…died…” he mumbled, “i almost died. i saw what it looked like, i faced death.” his words began to come out quicker, “i’ve never seen that many people die, not even in shinjuku, and there was so much blood, and gojo almost, he almost-,” kento’s voice began to get shaky and uneven, a crack in his words as tears stung his eyes. “gojo almost died, too, and…i almost died, i saw it,” he repeated, “and yuuji – looked so upset, and takuma got hurt,” he clenched his eyes shut, words still coming out as a single string.
you moved closer, shifting onto your knees and wrapping kento in a comforting embrace. he clung to you immediately, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if trying to anchor himself in reality. his body shook with the intensity of his sobs, each breath coming in ragged gasps. the rawness of his anguish was palpable; his cries were filled with a pain that seemed almost too immense to bear. the image of the carnage replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle that he couldn’t escape. kento’s tears soaked through your shirt, repeating with his incoherent murmurs of horror. his face, once so composed, now twisted in an expression of deep, unrelenting despair.
kento wailed into your chest for hours that night, unable to stop his shuttering and repetition of the same phrases. he only calmed down when the sun began to rise, slowly illuminating the insides of your home. once kento parted his head from your chest, he looked you in the eyes, asking for help without saying a word. you wiped away his tears and grabbed the sides of his face, promising him you will get him anything he needs. kento fell asleep around 7 a.m. that morning, with the help of you running your fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it will all be okay.
he believed you. kento nanami put all his faith in you, his wife, to help him fix his problem he hadn’t an idea on how to mend. and so, you did everything in your power to help him. you spent countless hours on research, finding therapists that specialized in helping people like him, and you came across different mechanisms to help him cope. most of all, you continued your duties as a supportive wife, constantly telling him to get up and go to the supermarket, or out to the library. little by little, these smaller things combined together to work out, and kento began to get better. it was a breath of fresh air, as well as a weight lifted off both your and his shoulders, when he began to smile again, and shifted his view of life to a more positive outlook. he was alive, he began to feel alive again.
kento nanami was finally beginning to live the life he desired and deserved, all with you by his side.
a couple of weeks after kento’s 30th birthday, you came rushing into his office, tears of joy — and anxiety — pricked in your eyes. soon as his eyes landed on your seemingly upset expression, he was concerned.
“what’s wrong, dear?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up. you quickly closed the door behind you, leaning against it, and you dug around in your purse to pull out a small plastic baggie. when you tossed them to kento, it only took him a few seconds to realize what you were there to tell him.
“…you’re pregnant?” kento beamed, rushing over to you to wrap his arms around your waist. he quickly lifted you up in the air, grip so tight as if he never wanted to let go, your feet kicked happily.
kento always wanted to have kids, but being a sorcerer, he always thought it was too dangerous. you had some conversations about it after shibuya, and the both of you agreed that if it happened, it happened. and your children would have the best life possible, of course; but the glimmer of hope you had for having kids slowly burnt out over time with both of you increasing in age. in that moment, though, kento had so much hope and pure happiness, just at the thought of growing a little family with you.
the first few months of your pregnancy were hectic. between doctor’s appointments, mixed with morning sickness and fatigue, you thought it would never end. although you were happy to start a family, negative emotions easily overcame you, and kento noticed. he tried his best to be there for you, but his work schedule conflicted with your lives, and he soon realized he needed a change in his life. he needed to change your life and his, because he would be damned if he was going to return to the same boring life as he had before.
using his savings and bonus money from his job, he bought you a house. a real house, with acres of land and space for your family to grow, so much bigger than the previous apartment you shared with him. a house that he owned, a house that would contain all the joy for your future. he made sure it was grand, with a huge kitchen, and multiple bedrooms – not caring if only two of them were filled, or if all of them housed someone. before kento showed you the house, he set up a nursery.
“where are we going?” you inquired for about the 50th time that day. you had been in the car for hours, and all kento would say in return is, “you’ll find out.” nonetheless, you were excited, kento had always given you the best surprises, but you had never driven so far with him.
“we’re here.” kento stated, pulling into an empty concrete driveway big enough to fit 6 cars.
“where are we? did satoru move?” you asked, the huge display of a home proving to be a bit intimidating for you. kento didn’t reply this time, he only scurried out of the car to come and open your door, helping you get out with a kind hand.
you didn’t even understand what was going on until you walked up the front steps, and a few keys jingled in kento’s hands until he found the right one to unlock the door. the door to your new home.
“wait...wait. kento,” you said, standing still as your husband strode inside, “what is this?” the familiar tears of joy rushed to your eyes, and you just stood there with a shocked expression plastered on your face.
“this is our new home, honey,” kento chimed, reaching a hand out again to welcome you inside. you took his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and stepped inside your house.
“oh, kento,” you blubbered, throwing your arms around his neck, tears beginning to trickle down your face.
you and kento explored the house for hours, marveling at all the space and beauty he bought for you. you thanked him a million times over, crying at each new space you discovered in the house, you felt sheer gratefulness for your husband and all he did for you. and kento, well, he did all of it to thank you, to thank you for never losing hope in him, and to thank you for the joy you’d made him experience. he was so undeniably in love with you, just as he had always been, and he promised himself he was going to do everything in his power to live the life he deserved with you. he was going to live up to every word he made in his vows, every promise he made with you, each and every word he had spoken to you was going to show in your lives.
even from the moment he met you, he knew he was going to spend his life with you.
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Crazy, What You’ll Do for a Friend
Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader
Summary: After Hotch gets hurt out in the field, you and the other members of the BAU take turns taking care of Hotch at his home. Reader want to make sure she can help Hotch in whatever way she can.
CW: Hotch having an attitude bc of course he does, sex fantasy, needy!Hotch, oral m!receiving, fingering
a/n: Hotch is literally the master of flirting when he isn’t at work I cannot with him, this is more short and sweet than most my stories
This is the other Fanfic from the poll!
~~~
Reid answered the door. Bright smile on his face greeting you, “Hey.”
“Hey,” you smiled back at him.
“Come on in,” Reid moved out of the doorway allowing you to pass by him. You waited in the entry way for Reid to close the door.
“How is he?”
“Uhm— good. Mad that we’re here,” he laughed awkwardly.
You cocked an eyebrow, silently. A few weeks ago, Hotch had gotten caught up in the line of fire. Getting struck in his thigh and stomach. Lucky to not have bled out on the field. The day was a harsh memory that you refused to let go. Making sure to never let anyone else make the same mistakes as him again. Never feeling weaker than seeing him in the hospital bed. The Team had all agreed to take care of Hotch while he was on home rest. Taking shifts throughout the weeks.
You followed behind Reid into the living room.
“What are you doing here?” Hotch gritted through his teeth. Only wearing some loose fitting sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt. A strong contrast from his usual suit and tie. Straining as he attempted to get off the couch by himself. Reid rushed over to him, lifting him by his shoulder. Hotch swatted at the Doctor, attempting to jerk away.
“We’re all taking turns helping you. Guess I’m on Hotch Duty for tonight,” you shrugged your shoulders, giving him a closed mouth smile.
Hotch’s brows furrowed tightly, vein on his neck popping. “I don’t need help. What I need is to get back to work,” Hotch pushed Reid away as he finally got to his feet. Reid threw his hands up in a defensive position still close behind your boss.
“Yeah, it really looks like it,” you rolled your eyes as you folded your arms over your chest.
Hotch shot a chilling look your way, but you were unwavering. “I’m still your superior—“
“And right now I’m your caretaker. I’m sure Reid has been letting you boss him around, but I’m not going to let that happen. No offense, Spence,” you stated. Spencer waved his hand up to let you know he was not offended.
Hotch’s hand gripped the arm of the couch with a bruising strength. Barely able to hold himself up properly. A slight shake to his body. Angry that you, of all people, were talking to him this way. Fighting the way his heart swelled as soon as his eyes laid upon you in his living room today.
You and Hotch had grown close in the last few years. Growing into a mutual unspoken want for one another. Casually flirting when you were alone or not at work. Keeping each other company on extremely late nights at the office. Getting closer than you realistically should, given the field you worked in.
“Reid, you can go,” Hotch did not break eye contact with you.
“A-Are you sure—“
“We’ll be fine, Spence,” you smiled eyes locked in on Hotch’s.
Reid grabbed his bag and headed for the door, “If you guys need anything I’m only a text away.”
“Thank you,” you said still not breaking with Hotch. His deep brown eyes made your heart skip a beat. The wrinkles on his face as he attempted to intimidate made you blush. Not speaking until the door closed behind Reid.
“Are you gonna have an attitude with me all night?” You teased, cheeks beaming with heat. Hotch blew air out of his nose. Skin tightly pinched between his eyebrows. Refusing to speak to you. “Oh, come on. Your favorite boy is gone, you don’t have to keep up the mean-mug,” you walked over closing the space between you. Extending your arm out to him so that he could brace himself to walk.
His jaw clenched. Stubbornness being a strong suit of his. Hesitantly taking your offer of help. “Where are we heading?”
“I need to use the bathroom,” Hotch grumbled.
Slowly, you assisted him to the bathroom tucked away next to his living room. Standing in the doorway as you allowed him to shimmy himself over to the toilet. Not even thinking of what you were doing, until Hotch gave you a strange look.
“Are you wanting to watch?”
Your face flooded. Stammering as you cupped your own cheek. Shaking your head with closed eyes. Smiling awkwardly, “Sorry—“
Hotch had to fight the smile that dared creep across his face. Enjoying how flustered you were. You reached in to pull the door shut. Leaning against the wall directly next to the bathroom. Hands gripping your hair in embarrassment as you replayed the moment over and over. Trying to cool the heat in your cheeks.
Straightening your posture when you heard the door click open. Greeting him with a soft smile and your arm extended. His brows were still pressed together. Lips in a thin line as he hooked his arm around yours. Leading him back into the living room so that he could get comfortable.
The night slipped away. Preparing dinner for your boss as he sat at the counter. Dying to get up. Hating to be taken care of. Denying the comfort he felt with you nestled in his home.
“Hotch, I can hear you bouncing your leg, cut it out,” you did not even look over your shoulder to give him eye contact. He scoffed, the sound of his leg subsiding.
“I know you hate all this. Really I do,” you softly spoke to him as you plated the food, “But all of us just want to see you get better. We want our leader back in his best shape. I want you to relax and let me take care of you.”
Hotch’s eyes watched every move you made. Stalking you like his prey as you brought the plate over to him. Expression unchanging, “How am I supposed to relax? There’s cases and I’ve been away so long already. I can’t stay cooped up here forever.”
“And you won’t. The sooner you take it easy, the sooner you can come back,” you flattened your hand against his shoulder. Hotch’s expression softened with your gesture. Swiftly directing his attention onto the food in front of him. Something about the interaction caused your cheeks to warm up. Unsure what that was about. Walking over to his fridge.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Just water,” Hotch took a bite of food.
“Aw, you don’t wanna crack open a bottle of wine and reveal our darkest secrets to each other?” You teased, looking over your shoulder at him. Seeing his brows pushed together. Lips in a strong, straight line.
“Okay— tough crowd,” you widened your eyes as you closed the fridge. Going to grab a cup out of the cabinet to fill it for him. Walking over and taking the seat beside him. Silently eating dinner together. Guess you did not have much to talk about. And he was clearly in no mood to chit-chat.
“You’re a good cook,” Hotch broke the silence with a compliment.
“You’re telling me Reid didn’t prepare you a four coarse, perfectly diet-balanced meal while he was here?” You teased. Finally, breaking away Hotch’s hard shell. A soft chuckle coming from him. “I’m sure he would’ve had a slideshow to explain it all too,” you grinned.
“He wouldn’t need the slideshow, he could explain it all to me himself,” Hotch joked as he pulled the food from his fork. Feeling comfortable for the first time together. Allowing both your walls down. Sharing in your laughter.
You both finished your dinner. Taking the plates and putting them in the sink. Allowing Hotch to walk on his own to put his away. Standing beside him the entire time. You interlocked arms with him to lead him into the living room. Grunting as he sat down, eyes closing as he rested his head against the back.
“Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll do whatever you need to relax,” you smiled, standing in front of him.
Something about that seeped into his imagination. Feeling his cock jump when an imagine of you kneeled between his legs popped into his mind. With everyone here, he had not had any alone time. Needing to let out some of the things pent up inside him. Your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock—
“No,” Hotch blurted out. Aggression returning to him. Catching you off guard and causing a bit of frustration to bubble up inside you. You scoffed and headed into the kitchen to do the dishes, “Don’t try anything while I’m in there.”
Once you disappeared around the corner, he relaxed again. Clicking mindlessly through the channels on the TV. Trying to distract himself. Looking down at his half-hard cock. Embarrassed that he was thinking of one of his subordinates in the way he was. Still he allowed himself to fantasize.
Imagining how beautiful you would look sat upon his lap. Straddling his waist as you sunk down onto him. Thinking about how you would sound moaning his name when the head would hit somewhere just right inside you. Dying to know how perfectly he would fill you up. He needed something— anything from you.
Allowing his hand to softly touch his aching member. Only making things worse for him. His face contorted as he squinted his eyes shut. Mouth hanging open slightly.
God, he was such a pervert.
Jumping when he heard the water stop in the sink. Footsteps enclosing on the room. In the time you had done the dishes, you had calmed down from Hotch’s outburst. Knowing and rationalizing that he was going through a lot and sometimes he would be more vulnerable than others. Greeting him with a bright smile. Grabbing your bag off the kitchen chair, “Do you mind if I go change?”
“Of course not,” Hotch breathed out.
“I’ll know if you strain while I’m gone,” you smirked.
Hotch grinned back at you. Watching you until you faded away into the bathroom, door clicking behind you. Thank God he had one of the best poker face’s around. Finally allowing himself to breathe.
His erection pressed against the soft fabric of his sweats. Driving him absolutely insane. He pondered if he would have time to rub it out before you got back from changing. Softly playing with himself as he thought. Groaning at the feeling of his fingers trailing his length. Trying to control his breathing as to not make any overtly sexual sounds.
Oh, God, how he needed it. His cock pulsed with pure desire. Something he did not think his hand alone could fill. He felt pathetic. Preparing to ask you what he was going to.
The door creaked open. You came back to see him still in the same spot as before. He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw you. Wearing a loose fit t-shirt and some sporty shorts. Hair relaxed and quite a bit of skin showing.
“Hope you don’t mind, your house kinda runs hot,” you smiled, suddenly aware of his eyes on your body. Loving the attention he was giving. Blushing as his jaw hung open softly.
There were not many occasions where members of the BAU saw each other outside of work. Normally dressed in business attire, making sure to look extremely respectable and professional. Used to the button-ups and slacks. Not a shirt that perfectly hugged your chest and some shorts that were barely revealed under the length of your top.
As if he wasn’t hard enough already.
You sat on the other end of the couch beside him. Only a small pillow between your bodies. Legs crossing, causing your shorts to hike further up your thighs. Revealing the extra soft spots closer to your core.
“Anything good on?”
Hotch hesitated, “No.”
You widened your eyes at his short answer. Not sure what had gotten him so irritable in the last bit. Not wanting to push him. Choosing to stay quiet as you leaned against the arm of the couch. Watching some old sci-fi movie he had landed on. They were shooting out with some aliens. No telling what over, the movie was half way over by the time Hotch got to it.
The glow of the TV was all that illuminated the room. Flashes of colors dancing across your skin. Silently staring at the flat screen. Thinking about nonsense, just trying to feed your mind.
“Y/N,” Hotch began, hint of a break in his voice. You looked over at him. He had sweat beaming on his forehead. “You… you said earlier that you would help me in whatever way you could?”
You nodded, “Of course, Hotch. I’m here to please.”
His skin tingled. The innocent look behind your eyes pushing him even more on edge. He was silently opening and closing his mouth. Brows netted together as he breathed heavy. Tension so thick in the room neither of you could catch your breath.
“This is so inappropriate,” he softly chuckled to himself, stretching his neck, voice not above a whisper. Feeling your own heartbeat pound out of your chest. Hotch sighed, “I need to cum.”
Your eyes flew harshly open. Lips parting as you attempting to respond to him. Face immediately flushing with arousal as you clinched around nothing. Eyes shooting down to his crotch. Surprised to see the outline of his cock pressing against his pants. Thin, soft material not hiding his length.
“Either you can help me, or I need you to leave the room so I can handle it myself,” Hotch quickly said, desperation on his tone.
“Do you… want… me to-to help?” You shyly questioned.
Hotch smiled with an exhale. Perfect teeth on display for the first time tonight as he closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch. Blinking open to lock into you, “Yes.”
Such a simple statement. Causing so much confusion inside you. Of course, you had been flirting back and forth for some time now. And yes the idea of seeing Hotch’s cock, especially how it fit in your hand, had your body tingling.
But what about work?
What would your coworkers say? What would your superiors say? What if this was only for tonight?
You threw caution to the wind. Choosing to have some fun with him, even if you never spoke of this again.
You crawled closer to him on the couch, Hotch’s arm wrapping around your back when you sat on your knees. One of his hands coming up to grip at your t-shirt. Pulling the collar down with his finger and looking down it. Smiling at the sight of your lightly covered breasts. Blushing at how natural his hands felt on you. Leaning in to place your lips on his neck. Breath hitching in his throat at the soft feeling.
“Did you do this with all the other girls?” You asked between kisses, genuine curiosity and a bit of shame taking over your senses.
“Of course not,” Hotch exhaled, “You know it’s only you.”
You kissed up his jugular, resting along his jawline. Hotch’s smile never left his face as you feathered your lips along his skin. Hand running strong fingers up and down your back. Your own hand gently ghosting down his front to rest on his hard cock.
Hotch’s body twitched, causing him a small amount of pain. Wincing as he squinted his eyes. “I’m so sorry—“
“Don’t be,” Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek. Pulling you into a passionate kiss. Lightning stimulated your nerves at his taste and feeling. Both of you humming together. Tongue slipping past your lips as it grazed your teeth. Hunger apparent by the way he held onto you. Smiling as you became overwhelmed with emotions.
“What?” Hotch asked, unable to stop himself from returning your expression. Cheeks glowing.
“I just… just wanna know what’s got you all worked up?” pressing your lips back to his as your hand outlines his shaft. Hotch’s throat tightened at your touch. Breathy and clingy.
“I’ve been locked up here, not even a second of alone time, for weeks. And when you have nothing else to do, your mind wanders. And mine kept going to the same place time and time again,” toothy grin taking over his expression as he continuing caressing your face.
You cocked an eyebrow at him, not saying anything back.
“You’re going to tell me you don’t masturbate?” Hotch chuckled, an offensive hint on his tone.
Your face flooded red as you remembered the last time you had. Remembering the image of Hotch’s body above yours, strong arms flexing on either side of your head, hips pumping into yours as he held eye contact.
“I… um— yeah, I do. I have a vibrator in my night stand,” you kissed him again. Loving how his shaft hardened against your touch.
“Hmm,” he hummed against your lips, “Wish you’d brought it with you.”
“Hotch,” you giggled, playful embarrassment in your voice.
“I know you look so pretty when you orgasm,” Hotch smiled between kisses. Your heart thumped in your chest. Overwhelmed in the best way possible. Fingers continuing to lightly rub against his length.
“Probably really pretty with your mouth around my cock too,” Hotch’s hand held onto the back of your head. Keeping your mouth against his.
“God- you are needing aren’t you?” You chuckled into his mouth. The two of you shared in making flirtatious noises. Continuing to latch onto one another’s mouths. Slowly sliding into the floor between his legs. Fluttering your lashes up at him as you leaned forward to play with his waistband.
“Please,” Hotch squinted his eyes closed. Jaw tensed and Adam’s apple bobbing.
Slowly, you helped raise his hips so that you could pull his sweatpants down his legs. Taking your time to make sure he did not have to overwork his body. Mouth watering when you saw the tent pitched in his boxer-briefs. Flattening your hands against his thighs, framing his cock.
Hotch’s hand tethered in your hair, lust blown eyes admiring you below him. Moaning when your lips pressed a kiss against his clothed member. Freeing his cock from its confides. Taking in all the details. Thick and swollen, vein running over the top side as his head leaked. Tongue licking a stripe up the underside.
Hotch rutted forward, moaning loudly as he gripped the couch for stability. Head leaned forward to watch you. Your hand gripped him at the base. Stroking upward with a twist of your wrist. Thumb swiping over the slit to collect the precum. Loving how his velvety skin felt in your palm.
Tender lips kissed along his shaft before sucking on the head.
“Oh my God,” Hotch groaned. Trying his hardest to not move. Not wanting to take away from the pleasure by causing himself pain. His brows upturned and jaw hung open as he watched you go lower onto him.
Stopping when your nose met the soft hair at his base. Gagging around him momentarily. Taste of him overwhelming any other sense you had. Your tongue flattened underneath him as you began to bob. Almost completely coming off him before going down again.
“So good,” Hotch praised breathlessly. Causing your own arousal to pool inside you. Wishing you could crawling into his lap and take his cock inside you. Knowing his body was in no shape for that kind of physical activity.
Having him squirm from your mouth would have to do for now.
Hotch looked so beautiful with his face all flushed and shoulders heaving. Chest rapidly rising and falling as he audibly breathed. Your hand came up to wrap around his base once more, allowing your lips to meet your fingers with each movement. Causing you to move much faster than before.
“Y/N,” Hotch moaned.
Feeling his cock twitch between your lips. His end was nearing. Continuing at the pace you had given him. Sloppy sounds coming from your mouth as your tongue swirled around his length.
“I’m close,” Hotch breathed out. His veins on his neck poking out as he strained back. Sounds of him whimpering and grunting was like music to your ears. Salty taste filling your mouth as he approached his finish. Twisting your wrist and going down further on him. Coaxing him to his end.
Hotch’s hand gripped the back of your hand with strong fingers as he came. Breath hitching in his throat as his jaw hung open. Looking down to watch you swallow the ropes of cum he shot into your mouth. Hand traveling down to caress your cheek when he was done. Thumb rubbing circles into your flushed cheeks.
You caught your breath as you doed your eyes up at him. Smiling as you rested your head into his hand. Licking your lips to get any remnants of him off your face.
Hotch patted the seat beside him. Instructing you to come sit with him once more. You rested your head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your lower back. Grateful lips kissing your head.
Finding a position that was comfortable for you both as you rested your eyes. Engulfed by his body heat and musk. His heartbeat thumped against your ear. The day catching up with you as you relaxed.
“We can go lay in bed,” Hotch softly suggested.
You nodded. Standing to your feet to help him up. Shuffling down the hallway as Hotch limped holding onto you. Walking him over to his large mattress. Hotch smiled up at you, fingers holding onto your hand as you stood in front of him. Looking like a lovesick fool before you. Causing you to blush because it was you that had him looking like that. Smiling wider than you had ever seen him.
“Are you sure… that you want me in here? If you’d rest better, I can go—“
“Don’t even try,” Hotch grinned, pulling your hand to his lips and gently kissing. Tugging you into the bed with him. Landing directly beside him. Giggling as you snuggled under the blanket with him. Hotch’s lips kissed every piece of skin he could. Coating you in his love.
“That was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” Hotch’s lips finally found yours. Smiling with a soft chuckle ending his sentence.
“Glad I could help,” you scrunched your nose up with a smile. His hand caressed your cheek again, dark eyes scanning your entire face. Seeing you this close for one of the first times. Finally taking the time to look at every freckle, blemish, scar, or any other beauty mark you had. Never having had someone look at you the way he was now.
Your eyes were growing heavy. Blinking slowly until a yawn came over you. Rolling over to allow Hotch to hold you from behind. Closing your eyes as the plush of his pillows captured you.
His hand snaked around your front. Causing your chest to tighten when you felt him prying at your shorts. His nose trailed the valley of your neck and shoulder. Fingers going down the front of your panties.
“Aaron…?“
“Let me repay you,” Hotch whispered into your ear.
“You don’t owe me anything,” you sighed when his fingertips swiped over your sensitive bud.
“If I can’t fuck you, let me make you cum around my fingers,” Hotch’s deep voice vibrated into your skin. Fingers finding their way into your soaked folds. Circling them before inserting one. Causing you to arch into him and moan. A hum of approval came from him.
Curling his finger inside you as he massaged your insides. Thumb pressing into your clit. Shooting electricity through your veins. Your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. Locks lacing through your fingers. Your jaw hung open at the feeling of him adding an additional digit. Stretching you perfectly.
“Aaron,” you moaned, Hotch held your hand above your head. Fingers gently interlocking with yours while the air from his lips casted across your skin.
“Go ahead, I want to hear you,” Hotch kissed your shoulder.
You moaned at his words.
“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed.
That familiar knot was tightening in your lower half. Hotch knew how to use his fingers. Causing your thighs to quiver and body to jolt. Sounds of him breathing filling your ears, sounding intoxicated by you. Never wanting you to leave his side.
You felt your pussy clench around his fingers. Insides growing more and more sensitive when he would hit the spongy spots.
“Are you gonna cum for me?”
You nodded aggressively. Whining as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Feeling his semi-hard cock press into your ass. Sweat dripped down your skin. Your heartbeat was in your ears as you felt your orgasm washing over you. Walls fluttering around Hotch’s fingers. Moaning his name like a mantra. Grinding down on his hand as your thighs shook.
Hotch smiled against your skin. Loving how you sounded begging and calling out to him. Wishing he could fuck you senseless. Wanting nothing more than to fill you up.
“I knew you’d look pretty orgasming,” lips kissed your cheek. You breathed heavily, grinning at his cocky voice. Rolling over to press your lips into his. Arms wrapping around his neck. Finally finding yourself the most comfortable you had been yet.
Drifting to sleep in his arms.
~~~
[END]
// Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all the love I’ve gotten since writing for Hotch and love seeing everyone reply and comment and everything! As always, my requests are open! I have a Rossi x Reader planned in the next few days that was requested so keep an eye out for that! //
{tags}
@bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @cherriready ~ @khxna ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @megangovier
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotch x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#thomas gibson#thomas gibson x reader#writing#fanfic#sexymonsterfics
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Your Teddy ~ Theodore Nott x f!reader (Drabble)
Requested: No
Pairing: Theodore Nott x f!reader
Summary: Theo has only felt pain ever since y/n was kidnapped by Death Eaters, but her return might even be just as painful.
Word count: 811
Warnings: slight mentions of torture; angst; English is not my first language
A/N: I will post the second part on Friday, let me know if you want to be tagged! This is my first time writing for Theo and it's rushed, so I hope it's still alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it!
Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan
Ignoring the people around him and their confused looks, Theo ran through the corridors, with only four words in his mind - we found miss y/n.
He had spent three months, three months waiting for her to come back, for her to give him any sign, for her to come back to him, for his whole body and mind to function normally again. It had been three months since y/n had disappeared, captured by Death Eaters one week before winter break. The image of her, defenseless and screaming as she was being tortured had been plaguing Theo ever since, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything else other than he didn't know where y/n was, if she was even alive or not, and what kind of atrocities she was facing. He had completely stopped going to class, stopped going to the Great Hall for meals - despite how many times his friends had asked him to come, saying y/n wouldn’t want him to be like that -, staying in his dorm instead, where even despite the constant closed shutters, he couldn’t even sleep, as he had terrible nightmares of y/n screaming for him as she was being tortured every time he tried to sleep.
He had tried to look for her, of course. How could he not? But old Dumbledore had anticipated it, and had ordonned him to not leave the castle without a teacher. The first few weeks, Theo had been going almost every day to Dumbledore’s office, asking if there was new information about where y/n was, and he always got the same answer. I’m sorry to tell you that we do not. But trust, Mr Nott, that we are actively looking for her and that I am sure that we will find her. At the beginning, Theo had somehow managed to control his anger and frustration, but at one point, he had screamed at the headmaster, saying that it wasn’t enough, that no one could understand what it was like, and even had broken a few items.
But, today, Professor Snape had knocked on his door, saying the four words Theo had been dreaming to hear. And now here he was, running to the hospital wing. He only slowed down when he arrived by its door, and, still breathless from the running, immediately opened the door, and then rushed inside to the only bed that was currently occupied.
“y/n!”
“Mr. Nott, please don’t-”
But Theo ignored Mrs Pomfrey’s words and walked past her, instead going to sit on the bed and hugging y/n’s body as hard as he could. Mrs Pomfrey continued to protest and ask him to stop, but he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was here, in his arms. He gently stroked her hair, feeling his eyes burn with tears. All the pain, stress, fear and anger that he had felt from the moment he learned that she had disappeared faded away, replaced with her warmth presence and the feeling that fucking finally, she was safe, safe in his arms like she was supposed to be.
“Cazzo, y/n, baby. I missed you so much.”
You’re here. You’re here. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.
He slightly detached himself from her but only to kiss her forehead and look at her, look at the face and eyes he had fallen so hard in love with. But instead of looking at him with warm eyes full of love like she always did, there was only confusion - which was also shown in her frowning - and that was the moment he realized she didn’t hug him back, or even touched him at all.
“Um, I…I’m sorry, but…who are you?”
If Theo thought he had known pain every second of y/n’s absence, that was nothing compared to the heartbreak her words caused throughout his whole body and mind. He was now also confused, and his arms dropped from her by themselves.
“y/n…It’s me…Teddy.”
Your Teddy.
“You…” He had never struggled to find his words so much before. “You don’t recognize me?”
y/n opened her mouth to answer, apparently embarrassed and turned to the matron for help.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nott, but Miss y/l/n lost all her memories. Professor Dumbledore and I are still trying to figure out why, and how to bring her memory back,” she said with a kind voice, before turning to y/n and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Miss y/l/n, this is Theodore Nott, your boyfriend.”
No! Not Theodore, not Theo, fucking damn it. It’s Teddy for her. For her and nobody else. Teddy.
Her Teddy.
y/n nodded and looked at Theo.
“I’m sorry for not remembering you. I can’t remember anything, really.”
Theo rose from the bed.
“No, I’m sorry.”
Not wanting for an answer, he turned around and left the hospital’s wing, feeling more broken than when he entered it.
PART 2
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Everything Has Changed (r.c)
Summary: what started out as an arranged marriage, blossoms into something more after a tourist runs a stop sign.
AN: arranged marriage!au because I’m a sucker for angst, fluff and a male character who realizes what he has.
Warning: brief mentions of sexual activity
The sun hung high over the Outer Banks, its rays sparkling off the ocean waves. Rafe Cameron stood on the golf course, his mind far from the game. All he was thinking about was his “wife” who was at home.
Rafe had spent his childhood being the odd one out in his family, and now he was trapped in a whole new world.
When Ward told him that he was going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N, the first thing he said was “who?” It was Sarah who told him that she had been friends with her for years.
Their families had grown close over the years, their paths intertwined since childhood. Rafe and Y/N had shared some moments as kids—playing on the beach, the occasional birthday party—but they were never close friends. As they grew older, the divide between them widened, especially as Rafe embraced his party boy side.
“Dude, focus!” Topper shouted, snapping Rafe back to the present. He shook off the irritation and concentrated on his swing, trying to push the thoughts of Y/N from his mind.
“Sorry, man,” Rafe muttered, forcing a smile. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Can’t believe you’re actually married,” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “You? Tied down? It’s like watching a lion in a cage.”
“Yeah, well, not much choice in the matter, is there?” Rafe snapped, the bitterness in his tone clear. “My parents thought it was what’s best for the family name.”
“You know the good thing about these business marriages?” Topper asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You can still hookup with other people.”
Rafe shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m not unfaithful, so I expect her to act the same way.”
Little did he know, his thoughts about Y/N would soon change.
||
A week later, everything shifted. Rafe was on the golf course again, enjoying the day with Topper and Kelce, when his phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Ignoring it at first, he went back to his game.
The phone buzzed again, and with an annoyed sigh, he pulled it out. “What?” he answered, a hint of irritation in his voice.
“Mr. Cameron?” a calm voice spoke on the other end. “This is Dr. Miller at Kildare County Medical. I’m calling about your wife, Y/N Cameron. She’s been in an accident.”
Rafe felt his heart drop. “What do you mean? Is she okay?” He asked.
There was a pause on the line, and he could hear the muffled sounds of the hospital in the background. “She sustained some injuries, but she’s stable. You’ll need to come to the hospital to pick her up.”
Rafe’s irritation morphed into a visceral fear, a feeling he had never expected to experience for someone he hardly knew. He cursed under his breath, muttering something about the day being ruined. “I’ll be there.”
Dropping everything, he hurriedly made his way to the hospital, thoughts racing in his mind. How could this happen? Why did he care so much? As he drove, the weight of their marriage settled heavily on his shoulders.
||
When Rafe arrived at the hospital, he rushed through the doors and made his way to the ER. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the sound of beeping machines surrounded him. He found Y/N sitting on an examination table, her head bandaged and a doctor stitching her up.
“Rafe?” she looked up, surprise etched on her face, but it quickly turned to annoyance.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.
“Some stupid tourist was texting and driving,” she replied, her voice strained as the doctor worked on her. “Ran a stop sign.”
“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked. “The hospital called, Y/N, I’m your husband.” Rafe answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He watched her as she winced slightly at the thread being pulled.
Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he watched the doctor press the needle into her skin. “Take it easy,” he said, an unexpected protectiveness flaring within him. “You know what? Where’s the plastic surgeon?”
Y/N winced again at the pain. “Relax, Rafe. I’m fine. It’s just a stupid cut.”
“But—”
“Go back to golf, Rafe. You don’t need to be here.”
The coldness in her tone cut through him. “You’re hurt, and you want me to just leave?”
“You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, a mixture of pain and frustration in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”
Rafe clenched his fists, angry at himself for how much her words affected him. “Did you call the police? Get the license plate number? I should sue the bastard.”
“Stop it! I’m fine! Just go back to your golf game.” she hissed, dismissing him.
He hesitated, a million thoughts racing through his mind. She wasn’t fine—not really. He could see that she was shaken up after the accident. The idea of her getting hurt scared him more than he wanted to admit. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Sarah is coming to get me,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms.
“Don’t act like you care just because we’re in public,” she added, her voice low but fierce.
Rafe stood there, the realization hitting him like a wave: he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t just feel annoyed by their situation; he felt something deeper.
That night, Y/N returned home to find two dozen roses on the kitchen counter. She glanced at them with an unreadable expression just as Rafe walked in.
“Do you like them?” he asked, hopeful that it might be a first step.
She scoffed bitterly. “I’m allergic to roses.”
He felt his face flush. “I didn’t know…”
“You would if you’d bothered to ask,” she replied, voice laced with frustration. “You’d know a lot more if you weren’t such an ass the first year of our marriage.”
Her words cut deep, and for the first time, Rafe recognized just how much he had hurt her. She had never wanted this marriage any more than he had, yet she had done nothing but accept it with grace. He made up his mind that things were going to change.
He watched her as she tossed the flowers in the trash before walking right passed him and up the stairs.
||
Over the next few weeks, Rafe found ways to break through Y/N’s walls. Each gesture was an apology, a bid for a second chance. He learned her routines, finding out she was fond of morning coffee from a local café. Every day, he made sure her favorite caramel macchiato was waiting for her when she woke up.
He surprised her with tickets to an art exhibit she had once mentioned in passing, standing beside her as they admired the paintings. Though she was wary at first, she couldn’t help but smile at his efforts. Slowly, he began to chip away at her guardedness, showing her that he was willing to put in the work to make amends.
One night, she told him, “If you want to make things right, Rafe, it’s not about grand gestures. Get to know me. My favorite color, my favorite music, the things I love. That’s the only way I’ll believe that you care.”
And so, he did just that. He took the time to ask her about her favorite movies (she loved classics), her favorite books (she had a soft spot for poetry), and her favorite flowers (hydrangeas, not roses). Each new fact he learned about her deepened his understanding of her, transforming his initial frustration into genuine admiration.
He spent hours creating a playlist of her favorite songs, a blend of jazz, classic rock, and indie folk. When he played it for her one evening, she looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before—trust. She leaned against him as the music filled the room, allowing herself, just for a moment, to be vulnerable.
Eventually, Rafe’s sincerity broke through her walls. She found herself looking forward to spending time with him, enjoying his newfound attentiveness. They began to laugh together, sharing inside jokes and secrets they had once kept to themselves.
What was once just an obligation to get their parents to shut up about grandkids, sex was now enjoyable for the both of them. Before, Rafe didn’t care if Y/N enjoyed it or not but now, all he cared about was her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, the things that turned her on. He found that Y/N’s pleasure was a gateway to his own.
Y/N found herself wrapped up in the sheets of her’s and Rafe’s king sized bed, Y/N was lying on her side, drawing circles on Rafe’s back with her finger. “You know, that’s very distracting.” Rafe mumbled, his eyes still closed.
Y/N smiled at him as he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry.” She said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He replied. Rafe continued to look at Y/N, taking in her natural beauty. No makeup, hair not done, it was just her.
“I love you.” He whispered. Y/N’s movements halted as she looked at Rafe. “R-Really?” She stammered. “I know I was an ass. I thought this marriage was your fault and it wasn’t. But over these past few months, getting to know each other, I think this marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He continued.
“I love you too, Rafe.” Y/N spoke softly. Rafe moved to wrap his arms around Y/N’s body, pulling her into him before kissing her deeply.
||
It was now Autumn in the Outer Banks, the ari getting slightly cooler outside but never dropping below 55 degrees.
Y/N had been up for a few hours, spending most of her time in the master bathroom. She had been feeling a little under the weather the past few weeks and she thought it was just food poisoning at first. But when it didn’t stop, and her period was late, she decided to take a pregnancy test.
Y/N looked down at the three positive tests that were sitting on the bathroom counter. Her and Rafe were having a baby. The first thing she felt was fear, mainly because she had been so accustomed to walking on eggshells around Rafe.
But she had to remind herself that the Rafe she married, wasn’t who he was anymore. Then she felt relieved and happy.
Y/N snuck out of the bedroom and crept downstairs to make some coffee for when Rafe woke up. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps come down the stairs.
Rafe saw her leaning against the kitchen counter in his t-shirt, holding out a coffee mug for him to take. He could see a look of almost mischief on her face as he took the mug.
“What’s up?” he asked, a gentle smile on his face. “There’s something I want to tell you,” She started. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows at her statement.
She took his free hand and placed it over her stomach. “We’re having a baby, Rafe.”
Rafe’s eyes widened as he stared at her in shock, then joy. A rush of emotion surged through him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.
As they embraced, he whispered, “Thank you for giving us a chance. For giving me a chance.”
In that moment, he knew he had found something he’d never known he needed—her love. And he would do everything in his power to protect it, to protect them
#imagine#imagines#outer banks#jj maybank#rafe cameron#outer banks imagine#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe x reader
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୨୧ zayne loses control of his evol and hurts you in more ways than one
✧.* warnings:- fem!reader, established relationships (zayne x reader), nightmares, minor depictions of PTSD, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, ANGST, breakups, hurt and comfort, jealousy, slight xavier x reader, unresolved emotions, reader and zayne are bad at communicating with each other, mentions of foods, hospitals, medication, suggestive content, language, explosions, zayne is kinda soggy and pathetic in this one, canon typical injuries, reader is in a coma, talks of surgeries, makeup sex, size kink, oral sex, girl on top, petnames (little on, my aurora, my love, darling), overprotective tendencies, possessive bf!zayne
✧.* strap in slüts (affectionate) we have 15k+ of zayne angst let's go
If someone had asked you what Zayne’s deepest fear was, you might’ve told them it was a botched surgery, or wilted carrots in his fried rice.
It’s not as if your childhood-friend-turned-lover walked around with his fears stapled on his forehead; Zayne was a private guy, and even after months of dating, you were still trying to get used to his moods and needs.
However, oblivious to you, Zayne’s fear was entirely apparent.
Time and time again, he showed you the truth—without words or fanfare—whenever he scolded you for being clumsy on the field or forgetting to eat the entire day.
Zayne was afraid of you getting hurt.
And he was afraid of hurting you.
The bags under your eyes have gotten worse.
A week had gone by since you had slept a full five hours, schedule packed to the brim after a deathly Wanderer attack at the train station left seven injured and five more dead.
Zayne wasn't faring well, either. His days were consumed with operation after operation; more broken and injured people filling the intensive care units till Akso Hospital had to transfer them to their sister hospital, Mariso.
The Association had issued out a full city warning for Hunters to patrol the streets from dawn to dusk. All your colleagues were burnt out, praying for this harsh season to end so they could return back home; back to normality.
In your shared household, the nightmare was on a constant loop.
For days on end, you and Zayne were fleeting shadows passing each other—the most contact being whispered good mornings or good nights, depending on the time, and once, his touch on your lower back when he gently nudged you away from the door so he could rush out for another surgery.
Things were catastrophic, to put it mildly.
And it didn’t help that your insomnia and his nightmares were back.
Staring up at the ceiling, you almost didn’t hear the bedroom door opening until you noticed his broad shoulders outlined in the dim darkness.
“Hey.”
Zayne’s voice is laced with exhaustion, and wordlessly, you open your arms for him.
He’s colder to the touch than you remember, a sign of his Evol losing its composure after days of insurmountable stress and adrenaline spikes.
He’s silent, holding you tightly to his chest. You smell the hospital standard bleach and anesthetic off his work clothes, feel the stuttering of his heart underneath your spread palm.
“When will it end?”
His voice, quiet and in a timbre you know and love, vibrates against your cheek.
“I don’t know,” you reply to him truthfully, bleakly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question since this all started.”
There’s a whistling wind outside the windows, rattling the wooden panes. You close your eyes, trying to put aside the mental image of a Wanderer’s snarl and how similar it sounded to the rushing breeze.
“You should go to sleep,” he touches your face, strokes the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “I’ll go take a shower.”
“Can I come with you?”
He huffed a laugh. “Of course. If I am correct to assume, you would be doing your skincare twice tonight. Would that not tire you out? Other than this inquiry, please. Be my guest.”
You chuckle slowly, and sit up, watching him undress. Lashes of scars on his defined torso, the sinews of muscles and sharp edges all stack up to create the man you missed with your entire soul.
Zayne fights back a smirk when he feels your arms around him, face tucked into the back of his neck.
“I missed you,” you breathed. “Feels like it’s been years.”
“Only a few days,” he corrects softly. Without sparing another minute, he turns, gathers you in his arms.
You spend the next few minutes showering with him, tracing the water trickling down his defined traps, obliques and abs with your wandering eyes. Lathering up bath soap and going over the spots of your body you had forgotten to scrub in your tired fugue, you discreetly watched him wash his hair, lost in his own thoughts.
Zayne’s beautiful green eyes flicker to the present when he feels you sneakily coming up behind him, and he almost groans like a virgin teenager at the sensation of your soft tits pressed against his back.
He stays still when your wandering hands trace down his stomach, over his pelvis where his hips tick the second he feels your tiny hands wrap around his cock.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, trying to sound gruff, but it came out breathless instead.
“Showing my boyfriend how much I miss him,” you hum.
Zayne bites on his lower lip, glad that he was facing the shower wall when you decided to play with him in such a risque way.
“What a little vixen,” he groans, voice dropping an octave deeper; a baritone timbre which sends shivers up your spine. “It’s amusing. If I had any suspicions, I think you’re trying to get me riled up so that I would lose control.”
His observation was apt, as usual.
“You’re correct,” you brush your lips across a scar over his right shoulder. “So, should I give you a medal, Dr. Zayne? Or, a trophy for getting it right?”
He breaks your hold on him, and you’re breathless, thinking he is going to reject you when he pulls you into his embrace. Your back meets the tiled walls, and his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, hitching you up high enough so your legs can wrap around his slim waist.
“All of that is useless,” Zayne whispers huskily against your lips, and you swore your heart was about to double in size and burst out of your chest at his next words. “The only recognition and reward I need is your sweet little pussy, my Aurora. May I know if I can treat her well tonight?”
He didn’t even need to ask; you would serve your cunt on a silver platter for Zayne, no questions asked or needed.
“Yes,” you breathe, twining your fingers through his dark locks and tugging his face closer to yours. “You may, Dr. Zayne.”
His nightmares always started the same.
A dimly lit room. Chocolate wrappers on the bare, wooden floor. Loud explosions outside. And somehow, there was always a broken mirror somewhere in his periphery.
Zayne dreads (no, perhaps, it’s too mild a word)—he absolutely fears—what comes next.
There’s a little boy, no older than seven who looks at him hopefully. Zayne always ignores him, preferring to watch a blinking red dot on his screen.
He’s different here; dressed sharply in a dark trench coat, expression like a blank slate. Nothing at all like his focused, calm self in the present. And yet, Zayne recognizes him like how someone might recognize the back of their hand even under a different light.
The man before him was him… but not exactly him.
He’s been dreaming of this Zayne for a long time—ever since he turned twelve.
And right now, he was about to see the extent of this alternate Zayne’s power.
He can predict what comes next; the stretch of skin on the boy’s face snarling, broken bones sounding in the small room. The shard of ice through his heart which eventually ends his life.
But, this time, the boy’s cries are different. They’re higher pitched.
Feminine, almost.
Zayne’s heart races, his movements in the dream sluggish.
Zayne! Her voice reverberates, and he recognizes it. Zayne, please! Don’t hurt me anymore! Save me. Help me. You’re a doctor, Zayne. Not this. Never this. Please. Don’t hurt me—
The boy’s face disappears, replaced by one he knew all too well. His features morphed right into yours, and Zayne desperately lunges at the dark ice piercing your chest, fighting to get it out.
It would never move, no matter how hard he tugged on it or how much he willed his power to make it melt. You were dying with every wasted second, breathing growing ragged.
Zayne, Zayne… you never stopped calling out for him.
Zayne, help me. How could you hurt me like this? Zayne… Zayne…
A burst of light explodes behind his closed eyes. Someone is shaking him awake, the cadence of her voice familiar and sweet.
“... Zayne? Hey. Hey. It’s a bad dream. Zayne, you’re fine. Ssh, you’re fine.”
Her warm hands find his cheeks, pulling him right into her embrace. His face buries into neck, and he shudders, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her hair.
“Zayne, you’re so cold,” you murmur into the darkness of the room. “You’re shivering.”
He was; huge tremors which rocked him from his very core. He feels the familiar tingle on his skin, the web of ice which encases his hands.
Before he can gather enough lucidity and control to push you away, it all explodes in one fell swoop.
Ice shoots out, hitting the ceiling, piercing through the wooden bedframe.
“Zayne—!”
Your scream of pain rips through the night, and he frantically sits up, finding a huge shard piercing through your forearm.
“No,” he whispers, fevered. “No, no.”
His hands are stained with blood—your blood—as he tries to help you. But, the shard wouldn’t budge.
“Zayne,” you hiccup, moaning lowly. “Shit… H-hurts…”
Nightmares become reality when it finally slams into him what he has done.
“Hospital,” he mutters hoarsely. “We need a hospital.”
“Zayne—”
“Don’t argue with me,” there’s a feral note in his tone, a harsh reprimand which makes you flinch back.
“Now, grit your teeth and bear the pain for a little while, Y/N. I am taking you straight to the emergency room.”
You felt like you were floating on auto-pilot.
Colors and shapes melded into one strange blob the longer you sat in the examination room. After a few excruciating minutes of the ER’s doctor trying to get all the shards of hardened ice out of your arm, you were stitched up and given a heavy dose of painkillers, enough to knock out a horse.
But, you resolutely stayed awake, afraid that if you closed your eyes, something bad would happen.
Immediately once the minor surgery on your arm had concluded, Zayne had disappeared from your side, and you assumed he was downstairs by the general admission—filling up your details. He had stayed with you long enough for the extraction, giving you his hand to hold, though he remained tight-lipped and pale throughout the entire ordeal.
You wanted to see him again, even if it was for a few minutes.
When the curtain parted, you looked up, expecting to find a pair of emerald green eyes, but were greeted with a pair of worried purple ones, instead.
“Hey, Pipsqueak. Zayne called me the second you got in. Grandma couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling too well.” Caleb shifted the drapes aside, slowly stepping into your ward. He sat down on the chair by your bedside, the bags under his eyes heavy though his smile still held a teasing quality you were familiar with.
“Caleb?” you winced at how rough your voice sounded, reaching for the water bottle by your bedside. He beat you to it, grabbing the plastic bottle and tipping your head up, helping you drink.
Once your throat wasn’t drier than the desert, you sat up, the woozy sensation exacerbated from your sudden motion.
“Hey,” he whispered, rushing to steady you. “Slow down. You’re injured, Pipsqueak.” He rearranged you back onto the bed, expression pinched. “What happened? Zayne sounded frantic on the phone and that’s something new. Always thought he could disable a ticking time bomb with how unruffled he is.”
Despite poking fun at his childhood friend, it didn’t bring a smile onto your face. Caleb ditched his sunny disposition, becoming serious.
“Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting strange. Did… did Zayne hurt you?”
Immediately, you whipped your head towards him, eyes wide. “N-no! Of course, not. Why would you think that?” You struggle to speak past the drugs making you slur. “He… he didn’t hurt me. Brought me to the hospital. I tripped.”
A lame conclusion. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask you again, when a familiar voice interrupts.
“She needs to rest. I thought I told you to come by in the morning?”
Zayne’s frosty glare sets off Caleb’s strained smile. Your childhood best friend's nostrils flare, and the whites of his teeth shine like the edge of a knife when he stands up to greet Akso Hospital’s best surgeon.
“You made it sound like she was dying so of course I came as fast as I could.” Casting his amethyst eyes to yours, Caleb’s feral smile softens. “You’re right. I can see she needs some rest. Let’s go—” He clasps a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, and you don’t have to be on the receiving end to know Caleb was using his Evol to tighten his grip on your boyfriend.
“You and I have a lot to discuss.”
Zayne grimaces, and you shoot him an apologetic smile.
Caleb turns to you with a cheery wave. You mouth don’t kill him and he rolls his eyes.
I’ll try not to, he mouths back.
Then, the curtains droop close and you settle back on the hard pillow, freefalling into a dreamless sleep.
Something was off the second you woke up.
Firstly, Zayne wasn’t with you again.
It was Caleb’s dark bedhead which greeted you, his face inches from your arm, eyes closed and breathing steady.
You lean up, wincing when you felt your stitches pulling.
“Hey,” you whisper, touching your best friend's broad shoulder. “Caleb? Why’re you still here?”
He groans, groggily opening his eyes. “M-morning, Pipsqueak,” he staggers through a yawn. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, feeling a huge migraine clustering behind your eyes. “Ugh, where’s Zayne?”
At the mention of your boyfriend, Caleb blinks, wide awake now. “Ah. He told me he had some emergency surgeries lined up. He’s probably working.”
Oh. You fall into a disquiet, staring at the swathing white blankets. That uneasy feeling was back again.
“Did he say when he would be done?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb confessed. “But, you have his schedule, so I think you’d know better than me, Pipsqueak.”
Right. Zayne was your boyfriend. Caleb would barely know the guy if it wasn’t for your insistence in the both of them meeting up once a month for dinner with Grandma.
Swallowing your disappointment down, you plaster on a bright smile. “Are you up for some coffee today? You’re always complaining about the ones at the Academy.”
Caleb smiles, and leans forward to ruffle your hair. “Y’know, if this was a normal day, I would totally take you up on your offer,” he becomes serious now. “But, you’re still healing, Pipsqueak. And caffeine is bad. Let me call the nurse to check on you first, okay?”
You nod, watching his broad back disappear out into the halls.
Fidgeting, you touch your bandaged arm, recalling the clammy silence last night as Zayne drove to Akso Hospital; his jaw tense and eyes steadfastly not meeting yours.
He’s probably angry at himself, you reasoned. Zayne always was harder on himself than anybody else, and the guilt could be eating him alive.
Feeling slightly reassured that nothing bad would happen, you lean back against the pillows again, closing your eyes.
You fell back asleep the second Caleb reappeared with the nurse; both of them politely closing the door and giving you some time to rest, your best friend’s eyes lingering right on your exhausted expression.
“Goodnight, Pipsqueak,” he whispers into the still air which was permeated with your steady breathing. “See you later.”
That night, you woke up to an icy cold hand in yours.
Fluttering your lashes, you find Zayne with his eyes closed and head bent forward, one hand in yours and the other braced on his forehead.
“Zayne?”
He thaws from his uneasy doze, woozy emerald eyes widening slightly at your relieved expression.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers the second he finds his voice. “I lost control. I… I hurt you.” That last part was spat out, as if he was firmly disgusted with his lack of composure. “It was dangerous of me to even be next to you. I was aware of my nightmares and my Evol has been unstable as of late. I put you in harm’s way and I am forever sorry for doing so, my Aurora.”
His lips were cool on the back of your hand, those brilliant eyes fogged over with an unfathomable expression.
“Zayne… it’s okay.”
They flare back to life, this time electrified with an untamed emotion. “Okay?” he says slowly, like he couldn’t believe his sins were absolved that easily. “I’ve hurt you and all you can say is ‘okay’? Y/N, please. Be reasonable.”
You open your mouth to counter his harsh words, but his hand had already detangled from yours. Zayne stood up, the look on his face awfully cold and distant.
“I don’t think this will work out.”
What? You wanted to voice out, but your words were stuck behind the lump in your throat. “Zayne…”
You reached out for him, but all you felt was cold air where his warmth once stood. He had backed away, expression closed off and frigid. Shame and hurt filled you, threatening to pour out from your eyes.
He couldn’t bear to look at you, those emerald eyes latched to a water stain on the ceiling as if it was more interesting than the girl whose heart he was breaking right in front of him.
“What do you mean by that?” you demand, though it sounds like a plea in your thick voice. “Zayne, it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Don’t make it bigger than what it is. Please. Let’s talk this out—”
“No,” he stood to his full height, looking at you down the line of his nose. “It’s not something we can talk about. You’re better off without me, and I, you. I will drop your things off at your apartment the moment I get off work. Goodbye, Y/N.”
Hot pain sliced through your soul, leaving a gash where he once stood.
“No,” you murmured, though you were speaking to the thin air. Zayne had already turned and left. “Zayne? Zayne! Come back, we can talk it out—”
You tried to stand and run after him, but your body was weakened from the medication and lack of movement. Stumbling back, you sat on the edge of your bed, fisting the sheets and fighting back the urge to scream at him to come back. There was nothing you could do except watch the broadness of his back leave, disappearing down the hall and around the corner.
Easy. How easy it was for him to break things off like this.
Like you didn’t even matter.
You hang your head forward, the misting tears in your eyes pooling onto your lash line. You had no idea how long you stayed like this; frozen, immobile. Waiting for him to come back.
The curtains opened again, and you expected Zayne to be there with a change of heart. But, when you saw it was Caleb instead, carrying a box of doughnuts and his signature easy going smile, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment coruscating on your trembling lips.
He sensed something was wrong the second you didn’t greet him, and he was right when he sat beside you and you broke down into tears.
Sorry, you gasped in between sobs. I’m so sorry. I’m usually stronger than this.
Caleb didn’t push you or demand you tell him the reason why you were crying. He held you close instead, patting your head. When you wouldn’t stop sobbing, he rubbed your back, telling you in his low, reassuring voice that you were going to be okay.
He never did find out why you were crying, and neither did you voluntarily supply any information.
But, when he took you home the next day and found your things neatly packaged in boxes waiting by the front door, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
Zayne…?
You flinched when Caleb mentioned his name.
For a single second, neither of you said anything.
Caleb exhaled noisily, gripping your shoulder and pulling you into his one-arm hug. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”
“No need,” you surprised him and yourself by how emotionless you sounded; nothing but exhaustion and resignation in your tone.
“It wouldn't be worth it—not at all.”
For days after that, you threw yourself back into your work.
The second Jenna called for volunteers for a dangerous mission, your hand would almost always shoot up. It didn’t matter how bad the fluctuations were or how big the threat was—your name was almost always on the list every single day. Even Xavier was starting to notice how impulsive you were becoming, though his worry was more subtle than the rest of your nagging colleagues (read: Tara).
“Wouldn’t your doctor boyfriend worry about you throwing yourself in such situations?”
You fight back a wince, polishing the nozzle of your Hunter gun. Of course. None of your workmates knew the truth; they all still assumed you and Zayne were together.
“No, he wouldn’t,” you reply back mildly, eyeing the barrel down with a grimace. “He doesn’t care if I live or die.”
A gloved hand picks the gun from you, and you turn to find him frowning. Xavier’s pinched expression spoke volumes, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Neither of you broke the silence, until you heard the gun clatter back down onto the floor accompanied by his tired sigh.
“There are many, many stars in the night sky, Y/N,” he starts. You turn to him with a frown.
Where is he going with this?
Xavier continues. “Even if one dies or explodes, another one will take its place. Don’t lose your light for a star who refuses to shine for you.”
Standing up, he extends a hand towards you.
“Since you’re not in the best of moods, I was thinking we could have some lamb hotpot tonight. What do you think? I’ll let you choose most of the ingredients.”
Though the idea of food sounded unappealing, you couldn’t help but smile at his attempts to cheer you up.
Taking his hand, you nod.
“Sure. Can I also pick our second soup base?”
He huffed a laugh. “Why not, huh? You can hog most of the dipping sauce, too. I won’t complain.”
It was the first time in days since you had smiled, the expression foreign and almost painfully pulling your cheeks.
But, you do it anyway.
Despite his odd allegory, Xavier was right.
Even if someone took their light away from you, it didn’t mean you had to stop yourself from shining again.
Zayne may have been the brightest star in your universe, but at the end of the day, you were the fucking sun.
And no one could take away your light without your permission, no matter how hard they tried.
Another long night at the ER, another cup of coffee.
Zayne puts down his glasses with a sigh, and hears his office phone beep. He barely has time to steel himself when the message comes through, urgent and demanding.
“Dr. Zayne? It’s Dr. Lewis here. We have a code red down by Bloomshore Forest. Something about a fluctuation. Most of the injured are Hunters.”
His heart rate spikes and he immediately stands.
It’s been more than a week since he last saw you, and Zayne was almost at the end of his emotional tether. He had reacted poorly to the entire ordeal, and was now facing the repercussions of his hasty actions.
Nights were spent tossing and turning, his nightmares coming back at full force. Sometimes, he woke up and padded into the living room, trying to find respite on the couch where your old t-shirt still lay, smelling of you and his regrets.
When he woke up, there was no one to greet him or kiss his cheek with her morning breath. No one who hummed in the shower while she got ready for work or left loud, theatrical smooches on his cheek before she rushed out of the door.
There was no you in his life anymore.
Zayne was tired of shadow fighting with demons he couldn’t see.
Plain and simple—he missed you.
And right now, he had to see if you were one of the injured; Zayne would never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t make amends.
Rushing down the freeway, he passed by signs of destruction everywhere; torn up trees, fractured roads. Wanderers who left a trail of discord and mayhem wherever they went.
The flickering blue and red lights were what caught his attention, and he quickly disembarked from his car, hurrying to the thick of the commotion. Tents were set up, medical personnel running to and fro.
Someone recognized him and handed him a pair of scrubs and gloves. Zayne immediately got to work the second Greyson approached him, gray in the face from fatigue.
“Dr. Zayne—”
“Give me a rundown, Dr. Greyson,” he mutters, hurrying to the closest tent.
“Four injured and about ten with minor abrasions,” his assistant started, “We counted about two missing from the fray. A Mr. Xavier and… Miss Y/N.”
No.
At the mention of your name, Zayne stopped in his tracks.
Greyson looked apologetic, though for what, Zayne had no idea.
“When was her last contact?” he didn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it did, betraying his stress and fear over your whereabouts.
“Two hours ago. A comm signal right in the middle of the N109 Zone.”
Zayne swore he felt his heart drop right into his boots. He gapes, opens his mouth and closes it, but no sound escapes.
“Dr. Zayne?”
Greyson was waiting for his response. Zayne had to react, fast.
“Set up the operation room for the four injured and get me a line with the closest hospital for blood transfusions. We need as many supplies as we can get our hands on. Has the Association been notified of their two missing Hunters—?”
Before Zayne could finish his sentence, a commotion stirs at the fringes of the forest.
Several people yell, and he looks up in time to find a limping figure supporting someone else.
Your silhouette solidifies in the half light, dirt and blood caked on your face and limbs. Greyson gasps as well, muttering oh thank goodness.
A nurse with a blanket rushes over to you and a fair-headed man whom he assumes is Xavier, wrapping the both of you in the thick fabric.
Greyson doesn’t notice how his attention has waned, locked right on your smiling yet exhausted face. “We’re establishing a line with Mariso’s hospital down the block—hey, Dr. Zayne?”
He zeroes in back on his assistant with a firm nod. “Do it, then. And keep me updated on the progress.”
There’s a pause.
“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” Greyson asks, curiosity lingering at the thought of why his superior wasn’t going to greet his girlfriend. Zayne takes one last look at you, and he drops his gaze.
“No. I do not want to overwhelm her before her evaluations.” Straightening, he nods. “Let’s proceed with the different evals and prep. Line up the next surgery for hour 2045.”
There would be no time to let his heart take the lead.
He had to focus on the task at hand.
Greyson’s expression fades in and out of focus. Zayne notices that Xavier has his hands on your face, inspecting a nasty cut on your cheek.
How easy it was for you to replace him…
“Hour 2045, surgery #1 is confirmed, Dr. Zayne.”
He tears his gaze away from you and nods; ignoring the hollow pang in his chest.
“Let’s get it started, then.”
You didn’t expect to see Zayne in the distance when you returned back from a near death experience.
A part of you wonders if your mind is playing tricks on you; if the adrenaline has you seeing things your tired brain can’t catch up with.
But, there he stands. Forlorn yet imposing. Expression a blank sleet.
You swear he looks over in your direction, but when you look up, he’s walking away with a colleague, head bent low and eyes firmly on his tablet.
How easy it is for him to walk away from me.
“Hey.” Xavier brings you back to the present with a small smile and a cup of coffee in one hand. “No cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. Just like how you prefer it.”
You crack a smile, accepting the cup. “Are you sure you didn’t burn it this time?”
He chuckles, taking the spot next to you. “I told the nurse she had to make it and not me, so I wasn’t involved in the process whatsoever.” Your hunting partner blows steam off the cup, pursing his lips to sip on the dark liquid.
“Mhm. See? Sweeter than my burnt coffee.”
You follow suit and take a sip, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste better.”
Xavier follows your line of sight when he realizes you’re quieter than usual. His azure eyes land on the surgery tent in the distance where a few figures were milling around.
“Are you worried for Tara?”
You grip your cup tighter, fighting back a wave of self-loathing at what you had done.
“If I hadn’t asked her to accompany me near the fringe, none of this would’ve happened.” Your shoulders slump forward, and you feel Xavier shifting closer. “It’s all my fault, Xav. I could’ve gotten her killed.”
At the realization, tears prick your eyes. His arm hovers in your periphery and you sniff, imperceptibly nodding.
He wraps you in his one-sided embrace, holding your face close to his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known a protofield of that size would open. It’s not your fault.”
You thought back to Tara’s scared cries; how she dove head first to the ground to dodge the energy surges of that Berserk Wanderer.
The both of you would’ve perished if Xavier hadn’t stepped in at the last minute, breaking the field and swooping in to save you two.
“I need to apologize to her when she’s done,” you mumble softly, “I can’t get that mental image of her hurt out of my mind.”
As you spoke, someone familiar approached you. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a tight smile, Akso Hospital’s Dr. Greyson beckoned you over with a wave.
You shrugged Xavier’s arm off you and stood up, confusion clearly in your gaze.
“Hello! Miss Y/N, right? Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend? I need you to sign here as a witness for Miss Tara since her family is out of state.”
He procured a document and a pen. You took them mutely, unsure if it was rude to correct him on your updated status in Zayne’s life. But, figuring that it would be best not to trauma dump on a stranger, you sign your name on the dotted line without much resistance.
“Wonderful. Thank you. Dr. Zayne will step out and see you in a bit once he has some free time. In any case, please stay here and do not wander back for anymore Wanderers. We can’t have anymore of Linkon’s brightest Hunters hurt!”
Chipper and happy like he wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation, Greyson left you and Xavier alone.
“Nice guy.”
“Hmm,” you sit back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Zayne’s colleague. Older than him but a sweet one. I used to bribe him with fried chicken to get Zayne’s…” your breathing hitched, and you clear your throat. “... work schedule.”
Xavier’s body stiffens underneath your cheek and you immediately retract yourself away from him. “Sorry,” you mumble, unsure what had gotten into you; how you could’ve let yourself get this comfortable with your fellow Hunter of all people.
But, he shakes his head, patting his shoulder. “You can rest here if you want. I know you’re tired. I am, too.”
Cautiously, you lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.
Xavier’s cheek gently rests on your head, and you hear him exhale tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“Mhm hmm,” you mumble, fighting the exhaustion caking heavily on your lids. “I could close my eyes and sleep for days.”
“That sounds like a wonderful time.”
The both of you take a second to rest, trying to recenter yourselves back to the reality of being safe and sound away from those terrifying Wanderers.
You hear someone approaching, gravel crunching underneath a pair of boots.
“Y/N?”
His soft voice fringes on your consciousness, and your eyes flutter open.
Zayne stands before you, tall and intimidating. There was no spark in his lustreless green eyes which flickered towards the dozing man by your side and then back to yours. You suddenly feel cold all over, like shards of ice were prickling underneath your skin.
It doesn’t matter what it looks like to him, you glance at Xavier and pat his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Zayne and I are long over.
“I need to run a checkup on you. Hunter Association’s orders. Can you follow me, please?”
Xavier stirs the second you nod, and releases you from the swathes of blankets. A clash of azure blue meeting clear green; both men staring each other down while you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Make sure she’s all right,” Xavier says in a soft voice, though you don’t miss the steel underneath it.
Zayne nods, and turns around. Barely even looking back to see if you were following him.
Wordlessly, you limp after his broad back, consciously touching your face and trying to smooth your hair down.
Inside the tent, Greyson smiles and leaves you two alone for the first time in days.
There’s a makeshift desk and a chair beside it. An examination bed that had been hastily drawn open stands, forlorn and waiting.
You take a seat by the desk, hands laced onto your lap and eyes on the dirt-packed floor.
“Are you alright?”
You don’t delude yourself into thinking there was a hint of concern in his tone. Zayne was just being your primary care physician at this moment—nothing more than his appointed role in your life.
But, wasn't there a time when he was more than this?
You shake off those thoughts, giving him one-worded answers.
“Yes.”
He drags the chair by the desk and sits on it, unfurling a binder and picking up a pen. It clicks loudly in the silence, exacerbating how alone you two were with each other.
“Any dizziness? Loss of hearing?”
You shake your head. “No, Dr. Zayne. I feel fine.”
“Please look at me in the face. I am trying to give you an evaluation for your Association’s report and I need to make sure you meet the health standard.”
Exasperation mingled with professional arrogance laced his tone. You bristled, but did as you were told, lifting your face to meet his eyes.
Those green orbs were galaxies you could get lost in. Swallowing hard, you repeat what you had said, this time in a forceful tone. “I feel fine, Dr. Zayne.”
You make sure to emphasize on his title, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.
How you had cried for nights on end when he wouldn’t return your calls or messages and now here he was—feeling more like a stranger day by day.
You promised yourself you wouldn't be that stupid, brokenhearted girl anymore. This would be the last time you let Zayne play with your resolve and mind.
He picked up a flashlight, beckoning you closer. Cool fingers touched your face, and you nearly flinched when the bright beam permeated your irises.
“My apologies,” he mumbled, and you thought he meant the intrusive medical checkup when his next words catch you by surprise. “I didn’t have time to answer your calls or messages. I was busy cleaning up after last week’s attack. Please, forgive me.”
He whispers that last part and your mind blanks.
You don’t know what to say, or how to react. So, you settle for silence.
Zayne frowns, clicks off the flashlight. He writes down his findings and brings out his stethoscope.
The cool circle touches your pulse point, your chest. He closes his eyes, listens to your heart.
“It’s beating faster than usual,” he mumbles, removing eartips and going back to his report. “Any fatigue? Dizziness? Perhaps vertigo hitting you when you least expect it?”
You shake your head. “I’m fine, Dr. Zayne. I told you.” Sighing, you plaster your eyes back to the ground to avoid his piercing stare. “I don’t think you should waste your time on me. There are other patients who need your expertise—starting with Tara. But, thank you for seeing me, anyway.”
He doesn’t get a chance to dismiss you before you’re standing up and walking out of the tent with your head hung low.
Zayne doesn’t call you back, and neither do you turn around to give him one last look, like you always do before you leave his office.
Meters of silence and unsaid words stretch between the both of you; coldness replacing once fond memories.
The flap of the tent falls close and a forlorn wind whistles through the air, ruffling the papers on his desk.
Zayne tears his eyes off your form, ignores how his heart squeezes when he sees you returning back to Xavier’s side.
The other man smiles at you, and the look on your face is far from detached. Warm and inviting, Zayne can’t recall when was the last time you looked at him like that.
Shit.
Never one to be steeped in regret, Zayne finds himself wishing he could turn back the hands of time; change his actions the second after he had lost control of his Evol.
Not only had he injured you, but he had left you behind like so many others did before.
That was the one thing he promised your Grandma that day he dropped by for lunch: I will protect her with everything I have, ma’am. I will never leave her alone for long.
And this was the best he could give you? Broken promise after broken promise?
For the first time in his life, he feels like a failure; an idiot with nothing but a lofty title and his big-headed ego.
He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Zayne grimaces, knowing how well you could hold a grudge if you wanted to. It looks like he has to temporarily play the role of the fool to get you back.
However, he relents and accepts his fate: this Herculean task of winning back your heart.
He would never say it out loud, but he admired your tenacity and determination; how you would always stick to your principles and never let yourself be swayed by a different current.
Reclaiming back your love wasn’t going to be an easy task. You would put him through the wringer—he was sure of that.
But, it’s what he deserves; what he could stomach and take after treating you so cruelly.
It was time to let the begging game begin.
“... Tara, what the heck is all this?”
You had walked into work one day to a deluge of roses heaping onto your desk. Tara was halfway signing off the delivery man’s note with a gleeful smile, before she turns and offloads the last huge bouquet into your arms.
“Looks like someone’s ex-boyfriend misses her.”
She winks and skips away, leaving you floundering with at least six bouquets of blood red roses swarming around your desk.
You flush with embarrassment when Jenna walks in, her expression one of open curiosity at the sight of all those flowers.
“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” your boss muses. “Or, someone’s boyfriend has done something really wrong. Wild shot—I’m leaning more towards the former.”
It was no secret you were dating Dr. Zayne, but to have it so brazenly rubbed into everyone’s faces was making you cringe from head to toe.
“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” you blurt. “I’ll toss this all out. Don’t want bees in anyone’s hair.”
You chuckle nervously when she gives you a look.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Just hand them to the gardener downstairs. I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them. Such pretty flowers would be wasted in the trash.”
Nodding, you pick up every single bouquet, struggling to not drop one on your way out of the office. Tara sits smugly behind her desk, not even offering to help; wanting to see how far your pettiness could take you.
“Good… morning?”
You peek past the crest of roses to find Xavier’s scrunched nose and confused expression examining the blooms in your arms.
“Morning,” you mutter hastily.
He drops his bag and plucks two bouquets from your arms.
“Are we throwing a party? Or, did someone from our department get engaged?”
You feel like you could spontaneously combust, steeling yourself to reply to his innocent question.
“These are… for me. I think.”
Xavier pauses mid-stride, glancing at you through lowered, ash blonde lashes.
“Oh. Are they from Zayne?”
You pretend not to feel your heart soar in your ribcage at the mention of his name, preferring to plaster on an irritated glare.
“I hope not. That wouldn’t make any sense.”
Xavier doesn’t prod anymore, and neither do you offer to keep the conversation rolling.
He helps you duly dispose of the roses, the gardener’s toothy smile a small consolation for saddling her with this many blooms.
Once you get back to your desk, you pick up your phone and bring up Zayne’s name, finger hovering over the call button.
But, you change your mind at the last minute and click on the chat bubble option.
Please don’t tell me you robbed an entire florist to send me those roses.
Send.
Instantly, a chat bubble appears, his reply coming faster than you expected.
Your accusation is inaccurate. I did, in fact, leave the old man a huge tip for procuring those roses in record time. You’re welcome.
Brows knitted together, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.
I don’t want them. Please, don’t waste your time or effort on me anymore. It’s not worth it.
The bubble appears again. Then, it disappears. Reappears.
You wait on the other end with baited breath. Never did a pair of ellipses make your chest hurt this painfully; wildly thrumming heart caught in your throat.
Your tone suggests I am far from forgiven for what I did. If that is the case, would you like to join me for dinner at The Promenade tonight? I recall you adore their chestnut ice-cream. I can pick you up from your apartment. I would very much like to make amends, Y/N.
Clear and dry cut. Zayne was putting all his cards on the table for you to pick apart and prod.
You switch your screen off, unable to formulate a response.
The memory of how coldly he had treated you resurfaces; the cruel blankness on his face. The ease in which he left you like a man who had done it many, many times before.
Tightening your hands into fists, you fight back a fresh wave of tears which threaten to take you under.
Someone clears their throat, and you snap back to the present, blinking hard and pretending you had something in your eye.
Bless his heart, Xavier willfully ignores your lapse of control; he gives you a small smile, gesturing towards the pantry. “They… just brought in some new instant noodle flavors. I was going to make a cup. Do you want some?”
You plaster on a fake smile, nodding. Suddenly, your stomach rumbles, and he exhales a laugh at the well-timed interjection.
“Noted. The beef broth one?”
“Sounds good.”
“Roger that,” he turns on his heel, and you don’t know what possessed you to call him back. He turns, waiting for you to speak.
“What’re you doing tonight?” you blurt, and he pauses, tilting his head to the side.
“Not much. I have this movie I really want to watch. Why? Wanderer hunting?”
Knowing it was your favorite thing to do to let off some steam, he waits for you to formulate your response.
“No. I need to inspect something. At that forest again. Something about the fluctuation pattern those few nights ago… Something doesn’t add up.”
Xavier considers it, shifting from one foot to another. “And if we do find it? What, then?”
“We come back here and fill in the team,” you mutter. “And we can finally match the fluctuation pattern to Onichynus’ fabricated Protofield. It would give us a clue to their plans.”
Despite his reservations at letting you delve deeper into this conspiracy theory, Xavier had a hunch that if he didn’t follow you, you were bound to do it on your own.
Whatever happened between you and Zayne must’ve driven you down this frenzied yet determined path; choosing to prioritize your job over the feelings you haven’t sorted out yet.
And who was Xavier to complain? If he had a few more moments to spend with you, he would take it, no matter the motivation.
“Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll meet you tonight at the Fringe. 8 o’clock.”
You nod, casting your eyes back to your phone’s dull screen. Zayne’s text message taunts you, and you sensed there would be hell to pay for ignoring him.
But, you turn off those thoughts and focus on your desktop, sorting out your emails and mission debriefs.
There were more urgent things on your plate that needed your focus than an indecisive ex-boyfriend.
The biggest storm of your life was on the horizon, and you were so sure that come tonight, you would finally get the answers you needed.
The tapping of his fingers on the table resounds like a metronome in this quiet restaurant.
Zayne picks up his cup of water, brings it to his lips and pauses. Setting it back down, he glances at his watch for what feels like the 178th time in an hour. A bouquet of fresh jasmines lie on his lap, and he thinks they might be wilting by the second for every minute you don’t show up.
Though it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, Zayne held a small flicker of hope that you would change your mind and see him tonight—despite how his text to you remains unanswered.
Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his reverie.
“Sir, may I bring you some appetizers while you wait?”
The waiter’s smile is thin, and behind his sincere question, Zayne senses the pity shining in his eyes.
It bothers him, somehow, that people would feel sorry for him.
If anything, he thinks they should mind their own business; not jump to conclusions.
He heaves in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Please, get me the bill. I apologize for taking up your time.”
The waiter nods and disappears back to the kitchen—presumably to gossip to his colleagues about a random lonely man he had to serve tonight who was stood up by his date.
Somewhere to his right, a table full of young women were eyeing him, whispering behind their manicured hands. But, he pays them no attention, signing the bill and standing up, clutching the bouquet of flowers by his side.
Zayne steps out of the restaurant, and notices the darkening sky roiling above.
It was going to rain tonight and he hoped that wherever you are, you would have an umbrella on hand. He wouldn’t want you to get sick, and was about to pull out his phone and remind you when he stops short at a message flashing across his screen.
She’s hurt.
Dr. Greyson’s chat bubble appears, and then pauses. It starts typing again, and Zayne holds his breath, suddenly feeling uneasy all over.
Your girlfriend. You need to come to the hospital now.
He barely wastes anytime, rushing right to his car. Zayne guns it down the highway, straight for the hospital, no thought in his mind besides worrying for your safety. When he arrives, it was like that night he met you near the Forest; a nurse was hurrying into the ER, someone was yelling for more bags of blood, and there, in the fray, was Xavier, broad sword strapped to his back.
“What happened?”
Zayne feels his heart in his throat when Xavier turns to him, grim in the face.
“A calculated attack… an explosion.”
“Explosion?” The surgeon feels like his head is about to combust. A vein throbs in his temple and he narrows his eyes. “What caused it? Is she okay?”
“I’m trying to find out, too,” Xavier mumbles back. “Besides, it was my fault. You don't have to worry anymore after what you did to her.”
Frost sparks on his fingertips, and Zayne tries to control his temper; willing his Evol to stay in line.
It wouldn’t be wise to lash out at Xavier; it would do nothing but make you madder at him.
“Which surgery room is she in? I can help resuscitate her if necessary.”
The Hunter opens his mouth, but it's Dr. Greyson who interjects. “Dr. Zayne, she’s in Operation Theatre 2. Awaiting anesthesia.”
Zayne turns on his heel, leaving Xavier alone with his silent judgement.
“I need a full body evaluation on the patient to determine the exact location of overpressures and debris. Keep the defibrillator on standby. What category is the blast coded as?”
“Tertiary, Dr. Zayne.”
He swore under his breath, wincing. The same blunt force injuries that would traumatize a person who was involved in a car crash, fall, or collapsing building.
What did you get yourself into, Y/N?
Zayne has no time to ruminate; he has to save your life.
A hand on his shoulder stops him. Greyson’s heavy eyes permeate through his soul, rooting him to the spot. For a single second, the fatherly concern shining in his gaze reminded him of another elderly doctor; one who was forever lost in Mount Eternal. “Are you sure you can do this, Dr. Zayne? Are you well enough to take on this task?”
The implicit concern was clear.
This is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Can you handle trying to bring her back from the brink of death?
Zayne nods, bracing himself for another long night.
“I will try to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson.”
He stops, correcting himself. “I have to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson. I believe I do not have a choice.”
Suspended. Floating.
Trapped.
It was completely dark where you were, no light but a flickering blue ember in the distance. Reaching out to it, you found it dancing just out of your reach; taunting you with even more confusion.
You had no idea how you came to be here or what happened that led you to this strange place.
In this limbo, time neither exists nor moves forward.
You were just here. Just being.
Hours must’ve passed. Or, was it days?
You felt a softness wrap around you. Once or twice, you thought you remembered the feel of someone’s lips on your forehead. The shape of a hand whose fingers intertwined with yours. A whiff of a familiar cologne you couldn’t quite place.
It was dark where you were, but you were never alone.
Someone was always beside you. Talking to you. Drawing you closer and closer to that blue flame.
“... I’m sorry…”
You caught that word a lot.
Sorry.
Sorry.
But, for what?
Who was that voice apologizing to?
And what had they done wrong?
You would never know the answer. Except, one day, it appears before you, shining like a periwinkle blue sky opening to a new world.
The blue flame glows brighter, almost encompassing you.
Please… I’m scared…
You tried to scream, tried to push back.
But, it grew bigger and brighter. About to swallow you whole.
Was this how a new star was born? Did they see an unbearably bright light before they were engulfed in the flames of being?
Were you a star right now?
The flames hurt—fuck, they were lapping at your hands. Your arms. Your flesh turns a sickly pale blue, about to drop off your bones.
But, you don’t fight back this time. The burn feels almost sacrificial. Sacred.
Like a ritual you had to push through to see the other side.
So, you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in the ground; staying absolutely still. Letting the embers flicker at your feet, caress your sides and hair.
“... she’s waking up!”
“... quick… nurse!”
“Zayne… she’s back…”
There’s a commotion in the distance. You feel like you’re about to orbit another universe, your space ship drifting and attempting to dock with this strange planet’s gravity system.
The bright light pierces through your sticky lids, and you feel askew, like you could fall off this new planet’s axis anytime.
A familiar sharp scent permeates your nose, and you groan, the sound low and groggy.
“Ssh, don’t be scared.” His voice is familiar, a low timber which sounds exactly like home. “I’ve got you. Come back when it feels safe for you.”
Despite your hesitation, you drift back into the abyss, feeling the warmest brush of lips on your forehead again.
You want to reach out to that bright light, hold it in the middle of your palm. Fighting hard now, you wade past the molasses of your sluggish mind, forcing one eyelid to pry open. And then, another.
Finally, you blink, slow and unhurried. Swiveling your head to the side, it felt like you were in slow motion, every action delayed by three seconds.
The word was entirely made up of a blur. It was all too white. Too loud.
Someone cradles your face, and your world tilts. You find yourself sitting up slightly, a familiar face you knew and loved swimming into view.
His bright green eyes solidify, and you make a sound in the back of your throat.
“It’s alright,” he whispers, full of reassurance and relief. “It’s quite alright, my Aurora. You’re safe now. Safe here.”
“Z… Zay… Zayne?”
You force your tongue to cooperate; it feels like a clumsy eel in your mouth, twisting and turning in a slippery mess. Moans and low grunts emitted from the back of your throat, and you wince with every word you struggle (and fail) to enunciate.
“Ssh,” he mumbles, and you feel something circular and hard slipping in between your lips. “It’s water. You have to drink it from the straw. Do you remember how to sip?”
The motion comes back after a few tries, and you hesitantly imbibe the cooling liquid.
“Good girl,” he whispers, patting your head gently.
You struggle to pin your eyes on him, wondering what type of lights were shining above for him to appear so bedazzlingly in front of you.
The room is empty, and it’s only him here with you. Outside, the world was pitch black, but here, you feel like every beam was dancing in Zayne’s eyes; the relief in them washing over you, calming your spiking heart rate.
“You’ve been in a coma for three days, Y/N,” he informs in a low whisper, sitting beside you. Taking your hand, he presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “I don’t want to push you, but you need to rest. You suffered quite the blast from that attack.”
It all came back to you in an instant: Xavier’s wide, azure eyes, the flash of golden light. Searing pain and an impenetrable darkness.
You start to shake, and Zayne notices, immediately bringing another blanket from your bedside shelf and wrapping you in it. When that doesn't work, he twines his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. Ever so tender, he cradles your body, gently rocking you from side to side like you were a terrified child.
“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re alright. It is normal to feel shocked after what happened. But, you’re safe, my Aurora. I have made sure of that.”
You paw at his shirt, fighting to roll the words off your tongue; remembering the unanswered text message and your instant regret when you realized far too late during your failed mission that you had basically told him not to care for you anymore.
“S… Sorry…”
“Please,” he says in a soft, tired voice. “No more apologizing. Don’t ever apologize, Y/N. It was never your fault.”
Zayne tilts your head up, his eyes soft and warm in the dark blue expanse of this hospital room. His thumb grazes your cheek, your jaw and lower lip.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, smiling when you start to pout. “Alright, my love? I am right here. I will keep you safe.” Leaning forward, he presses the softest kiss to your forehead, its warmth achingly familiar.
“I love you. Please—rest.”
You close your eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. Nodding off, the last thing you felt was his lips in your hair, his soft whisper of, “I am so sorry for how I treated you” dissipating into the recesses of your subconscious.
Once more, you succumb to the darkness, but this time, you do so with open arms.
“Bedrest and lots of fluids,” Dr. Carol says sternly, much to your chagrin.
Her salt and pepper eyebrows shoot up, daring you to fight back. You stay silent, staring at your lap glumly.
The day is much too nice to be bound in bed; sun streaming in through the frosted glass windows, cherry blossoms dotting the sill and bird song fills the air—the heart of winter thawing right into a dazzling spring.
Zayne is beside you, holding onto your purse while the doctor gives her diagnosis, trying hard not to smirk at your crestfallen expression.
“I will write a note to the Hunters Association to give you a month off. Lay off the dangerous missions, wandering into closed off zones, and getting yourself into trouble.”
She signs the paper with a flourish, tears it, and hands it to Zayne. Not even giving you a chance to protest.
“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Carol,” your boyfriend says with a curt nod, pocketing the strip.
She returns his gesture, pushing her rimmed glasses up her blunt nose. “You take care of her, Dr. Zayne. Keep her out of trouble.”
Zayne helps you stand, letting you lean against his arm for support. “Oh, believe me. This little Hunter will be very well rested before she’s finally allowed back onto the field.”
You fume next to him, though with your warming cheeks, Zayne thinks you look a lot like an adorably pissed chipmunk. Before the door closes, you remember to politely give a small bow to Dr. Carol, despite how you were livid at her treating you like a wayward child.
“Don’t pout,” he murmurs, poking your side as you both tread down the narrow hallway. You flinch, glare deepening.
“What am I going to do for one month? Sit around and collect dust? Zayne, you have to speak to her. I can’t stay at home all the time,” your tone goes whiny, and he musters a quick chuckle.
“Darling, you know I can’t just interfere with another doctor’s advice. Besides, I wholeheartedly agree with the decided diagnosis.”
Warm sunlight spills across your cheeks; you take mincing steps, still getting used to walking after a full week of rotting on the hospital bed. But, Zayne is patient with you, holding onto your arm while he keeps you steady, matching his pace to yours.
He continues. “You’ve been overworking yourself since we took a break. You need to rest before your body shuts down.”
At the reminder of the separation you both endured, you made a face. “Maybe I should’ve stayed broken up with you for a little while longer to find my answers…”
“And risk throwing yourself headfirst into more conspiracy theories like a pig-headed fool? Be grateful we were given another chance,” he retorts without missing a beat. “You would be severely injured if I weren’t here to give you a voice of reason.”
You quieten, watching a cherry blossom break off a tall branch and float to the ground.
Zayne notices your silence, and nudges you. Glancing at him, you see a shadow of a smile etched on his lips.
“I know you must miss the outside. How about we come to an agreement? Take your medication, get loads of rest, and I’ll bring you out every evening to see the cherry blossoms. Would this be more suitable for a ‘punishment’, my Aurora?”
Your heart skips a beat; you’ve missed hearing your favorite term of endearment from him.
“Okay,” you murmur, considerably happier. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Holding out your pinky right in his face, Zayne chuckles again, but indulges you, wrapping his smallest finger with yours.
“It is a deal,” his voice is softer, fringed with amusement and tenderness.
Zayne is a man of extremes; rarely meeting you in the middle.
When Dr. Carol had advised against strenuous activities for at least a week while your body heals, she didn’t take into account that Zayne would refuse to even touch you in any way other than as a caregiver.
He would fix your meals, help you around the house, and even tenderly bathe you if you so much as breathed a request for it.
But, he would never—in any circumstances—take it further.
How long has it been since we’ve last been together?
You fidget in your seat, staring out a window.
Far too long, the answer comes back to you like a nefarious whisper. You should do something about it.
And you do have a plan. Granted, it’s half-baked and needs a dash of liquid courage to work, but nevertheless, it was a plan.
Zayne would be home in exactly an hour, and that was the bulk of time needed for you to get ready.
You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, did your skincare and makeup; there was an attempt to style your locks but you gave up halfway only to let it air dry while you slipped on some silky lingerie. It was his favorite set—black and lacy with a sheer mesh covering the cups that left little to the imagination.
Catching your lower lip in between your teeth, you try to rearrange yourself on the sofa, chest out and hoping your lipgloss hadn’t faded yet; squirming to position your limbs so that it didn’t look like you were a splayed starfish.
The door unlocks, and you hold your breath, a big grin fighting to break through your expression.
Zayne blinks the second he notices you, his doctor's coat bundled up in one arm and the other hand holding his briefcase.
“... Hello?”
You sit up, hoping to God you were at least seductive when you cross your legs, giving him a sweet smile.
“Hello, doctor. Welcome home.”
Those gorgeous green eyes flit to your chest, and his jaw ticks under your scrutiny.
You expect him to at least compliment you, or ask what you were doing in bewilderment. Not say—
“You are going to catch a cold if you keep this up.”
Before you can react, he sets down his briefcase and wraps you in his coat, drawing you to his side.
“Zayne—” you mumble, dismayed. He keeps you tightly to his chest, like you were going to disintegrate without his support anytime soon. “Zayne!” You fight free from his grasp, giving him an exasperated glare.
“Hello? Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just mother henned me!” Pressing your palms flush to his broad pecs, you push him back firmly—exasperatedly. “This is so embarrassing!”
Petering off into a whine, you huff and cross your arms. Missing how his eyes darken ever so slightly at the sight of the skimpy fabric stretching across your tight nipples.
Taking in a deep breath, Zayne fights the urge to throw you over his shoulder and give your ass a firm squeeze (or smack, seeing as how his self-control was steadily declining). You were making it so hard to keep his composure under lock and key. He channels that frustration into a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
“You are single-handedly the most infuriating woman I know on this planet.”
Without warning, he nudges you back, until you’re flush with a wall. He leans forward, and you hold your breath, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw.
“You know other women?”
He can’t fight back an exhaled laugh at your petulant words. “No. Of course, not. None of them can compare to you, my Aurora.”
His minty cool breath fans across the sensitive strip of your neck, drawing goosebumps down your arms.
“You are so infuriating,” he noses the length of your jaw, breathing you in. The heat emanating from his broad chest is overwhelming; it makes you dizzy with lust, thighs squeezing together to alleviate the tension throbbing in between them.
“A menace… you’re impossible to deal with.”
His large, veiny hands grip the fleshy domes of your ass, squeezing them heartily. “Haven’t had you in so long.” Longing coats his every husky exhale. “I miss you so much… but, you aren’t at your peak health, my love. I do not want to hurt you again.”
Zayne’s dizzying warmth distances away from you and you actually cry out softly, grappling onto his shoulders to keep him in place. He gasps, low and taken aback, hips clipping into yours.
“No, please…” you feel your face burning up; never were you this desperate to feel him. “I need you, Zayne. I really, really need you.”
His groan reverberates in his chest, sounding like it came straight from his tortured soul. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”
Strong hands lift you up, pin you right to the wall.
Zayne doesn’t give you any time to breathe. His mouth is on yours, ravenously drinking your moans and mewls.
For a man whose Evol is ice, his hands run ridiculously warm; grabbing at any flesh he can find purchase on—your thighs, ass, breasts—squeezing them firmly.
Fuck, you gasp into his mouth. Oh… Zayne…
The room spins, nothing but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears filling your mind.
He sucks on your bottom lip, desperately rutting his hips into yours. You feel him growing harder against your thigh, straining behind his slacks.
Boldly, your tinier hand rests on his bulge.
Naughty girl, he rasps. You’re asking for trouble now, little one.
A shiver runs up your spine which has nothing to do with his now colder hands running down your sides.
His Evol drops the temperature around the room, a faint glow of blue ice coating his fingertips. He runs those freezing pads down your exposed skin, catching right on the tops of your breasts. Your pelvis. Inner thighs.
You cry out when he teases your mound through the lace with those cold fingers, back arching wantonly.
“I want to see this pussy beg for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see her drip.”
Slowly, like you were a present he was leisurely unwrapping, Zayne pushes down your bra straps, until the cups are barely clinging to your heaving tits. He presses loving kisses down the strip of your throat, stopping shy of your areolas.
Stop teasing me, you whine, and his warm breath caresses your nipples as he exhales a laugh.
I can’t… I’m having too much fun, my Aurora.
He licks and sucks on them until they’re dripping with his spit, achy and tender to the touch. While he loves on your nipples, one hand slips in between your thighs, finding your twitching center.
Zayne eases the seat of your panties out of the way, and you bite down on a whimper when the cool air brushes your swollen clit and damp folds.
“So wet,” he murmurs. One finger drags through the slick mess, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it tenderly.
Proving he was more man than robot like how you always teased him, Zayne slides to his knees and looks up at you with pure devotion.
I’m going to eat you out right now, my Aurora, he whispers. Is that alright with you?
Fuck, yes. You almost scream. He didn’t need to even ask; you were begging for it. His tongue, friction, anything—you swore you were about to die from the anticipation.
Hitching your right leg over his shoulder, he eyes your pussy with a dark look, one which makes you think of a predator cornering his prey.
She’s so pretty, he muses. I wonder if she’s missed me at all.
“Yes,” you breathe into the darkening living room. The blinds are still wide open, streetlights staining his apartment floor a warm, orange glow.
She’s missed you so much, Zayne.
The sight of his pink tongue flitting out to touch the corners of his lips, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow running against the slinky lace, almost makes you explode.
Prying your panties crotch to the side with his teeth, Zayne breathes in your scent, his perfect nose pressed right to your glistening cunt.
“Good,” he mumbles to himself. “Because I’ve missed her like crazy, too.”
His tongue running through your folds catches you by surprise, your cry rebounding across the room.
If it weren’t for his strong grip around your thighs and waist, you would’ve melted to the floor like a snow draft on a hot summer’s day. Zayne held you up as he ate you out; lips and tongue giving you the sweetest friction you had been dreaming of.
You’re so worked up, he breathes in between sinful licks. Zayne mouths your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was made for this. There’s nothing but the wet sounds of his mouth on you; his tongue flattens, and you drag your clit over it, hips twitching, getting yourself off.
His cock twitches and he knows he would be the one to swallow his own words; how he wants to get you dripping when he’s the one leaking in his pants like a horny teenager.
Fuck, fuck, Zayne mumbles, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. He bites on the plush flesh, loving how you tense and squeal.
His teeth grazes the sensitive flesh, making you flinch. You’re so responsive, it’s making him heady.
Deep groans well from his broad chest, and you swell with pride. Only you had the power to make the reserved, stoic, measured Zayne go crazy on your taste.
And he duly gives you the credit you deserve.
“You drive me insane,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin.
It’s intimate—how he’s looking at you. Those thick, black lashes that frame his perfect emerald eyes lowering; lust pooling in their depths.
Zayne’s lips are puffy, coated with your juices. There’s a light pink dusting on the high of his cheeks.
“Are you alright?” he mumbles softly, running those large hands you love up and down your thighs.
You nod, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Zayne,” softly, you voice your need. “Can you please fuck me?”
How polite. He fights back a smirk, lowering your right leg back to the ground, giving your inner thigh a soft kiss.
He stands back to his full height, towering over you. His sheer size makes your heart quicken, and your back presses flush to the wall, anticipation right in your throat.
But, he’s gentle, as he always is, when he takes your hands, pressing them to his chest.
“Undress me first, my Aurora.”
A stern command wrapped in silk—I won’t touch you until you show me how much you want it.
Your shaky hands move to his shirt, tugging on it until those pesky white buttons loosen. Scars line his chest and pecs, each of them a road your tongue, lips and fingers have explored. Down his stacked torso, more of those white indents make a home on his skin, and you briefly touch them, grazing your fingers on the happy trail leading right to his defined ‘V’.
The buckle of his belt goes next. You slip it off, working on his slacks and underwear. Zayne silently watches, not giving a reaction. He loves this part; how you huff and warmth surges on your cheeks—hating how much of a tease he was.
But, you’re always an obedient little thing for him.
You would do as he said, knowing the rewards that lie behind these slight humiliations.
He shrugs his shirt and pants off, and you’re already on him.
Fumbling in the cocooning darkness, your lips paint over his collarbone and neck, right to his jaw. Zayne leans down, kisses you fully on your mouth as he lifts you back into his arms.
Swiftly, your legs wrap around his narrow waist, and he brings you straight to the couch; too impatient for the bedroom.
Your back meets the soft surface, a cushion haphazardly arranged underneath your head so you didn’t have to strain your neck.
The mastermind has thought of it all. Your musings were cut short when he unhooks your bra, a deft, fluid motion with little to no fumbling. A surgeon’s hands surely were the steadiest.
But, they trembled lightly when he plucked at the band of your thong, gently tugging it down your thighs.
Beautiful, he whispers, half to himself.
Zayne, please. You twine your fingers in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours. Feeling his warm breath on your lips. Don’t keep me waiting.
Hold on, beautiful. Zayne slots himself in between your legs, letting them rest around his waist. He grips your left thigh, hooking it on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to give your plush calf a kiss. His cock catches your attention, fully hard and glistening with pre-cum. Like his physique, it was girthy and thicker; imposing and intimidating.
Will it fit inside of me after so long…?
A bead of his excitement pearls on his tip, rolling down the impressive shaft. You smear it across his tip with your thumb, not missing how he shivered.
“I’ll go slow, darling,” he mumbles, locking your fingers with his, drawing your hands above your head and keeping it there with one hand. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
He kisses you fully on your parted mouth, drinking in your hitched gasp. I love you, my Aurora.
Giving his cock a few strokes, he lines it right to your drooling hole, dragging his tip through your folds to prime you up.
The thickness of him breaches past your tight opening, and you cry out, back arching. Zayne shushes you, focused on not splitting you open too fast.
Shit, you’re tight, he hisses. I may not be able to hold myself back, my Aurora.
You shake your head, glossy eyes making something in his chest twinge. Don’t—let me feel you entirely, Zayne.
“Almost,” he mumbles, and you feel the glorious stretch; how it burns in the best way.
The sounds falling from your mouth were much too lewd, easily heard past the thin walls; though at this rate, you didn’t care who would complain.
He breathes hard, sweat bulleting down his forehead. Finally, with one push, he’s fully sheathed inside of you.
The both of you groan in relief, his forehead knocking softly into yours. He lets go of your hands, letting them wound around his broad shoulders.
You bury your face in his neck as he starts to move, tentatively rolling his hips to get you used to him again.
“Taking me so well even after so long,” he breathes hard. “You’re always so perfect for me, aren’t you, my Aurora?”
Mhm, your slurry moan brushes his heated ears.
Falling apart. He was dissolving for you faster than snow under the sun.
“I can feel your pretty pussy fluttering around me.” He brushes his lips across your cheeks and nose, those gorgeous heavy lidded emerald eyes sending jolts down your spine. “You really wanted this.”
You can’t do anything but moan for him, pleasure unfurling across your body like a cresting tidal wave.
His hips clipping heavily into yours, the dense sensation of his cock filling you up over and over again, coarse pubic hair catching on your clit—all of it were slowly edging you towards the biggest release of your life.
He fucks you slower this time, wanting to draw out the moment.
Weeks of separation and anxiety were condensed within this singular moment; thick gasps flowing from his mouth into yours and back again, filling the air with an unbearable tension.
I love you, he repeats again, figuratively and literally drilling his devotion into your lax body. I love you so much, my Aurora.
My Aurora. Mine.
His.
Zayne’s possessiveness leaves you reeling, overwhelming your senses. He was right, as he always was; you belonged to him, body, heart and soul. Every beat of your heart, every trembling breath—it was all his.
Only he could fuck you this good; this deep. Only he could make you tremble from such an onslaught of emotion and sensation.
His thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue; your lips hollowing around it, sucking on his digit like you would his cock.
Good girl, he rumbles, removing his thumb and replacing it with his index and middle finger. So good for me—you’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you?
Yours, you mewl, mouth and voice thick with his digits. All yours, Zayne.
The pressure builds—reaching a fever pitch. All of it piles up; heady breaths, sloppy thrusts, his moans and groans slurred into your hair.
He moves his mouth to your throat; sharp sting of his teeth blends with his murmured praises. But, you can’t focus on anything beyond his cock pumping inside of you, the mess he’s fucking out of you. It smells like sex in this room; musky and heady.
The couch is shaking, clawed feet dragging across the floor. Somewhere in your foggy mind, it registers that his downstairs elderly neighbor would surely be storming up to confront him. But, no distractions exist when you’re in the circle of his arms.
He probably wouldn’t even hear her knock over your keening moans.
Something about Dr. Zayne—the meticulous, righteous Dr. Zayne—ignoring someone’s distress because he was too busy fucking you, makes the taut string of your impending orgasm snap.
Good girl, he whispers; groans when he feels your nails stab into his shoulders. Doing so good for me. Generous hands grip your ass, lifting your back slightly off the sofa. Can you give me another one?
His selflessness would be the death of you. Zayne hadn’t even cum once—too focused on your needs.
Your head lolls back, feathery moans tainting the air with pure sin. Your thighs spread further, taking him deeper.
“Zayne…”
“My Aurora?”
He groans softly when you glide your tongue over the shell of his ear, breathily moaning, “Can you please cum for me?”
Strong shivers wrack his body; his sharp mind drawing a blank.
“Please,” you mouth his pulse point, drawing your hands back to his hair to give his dark locks a tug. “Give it to me, please… wanna feel you all hot and pulsing inside of me.”
Fuck, he bites your shoulder, thrusts growing sloppier. Fuck, fuck—
He’s been holding back on you; not wanting to hurt you when you wanted it to hurt.
You wanted the heat, the overwhelming need. Whining, you whimper please, please, please, over and over again.
Give me your cum, Daddy.
That does it. Zayne grits his teeth, a lusty groan of pain and ecstasy brushing against your neck. His cum fills you up steadily, first in spurts, then a fulfilling warmth which coats your walls, drawing deeper into your body with every pulsing contraction; a mini release set off by his own.
He slumps over you, skin growing cooler to the touch. You glide your fingertips over his sharp shoulder blades, feeling frost coating your fingers. They melt instantly at your touch, leaving your skin damp with both sweat and the residue of his Evol.
Zayne shudders, rubbing his cheek against your jaw and neck like a sated beast.
You twitch your hips, and he pulls out slightly; the fullness of him unplugging and dribbling down to join the mess of both your releases onto the couch.
He stays deep inside of you, lips tangled with yours; the both of you unable to let the other go.
“Are you alright?” he asks into the afterglow. You squirm a little, feeling his softening cock twitch.
“Mhm hmm,” you flash him a satisfied smile and he fights back a chuckle. You wiggle your butt, biting on your bottom lip. “I love how full I feel of you right now.”
Zayne squeezes your hips, an exasperated and exhausted smirk gracing his perfect mouth. “Little minx.”
He holds your cheek, smoothes his thumb over your lower lip.
“You do know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”
His face is hazy, eyes soft and full of love in the faint light.
You rest your palm on the back of his hand, melting into his warmth with your eyes half closed and a small smile lifting the corners of your lips.
“Perhaps.”
You don’t give him time to recover from your quip, flipping him over, both of you still connected from base to tip.
Zayne doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw beauty held in one person before; how your skin glowed in the muted orange glow, pretty eyes filled with a passionate ruin.
“But, if you let me take care of you this time, Dr. Zayne, I might be inclined to believe so.”
His hands span across your lower back, smoothing down your hips.
“Anything,” he mumbles hoarsely, an accessory to your seduction. “Do anything you want to me, my Aurora.”
You mumble his name, honeyed with devotion and lust.
And Zayne doesn’t care how many times fate would push you two away; like the tide to the sea, he would always come back for you.
As many times as it would take. For as long as he could.
“I love you, Zayne,” you whisper, tinier palms pressed to his chest; taking your turn to fuck him.
And he knows you would do it again, too; go through it one more time for him. It was the nature of your love—a push and pull as old as the sea tides.
But this time—most definitely—he makes a firm vow that it would be the very last time you were taken away from him.
— it is safe to say i am insane over this man i fear. reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!
©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform
#🦢 writes#zayne love and deepspace#zayne angst#zayne smut#zayne x reader#zayne x you#love and deepspace
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rafe or jj request!
his girl gets into a minor car accident and she calls him because she needs him.
maybe while he’s away for work or after they got into a fight — honestly anything angsty where he takes care of her 🤍 love your writing xx
jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (car accident, blood, stitches.)
thankyou baby!!! hope this is okay, i’m sick atm so not got a whole lot of energy to put into finding out info and stuff so i tried to rush past the hospital side of things😭
︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶
You’d never gone this long without talking to your boyfriend; three days. You felt ridiculous at this point, but at the same time your point had been valid. You and JJ hadn’t gotten to spend any time together over the last few weeks, not since he started this ridiculous treasure hunt with John B and his other friends.
It wasn’t that you weren’t friends with the Pogues, you were, but not close enough to be involved. You’d tried, and even Kiara had invited you over with them a couple times too, but JJ always said no. It was dangerous, he’d say. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d enjoy — and maybe he was right. Except, not getting to be apart of it meant you didn’t see him, and your final straw was when he was late to your anniversary dinner.
That was three days ago, and you hadn’t spoken since. The blowout had been crazy, you accused him of not putting in enough effort and he went on the defence and said you were being dramatic, that this was for John B. You understood that, you did, but you hadn’t gotten in this relationship to be second place.
Kiara ended up drinking too much at a kegger, and you had the honour of going to pick her up and drive her home. You were on your way back to your place, still wearing just your pyjama pants and one of JJ’s shirts, when a car swerved around the corner and hit right into you. Your head smacked against the wheel and you groaned in pain, pressing your fingertips to the place you felt blood oozing from.
“Shit, shit! Are you okay?” There was a girl banging on your window, whilst also turning back to the car and yelling at the boy behind the wheel.
“I’m fine,” you groaned, you didn’t feel fine. You felt dizzy and nauseous, your neck ached and your head hurt even worse.
“You’re bleeding pretty bad, let’s get you to the hospital and then we’ll deal with insurance.”
She drove you to the hospital in her car, leaving yours on the side of the road. She gave you her details and then left, leaving you alone in the chemically smelling place with blood covering your face. You got seen almost immediately, they needed to check for a concussion or brain damage. You did have a concussion, and you had to get stitches.
“Do you have anyone you can call, sweetheart?” The nurse asked you once she’d finished up.
“Yeah,” you nodded. You didn’t care that you were mad at JJ, you needed him right now. You pulled your phone out and dialled his number, praying he’d answer.
“Hello?” He sounded irritated, he’d probably put it on just to talk to you.
“JJ?” A wave of emotion hit you, your voice coming out shaky.
“Hey, you okay?” The irritation washed away, he sounded worried now. Worried and guilty; he probably thought you were crying over him, maybe you were.
“I’m— I’m in the hospital, can you come and get me,” you croaked out, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve.
“What?” He exclaimed. You could hear him rustling about, presumably trying to find the keys to the Twinkie. “What’dya mean, baby? What happened?”
“I got in an accident,” you explained quietly. “A car came out of nowhere, I hit my head on the wheel.”
He cursed under his breath, the sound of the door slamming closed came through the phone as he ran outside the Chateau. You could hear the engine to the camper-van start up, spluttering to life.
“Gonna be there soon, alright sweetheart? Want me to stay on the phone?” He offered gently, although you could hear the anger in his voice that he was trying to hide.
“Yeah,” you agreed quietly.
JJ talked to you as he drove, telling you how much he loved you, how sorry he is for not being there with you. You weren’t really listening, to focused on the pain you felt in your head and the anxiety over being in the hospital. It didn’t take long for JJ to be walking into the room, a worried expression on his face as he knelt down in front of you and held your face gently in his hands.
“Hi, baby,” he greeted softly, eyes scanning the stitches just above your eyebrow. “How many did y’have to get?”
“A few,” you murmured, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “How bad does it look?”
He shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “Still hot as hell, baby. Don’t gotta worry about that.”
JJ spoke to the doctor, booking an appointment for you to come in and get your stitches out, and the two of you left. You complained about your car and having to go and get it, but he reassured you it would still be there in the morning; “the thing’s a piece of junk, no one’s gonna want to steal that.”
He took you to the Chateau, instantly dragging you into his bedroom before John B could see you and go protective-mode over the stitches. He figured that would just give you a headache, and that was the last thing you needed right now.
“C’mere, honey,” he murmured, opening his arms for you to crawl into. You wanted to be stubborn, continue with your fight and refuse, but you didn’t have the energy. You laid on his chest, his arms tightening around you. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I should’ve been there, if we weren’t in this stupid fight I would have.”
“It’s not your fault, Jayj,” you soothed, reaching up to stroke his messy hair.
“I’m really sorry, about the other night,” he said quietly, voice emotional. “I— I fucked up so bad, baby, I know I did. You mean everything to me, fuckin’ everything. If you want me to drop this whole thing, I will. I’ll tell John B I can’t be apart of it anymore.”
You forced yourself to sit up, his hands guiding you as if you were made of glass. “I never said I didn’t want you to do it, JJ. I just never get to see you anymore. I miss you, that’s all. I don’t get why you won’t let me be apart of it.”
“It’s dangerous—”
“You’ve said that. I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I want to join in. I want to be with you and your friends. I want to be apart of your life, not on the sidelines,” you explained, crossing your legs.
He hesitated, the room silent for a few moments before his arms wrapped around your waist and dragged you back into his arms. “Okay. Next time we go on another mission you can come. If you promise to stick by me.”
“Mission?” You snorted, earning a swat on the thigh.
“Shut up. I’m serious, promise me?” He urged, although a small smirk played on his lips.
“I promise,” you nodded, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Already got stitches, what’s a few more?”
“That’s not funny, dude!”
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Drive to survive. Leah Williamson x F1!Reader
Part 1. Part 2.
“ Leah, Leah is watching, she is probably scared “ you thought again as you were drifting off. You gathered all your strength, unlocked the steering wheel, and got out of the car. As soon as you stood on the ground you felt dizzy again, but lucky for you a paramedic caught you in time and directed you to an ambulance. You turned your head to where your car is to find the back of it in flames.
You got on the ambulance, they closed the door behind you, you took off your helmet and breathed real air for the first time. With that breath all the adrenaline came rushing again to your brain. “ Silverstone is done, you lost any real chance at winning this year, your career in F1 might be over.” you thought. This provoked you to have a panic attack.
“ Ma'am it's going to be okay. You survived the crash and it seems like you don't have any dangerous injuries.” Said the paramedic in an effort to calm you down.
When you got to the hospital, you were rushed to a room. A nurse helped you take off your race suit and replace it with a hospital gown. When the doctor came, he did a few tests and informed the members of your team that were now in the hospital with you that you only had a concussion and that all you needed was rest.
You hadn't talked yet. Your mind kept on going to the aftermath of the crash. If you hadn't been so deeply in love with Leah you would have burned in the fire.
“ Where is Leah?” You ask your assistant.
“ She is in the hotel, she left the garage after the crash.” She replied.
“ I want her here.” You demanded.
“ Okay.” She said as she stepped out to call for her.
You waited for about 30 minutes until you heard a knock on the door. She was wearing the same white suit she did in the paddock. Her eyes were puffy and red and there was clear evidence of crying on her face. As soon as you two made eye contact she ran to kiss you. The kiss was passionate, soft, sweet and needy. It resembled the kisses you saw in movies. As you two kissed you felt a tear on your cheek. The tear was hers.” Hey I am fine. I only have a concussion. I survived.” You say as your fingers wipe the tears from her face.
“ You crashed and screamed for help on the radio, then there was fire and you didn't get out.” she said with her voice broken.
“ You know what got me out. It was you. As soon as I thought of you I got out. You saved me Leah.” You replied.
Leah continued to cry as you held her. You whispered how much you loved her in her ear as she layed on your chest.
You stayed in the hospital overnight for monitoring and so did she. And the next day you went to your house.
You were in your bed watching yourself getting out of a burning car on the news when you were writing your statement to the press. Once you were done you called your parents and texted your friends and your team confirming that you were okay.
“ An omelet, avocado and toast, some fruit and coffee.” Said Leah as she entered the bedroom with a plate full of food.
“ I thought you couldn't cook.”
“ I didn't make this but it looks delicious.”
You two had breakfast together and watched the news.
“ I think I might quit.” You said.
“ You can't.” Answered leah. “ What you went through is traumatic, and it will take a long time for you to recover from it. But you need to push through. This is everything you wanted and worked for. you need to keep going not only for you but for the thousands of girls looking up to you. And yes I know that I will always be scared when you enter that car but I know that that is something you love and I will learn to love it too.”
“This is why I fell in love with you.” You said jokingly.
“ I thought you said my fingers were the reason you fell in love with me.”
“ No, it's your strap.”
“ Speaking of strap, I think it's time for a reward since you escaped death for me.”.
“ I love you.”
“ I love you too.”
—----------
25 days later.
“ Italy, home of Ferrari, but this year they are not the main thing the media is talking about. This year the woman who walked away from fire is the center of all the media attention. She is back and ready to have another go at winning her first race. She has talked about the highs and lows of her coming back journey and the difficulties she found in driving that Mercedes car again. But she has worked her way through it all. The number six is now written on her car, on her helmet, and on her tracksuit. We do not know what it means but she said it is the reason she is driving again. Stay tuned for what could be a historic race.”
#woso#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso request#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson fanfic#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson#leah Williamson angst#leah williamson fluff#leah williamson x you
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Lost
Leah Williamson x Child!R
Warnings: Mentions of traumatic birth
Notes: based of this request, ended up only being a blurb, so kind of short but I hope it's still okay and you all enjoy. 720 words
You were walking with your Mummy when you found yourself at an end, turning around to see where she wanted you to go. But she wasn’t there. You’d lost your Mummy and now you were lost too, everyone was speaking a different language to you, tears started to well in your eyes, and your chest felt heavy. You wanted your Mummy, you just wanted to be up in her arms and having cuddles like you did every game, except now you were lost and no one spoke the same as you.
“Leah, what's going on?” Georgia asked as she walked into the tunnel, seeing the visibly upset blonde surrounded by a few of the Arsenal girls. Leah just shook her head before more tears fell from her eyes and she was pulled into a hug by Lia.
“Y/N has accidentally wandered off, would you or any of the Bayern girls happen to know where she went?” Kim said calmly, trying not to stress the blonde out further.
“I’ll go look for her now,” Georgia replied before running off.
“She’ll be okay Le, we’ll find her,” Beth tried to reassure her friend.
“It’s my fault, I forgot she was walking in front of me and I was pulled away for an interview, she could be gone, she-” “She will be okay, but if you don’t starting taking some actual breaths you’re going to pass out,” Steph interjected stopping Leah’s spiralling.
“Georgia, is this Williamson’s kid? I was just about to call you to ask, I noticed her bracelet and it has her name on it, I’m assuming she is. I think she got lost,” Magda rambles as you stand next to her, tears streaming down your face.
“Yes it is, thank you,” Georgia says as she walks towards you, the bracelet being the only thing she could see, clearing her head she picks you up, and starts to take you to Leah.
Georgia hates that bracelet, it’s a reminder of probably the scariest day of her life, she knows it’s medically important but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. Georgia was meant to be visiting Leah when she received a panicked phone call from Alex. Leah’s waters had broken and she was in a world of pain, rushing her to the hospital Alex had called Georgia, knowing she was coming over soon, telling her not to come, however Georgia insisted she would go to the hospital, in case either of them needed her. At the hospital Leah was pumped full of drugs, both trying to speed up your development and slow down Leah’s labour, however you were only born 30 minutes later, at 32 weeks, you were quickly taken away and up to the NICU, it was when Alex finally felt like she could relax and breath, that Leah started to shiver as she lost all her colour, before just about every monitor in the room was going off, Leah was haemorrhaging. Alex was quickly sent to the waiting room where she found Georgia, they both anxiously waited on news, not knowing whether it would be good or bad.
Although Georgia hates that day, she would relive it everyday if it meant Leah could keep you. You were Leah’s world, and she adored you. You were like Leah’s own personal sunshine and Georgia isn’t sure whether Leah would’ve been able to get through her ACL without you.
-
“Oh, there you are,” Leah sighs of relief as she takes you into her arms.
“Mummy,” you whimpered as you buried your head in her neck, “You left me,”
“I’m sorry baby bear. I promise I would never leave you on purpose. I just-” Leah let out a heavy sigh as she held you tighter, “I’m so sorry, I love you so much,” she admits, taking in a deep breath, feeling herself calm down now she has you back.
“Let’s go back to the hotel and have cuddles,”
“Cuddles and dinner,”
“Absolutely,” Leah nods before walking to the bus with you in her arms, Lia trailing behind.
The portacot Leah had spent an embarrassing amount of time setting up this morning was long forgotten as she climbed into her bed cradling you in her arms, your head laid against her shoulder as your soft puffs of air hit her collar bone.
#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso x reader#awfc x reader#arsenal women x reader#arsenal wfc imagine#arsenal wfc x reader#leah williamson x r#leah williamson fanfic#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson x reader#georgia stanway imagine
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Passing Shadows | Leah Williamson
Summary: You’re a nurse and your job gets a little too much so your fiancé, Leah, helps you do a different career.
Notes: this isn’t my favourite one-shot but it was too cute not to post. I also put a lot of work into it to scrap it <33
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Your footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hospital corridor. The night shift had been gruelling, and your eyes drooped with exhaustion. You longed for the warmth of your bed, the soft embrace of your pillow and Leah’s arms. As you pushed open the heavy exit door, you knew that Leah’s day was just beginning whilst yours was ending.
You were a nurse down at the local hospital in the emergency room. You mostly worked night shifts, they began at 8pm and ended at 8am. You were always rushed off your feet, you never knew what each day was going to be like.
Whilst you were running around, sorting medicines and scans out for patients, Leah was at home sleeping. Your life’s were far from the same.
You’d been with Leah for six years now, engaged for one and were soon hoping to start the IVF process at some point in the following year. You met Leah when you were a student nurse, you were twenty and Leah was twenty-one when you met.
You and your friends from university had decided to go out one night and that's how you’d met Leah. You were both tipsy and ended up hooking up that night, the next morning you woke up tangled together in the sheets. Ever since then you’d been inseparable. Things happened quickly and before you knew it you were dating and moved in together, you’d never looked back.
You got into your car and placed your bag on the passenger seat, you linked your phone to the car and played your music. You listened to your playlist, one Leah had made for you, as the sun rose above the road ahead of you.
When you arrived at your and Leah’s apartment you set your bag in the hallway, Leah’s football boots and bag were still there so you knew she was still at home.
Leah stood at the over, making you and her some breakfast. "Hey love," Leah smiled, leaving the oven and waking over to you. "Long night?"
You nodded, melting into Leah’s embrace as she pulled you into her chest. "The ER was chaotic, I’m so tired."
Leah's eyes softened. "You did so well, love. I missed you," she confessed, her fingers brushing against your side.
"I miss you too," you whispered. "More than I can say. I feel like we’re spending no time together at the moment.”
Leah's lips curved into a half-smile. "Maybe it’s time we do something about it," she suggested. “You’re burning yourself out, love.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You’d never expected Leah to say it out loud. You’d been dancing around your feelings for months. You knew deep down Leah was right and maybe it was time to do something about it.
You’d been a nurse for four years now and things were getting too much, you didn’t enjoy your job as much anymore. It was time for you to do something else.
Leah let go of you and walked over to the oven, she turned it off before coming back over and picking you up. As she lifted you effortlessly, you clung to her, your heart racing. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, you buried your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent—a mix of vanilla and other scents.
"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice muffled against her skin.
"To the couch," Leah replied softly. "We need to talk. Jonas has let me skip training today, I explained what’s happening, so don’t worry.”
She carried you across the small kitchen and settled you down on the worn-out cushions. The morning light streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on Leah's face. Her expression was serious, yet there was tenderness in her eyes.
"Love," she began, sitting beside you, "I've watched you pour your heart and soul into your work. You're an incredible nurse, but you're drowning. The long hours, the emotional toll, it’s taking a toll on you."
You nodded, tears threatening to spill. Leah understood you better than anyone. She'd been there during your late-night shifts, holding you when you came home exhausted, listening to your stories of life and death in the ER.
"I can't keep doing this," you admitted. "I need a change."
Leah's fingers traced patterns on your thigh. "What do you want, then? What would make you happy?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. You thought about the dreams you'd buried—the baking classes you'd abandoned, the travel plans postponed indefinitely. The desire to create, explore, and live beyond the hospital walls.
"I don’t know," you shrugged as Leah drew patterns on your knee, “I just want to be with you. I want us to go back to how we were.”
Leah's smile was soft and understanding. "You loved to bake when I met you, your cookies were out of this world.”
A soft laugh escaped past your lips, “I always dreamed of owning a bakery like my Nanna.
Growing up your Nanna Olive owned her very own bakery, it was called Olive’s Bakery and you used to spend your weekend there up until the age of sixteen. She passed a few months after you turned sixteen and even though you begged your parents to keep the bakery, they sold it. Your heart broke and since then your baking slowly stopped.
“You should open a bakery," She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours. "I’ll help you and I’m sure Beth, Viv, Katie, Jen and the other girls will too."
Her kiss was a promise—a promise of change, of love, of a future beyond the ER. And as you melted into her, you knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful.
You nodded, a smile written over your face now replacing the frown, “Owning a bakery would be better for when we start our own family.”
Leah giggled, “It would be,” she agreed, “wouldn’t have to worry about you and our baby all night long.”
“You’re such a stress-head, Mrs Williamson.” You laughed, cupping Leah’s face and pulling her closer to you.
She pecked your lips, “Can’t help it that I’m so in love with my wife, Mrs Williamson. Now let’s get you to bed, get you some rest.”
You didn’t protest when Leah scooped you up from the couch and carried you into your bedroom, instead you melted into her arms and let her take care of you. You let her pull back the sheets and tuck you in before crawling into bed beside you.
Just over a year later you were living your dream. A few days after that conversation with Leah you handed in your two week notice and left nursing behind you for good. After that you took a few months off and spent some well needed time with Leah and your families, you began to find yourself again.
You began the starting process to open your own bakery after you and Leah returned from your trip to Rome to celebrate your seven year anniversary together, one that wasn’t spent working for the first time in over four years. You viewed a couple buildings with Leah but nothing felt right until one night you were laid in bed and made a discovery.
“Leah!” You screamed, despite the blonde being sat beside you.
Leah jumped out of her own skin, “Jesus woman!” She laughed, “No need to shout, love. What's wrong?”
“I can’t believe this!” You grinned, staring down at your phone, “Nanna Olive’s old bakery building has come up for sale and I’ve just been asked if I want to buy it!”
Happy tears formed in your eyes as you flipped your phone round to Leah’s view, “This is literally perfect, Le!”
Leah leaned over and kissed you lips before wrapping her arm around your stomach, “Love that’s amazing! Are you going to buy it?”
You nodded, “Yeah I am, it’s fate.”
You placed an offer and less than 24 hours later it was accepted, you cried your eyes out when you found out. A week later you’d already started renovating the building, you tried your hardest to get it as close as possible to what it was like when you were a teenager with the help of Leah and the Arsenal girls.
Two months later and the bakery was finished, it looked and felt exactly like it did when you were sixteen despite it being ten years later. You began to figure out recipes and after many failed attempts you finally sorted a menu out, most of the baked goods came from the book of recipes your Nanna Olive had passed down from to you.
A month later and it was opening day. Opening day was a nerve racking experience for you, you just wanted to make everyone proud and you did just that. Leah and all of the Arsenal girls turned up for your opening day as well as all of your family and friends. Customers hurried in and out and six months later you were the go to bakery in town.
As you began to close down the bakery for the evening, the bell chimed above the door. You stopped wiping the counters and turned around to see Leah standing there. She had her football bag in her hand and a soft smile written over her face.
You rounded the counter and walked over to Leah, putting your arms around her neck. You brought her in for a kiss, “Hi my love, how was training?”
“It was good,” she pecked your lips as her hands trailed down your hips before finding your bump. “How are my girls?”
You were currently twenty three weeks pregnant with Leah and yours first child. A daughter to be precise.
“Our girl is doing just fine,” you whispered, your voice filled with love and anticipation. “She’s strong, hasn’t stopped kicking all day, reckon she’s going to be a footballer just like her Mumma.”
She chuckled, her breath warm against your cheek. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Leah smiled as she felt your daughter kick against her hand. “God, they are strong kicks!”
With the help of Leah, you finished closing down the bakery. You both ended up snacking on some leftover cookies and lemonade before making your way home.
As you laid in bed that night, Leah’s arms wrapped around you, she kissed your forehead, “I’m so proud of you y’know? What you’ve done over the past year is amazing.”
You smiled at her, “Thank you, love. I couldn’t have done it without you and everyone around us. If it wasn’t for that night I'd probably be stuck nursing still.”
And there, in the quiet darkness, you both drifted off to sleep. You fell asleep in Leah’s arms, something a year ago you would’ve yearned for all night long. Now you didn’t need to because you had the life you’d always dreamed of.
#leah williamson fluff#leah williamson x reader#awfc x reader#leah williamson imagine#woso x reader#awfc imagine#woso imagine
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I’ve seen so many alive!DBD au’s where Edwin and Charles meet first, or Edwin and Niko/Charles and Crystal meet first, but I raise you: Rich Payne and Surname-Von Hoverkraft families meet first. They are industry RIVALS, okay? They DESPISE each other with a burning passion and trade thinly veiled insults back and forth at every event they meet.
(More under cut cause this shit is atrociously long.)
At first Edwin and Crystal ignore each other or send glares, following their parents lead, but then they get older and Crystal starts acting out to get her parents attention while Edwin starts distancing himself from his. Both of them get the idea of, “What if I get to know the Payne’s/Surname-Von Hoverkraft’s daughter/son? My parents would HATE that.” So a friendship is formed.
In the beginning it’s toxic bitch levels of fake on both their sides, good lord they can’t stand each other. One day Crystal’s drunk off her underage ass and just starts openly venting and Edwin — the always sober guy and no it’s not cause he cares that’s preposterous!! — meets her tit for tat. Because, c’mon. Of course they’d drop random trauma on each other like fun facts.
Anyways they’re proper friends now, still appear the same — arguing is their love language — but there’s a level of solidarity now. Insert Edwin getting sent off to St. Hilarion’s for another year — Crystal threatens him to write her back per usual — and his classmates pull the prank. Not sure what 73 years in hell would be here, I’ve seen so many interpretations but I think kidnapping and torture is accurate.
While that’s going on Crystal gets a new boyfriend at her school. Any guesses?? She writes Edwin about David and Edwin does not hold back, he’s part of the reason Crystal tries to break up — it doesn’t go well, not sure how yet — and she writes Edwin about what happened craving comfort. Usually postal’s pretty fast, they aren’t that far, but she doesn’t get a response one day in. Two. Three… She finds out her best friends been kidnapped AFTER a news article has been released.
Turns out her parents knew the entire time but neglected to tell her. Crystal stops speaking to them. It’s 73 days later before she gets anymore news outside of, “The Police Are Still Looking”, and it comes in the sign of a knock. She hadn’t got much sleep that night — didn’t most nights — so she’d been wandering around her kitchen aimlessly. (As you do.) When she heart a soft rap on her front door. Curious, and too tired to care about danger or consequence, she opens the door.
Crystal doesn’t recognize him at first, he’s shivering and there’s so much blood on his- his everywhere but then a very weak voice croaks, “Crystal.” She screams. And sobs. Because what else do you do when your friend had to escape himself after 73 days of captivity and torture and the first safe place he could think to go wasn’t the police, or hospital, but you? Her parents are awoken by her scream and come rushing down because what the fuck is going on? And it’s all a blur from there — she refuses to leave his side and Edwin clings to her like a limpet.
It takes awhile of recovery and physical therapy — and regular therapy — after that but Crystal is holding his hand nigh every session, she’s there to bring him books and bicker and provide a sense of normalcy. Crystal forgets David for awhile, the only one to occupy her thoughts being Edwin because she knows he’d do the exact same. The two also get the satisfaction of watching their parents actually try to be amiable after this, it’s so stilted and awkward and they revel in it. And, yes, the tabloids somehow get ahold of the fact that kidnapped Edwin Payne fought his way to the Surname-Von Hoverkraft’s doorstep instead of literally anywhere else. Rumors pop up about his and Crystal’s relationship and the two make a teir list of their favs and least favs. Secret love child/half-siblings is their favorite, secretly dating isn’t even on the board they hate it so much.
College!!! The two decide against anything super fancy. And by that I mean they move to America together to find some community college to go to because neither want to be reliant on their parents who took a whole ass kidnapping to pay attention to them. Anyways, they share a flat above Tongue & Tail butcher shop with Jenny as their landlord. Crystal works as a freelance artist and tarot card reader (She’s really good.) while Edwin works as the librarians — Maxine’s — assistant.
Charles and Niko meet differently, Niko’s actually advertising her need for a roommate and Charles — who also moved to America to get away from his dad — takes it up. Fast friends don’t have a thing on these two. Niko gushes about this pretty girl across from them and Charles is man enough to admit, yeah, their neighbors are pretty fine. Too bad they’re dating.
———
Anyways more highlights of this AU in no particular order:
Crystal and Edwin physically recoil when Niko says something like, “Wait, I thought you two were dating?” Edwin puts his hand to his heart, too stunned to speak. Crystal fake gags and goes, “Why does everyone think that?! HE’S GAY!!”
Edwin discovers his sexuality at one of the clubs Crystal drags him to when Thomas King — older then them by a few years — flirts with him and he Panics™️. Crystal drags him away with a scathing look toward Thomas and asks if Edwin’s okay. He blurts out, “I- I’m gay?!” and Crystal goes, “You didn’t know??!?”
David tracks Crystal down to America and it’s a whole thing for obvious reasons, also because she forgot to tell Edwin about it in full — too busy helping him. This is how Crystal’s abusive ex trauma gets aired. (Charles maybe reveals some shit about his dad here too.)
Edwin and Niko go on a little faux-date together — cafe, library, just a chill day and night out — but Edwin leaves his flip phone at home and Niko’s dies. (Yes he has a flip phone.💀💀) So Crystal’s panicked as shit, last time she couldn’t contact him he was literally KIDNAPPED and TORTURED. Charles tries to calm her down before simply offering to wait up with her. When Niko and Edwin get back Crystal breaks down like, “You can’t DO that!!” This is how Edwin’s kidnapping and torture trauma gets aired.
Charles has a near death experience at St. Hilarion’s a few days after Edwin’s kidnapping. Turns out they went at the same time but Charles was a year under him and they ran in very different social circles. He gets chucked into the freezing lake and stoned still but a teacher catches them all and sends him to the hospital.
Niko’s dad died and her mom sent her to America to get away from the sadness, she caught a really bad illness and also almost died. Charlotte Knight was her Nurse. (Unrelated but she has Poliosis, which turns parts of your hair white.)
Esther is a serial killer and uses her son, Monty, to lure people in. Very brain washed Monty here sorry guys. She kidnaps Edwin who has several trackers on him — after the Niko Night Out incident Crystal and Edwin spent a night sewing them into each others coats and shoes — and the police arrest Esther and Monty.
Payneland and Palasaki of course, but this would probably be focused on Edwin and Crystal’s friendship. Yes, Niko and Charles get a shovel talk. “You know I adore you Niko and whilst I do not think you’d intend any harm, I will have to do something drastic in the event that it happens.” “Okay listen here dipshit. I have full faith you won’t hurt Edwin but if you do, intentionally or not, I will have to castrate you.”
There’s more I forgot lmfao, this is too long already😭😭 If I made any spelling mistakes no I didn’t
#tetris belies it’s wisdom upon thee#DBDA#dead boy detectives#edwin payne#crystal palace surname von hoverkraft#charles rowland#niko sasaki#jenny green#the night nurse#cat king#esther finch#monty finch#using that tag from now on#payneland#palasaki
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Please just the team telling r about HOW MUCH OF A SOFT SPOT AARON HAS FOR THEM like god he’s literally such a grouch to Morgan and prentiss but he kisses the ground you walk on and they’re like BESTIE GET A GRIP HES WRAPPED AROJND YOUR FINGER bc reader is convinced he doesn’t share their feelings and he’s just being polite </3
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
“Guys, please stop. You’re giving me false hope,” you sighed, dropping your hands on your lap. “I know you’re only trying to make me feel better, but honestly this is making me feel worse.”
“False hope? Sweetheart, the man is in love with you,” Derek said.
“No, he’s not.” You pouted.
You regretted ever telling your friends about your crush on Hotch. What you expected was them making fun of you for it. What you got were daily lectures on how your boss had the hots for you.
“He makes you coffee every single morning,” Emily pointed out.
“He’s just being polite!” you argued.
“We arrive here at the same time every day and he has never made one for me.”
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for this,” you said. “Maybe he thinks you won’t like it the way he makes it. But he knows I do, so that’s why he only does it for me.”
“Okay…” Derek spoke again. His eyebrow was raised, showing he had a very good point to add. “What about when you got hurt last week? It was only a scratch on your cheek but Hotch was ready to drive you to a hospital.”
“Now you’re exaggerating!”
“I saw him cupping your cheeks, it’s true!” Emily exclaimed.
“I also saw that,” Spencer, who had just been observing the conversation, added.
“You too, Spence?”
“Sorry.” He lifted his hands up in defense. “I’m only pointing out what I saw.”
You crossed your arms against your chest. There was no way you’d let them get to you. If you let your heart believe that Aaron had feelings for you then it would break even harder. “He’s like this with all of us.”
Emily moved close to you and took your hand in hers. “No, he’s not,” she said with a smile. “How can you not see it? He looks at you like you’re his sun and stars.”
“We could have an experiment,” Spencer suggested.
“What kind of experiment?”
“Emily got yelled at yesterday for making a mistake during paperwork,” he explained. “I can see you’re preparing a similar report today so you could make on purpose the same mistake as her. Let’s see if he reacts the same way when he sees it. If he yells at you too then that means he treats you the same way he treats all of us. If he doesn’t…then you’re his soft spot.”
“Fine,” you agreed. “Only so you can all finally stop torturing me with this.”
A few hours later, your report was on Hotch’s desk.
“Y/N?”
You heard your name in that warm voice of his and lifted your head to look at him. He was standing at his office door with a smile, certainly not looking like a man about to start yelling.
“Can you please come to my office for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Walking up the stairs to his office, you could feel the stares of your colleagues. Time to prove them wrong, you thought. Even though, you were secretly praying for the opposite.
“What do you need me for?” you acted naive.
“I was just looking at your report,” he said, sitting down on his chair. “And-”
“Oh no, did I make a mistake?”
“No, it’s nothing important!” he rushed to reassure you. “It’s just some little thing. I only wanted to show you so you know the correct way to do it from now on.”
There was a sweet smile on his face. His voice was soft and not at all angry.
“Come on, let me show you.”
It didn’t feel scary to go close to him. So you did.
It was a bit hard to pay attention to him explaining your mistake, since you were staring at his fingers brushing the paper in front of you. It didn’t matter anyway, your mistake wasn’t an accident at all.
“Okay?” he asked when he was done.
“Okay. I’m really sorry, Hotch,” you said, giving him your best puppy eyes. If you were gonna do this experiment, you were gonna do it right. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“Why don’t you come to my office next time you prepare a report like this one? We can do it together, hm?”
“But you’re so busy, I don’t wanna slow you down,” you argued, your heart beating faster and faster as you realized that Aaron wasn’t angry at all with you.
“Nonsense. We’re doing it together next time.”
“Okay,” you said. “Thank you, Hotch.”
Just before you arrived at the door, you heard him calling your name. “Oh and Y/N?”
“Yeah?” you responded, looking back at him.
“The team is right.”
“Right on what?”
He smirked and dropped his gaze back to his papers. “You know what.”
You turned around to exit his office with a huge grin on your face. Sometimes it feels better when you lose.
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Swap your face
I woke up to the sound of a masculine voice above me
"It's good to see you're awake, Mr. Robinson. I'm Dr. Brown. How are you feeling?"
I opened my eyes. Confused by the sudden abundance of bright light. Then I noticed a handsome man in a white doctor's coat.
"What happened?" I asked with a wheezy voice from the dry throat.
"You got into a car crash and have been in this hospital for a few days. All your vitals are stable. What do you remember?"
"I'm not sure to be honest. I remember walking through the school corridor with my friend Archie. Then he told me he would get me home. And then I remember waking up here. Nothing between that."
"Your friend got out of the car crash unharmed and has been visiting you every afternoon. Checking on you. He will be very glad to see you awake."
"Can you... water... please" my throat was hurting from all the sudden talking and now coughing and choking.
It seemed to surprise the doctor. He started nervously looking for something to drink and finally noticed a kettle with tea and a glass. I must have scared him pretty hard cause while he ran to give me the glass he spilled it all on himself. He murmured something and then got me a newly filled glass. He then took of his wet and stained coat.
"Sorry for that. Don't know what got into me. How is your throat? Feeling better?"
I calmed him by speaking up, but he still checked my throat and used his stethoscope. This was the closest to such a hot man touching me I have ever experienced. What a manly face. Such a beautiful beard.
"All looks good. Now, I am leaving for vacation tomorrow and my shift is about to end now. I'll hand over your care to some other doctor, but I promise you they'll take great care of you."
He then rushed out of the room. What I noticed after a while was his coat lying on the chair. Hmmm. Maybe I could try it on, just for fun.
I got out of bed. Took the coat and took it with me to the bathroom. I put it on while looking at myself in the mirror and imagined me looking like him. His wavy hair. Big manly nose. Scratchy beard.
And then. Something started happening. A tingling feeling, turned into a sudden pain and then warmth all over my body. I tried to understand what just happened. But in the blink of an eye my vision change from my reflection to something undistinguishable and then into Dr. Brown.
I stood there mesmerized. And the reflection of Dr. Brown was shocked just the same. My left hand waved and so did his. I opened my mouth and he did the same. I tried to say hello ending up with "Hel.." coming out as a manly sound of the voice of my doctor leaving just a few minutes ago.
Then I took in the dact that I shapeshifted into my doctor. "Holy shit. I'm a doctor now! No. I am a sexy doctor."
No tíme to spare. I turned on the water of the bath in my bathroom. As the water kept filling the bath, I took of the robe. Looked in the mirror again. Nothing changed. With a big smile on my face, I went into the bath. Forgetting that I was full clothed.
"This is so fucking gooood. I am a man. Not a teenager anymore. My new dick was so throbing hard. I held it over my boxers and kept touching and squeezing everything that got in the way of my hand. I just enjoyed the warmth of the water over my manly body.
"Are you ok doctor?" a nurse came in with a surprised look on her face
"What? Ah. Eh. Oh yeah. Everything is fine. I just had to... Do you need me for something right now?" I tried not to explain what I just did to not get myself and Dr. Brown in trouble. Too late I guess
"Ok... well, where the patient from this room is? And then I need you to hand over the paperwork to Dr. Manfeld before you leave for holiday. Also. Your pager, phone and wallet have been found in the intern locker room. "
"Yeah. The... uh... patient woke up and has a visit from his friend. I checked him and his vitals were fine so I told him to take a short walk. I'll give you everything needed you mentioned. And Thank you"
The nurse looked at me strangely and then left.
I got out of the bath. Dried myself a went straight to the locker room. Found clothes wuth the name tag Dr. Brown. Yeah, these clothes fit much nicer than before. I took the belongings and put them in my pants. I stood in front of the mirror a started making goofy faces at myself. "I'm the sexiest doctor with a big cock! I'm gonna cum so hard" I said to my reflection. What made this moment kinda unpleasant was the fact that I didn't notice a bunch pf interns changing behind me.
"Are you feeling ok Dr.?" asked me the hot, tall, shirtless one. Man I have to make them scared of me. I'm their boss after all.
"What are you looking at? Have you finished everything you were supposed to? Or is standing around here and watching me more beneficial?"
They just ran away in fear. Man this is fun. Maybe I could take some of the bigger guys clothes with me just to try if the power still works on other clothes. I put his shir from the locker in my bag and left.
While walking out of the hospital the phone rang. "Yeah, Da.... Brown speaking"
"Dr. You won't believe what happened. We found the patient and he was wandering around and claiming to be you. We got him sedated and in bed. Maybe there will be more neurological damage than you thought? Sorry for the assumption. I'll let the other doctor know. Enjoy your vacation"
"What. The. Fuck. So, not only I shifted into Dr. Brown. He shifted into me as well? So I can basically swap bodies by wearing a piece of clothing with someone? Man. That's brilliant"
I took off my shirt, enjyoing such the view of my chest and proceeded to walk through the alley heading to Archie. He's gonna be mind blown
1 hour later I was standing in Archie's room. Explaining everything. He didn't believe at first, but after saying some stuff only I knew, he believed. I let him touch my new chest, which helped a bit to calm him down.
"That's really cool, bro. So he has your body now in the hospital and you're here in his body. Wow. What do you think that caused it?"
"Don't know and don't really care as long as the power works."
"So you're gonna swap with other people now? How does it work then? Does Dr. Brown turn back into himself or does he change back and your own body will swap with the next person you swap with?"
"Well, how about we find out?"
I took off his shirt he was wearing, smiled and put it on.
A moment of waiting. Then the same feeling as before came and suddenly I was a bit shorter, paler and weaker. In front of me was sitting Dr. Brown with a huge smile on his face.
"Holy shit dude. We can swap bodies with anybody. But you just lost your dream body to me. Don't you want it back?"
"Nah. I wanna explore it from a different point of view now. Besides. I already got a body in mind I can get."
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Bet on it ( Bradley bradshaw x reader ) part one
summary : everyone thought since they were best friend that their kids would be but after some unknown reason bradley bradshaw and y/n mitchell hated each other . after confrontation one night that leaves bradley in a dry spell well the guys make a claim and bradley's willing to bet and prove them wrong all he had to do was get into a relationship with the one person that couldn't stand him .
warning : enemies to lovers, bradley bit of a dick in the start not gonna lie , bet trope , age gap ( ten years hes 38 , she 28 ) this series is gonna be a roller coaster of emotions
They were soulmate platonic where Mav was, goose was not far behind , both mischievous , both good at what they did . best friends til the end of time even if the time was short lived . so naturally people thought it would be the same with their kids and yet they were very wrong. It was like the two were fire and ice constantly going against each other whenever they got close . there was a break she went to med school as bradley was back at top gun only for their secret feud to fire back up when she was transferred to a hospital right in san diego and of course she was able to win the hearts of the dagger squad and her turning up to the hard deck it was his worst nightmare come true . if they weren’t locked in the childish back and forth it was ignoring the other existence all together which honestly their friends preferred and as aggravating as y/n mitchell could be nothing was going to dampen bradley bradshaws mood tonight. He almost floated over to his friends the moment he step into the hard deck . the smile on his face was almost cheek splitting when they all looked at him .
“ guess who got a date with the barista” he flashed his dazzling smile pulling the aviator to perch on his nose .
“ nice even for you chicken” hangman nodded.
“ well bagman you know i could give you some advice , i mean i guess it been a dry spell” he shrugged taking his seat beside phoenix who rolled her eyes and called them both “ disgusting pigs”.
“ yeah i don’t need advice we both now i do well and even better than you” .
“ god you both ever gonna tire of the hook ups “ she groaned .
“ hey this could be best date of my life and she could be the one” bradley smirked.
Before they could even say more the door open and an excited y/n bounded towards them .
“ i pass the interview i passed it” she yelled excitedly.
“ wait the internship in new york?” nat asked unsure of how to feel .
“ yes it’s not til six month from now but in six month i will be heading to big city and studying under the greats of pediatrics “ she excitedly dance in her spot barely even sparing the usually happy man in her wake.
“A date with hot ass woman and she leaving jesus this is my lucky day” rooster felt like crying he was so happy.
“ in six month pornstache … wow playing in the dog park finally worked out good job” she smiled only for jake to lift her up and spin her around .
“Knew you could do it , what i tell you this morning” he chuckled ruffling her hair.
“ not to doubt myself “ she smiled bashfully . “ shit there’s my dad i’ll be back “ she giggled rushing off .
“ or don’t that’s a good option “ rooster smiled.
“ i don’t get why you don’t like her” fanboy mused .
“ because you’ll learn like i did she’ll drop you like that no reason” he rolled his eyes sick of his friend constantly going on about how great she was honestly he thought the same one time and well he learned his lesson .
“ people change or maybe you done something “ jake mused although he may of know more than he let on giving how close he and y/n got over the two years since she came to san diego.
“ day that happens i’ll sell my bronco “ bradley scoffed. “ going to the mens room if my date comes tell her i’ll be out in a minute” .
She stood watching the news sinking in from excitement to straight on nerves . hoping he would show even a hint of happiness for her .
“ it’s great news but we .. i just got you back” he smiled uneasy .
“ it’s only a short flight and i’ll be home for holidays come on dad this is once in a lifetime opportunity i’m literally the youngest and female to be accepted on to this programme “ she almost pleaded with him .
“ how long is it”
“ two years with a chance to stay on in new york or head back to my residency here which i will because it will earn my spot on more paid job and more opportunities it’s only two years and i can visit” she repeated .
“ well i still got you for six months so i better make most of it i am proud of you but your my baby girl too … penny round on me to celebrate my daughters great work” he smiled sadly although he meant it when he said he was proud .
“ i’ll have this one with you next one with the guys “ she smiled .
“ sorry i was suppose to meet someone here and i don’t think i can see him “ a woman called making them turn .
“ who you looking for honey “ penny beamed
“ bradley bradshaw oh god i have the wrong place don’t i “ she chuckled .
“ the wrong man i’d run if i was you” another woman scoffed.
“ you sure he was charming when i met him “ the girls eyes widened .
“ really rooster is great guy , don’t listen cheryl she as bitter as those gins “ y/n smiled .
“ yeah great guy when he and hangman used me as pawn in their who can sleep with most women game , i think i was number 8 made me think i was special never felt the spark like it “
“ she’s drunk really rooster is great , he’s sweet and listens to good music “ y/n defended more although she didn’t know why he was an ass to her all time even though he was one that hurt her all those years.
“ sure look he already over there high fiving his friend “ cheryl smirked as the other girl eyes narrowed before y/n could say anything the woman was barrelling over like a storm .
Now as bradley looked up ready to greet his date what he didn’t expect was the slap across his face or the anger of a bull on her.
“ you bastard i thought .. shit i thought one decent guy out there til that woman set me straight “ she pointed over at cheryl although bradley misread it now he was pissed.
“ whatever she said was crock of shit trust me” he defended.
“ so you and some guy called hangman didn’t have a sleezy contest i will not be a part of delete my number asshole “ was all she said before storming out the bar completely .
“ she has got some nerve” was all bradley said before he storming towards the bar only he wasn’t going for the right person .
“ what the hell is your problem what me being happy isn’t good enough you have to ruin it “ he pulled y/n around as she almost looked shocked.
“ i didn’t … i didn’t do anything” she stuttered out completely confused.
“ yeah you told her about stupid game me and hangman had … do you really like ruining things for me i mean life was great til you showed up here making everyone think your some little sweetheart when in actuality your’re a cold hearted bitch” he scoffed.
“ and you said he was a great guy” cheryl laughed .
“ i guess i was wrong, drop dead rooster “ y/n walked off ignoring everyone’s calls .
“ shit that girl defended you after i told your date what your really like jesus thanks for proving me right”cheryl saunter off playing her bill and leaving .
“ wait wait what “ he froze .
“ rooster what the hell .. you two used to love each other now god your at each others throat but never like that ... i thought you were better than that .. godson or not you talk to her like that again we’re gonna have problems “ mav warned as he headed out the door . leaving bradley looking like biggest dickhead in the hard deck head low and tail between his legs he headed back to the table the guys were bar nat and jake who probably fixing his fuck up .
“ wow harsh man” payback whistled lowly .
“ yeah not my finest moment “ he grumbled .
That sentence was like a mantra on his tongue hell he didn’t want to admit it the dry spell he was having which after his outburst completely extended it first couple of week no girl would even look his way hitting another bust as he headed back to the rest of his squad as y/n sat with jake as far as she could barely even looking his way til she ended up smiling at her phone and bidding the rest a farewell , he didn’t want to admit it but the complete freeze out was worse than before the fact she didn’t even give him a second thought was driving him crazy maybe the dry spell was affecting him more than he thought .
“ guess it was a bust” fanboy smirked.
“ losing your status rooster” javy laughed ,
“ maybe it for the best between him and hangman they going to sleep through san diego or that was case” bob chuckled .
“ now what i would love to see is either of them try a relationship they would fold the second things get serious” payback pointed out .
“ ok first ouch bob i’m nothing like bagman and second i could do serious relationship with any girl “ he stood hand on hips .
“ not any girl “ bob mused .
“ baby on board is right not any girl “ jake leaned against the pool table maybe it was a risk and shit if it ended badly well he would hate it but he could see it , he could see it the moment she walked into the hard deck two years ago .
“ i’d bet my bronco on it “ bradley stood falling into the trap hook line and sinker .
“ you sure you wanna bet on something you’ll lose chicken ?” he goaded willing him to take the bait .
“ fuck it your on bagman name her , point her out” he stood toe to toe with the man .
“ easy y/n “ that damn smile , the cocky one rooster loved to wipe of his face and yet this one was gonna be tough shit did he have it in him. “ you really are a chicken on it “ he had him hook , line
“ your on “ sinker .
A.N : Let me know if you wanna be added to taglist for future parts
#top gun fandom#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x y/n#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x you#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#natasha trace#natasha phoenix trace#robert bob floyd#robert floyd#mickey garcia#mickey fanboy garcia#reuben fitch#reuben payback fitch#javy machado#javy coyote machado#angst with a happy ending#fluff#top gun#pete maverick mitchell#pete mitchell#penny benjamin#hard deck#enemies to lovers#bradley bradshaw x mavdaughter
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Til’ the Day that I Die
Summary: You’re a popstar in need of a bodyguard when you find yourself with a stalker. That’s how you meet Fushiguro Toji, you’re insanely hot bodyguard. Who knows how to push your buttons, and get you feeling flustered. Just how far is he willing to go to protect you? And how far would you go to protect him?
Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x AFAB!Reader
Warnings: (PLEASE READ) mentions of anxiety, serious stalking, panic attacks, language, mentions of knives, some upsetting mentions of unauthorized photographs
Word Count: 4,457
A/N: Here’s the long awaited part two!! Oof this wrote itself!! 😈
Part One Part Three Part Four
“So yeah, that whole conversation you listen to with me telling my manager to tag the hospital in my video because that hospital inspired this song! It was a public service announcement, a reminder to help those who can’t help themselves!” You were fuming with anger at this bodyguard making some cold assumptions about you. One thing you wanted to do was use your stance in the public eye for good. God, you couldn’t stand assholes like him! Dicks who presumed they know everything and anything about you! “And another thing—!”
The next words didn’t have a chance to leave your mouth as the doors to the elevator opened to your apartment. The automatic lights you were so accustomed to being on were now off, which sent shivers down your spine, your sixth sense alerting you that something was wrong. Toji, the one facing forward, could see into your apartment, and he moved it before you even had a chance to look inside. When you asked him what was wrong, he remained silent, only shaking his head as the elevator doors shot and began ascending down.
That had been thirty minutes ago, and the once silent lobby was now bustling with police cars and passersby. They all stopped to take in the scene that was unfolding. Their peering eyes and camera flashes didn’t bother you in the slightest; that was something you were used to. It was not knowing what had happened in your apartment that set your anxiety off.
Toji's sighed and kept his eyes focused solely on you as a sleek black car pulled up to the police line. He recognized your managers hurrying out of the car and rushing towards you. Geto was the first to reach you, grabbing your shoulders, his eyes scanning you for injuries. Gojo was only a few feet behind his husband, sitting on the curb next to you, his arm draping over your shoulders as you visibly relaxed at their presence. Toji had unfortunately been in this line of work for a fairly long time and had seen his fair amount of lowlife managers, but with your manager's empathetic actions, your bodyguard knew you had lucked out with a great team.
So maybe he shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.
“What happened? Are you okay?!”
“We would’ve been here sooner, but traffic was a bitch.”
You took a deep breath, reaching up to touch Suguru's hand, which rested on one of your shoulders. “I’m okay; I don’t know if I could say the same about my apartment, though.” your friends shared a look that clearly communicated words without speaking.
“But you’re not physically hurt?” Satoru asked in a smooth, almost relaxed tone.
“No, I'm okay.”
“Oh, thank fuck, we thought it was worse.”
Something inside Toi’s chest snapped as he whirled around. “Worse?” he questioned, a black brow twitching. “This is one of the worst-case scenarios!” he stomped his suit, straining against his broad muscles as he pointed back toward the apartment building. “This bastard got into her apartment building undetected and was in her personal space for who knows how long.” You watched as Satoru removed his arm from around you, holding his hands up in front of him.
“I-I just thought it was good because she wasn’t hurt!”
“You’re lucky she wasn’t hurt! If she had been in the apartment when this asshole was there, you might not be looking at a fucked up breaking and something. How did you put it? Worse!”
Toji’s actions from the instant he saw your apartment to when you both were calling the police had gone from cocky, lazy full of attitude bodyguard to full-on protective mode. His eyes were constantly roaming around. If anyone approached you, he stood in front of you, making sure he listened to any questions they asked, or if they tried to hand you something, he looked at it first before deeming it safe for you to look at. This man standing before you had made a complete change, and you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel safe. This was the first time since the appearance of your stalker that you felt like you might be okay.
“Fucked up break-in?” Your dark-haired manager questioned his dark eyes, glancing in your direction, drawing you out of the thoughts that you had been distracting yourself with. “Just how bad was it?”
You swallowed at your slightly dry throat. “I-I don’t know.” you could feel the weight of their gaze crushing you.
“You don't know?”
“I wouldn’t allow her to see it,” Toji added in for you, sensing the growing stress in your chest. “ I refuse to let her see what’s inside.”
You fought against the rise of nausea that washed over you as Satoru and Suguru gave you concerned deluxe. You weren’t sure what thoughts were whirling around inside their hands, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. Even though you were certain those thoughts revolved around what could have happened inside your apartment.
You didn’t want to know what he had seen that had him in such an alert state. The fact that he had covered your eyes, refusing to allow you to see what he had, didn’t leave you curious or eager to discover what happened, but you knew God. You knew it was going to be something you would have to see. Because you were out of your anxiety medication, and there were a few things in your apartment you wanted to retrieve, and there were certain things you didn’t want anyone else looking for.
“I-I’m going to see; I need to see it.” Your voice was barely audible, but whether it was because of his height and skills as a bodyguard or the fact that he was an earshot, you weren’t sure, but around, staring down at you as if you had just verbally insulted him, his mother, and his ancestors. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“There’s no way you just said that,” Toji swore before crouching in front of you as Suguru stood up, giving you space. “Please tell me my ears are still ringing from your concert, and I didn’t hear you say you need to see the state of your apartment. There is no way you just told me that; you can’t be that stupid.”
“Okay, for starters, I’m not stupid.” you snapped, eyes narrowing at the larger man before you. “I have to grab a few things that are in there.”
“I’ll grab them for you.” Toji barked back, glaring daggers into your eyes.
“I don't want you digging through my stuff.”
Through his head back with a laugh, his eyebrows furrowing together before he leaned closer towards you, closing the distance. “Sweetheart, I hate to break this, but somebody already has gone through all of your stuff.” his words struck you like hail in a raging storm with the terrifying reminder that someone had been in your home going through your things. But you didn’t appreciate the attitude he had behind his tone.
“Fuck you.” the words that left your mouth were like venom, but they seemed not to affect him. “I need to get some stuff. I don’t care what the state of my apartments is in.”
“Oh, trust me, you won’t like it. So no, you’re not going up there.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No—”
“She needs to grab more of her medication.” Suguru finally snapped in, putting a stop to the bickering. “That’s why she needs to go up there.” the look you gave your friend didn’t phase him. “My girls give me nastier than that, so keep it up. It doesn’t bother me. I want to get you out of here as soon as possible, but bickering isn’t moving along.”
So you took medication for the anxiety you Toji could see etched into your features earlier. His navy blue eyes glance down at your hands, watching your index and middle fingers twitch. You were fighting off one, and if it was this bad, you were most definitely going to need your medication. That still didn’t mean Toji was so keen on taking you upstairs.
“I can grab it for you. He said in a much softer tone that he would often use with Megumi. “Can you tell me where they are?”
“It’s upstairs in my closet.” Before Toji could even question why you would keep it there, you sighed. “Inside my safe—” You ignored the look he gave you, and you stood up instead. “I have people coming in all the time, and I don’t need anyone telling the paparazzi I have terrible anxiety. People do about anything and everything to have five minutes of fame.”
Toji shook his head, standing with you. “And I’m going to assume you’re not gonna tell me the code?” You just gave him the sweetest smile you could muster, one that was often reserved for the paparazzi.
“Seeing that you need my thumb to open it, I would rather keep it attached to my hand. I’m going to have to go with you.”
Toji did not like this. He didn’t want you to see the horrors that awaited you on the third floor of the building. He also knew that he was limited to options at this point. You were stubborn, stubborn as he was, and there was no point in fighting with you—not when you needed to go upstairs to open your safe. With a reluctant sigh, Toji motioned back towards the building.
“Let's fucking go; Geto’s right. We need to think about getting you out of here as soon as possible.”
You tried to keep a calm face, especially since you were already on the verge of a panic attack, and the flashing from the cameras didn’t help. The last thing you needed for this story to go public. You could see the headlines already! ‘New Rising Popstar Has a Stalker?!’ Or ‘New Popular Popstar Home Vandaliszed!’ Plus, if you were to slip up and let your mask slip, revealing the anxiety-ridden girl underneath, that would give anyone who knew you an opportunity to run to the press with information regarding your performance anxiety. Anyone would rush at the chance to spill the beans about how you put on a persona, and you weren’t the person that everyone believed you to be.
That sounded about as entertaining as this whole fiasco has been. So it was better for you to keep a straight face and head to your apartment. Suguru and Toji, the sooner you leave, the better.
Your managers had insisted on coming with you both up to your floor; that way, they could help you pack some bags and collect the things you may miss in the state of panic. You would most likely find yourself when you look inside the apartment. You would have to make a mental note to get an extra prescription to keep with your managers or keep your child home or somewhere else that wasn’t in a safe in your apartment that was supposed to be guarded around the clock but had somehow broken into. Unfortunately, you would have to consider doing this; it was like adding another cog to the clock, which was your busy life.
As you rode the elevator up to your apartment, thoughts of what to do and how to do it, plotting, planning, and preparing, were at the forefront of your mind. Thinking of stupid, mundane things to add to your already busy life had been the perfect distraction you needed. Otherwise, your mind would’ve been reeling with different scenarios or visions of how you pictured your apartment.
Was it trashed, spray painted on the walls, or did they go through your underwear drawer and throw them all over the place after doing terrible things with them? Were your beta fish still alive? Had your stalker destroyed all the books you had collected over the years? There were countless possibilities of what had occurred within those walls, and each time you came up with the scenario, you thought back to Toji’s reaction. You weren’t sure if the things you were thinking about were enough to start a man of his physique and demeanor.
The only thing you were sure of was that whatever awaited you was enough to make you never want to return.
The dinging from the elevator sounded as you reached your floor. You took a deep breath, lifting your head, only to come face-to-face with your bodyguard's chest. Your eyes roamed up the tight button shirt to his face, where he looked down at you with a weary look.
“It’s not a pretty sight. I’ve never seen anything like this before. So if it gets too much for you to handle or if you can’t handle it, you tell me, I’ll cover your eyes, and we’ll head straight to your closet, okay?”
“It’s that bad?” You asked, not knowing if you wanted the answer.
“Yes.”
You had made it a point that you needed to come up here and see what this had done to your home. If you were to turn around and decide you didn’t need the meds that would keep you calm and your mind clear, you most likely would’ve already turned around and begged to be brought back to the lobby. But as hard as you wished and dreamed that would be the case, you were close to losing it. You could feel the anxiety creeping up, wrapping its tendril fingers into your chest, constricting your airway. If you didn’t take your meds fast, you were going to break down, and that wasn’t going to speed up the process of getting you away from the apartment any faster.
‘They’re the best.’
Nanako had assured you just hours before. You needed to have faith in the bodyguard your managers, some of your closest friends, had picked out for you. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you shut your eyes tight before nodding your head once; you needed to go through with this, and if it became too much to handle or if you found yourselves spiraling down the drain oven anxiety attack, you could tell Toji. Assuring you he would be there for you gave you the strength to look into his eyes.
“I understand; if it becomes too much for me to handle, I’ll tell you, I promise.”
There was a glint in your eyes, one full of determination that Toji wasn’t expecting to see. But behind that determination, he could still see your finger shaking despite you doing your absolute best to try and conceal it. While he didn’t know much about you, you were pretty easy to read, and he couldn’t have been more about you with his first assumption. And he was glad about that. Because you would have to be strong to live with the sight you were about to see.
With a deep breath, Toji stepped to the side, allowing you to see your apartment for the first time in days. But it hardly looked like your apartment. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as you stepped back further into the elevator.
How was this the same place you called home?
Thousands of pictures hung from the fifteen-foot ceiling on fluorescent red strings. From the back of the elevator, you could see that the pictures hanging from the strings were all photos of you. Pictures of you at your shows, sipping coffee at a café, shopping with your face mask on, covering your mouth and nose. There were photos of you and your family eating at a restaurant together—pictures of you at the gym working out, grocery shopping, stepping into your shower, naked.
But the pictures weren’t even the worst part. Your couch had been overturned and looked as though someone had a hunting knife to the cushions, carving in the initial of your first name, followed by a large X and an M. Red hearts had been scribbled all over your walls and floor, coffee table, couch, recliner. You could only hope that it was paint and not blood. But the piece of resistance was the mannequin facing the elevator entrance, dressed in one of your lacey undergarment sets—a wig sat on top of the mannequin head that resembled your hair type and color to the tea. But the mannequin didn’t have a face. Instead, a camera with a crevice where the face would usually be. And around its neck hung a piece of paper, with ‘I See You!” Written in the same red substance that covered your walls.
“Holy fuck.” Satoru whispered, overlooking the state of your once beautiful apartment. “I-I don’t even know what to say.”
“Is that still recording?” Suguru asked, glaring at the dummy. “Why haven’t the polic—”
“We’re working on dusting for fingerprints at the current moment.” A calm, soothing voice announced from further inside. Somehow, you had harnessed the strength to step inside the apartment, not wanting to be held down by the chains of disbelief and shock. “Please make sure not to touch anything if you can.”
You saw a man in a finely tailored suit approaching your group when you looked up. He wore white gloves on his hands and held a notebook. The detective was handsome, with well-trimmed blonde hair and a tie fastened perfectly. The man standing before you took care of himself, and from his body language, you could tell that he took his job very seriously.
“Hey, Nanami.” Toji greeted.
“Zen’in, good to see—”
“Nah, I go by Fushiguro. Took my wife's last name.”
“Ah, apologies, I hadn't realized.”
A certain amusement seemed to swell in your chest as you glanced between the two men. You didn't realize your bodyguard was married. He didn't have a wedding band on, and from his harsh tongue, you weren't sure if he had much experience talking to someone, but it seemed like you were wrong.
While you were trying to imagine what Toji’s wife looked like, honey-brown eyes clashed with your far-off gaze, snapping you back to reality. “And what can I help you with? We’re still investigating and looking through the security footage. So, as of right now, I sadly have no information for you.” As quickly as those words left Nanami, Toji jumped in.
“We just wanted to grab some things from her safe and some clothes. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”
Nanami pulled his phone out to make sure his fellow officers and detectives were done with your room. Waiting for a response felt like sinking into water, and the photos that hung around you were like the current pulling you further under the surface. Seeing yourself in those pictures doing mundane tasks felt so dirty and wrong. You felt violated in ways that your heart had your heart squeezing.
“Fuckin’, is that our office building at the entrance to our house?” Satoru‘s disbelief pulled you back to the surface.
“Yeah, it is,” Suguru confirmed, looking at the photo his husband was motioning to.
Thoughts of their girls flashed through your mind, and it wasn’t just them. Your concern for all your friends and family twisted your stomach into knots of dread. Your stalker had been everywhere you usually went, from the photos hanging around you. Your schedule, habits, and favorite places to go had been documented and hung from your ceiling. In a way, it conveys what the mannequin just outside the elevator said. ‘I See You.’
This person has been watching you for God knows how long, and since they know pretty much everything you do to everyone you talk to, he leaves you feeling dirty and clean. You want to do nothing more than jump into the shower and scrub your skin raw to rid yourself of the film you felt wrapping around your body. You want to clean yourself of the fear, pain, and harsh reality that you had inadvertently put the people you loved in danger.
If your stalker went to such extreme lengths when it came to vandalizing your apartment, just how far would they go if your loved ones were to try to prevent him from drawing closer to you? Would they take further actions to harm you and everyone you loved? Dealing with a stalker was something you hadn’t anticipated happening—something you didn’t want to happen. Yet here you were, stuck with the unknown reality of what would fall upon you and the people you cared for.
“Hey.” the warmth of a hand gently grabbed your wrist and made a soft gesture. “Did you hear that?”
No, you haven’t heard anything but your thoughts. They had been buzzing so loudly, like an agitated hive of hornets. “Uhm, no, I’m sorry I didn’t.” Instead of annoyance or irritation, Toji gave you a gentle smile.
“Nanami said we can grab a few of your things.” Knowing that you would be able to get a hold of your medication relieved the tension in your spine. That brief relief allowed you to hurry up the stairs, fighting against the harsh, crushing reality you had found yourself in.
The second story of your apartment was in the same status as the first floor. Red hearts covered the walls and floor. Books from your office have been thrown around, but thankfully, they were still intact, and more photos hung from the ceiling. Your bedroom was a total mess. Clothes have been thrown around. The bed had been messed up. It seems the stalker had taken the same hunting next to your mattress. So you’ll have to buy a new one and sheets, fearing what might have happened to your once clean bed. Seeing the state your room was left in, your stomach was doing flips.
Unlike the main living area and office, your bedroom and bathroom are more intimate. Knowing someone was inside made your skin crawl with fear. It was wrong on so many levels, leaving you feeling claustrophobic. But you didn’t have time to process the loaded motions fully.
You rushed to the closet, opened the safe, and collected your medication while Suguru and Satoru packed a bag for you with some seemingly untouched clothes. Toji kept his guard up, not faulty, even though detectives and officers surrounded you. Seeing him so alert still left you feeling safe, even if this was one of the worst nights of your entire life.
But thankfully, the four of you were fast, and before you knew it, you were heading back down to the main lobby. The prospect of escaping the nightmare had you relax as you followed your managers to their car. You were so happy you were finally getting out of there. The crowd of spectators had grown, and it would only be a matter of time before someone took a photo of you by accident.
“Alright, let's get you back to the house.” Suguru opened the door to the backseat for you, and you were about to crawl in when Toji reached out, preventing you from moving. “Fushiguro, we need to get going—”
“She can't go there.”
“Uhm, yes, she can,” Satoru added, walking to the driver's side. “And if we don't get her out of her, there's a risk she could get recognized, and this isn't the publicity she needs.”
Toji seemed to ignore the words leaving your PR manager's mouth. “She was photographed at your office and home, right?” Silence grows between the four of you; the only sound is the growing crowd. “If she's not here, he can check for her at the gym or her parents’ house.” Toji shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Any place that was photographed is compromised. She's not safe at any of those places.” The truth of his words crushed you, leaving you feeling weak in the legs as you tried to think of anywhere you could stay.
“So what? We book her a hotel?”
“No, it's too risky, not secure enough.”
“This is ridiculous. I have a security system. She’ll be fine at our house.”
“As her bodyguard, I highly disagree.”
“As her friend, I assure you she’ll be safe with us.” Invisible streaks of lightning flashed between Satoru and Toji, the tension and testosterone growing between them.
You tightened your grip on your bag, gnawing at your bottom lip. “He’s right. I can't stay with you guys.” Suguru frowned, shaking his head as he gently grabbed your free hand. His lips parted to speak, but you quickly shook your head. “I can't put you and the girls at risk.” Satoru looked as though he was seconds away from throwing you into the car himself as you took a step back. “I-I can't put any of you at risk. You saw my couch and my bed; this person is dangerous.” The silence was nearly palpable, meaning they knew you were right.
“Okay—? So what the fuck are you going to do? It's not like you have a lot of choices! You can't stay here or in a hotel.”
“She’ll stay with me,” Toji announced, taking your bag from you.
You blinked once, your jaw dropping open before you shut it. “Huh?” You had misheard him; there was no way he said that.
“I said you can stay with me.”
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