#bar mentions here and there it's just ignored

[altaiiriss]

i made a moodboard for the gay bar au!

and i'm using this post to talk about this project, because i have only mentioned it once or twice.

in march i had an idea for a fanart: chuuya, who owns a gay bar and loves to sing for his crowd, and dazai, who is brought there by his best friend yosano.

one insignificant detail: dazai is a cis guy and, most importantly, straight. like, super straight™.

which isn't an issue per se. respectful allies are more than welcome to the bar.

however, as soon as chuuya's raspy voice resonates through the speakers and the colourful lights shine on him, something inside dazai inevitably breaks.

(fanart here)

it was meant to just be a fanart, but that concept kept bugging me for hours... i tried to ignore it because i don't even like aus, but in that moment i knew that i was f@cked just as much as dazai lmao. i started typing furiously in my notes app and ended up writing a couple scenes from chapter 1 & 2. those drafts have been left unedited and unfinished, except for some minor changes that have been done on ch 1. thoughts about the fic kept haunting me, so i opened a new doc and added all the scenes i could come up with. the doc has roughly 2.6k words today and has been left unedited and unfinished. like, each scene is not only not edited, but also incomplete.

i suck at writing, sorry.

the thing is, writing a multi chap fic has always appealed to me, but the thought is also scary as hell because it's a commitment towards the story, the readers and myself (especially when you're aiming for a decent work). unfortunately, thinking about this fic brings me so much joy, so i want to give it a try.

i don't know how much it'll take. there's no plot, no backbone, no structure, just a vague idea. all i know is that i like that vague idea quite a lot and i would love to bring it to life.

to do so, the first step would be to share that vague idea with everyone else. so:

• chuuya is a gay trans man. he's also the owner of the old world, yokohama's most famous and definitely most loved gay bar. long ginger hair, defined curls, leather jeans and black eyeliner, he looks like a dream straight out of the 80s. and just like a dream, he can't be reached: no one seems to catch his attention. one-night stands, committed relationships, he wants none of that.

some additional info: despite having a loving relationship with his parents, chuuya moved to yokohama as soon as he got his high school diploma. he manages the bar alone. given the nature of his job, he rests while the sun is up in the sky. in his free time he offers his help at an association for trans people and volunteers at a dog shelter. he chats easily with anyone, but doesn't connect with anyone. he's loud but quiet, outgoing but reserved, decisive but unsure, he has a defined personality but lacks an identity. he hasn't made any friends since he moved to yokohama except for kouyou, whom he sees as his big sister.

• dazai is a cis and very much straight™ guy. straight as in, never thought of a man like that, or rather, never questioned himself. short dark hair, soft curls, caramel trousers and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like a melancholic melody that will forever haunt you. he's a criminology student at tokyo university and hates hopping on a train full of people at 7 am everyday.

some additional info: dazai and yosano have been best friends since middle school. they have been friends with benefits for a total of two encounters before yosano eventually realised she was a lesbian. dazai rents an apartment with her and owns a black cat whom he rescued from tokyo's streets on a stormy day. he's charming and obnoxious and annoyingly smart, a mystery wrapped in bandages and adorned with antidepressants. despite leading a seemingly successful life as a top student with a bright future ahead, there's this emptiness inside his chest that top grades and fake smiles can't seem to satiate.

overall, this is a story about queerness, self-discovery, ghosts from the past, success, failure, hopelessness, queerphobia, mental health, heartache, friendship, loneliness, rage, and humanity. because these characters are human and are going to make mistakes. a lot of mistakes.

so this is what has been outlined so far. some info has been omitted by choice, such as dazai's actual sexual orientation (no spoilers, sorry, this is for you to find out eventually :] ). if you've read this far, i hope the story caught your interest a little bit.

as a treat, here's a snippet from ch 1.

i struggle with motivation a lot, therefore i don't know when i'll get to actually start writing. questions, curiosity, brainstorming, insights and anything that keeps the story alive are all things that highly motivate me, so please don't hesitate to reach out! my inbox is always open.

🫶🏻

[svtskneecaps]

feel like the global tasks sweep strat should probably be nerfed somehow. my thought would be, give each team an individual ten minute overall cooldown on global task claims. that is to say, a certain team can only claim one global task per ten minutes. say, deliver gas masks, and then in ten minutes you're allowed to deliver tea, and then after another ten minutes you can claim hot chocolate.

another teams would be able to claim a global task for bananas during this time, and their own ten minute cooldown would start.

(the global tasks can either keep their individual ten minute cooldown [i.e. after tea is claimed no one else can claim tea for ten minutes] or a slightly shorter cooldown, say 5-7 minutes)

when a global task is claimed, everyone is notified, right? if not, in my hypothetical, they will be.

then, a team trying to sweep six tasks at once would actually take sixty minutes to do, allowing another team to swoop in and have a chance to stop it in cinematic, entertaining fashion rather than tubbo having to grind resources and then log out in front of the merchant to counter this, which is boring for everyone (including the person delivering). plus, if a team cuts it down to the last second and ends up getting delayed, they physically wouldn't have time to make a delivery, meaning even being a BIT of a nuisance could be a viable strategy, even if you can't manage to kill; if you can STALL you could still wreck their plans.

that's my dream anyway idk i'm not a game designer. just think it would be interesting for most players

(i elaborate under)

red team would have to shake up their strategies, which is fun since they're a team that kinda has to rely more on strategy than outright brawn (overall the team's pvp can't be relied on unless they have carre or phil, as seen today when pierre, bad, and etoiles attacked phil cellbit foolish and baghera, and cellbit and foolish both died to etoiles in the attack, despite it being a 4 on 1 at the time. baghera was killed by bad soon after. phil was the one to get the kills. the first day, when blue attacked [niki, tubbo, and bad as i recall] carre got both kills)

the other teams would then still have a way to stop a global sweep since a sweep would have to start earlier, allowing not only more time to arrive at global to pvp about it, but ALSO allowing another team to swoop in and steal the goal out from under the team again

i'm gonna use it in a scenario bc i'm badboyhalo and i can't stop myself from making examples:

so, tonight, if the proposed cooldown was in place, bad and tubbo would both still had roughly 17 minutes when red team would have HAD to start the sweep process if they wanted all six global tasks: 1 hour until the server closed at absolute MINIMUM. more for safety's sake.

therefore, in this scenario, there's a lot to happen

blue team could wait at globals, knowing red will probably try this strategy, and attempt or perhaps SUCCEED in killing red. if they kill red entirely, the operation is a wash; red doesn't have to gear to come back from scratch and take out blue team, and even if they could, the travel time to return to globals alone would mean they wouldn't get all the global tasks, potentially meaning they don't take the lead. if blue team is unable to kill red and dies themselves or has to retreat, but succeeds in delaying red, red would face the same problem.

if red sends in all of the task items on one person, and that person dies, even if the rest survived, blue could loot the items from that person and would be able to either use the items themselves, if green is currently the owner, or could run away with the items, effectively wasting red's time and again, meaning they wouldn't get all tasks claimed even if they were able to overtake the runner and reclaim their items.

i'm unclear what would happen if red divided the task items between them since it seems like the person claiming the task doesn't have to have all (or any? again, unclear) the items in THEIR inventory in order to claim so long as a teammate is nearby with the items in their inv (evidence: pac's vod "voltei... o que tá acontecendo no QSMP?!" at roughly 3:00:00; tubbo claims tea and tea is taken out of pac's inventory. i don't know the limits of this strategy)

blue team also has time to swoop in and steal a global task out from under red during this time. say, if red team had claimed the task for 10 tea leaves, upping the price to 15 tea leaves, and then blue team snuck in and claimed the task and set the price up to 20 tea leaves, (since the proposed 10 minute cooldown on claims would be TEAM LIMITED; red's cooldown applying to red only and so on). if red waited until the last second, they wouldn't have the time to reclaim this task even if they did have the resources, possibly forcing them to start their sweep earlier to counter this possibility, at which point team members who had logged on earlier and are out of time by the end of the night, OR members who live in time zones that don't allow them to stay up until server close, may have an easier shot at participating in defending against a global sweep.

all of this DIRECT CONFLICT would make for good audience entertainment and heighten the stakes of an attempted global sweep, since it would practically have to be one team defending globals for an hour while they pipe all their resources into it, knowing that if they die another team could easily swipe their task resources and use it themselves (along with the rest of their gear). it makes it more interesting, while still mostly viable.

plus it would force more strategizing for red team which is maybe just a personal plus, i just really like seeing people planning both in advance and in spur of the moment. it's really satisfying to see how a plan comes together and succeeds or fails; plus, since red team is the main team using this strategy at the moment and their main draw and strength as a team is cohesion and communication this would be completely fucking riveting for me as a viewer so maybe this is just a personal thing. but i really really think it would be fun

but again, i'm not a game designer, or a qsmp player, or a qsmp admin, or honestly even really a gamer? so maybe i'm off my rocker and out of my gourd and this isn't viable or balanced in any way shape or form but YKNOW what is this blog except putting stupid thoughts into the void and seeing if this time the void spits back hate mail so. i'm folding this into a paper airplane and throwing it into the abyss. hopefully it made sense.

k love you appreciate you getting this far, have a good week!!

(i hope your team gets a win in dramatic fashion and celebrates together!!! i hope they come together and unleash a plan so spectacular it takes the server by storm!!! i hope it's so good it becomes a vod you go back to even years in the future!!!! i hope you have a good week!!!!!)

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.��

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

[stvrkeysgal]

casual enough? — rafe cameron

— what happens behind closed doors after rafe sees you hanging out with a different boy? with no exclusivity, what you had with rafe cameron was an absolute blur. until tonight.

warnings: smut! (piv, rafe does it ROUGHHHH) squirting, swearing, "slut" mention

you knew better than to mess with rafe. you were well aware of his jealous tendencies, anger issues, and how he acts when you so as much look at another guy when he's around.

but he's been testing your patience way too much for your liking as of the moment.

he had one arm wrapped around a blonde, smiling at what she said but clearly wasn't interested in what she was saying. you knew rafe—you had him wrapped around your finger, but the idea of him actually hanging around with a different girl (when he himself doesn't want you doing the same) had you seething mad.

so here you were, skin-to-skin against jj motherfucking maybank. his hands on your waist and your hips swaying to the beat of the music that traveled across the whole bar. you laugh at what jj says, and all that could rafe do is watch as you had fun with someone—someone that wasn't him.

rafe and you were nothing exclusive, that he always made sure of. but he could feel that deal slowly slipping away each time he sees you with anyone else. it was getting hard for him to ignore the pang in his chest every time the idea of you getting with someone crosses his mind.

tonight was no different.

rafe did his best to keep his cool, ignore the way you were pressed against jj's body, the two of you so close that your ass grinded against his fucking crotch every time your hips so much as swayed. rafe could see that clearly, and it was killing him.

the final straw, though, was when jj's hand snaked from your waist to your chest and then to your neck. he held you there for a few seconds, which had you turning back to him with a smirk. the original plan was to make rafe jealous, see how much it takes until he finally cracks. you decided to go along with jj since you knew how much the two despised each other. and judging by the way rafe's eyes bounced back from you and jj, a scowl present on his face, you knew the plan was working.

though, what you didn't expect was for rafe to walk towards you and jj, the blonde girl previously in his arms now forgotten. "i need to talk to you, right now." rafe says, standing in front of you and jj. you smirked instead, dancing once again. "sorry, cameron. i'm clearly busy here."

rafe scoffs then pulls you away from jj rather harshly, which had you glaring at him. "not a fucking fan of repeating myself, baby. either you come with me or i fuck you in front of everyone—including your boy right here." rafe had you pressed against him, his lips against your ear as he whispered.

he had you so speechless, that you just blinked at him slowly. your heart thumps against your chest rapidly, which has you sweating underneath his gaze. you look back at jj, but he already understands what you meant. he just winks at you before walking away with a smirk.

rafe seems to be satisfied by that, which brought him to grip your arm a little bit tighter. "if you know what's best for maybank, you're coming home with me."

✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

"please, rafe. just give me a second." you were choking on your spit at this point, as rafe fucked you to the point of overstimulation. his hips slapped against the back of your thigh rather harshly, the skin already turning red due to his movements.

"you just don't want to admit it, but you know you love this dick too much to get me to fucking stop." rafe had your face buried in his pillows as he fucked you mercilessly from behind. he was proven right when you clench around his length, his words running through your mind.

"and i was right. got so fucking tight the moment i said that. you love this, don't you, baby?" you were a gasping, moaning mess underneath rafe. and all you could do was take his harsh thrusts.

your eyes rolled back, tears spilled from them as he kept the same pace while he fucked you through yet another orgasm. his thumb was hooked into the side of your mouth, the action keeping your head in place as he kept on thrusting into you.

you could only moan pathetically in response, eyes rolling back into your head while his cock practically tore you in half. rafe wasn't quite pleased though—he wanted to hear you talk, not moan. "i asked you a goddamn question, didn't i?" a spank landed on your ass then, which earned him a mewl instead. "you better fucking answer when i talk to you," he leans down then, mouth leveled with your ear as he spoke. "just a simple yes, slut. that's all i'm asking."

your hands gripped the sheets beneath you as you fought the urge to make a mess and squirt all over the sheets. but rafe had other plans. he flipped you over so you laid on your back, your eyes immediately meeting his. "fuck, yes! i love it, rafe. i love it so much." you managed to breathe out in between sighs and gasps, which had him smirking. "that's about right."

he could feel you clenching around his length once more, which he hissed softly. "shit, you gonna cum again? that's three times in a row, baby." his fingers moved to your clit then, rubbing the sensitive bud in fast, and hard circles. "come on, cum for me. wanna see you make a mess all over this dick."

after three particular thrusts, you gushed all over rafe's length, making a mess on the sheets and his stomach. "that's it, baby," he leans down until he was in level with your neck, in which he kissed and sucked slowly. "love it when you squirt all over me."

you could tell rafe was close, judging by the way his hips seemed to lose rhythm by the minute. "gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. gonna fill this pussy up." rafe fucks you through another orgasm, his mouth latched onto your neck while he did so.

what you don't expect are the words that come out of his mouth next. "don't want anyone having you like this, you get that? i'm fucking yours. i was always yours." rafe says through gritted teeth, while you stared at him with wide and teary eyes.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum." rafe finishes inside you after he says it, and he pulls away to watch him drip out of you slowly.

"in case it's not clear yet, i fucking love you so much. seeing you with jj like that killed me earlier. i want you all for myself, baby." rafe lays beside you, chest heaving up and down as he caught his breath.

"i love you too, rafe. you're it for me."

first actual rafe smut i wrote??? holy shit

drew / rafe's masterlist

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[i-love-ptv]

Hand Prints and Good Grips…✱*.:｡✧

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Childhood Best friend!Reader

Trouble brews once Mary walks into the twins’ juke joint, and you just wanna be the girl Elias likes.

wc: 6,103

warnings: porn with lots of plot, jealous!dom!Elias, sub!reader, clit slapping, face-sitting, cunnilingus, unprotected p-in-v, dirty-talk, degradation (not tew much but it’s there), overstimulation (r receiving), rough sex, manhandling, slight tit sucking/licking, marking, creampie (gulp??), language, one klan mention, shitty southern writing

an: HEY GUYS!!! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER WOOHOO! (ignore how it took me a month to make it, i’ve been going thru it man) i’m literally obsessed w sinners so hopefully i did stack justice! do y’all even read these? anyways

feedback is always appreciated n welcomed <3

Your hair was starting to cling onto your forehead as if you were drenched in sticky molasses.

The air was humid and dry; of course, this was a Mississippi custom, but it doesn’t help that there’s dozens of bodies stomping and prancing around.

Though you can’t complain much, considering that you were right here with them—dancing as if you hadn’t in years.

In a way, you haven't. You haven’t felt a rush of autonomy and euphoria quite like this before.

With everyone being nothing but working busy-bodies, there’s been little to no time to plan big events such as tonight. The lack of excitement has been a major factor too.

Hence why as soon as the Moore twins came back into town with the intention to open up their very own juke joint, everyone was on board.

The pair hadn’t been seen here in seven years.

Seven long, cruel years without the twin you’ve grown to love.

Stack.

Well, he was Stack to everyone else. But to you? He was still Elias. Your ‘Lias.

Seven years without his lingering touches and pearly smiles.

You weren’t the only one that missed him, it seems.

Your sister told you that when she went down near the train station, she was right there waiting for your Elias.

Mary was waiting.

You don’t have a clue as to how she knew he was coming home before you did, considering that nobody from the Delta had heard from him except for you. And a letter from him was rather rare.

Mary had nearly thrown a fit once she saw him; it didn’t help that Elias had turned down her persistent advances.

The lack of contact obviously sent her over the edge.

Apparently she mentioned their former relations; their connection being a secret to none.

You were envious of this; never jealous, but overcome by a feeling of want.

Growing up with the twins meant that the three of you were as close as can be. That being said, though, they looked at you as if you were their little sister. It was fine when Elijah assumed the role of a family member, but Elias?

Just thinking about it makes your heart ache.

You longed for the flirtatious remarks that he’d give off to any and every woman, a night filled with intimacy plagued your mind constantly.

But you got over it.

You had to. Not only for the sake of your friendship with Elias, but also because of his prolonged absence from town.

That’s why tonight—right now, you had to pump the breaks and focus on celebrating the twins’ success.

Speaking of success?

You making your way over to the bar with your wobbly heeled-covered feet was a success. Surprisingly.

“Someone’s been dancin’ a lil too hard, huh?” Annie chortles, looking at you with nothing but sisterly-love, and a bit of amusement.

“Only dancin’ I was doing was during my cooking—nothin’ like this in a while,” you exclaim with bliss through a beaming smile. You huff as you sit down in front of the bar. “Y’got anythin’ good back here?” You motion to the bottles Annie has surrounding her.

“Better than good,” Annie replies before ducking down and searching below the counter.

You brace your hands on the counter and slightly peer over at the woman, but then she pops up quicker than you can plop back down onto your chair. She quirks a brow at you before placing a bottle down in front of you.

“What’s this?” You question; if Annie didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that it was Christmas morning with the way you were looking at the bottle.

“Authentic Irish beer; straight from the north side of Chicago. Different from the rest they’re sellin’.” She replies. “Your man brought it specifically for you—made me promise I wouldn’t give it to nobody else, no matter how much they was payin’.”

You bite back a smile at her words; you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“He fixin’ to be Mary’s.” Your lips straighten, it’s bittersweet.

“That so? ‘Cause that ain’t what I heard,” Annie muses, making you pause. You savor Annie’s words as if they were your holy grail. Was there a chance that Elias looked at you the same as you did him?

You crane your neck and your gaze is set over your shoulder—over at him.

He catches your eye and he gives you a cheeky smile, to which you return rather eagerly.

You hadn’t had a single nonchalant bone in your body it seems.

Your shared staring was cut short as Mary forced Elias’ attention back onto her, but it wasn’t exactly a hard task for her.

Something about her was just so easy and simple, despite the ring shining on her hand that matched another man’s being anything but simple. The way that they connected even after all these years made you feel as if you swallowed a jar of mud.

After a few sips of beer, you can’t help but let a smile rest on your face. Elias knew you’d love it, and it makes your heart dance.

Speaking of dancing, your dearest friend Pearline struts up to you with a grin that soared for miles.

“What’s got you cheesin’ all hard?” You raise your eyebrows at her, making her giggle.

“Y’know the Preacher’s boy? The one that was just singin’?” Pearline’s nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement.

“Lil’ Sammie Moore? Course I do, why? What’d you do Pearl?” You gape at her and hold her hands tightly in yours.

“Well…” She trails off. “Let’s just say, he showed me he ain’t a boy, but a real man.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of the sockets as you exclaim a Pearline! that could probably be heard for miles.

Pearline gushes, “He made me feel things I ain’t never felt before.”

“Not even with your mister?” You gasp.

“Not even close. And that’s not all,” she pauses before looking around, then leaning in towards you.

“I wasn’t even able to freshen up. He didn’t want me to,” Pearline whispers.

You shout, then look around in embarrassment at your outburst; you shake Pearline vigorously by her shoulders and giggle some more.

You decide to look around the joint, and you coincidentally catch Sammie looking right at the back of Pearline’s frame in utter awe.

You nudge Pearline, and she looks over at him with you. The look that she throws his way is nothing short of flirtatious.

“He looked at ya like he wanted t’take a bite,” you snicker.

Pearline looks at you mischievously, “Funny, considerin’ he already did.” You can’t help but laugh.

“So, y’thinkin’ bout singin’ like he said?” You ask.

Pearline hums, “Maybe. ‘M thinkin’ you should too.”

“No, not happenin’. Not a chance,” You scoff playfully.

Pearline whines and grabs your wrists. “C’mon, sista! When’s the last time you got the chance to do this?” She pouts, and tries hardest to make puppy-dog eyes at you.

“Besides, this could be y’chance to make a move on Stack. Ain't that whatcha been waitin’ for?” She drags.

You falter at the question she poses.

“Tonight’s the night, sista.” Pearline murmurs softly.

It’s crazy how you always get in your head when it comes to him.

The thing is, you weren’t one to throw yourself out there just to entertain a man. No, that just wasn’t your style.

But God—tonight? His suit was fitting snug in all the right places, his grills glimmered dangerously in the dim lighting, and his eyes always found yours, recklessly.

You couldn’t resist Elias Moore.

And right now, you’re starting to wonder if you ever could.

“Y’better wrap that scarf on tight, Pearl,” you say as you grab her arm and start walking with her to the front. Pearline shrills and claps her hands with glee.

You saunter towards the stage with a pep in your step and your arm linked with a perky Pearline. Your heels clack on the wooden floors as you come face-to-face with the band and none other than Delta Slim, who’s now grinning at you.

“Been tryin’ to getcha to sing for years girl, what’s with the change o’ heart?” He questions with a smirk, as if he already knew the answer. You’re sure that he did with the way that his eyes looked past you and towards Elias.

“It’s a nice night, figured I’d try sum different,” you shrug, trying to mask your sudden embarrassment. Pearline intertwines her hand with yours and uses her other one to gesture to the band. You inhale deeply while looking at her; she gives you a look of reassurance.

The patrons of the juke joint grow silent at the sight of you two taking your stances and the band readying their instruments.

Pearline starts humming and you lightly stomp your feet on the stage, starting to form a beat as the band follows.

Elias feels as if his heart was being weighed down by a ton inside of him. He held his breath—scared that the rise and fall of his chest would make him miss the steady view of you: parading around as if everything outside the joint had come to a halt.

You looked completely, and utterly divine up there; moving swiftly and effortlessly, as if you owned the very ground you were stepping on.

You were absolutely ethereal in Elias’ eyes.

And he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t falling even harder for his sugar as of right now. He was the only man that could get away with calling you sugar; he knows it, so does everyone else in the Delta—and Elias can’t help but let his pride swell every time he thinks about it.

Your body sways carelessly as if you were one with the words that escaped your lips, but your eyes are grounded—powerful, even. Speaking of them: your glittering orbs meet his, your gaze nothing short of a vixen’s.

Though, the interlocking of your sights is interrupted when Mary makes her presence known yet again at Elias’ side. He can’t help but sigh at the intrusion.

Luckily, Elias’ ever-growing agitation fades when the patrons of the juke let out their elation around him. The band’s playing picks up, as well as you and Pearline’s voices.

Don’t let it shine, shine, shine once more

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

Everyone chants and stomps rhythmically.

“I wanna sing, like I hear the crickets do,” Pearline sings seductively while peering at Sammy as she struts.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna hoo,” you and Pearline sing simultaneously, harmonizing beautifully as your backs meet and you both slide to a crouching position.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna howl,” the two of you sound as if you were straight out of a folktale—like one of those myths of the sirens that Annie had explained to Elias once before. You and Pearline then reside in a crawl as you look at the crowd with a sense of hunger in your eyes.

Mary gets ahold of Elias’ tie, but he quickly removes her grip from him—without even breaking eye contact with you. He knows she’s interested in spending the rest of the night with him; maybe in hopes of rekindling an old flame.

But how could Elias be interested in another woman when his woman—his sugar—was looking at him so deliciously.

You grin slyly at him, biting your bottom lip before licking your teeth.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna scream,” Pearline sings, as you mouth the three words to Elias.

Three little words that have Elias fucking mesmerized, hypnotized even. You have him in a trance, right where you want him, and you both know it.

Elias wishfully thinks that the pick up in your breathing isn’t just from all the dancing you’ve been doing tonight. He bites his lip at the thoughts running through his mind.

Mary can’t even say that she recognizes the look that Elias gives you, for she has never been on the receiving end like you have been. Her frustration and jealousy boils over, and she eventually huffs before walking away from Elias, and out of the juke joint.

Elias doesn’t mind one bit, and he sure as hell doesn’t when the song finishes and you hug Pearline with excitement as the joint nearly turns upside down. You’re jumping up and down and Elias can’t help but smile til his cheeks hurt.

Elias feels a hand slap somewhat roughly on his shoulder. He knows good and well it’s his brother, with or without the wave of tobacco radiating.

“Came out here after the game finished, saw the way she was lookin’ at’cha, too.” Elijah grumbles.

“Breathtakin’, ain’t she?” Elias remarks breathily, not even turning to his brother—keeping his sights on you, as you hug Slim and the rest of the instrument players.

“Not ‘bout how I feel, ‘s ‘bout how you feel,” Elijah sighs. This makes Elias turn towards his brother.

“Don’t know what’chu waitin’ on, already been years,” Elijah then pauses before continuing, “Don’t be surprised when somebody see what’chu see.” Elijah trails off, almost ominously, and nods his head in your direction.

Elias follows his twin’s trail of sight and spots you: talking to a man he ain’t even seen before. You were beaming, your hair a little frizzed up by the humidity, your lipgloss smudged a little onto your shimmering skin.

Speaking of your lipgloss—whoever you’re talking to decided to rub his finger below your lip to wipe it away. Right now, Elias’ demeanor resembles the snake him and his brother killed earlier: cold and unmoving.

You glance around the sea of bodies, and Elias takes this as a sign. He starts to walk up to you, but not before having to mumble several ‘excuse me’s while side-stepping quite a few people—who seem to not be able to hold their liquor.

He finally reaches you, and he gets a glimpse of you over the guy’s shoulder, who has no idea he’s even there.

“We got a problem?” Elias murmurs, making the stranger nearly jump out of his skin.

“N-nah man,” the man chuckles awkwardly as he faces Elias.

“I reckon we do, since y’talkin’ to my lady,” Elias replies, sizing him up as he takes a step closer to him. The man takes a step back in return.

“I ain’t know, I-I’m sorry, Stack,” the man trembles meekly. Elias only hums. The man glances between the two of you before making himself scarce.

Elias stays in the same spot for a beat, before turning and giving you a look that says let’s go, before walking towards one of the back rooms of the joint. You hesitate, before inching behind him.

“So I’m y’lady now?” You don’t bother to tone down the sass in your voice.

“‘S what I said, ain’t it?” he mumbles, not even looking at you.

You scoff, “Yeah, well, y’got a funny way a’ showin’ it.”

Elias pulls you into a dimly lit room and finally faces you as you stand before him. “What’s that s’possed to mean?”

You narrow your eyes at him before speaking. “Means I saw you messin’ with ole Mary.”

“She don’t mean nun to me,” Elias guaffs. “Why d’ya think she left already?”

You roll your eyes and begin to head out the door you just came from. You’re not sure where this attitude just came from, in all honesty. The moment your eyes met him while you were on stage, it felt as if everything else had faded away, and it was just the two of you.

Maybe it was the irritation caused by Mary that left you in a sour mood now, you’re not sure. You know it won’t be beneficial to you nor Elias in this moment, but you can’t help it.

Elias grabs your wrist before you can get too far away from him.

“She ain’t nun, y’hear?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he almost sounded desperate. You stay quiet.

“Asked you a question, sugar. ‘N with that attitude of yours, I ain’t fixin’ to repeat myself.” His lips ghost the shell of your ear as he speaks, and heat twinges through your stomach. Elias seems to take notice of the subtle switch in your demeanor; he smirks and his chocolate brown irises darken even further.

“I…I don’t believe you,” You almost whisper, but still meet his gaze.

Almost immediately, he responds with, “What I got to do to convince you, baby?” Elias matches your tone, but there’s still a hint of assertiveness conveyed through his words.

You don’t speak—it’s almost like you couldn’t, but you release your wrist from his grasp gently.

Elias’ jaw clenched slightly, but you still spot it. He looks as if he’s pondering his next words.

“‘S not makin’ sense, darlin’. I mean, you were acting like a whore on stage, now you don’t want me to touch you?” He cocks his head at you and your lips part—like it was reflex, and maybe it was. Elias clicks his tongue.

Your breath picks up, and if your mind weren’t turning fuzzy, you would’ve chided yourself for making a fool out of yourself in front of a man—Elias at that.

The man you’ve yearned for longer than you can even remember.

“I ain’t no whore,” you speak, finally regaining your senses.

“That right, sugar?” You can feel Elias’ breath on your heated face, and all you can do is nod in return.

“Y’wanna know what I think?” Before you can answer the question Elias poses, he murmurs lowly, “I think that deep down….You are a whore—and you needa be fucked like one.”

Despite the vulgarity of his words, the way that Elias places his palm across your cheek is soft—loving, even.

You press your thighs together through your dress unconsciously, desperately seeking even an ounce of friction to cool the impending heat between your legs.

Elias takes the hand that rested upon your cheek and moved it to the stiff rim lock that resided on the door’s surface.

Thank god—You’d hate for the likes of someone such as Sammie barging in and being witness to sin hotter than the Mississippi sun.

Elias then starts to walk you back to the table that remained bare in the dingy-lit room, removing his suit jacket and vest, followed by his tie. The backs of your knees meet the edge of the firm table, making you stumble just a bit. Elias takes it upon himself to lay you down onto the table.

You rest on your elbows as you look up at the six-foot-something man in front of you, and you can’t help but swoon. His beating eyes look down at you lustfully—almost as if he were a predator, and you his prey.

It made you weak.

Weak at the hands of a man you’d been waiting on while he had the time of his life in Chicago, with all sorts of Italian customs. Your actions are beyond halfwitted, but you make no effort to straighten yourself out anymore.

Elias takes his warm hands and spreads your knees with ease after unbuttoning his shirt, making you yelp involuntarily at the near-abrasiveness. He licks his grillz and lets out a short, deep chuckle; you feel it vibrate your bones, while he aligns himself so that almost he’s eye-level with your warm core.

“Elias, wait—“ You whimper meekly,

He hums disapprovingly, letting out a firm ‘mm-mmn’. He rips his gaze from your thighs to your eyes, “Been waitin’ for years, sugar, not sure if I can any longer.” He repositions his hands, lifting your dress and hitching it up to your upper thighs, nearly to your pelvic bone.

Elias massages your thighs with an iron grip, it’s not yet rough, but not exactly gentle either. His switch between the two is making your mind reel.

He kisses up from your knee almost to where your dress bunches up as he removes his button-up, leaving him in his undershirt. He then says, “…So, m’sorry if I lose m’manners,” he breathes hotly against your skin, “But I don’t think I can live without destroying this pussy for a minute longer.” He damn near groans.

His mouth hovers above your clothed cunt—he purposely breathes in a way that makes you squirm at the feeling you’re unable to run from. As you shudder and tilt your head back, you suddenly hear a rip and you feel a gust of air.

You gasp and look down, where you’re met with Elias looking up at you cheekily, with one half of your panties in his mouth, and the other in his hand.

“‘Lias!” You exclaim.

Elias feigns innocence, “Told ya I ain’t mean no harm.” He then averts his focus to your legs, and he leaves a kiss to your mound.

“Y’not gon let me freshen up, will ya?” You ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

Instead of answering, Elias takes his tongue and trails it from your hole to your clitoris, and you puff out the air you didn’t know you were holding in.

Elias seems to enjoy your reaction, for he then gives you another long lick.

And another,

and another,

and you guessed it, another.

You press your lips together, muting your sounds, and Elias ‘tsk’s at the sight.

He nips a bit of the skin next to your lips, making you choke on your own spit. “Don’t like how quiet you’re bein’.” Elias reprimands you.

“Stop t-teasin’ then,” You manage to huff.

Elias chuckles in disbelief, “Wanted to be gentle, but y’makin’ it hard,” he then lifts you up from the table, and places his back where you once laid. He hooks your legs over the sides of his head, your pussy now inches away from his plump, shining lips.

Elias’ typical, million-dollar smirk is back on his face, but there’s something more sinister behind it—your legs would’ve buckled if he weren’t holding them.

“You’re a whore, jus’ like I said y’were.” His southern drawl makes your stomach twist in knots, despite the familiarity. Before you could get a word out, Elias placed you onto his face.

You mewl at the feeling of his tongue swirling around anywhere, and everywhere.

Your clit, your lips—it was almost as if he were starving.

There was no rhythm, no harmony and contentment, just the actions of a man on a mission.

A mission to make you scream louder than the birds on your farm.

Then, abruptly, Elias leaves a small, yet firm slap to your clit. “Admit it,” he says between licks. “Admit that you’re a whore.” He leaves another slap.

You don’t respond, too caught up in both the pain and pleasure. Your head hangs back and your eyes are clenched shut, and Elias grows impatient.

He removes his mouth from you with a ‘pop’ and almost snarls at you, “Thought I told ya Ion like repeatin’ myself.” He slaps your clit again, this time with more force.

“Okay—Okay! I was bein’ a whore tonight, ‘m sorry!” You cry out as your back arches.

Elias starts to lower you towards his grinning face, and you shiver at the feeling of his cold grillz.

Instead of teasing kitten-licks, Elias sucks at your slit and lets his tongue roam freely, without a care in the world. You writhe and whine on top of him, your body bending back and creating a dull aching sensation.

His advances are relentless, and you have no chances of escaping his grasp; he readjusts his grip as soon as he feels you start to slip away from him. You don’t know whether to clench around his tongue as he fucks you with it, or to cry–you end up doing both, and this continues on for who knows how long.

You’ve stopped counting the number of orgasms you’ve had after the second one–you think–but you think Elias has been keeping track. He’s muttered ‘jus’ one more, sugar’ maybe three times now, and you don’t know how many you have left in you at this point.

After what feels like hours, Elias finally lifts your hips up, allowing you to slide down and straddle his hips with your head resting upon his chest.

The beating sound of his steady heart fills your ear, and you try to match your breathing with Elias’. You feel a vibration as he shakes with laughter. You slightly drag your head up just enough to peek at his face, and he looks down at you with amusement.

“We ain’t done, not yet, peach,” he chuckles breathily at the wave of surprise that washes over your face.

You fumble with your words, “What d’ya mean? ‘L-Lias, I-I’m spent!” You continue to tremble in his arms.

“Y’still talkin’, ain’t ya, sugar?” He scoffs, it’s antagonizing. And before you can utter anything else, Elias flips you around onto the table, so you now lay with your back on the wood once again. Your dress rides down a tad at the sudden movement, and Elias holds your back, lifting you so that he can push your dress up past your breasts.

Elias lowers your back, before leaning peck your nipples. You bite your lip, but quickly let out a moan once he blows air onto your nipples, watching almost menacingly as they harden. One hand tweaks one of your nipples, as the other drags down your rib cage.

His hot, glistening tongue swishes around your tits, as he leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

He sucks harshly as you whimper beneath him. One of his hands leaves your body and goes down to his slacks, he unbuttons them with ease without even looking, as he continues to leave hickies on your chest.

He untucks himself from his underwear, and you can’t help but buck towards his cock in anticipation.

“Easy, girl. You’ll get it when ya prove y’deserve it,” Elias mocks, you whine in response.

“I deserve it, more than anybody else–y’know that, ‘Lias,” You plead in hopes of him giving you what you want.

“That right, baby? All this yours, nobody else's?” He challenges, starting to stroke his length.

You squeeze your eyelids together, almost as if you were personally pained by the question.

“Damn right,” You huff as you look at him with a sudden wave of fire blazing through your eyes. Elias scoffs with a mixture of incredulity and mirth.

“Yeah, baby–always been yours. Glad ya finally came to y’senses.” And with that, Elias pushes inside of you, and you let out a broken gasp.

Elias quickly finds his pace as he thrusts in and out of you rapidly. He nearly pulls entirely out of your dripping cunt–and you think he’s going to tease you again, but he then slams back into you roughly, making you cry out as your back arches into him.

You’re now chest-to-chest with Elias as he continues to pump into you with little regard to your overstimulation. The contact of skin makes your toes curl in your heels. Elias grunts at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock and bites forcibly at the flesh of your neck.

Elias groans–almost as if fucking you were the key to heaven’s gates. He takes his large palm and pushes it down onto your torso, making your sweating body meet the barely-covered, rumbling wood.

You weep helplessly and squirm as he keeps you pressed against the shaking table.

“Mmnf–”Lias! Please!” You cry yet again, but without knowing the reason behind it this time.

He doesn’t respond to your watery blabbering, instead putting your legs on either side of his shoulders. Elias slowly–and almost lovingly–kisses your ankle, before unclasping the latch of your heel and sliding it off of your foot, letting it hit the floor with a thump that neither of you seem to catch through the sounds of your bodies meeting.

You two damn-near become one.

He repeats his actions on your other leg, but this time he kisses from your calf to your ankle before removing your heel and letting it meet the ground with your matching one.

His hand grips at the ankle he just kissed, using it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded; like an anchor. He then sucks and nips at your leg, quickly marking just above your ankle with a red bruise, which you know will be purple by the time the sun rises for morning.

You hiss when he bites a little too roughly, and he shows his sympathy by licking at the irritated skin, soothing the tender ache.

“That feel good, darlin’? Tell “Lias how much y’love it, peach, c’mon,” Elias coos, lifting his shirt up so he can get a proper view of your sex.

You babble through sobs intelligibly, mewling something along the lines of ‘so so good, ‘Lias!’—at least that’s what Elias makes of it.

“Can’t hear ya, baby. Ya gotta–fuck! Ya gotta speak a ‘lil louder f’me, hm?” Elias manages to speak through his panting and groaning. You bawl, hot tears dripping from your cheeks down to your chin.

“It feels so good–oh god—‘Lias!” You shriek, not caring about the volume of your crying. “Please don’t stop! Please, please, please–” You ramble with a slur.

If Elias ever felt guilty at the way he man-handling you, seeing your fucked-out expression made all his worries wash away at the sight of you: tongue hanging out, as your tears dribble into your open mouth.

Your panting grows more frantic, little ‘uh-uh-uh’s being let out more frequently as you feel another orgasm course through your veins. “‘Lias—cummin’! S-sh-it, I-I’m cummin’!”

Elias firmly plants his feet on the floor, repositioning the arm on your stomach onto your other leg so that he can fuck you even deeper–deep enough to create a slight bulge in your stomach with his throbbing tip. “Yeah, that’s it. Fall apart on this dick, y’know y’want to, sugar. Been dreamin’ ‘bout it f’years, huh?” He taunts.

You try to answer him, honestly! But he’s hitting your cervix just right and his abs rub against the backs of your thighs–it’s too much.

Elias thought you’ve learned by now that he doesn’t take silence for an answer, so to remind you, he gives your spent cunt a more forceful slap than before.

“Fuck—Yes! A-always been wantin’ you, ‘Lias,” you wail. “I-I never let nobody touch me! Nobody but you!” You exclaim without thinking.

This fuels Elias to quicken his pace; he almost fucking growls at your words, and he tightens your legs around himself–right now, as he feels himself getting closer and closer to climaxing, he has no plans on pulling out.

He continues to heave words of encouragement as fucks you ruthlessly through your orgasm.

You moan and blabber as your vision turns white, and your ears start to ring. Your toes curl and flex, and your nails scratch at the table, hands desperate for something to hold. Your voice then gives out, as your tongue lolls out of your mouth yet again.

Elias gives you a few more earth-stattering thrusts, before his seed fills your puffy, aching hole; the guttural groan that leaves his throat ups in pitch–nearly turning into a whimper.

He pumps his cum into you once more, before releasing your legs from his grip and laying down on top of you. As he half-lays-half-stands against the table, he feels as if a cold bucket of water was dumped onto him.

He can no longer focus on the tingling feeling that shoots from his skull to his toes, but now on the fact that he was the first man you’ve been with.

You spent your first time with him–in a rickety building he bought from a Klan member, on an even dingier table.

Elias then taps your face, just enough to get you to come back to your senses. You open your eyes with a lazy grin at the feeling of his seed mixed with yours, but when you’re met with his panicky expression, you quickly push yourself up–to the best of your ability.

“What? Wha’s wrong, ‘Lias?” You question worrisomely.

He allows himself to catch his breath before speaking, “Y’serious?” It’s all that he says.

You furrow your brows and tilt your head at him, “Bout what? Y’scarin’ me, Elias,” you chuckle awkwardly.

Had you said something you shouldn’t have?

A million thoughts run rampant throughout your mind.

“‘Bout all this,” he flails his hand, motioning to where your bodies had just met. “Was that really ya first time?” He speaks loudly, and you feel mortified.

Your breath catches in your throat. You confirm his worries, your voice softer than a freshly picked feather, “Yes.”

Elias takes a step back, and it takes everything in you not to reach out for him. Instead, you sit up fully and push your dress back down to your thighs. You twiddle your thumbs idly, seeking for even an ounce of comfort as Elias pushes his shirt back down and tucks himself back into his boxers after wiping himself off with a rag. Despite his glowering, he hands you a rag so that you can wipe away the slick from between your thighs.

Did he regret spending the night with you? Did he find the fact that you remained a virgin because of him embarrassing?

“Why you ain’t tell me, girl?” He exclaims, “I wouldn’t have said and done all that foolishness if I knew you ain't never been with a man before!”

You feel your soul come back into your body. “You would’ve been all sweet with me? That whatcha sayin’, ‘Lias?” You can’t help but giggle.

“Ain’t nothin’ funny, woman! I was all rough with you ‘n–” You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer to you. You fold your arms around his neck, and you feel his hands drift down to your waist and squeeze lightly. Your nose nudges his, his breath fans your face as yours does his.

You break the kiss when you feel yourself losing your breath, and you gaze at Elias lovingly.

“You were perfect, I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you whisper.

“Well for starters, could've gotten you a bed in the house ‘stead of a table in this dark ass room,” Elias grumbles.

You grin, “I think the lightin’ was just fine. Added ambience ‘n all that.” Elias pouts, and you peck his lips.

“I don’t care ‘bout the details, “Lias. Long as it was with you.” Your tone is as sweet as the finest honey in Clarksdale, and it pulls on Elias’ heartstrings.

“Y’really waited all these years….For me?” He whispers.

“Course I did, couldn’t imagine bein’ with anybody else.” You speak just as softly. You recognize the guilt that crosses his face, despite his best efforts to mask it with his bravado. “Don’t feel guilty, please. I don’t blame you for nun.” You caress his hair. Silence fills the room as Elias deciphers what to say, you just hold him tenderly until he’s ready.

“I-I love ya, more than y’know, sugar…” He trails off before finishing his sentence, “I jus’ want ya to know that. I have since we was young.” He looks at you with adoration and love in his eyes.

“I love you too, Elias Moore. Have since you stood up to my daddy on his farm f’me when we was seven.”

He smiles, but it’s tight lipped, making you frown. “Jus’ wish I could’ve admitted it sooner. Then this would’ve went down differently—would’ve been better.” He sulks.

You take your thumb and index finger and pluck his lips, making him shout ‘hey!’ with a laugh.

“Stop beatin’ y’self up, Elias. I told you, I’m perfectly happy here, right now. Ain’t nun gon’ change that a bit.” You scold him.

“If ya stop all that moppin’, I’ll let ya try again tomorrow, however y’want,” you giggle mischievously. Elias’ eyes light up almost immediately, the way he perks up reminds you of a puppy that was just given a treat.

Elias roars with laughter and squeezes you, before lowering you back down onto the table, he presses nearly all of his weight onto you.

You squeal and cackle as he tickles your sides, “‘Lias!”

You lay wrapped up with Elias, you felt as if you could lay there forever, and honestly in this moment, you wanted to.

Clarity and revelations do the body good.

Everything was good.

Until you heard a commotion on the other side of the door.

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[sukunasweetheart]

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna...

warnings!!! dark content, noncon breeding, dubcon, sukuna ties your hands together, baby trapping, toxic, possessive and jealous sukuna, manipulative tendencies and mentions of violence (not towards reader), oral (f!receiving)

divider by @/saradika-graphics

3.8k words

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who'd always coax you into fucking him bareback without a condom because he swears it feels better...

being so sweet, seducing you into letting him hit it raw, doing whatever it takes to put you in a good mood, get you hot and bothered so you can't deny him for long, swearing that he'd pull out, and that you'd have nothing to worry about...

but scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who never kept his word. he'd fuck you silly and cum deep into your womb, even though he promised he wouldn't. you wanted to stop him, but you were feeling too good in the moment to fight him off. when you confront him about it afterwards, he simply tells you "my bad, sweetheart. i didn't mean to, but you just felt too good..."

he gets high off the feeling of cumming inside you.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who secretly wished he could fuck you pregnant with his seed. but you told him you didn't want a baby, which he disappoints him, though he may not show it. he wants to see your belly swell up with his child, and to suck on your sweet milk when your tits start leaking. fuck, just the thought of it had made him get hard.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who didn't take you seriously when you broke it off with him. you could see it in his eyes sometimes, the way he seemed eerily quiet when your pregnancy tests turned out with only one line. you felt glad you'd taken those birth control pills behind his back. but you decided enough was enough. you loved him, but you just didn't want to have a child with him.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who didn't even seem phased by the break up. he believed he could coax you back to him again, given with some time. you are his, and nothing will change that. when he sees you around, he shamelessly flirts with you and tries to convince you to come back to him, telling you that he misses you dearly. there are times when he almost succeeds, only because you do miss him sometimes too.

a few weeks into the break up, you truthfully, begin to feel a little sexually frustrated. you don't recall having such a high sex drive before getting with sukuna, but he seems to have permanently altered your body, the way he used to pleasure you so good...

you gather some friends and head into a club, and try to forget about him.

at the club, you re-familiarise yourself with the smell of alcohol in the air, the music that hurts your eardrums, and the crowd of people all around you, wherever you went. it's been a while since you've been here, because you had been with sukuna for over two years now.

an hour or two passes, and you've gotten yourself fairly tipsy at the bar now.

you sync yourself up with the music, but a familiar figure catches your attention from the second floor of the club, afar. it's sukuna. but he's not looking at you.

he's standing with his ex-girlfriend - the one that had gotten hysterical with you after she'd found out about your relationship with him. your mood plummets, for some reason.

you're the one that broke up with him. it shouldn't matter what he's up to after that. liar. you told me you missed me. you try to ignore him, and continue drinking yourself drunk, the edges of your vision already swimming.

sukuna's at the club, only because a friend of his snitched on you and told him that you were out here somewhere. he didn't think he'd meet yorozu, out of everyone it could've been.

"hi, ryo. i heard you'd finally broken up with that girl?" she asks sweetly, standing as close to him as possible.

sukuna gives her a deadpan stare.

"broken up? says who?"

"well, everyone. don't tell me you're pathetically clinging onto her now? that's not like you."

"i'm not you. now get lost, i'm busy."

yorozu grabs his hand, stopping him from walking away.

"wait! i just wanna tell you..."

she continues talking, but his attention has already drifted elsewhere, as his eyes pan toward the crowd downstairs. now...where are you? when he does manage to find you in the crowd downstairs, he doesn't like what he sees. that's an understatement. he hates it.

you're swaying your hips with some other bastard, making out with him on the dance floor.

"damn- you're so fuckin' hot," the stranger chuckles against the shell of your ear, your arms around his neck.

"am i really?" you respond giggling, clearly intoxicated.

"yeah, you are... why don't you come home with me?"

"hmmm? sure, why not? 'm single now, anyway," you mumble, your feet now beginning to stumble. you're starting to miss him again.

"broke up with your boyfriend, did you? poor thing."

"i'll help you feel better." the man grins and helps you walk outside of the club.

on his way out however, he bumps into someone of a large frame. he's all tatted up, and his gaze is holding a mean glare as he stares down at him. he holds out his hand to him, like he's asking for something.

"hand her over, and i won't beat you to death."

oh. he must be the ex. that was enough for the man to quietly place your body into sukuna's arms and exit the club.

tch, he's as spineless as he looks.

sukuna handles your limp body with care, your breath pungent with the smell of alcohol. he's irritated to no end right now, and a vein is bulging from his forehead, but he safely carries you to his car.

outside, the man thinks he's clear of danger, and decides he's had enough for the night. but, someone's heavy arm comes down around his shoulders suddenly.

"hey. you're the one that played it too close with sukuna's girl? how unlucky of you," a man with a scar on his lip talks nonchalantly.

he gets dragged into a nearby alleyway.

"don't take it personally. i got paid to do this."

the man shrieks as he gets beaten to a pulp, just enough so it hurts like hell, but not enough to kill him. sukuna likes to keep his word.

meanwhile... you're taken to your own home. he found the keys to your house in your purse. sukuna tucks you into your own bed, and even dresses you into your own pajamas. and then...

he just leaves.

-

the next morning - you don't remember a thing. you're left feeling confused, wondering how you managed to get home and how you were even sober enough to get yourself dressed. the only thing you can recall is seeing sukuna with his ex, and then making out with some random guy on the dance floor. everything else is blacked out.

you ask your friends, but they were also too busy getting wasted to know what happened to you. but you feel fine physically, so you brush the incident off.

now the only thing bothering you... sukuna hasn't contacted you again ever since you witnessed him and yorozu talking. so he must've gone back to her. that makes you feel... irritated. upset. sad, even. even though you wanted to break things off first.

you slowly start getting back to your normal daily life again, although with a heavy heart. only change is, that you can't seem to find your birth control pills, wherever you last put them. you contemplate for a moment, wondering whether you should buy a new pack, but you end up shrugging it off, knowing that you won't really need them in the meantime anyway...

you're trying to get back into what life was like before you met sukuna. falling back into bad diet habits, staring at your phone, going back and forth between unblocking and blocking sukuna's number - wondering if he's texted you again in the meantime - but of course, there is nothing new.

he may have had his toxic traits, but you knew he loved you a lot... he cooked you wonderful meals and spoiled you with gifts and knew how to make you orgasm until you couldn't speak. and he was tender with you, even though he teased you a lot.

and now, you're back to using toys to satisfy yourself... it's always like this! you start thinking about him and your hand begins to wander down - you can only hope that you'll eventually lose these feelings soon.

you decide to head out and go on a shopping spree alone, to distract yourself from your thoughts and maybe lift your spirits up.

spending a lot of money for yourself always feels nice. you're buying a lot of cute clothes, accessories and food, jumping between shop to shop. the sun sets rather quickly, and by now, you're at your final stop, mulling over whether this expensive, but beautiful bracelet and necklace set is worth buying. your impulse gets the better of you and you ask for it to be packaged for you.

you reach for your wallet to pay with your card, but someone's familiar voice rings out beside you as he approaches.

"i'll pay for the set." sukuna already has his credit card out, and is handing it to the store clerk, using a tone that makes him difficult to question.

"...sukuna?" you say quizzically, his name slipping from your lips without thinking.

the clerk scans his card, and your items are already paid for.

"what are you doing here..." you ask him, with mixed feelings running around in the pit of your stomach.

"missed me?" he asks with a smirk, very naturally taking your multiple shopping bags from your hand. "i just happened to be in the area."

you're not sure if you believe him. just when you're about to ask him something again, he guides you out of the store with his hand on your shoulder.

"i thought you got back with your ex," you say, taking your bags back from his hand. "i'm sure she'll be upset if she sees you here with me."

"what? where did you get that nonsense from?" he seems genuinely confused.

"i saw you at the club, by coincidence. you were talking with her."

oh... he didn't realise you'd noticed him back there.

"oh, sweetheart... that was a coincidence. i wasn't planning on meeting her. did you really believe that i'd get back with that woman?"

you shouldn't be feeling relieved to such an extent... but your shoulders loosen up after hearing that.

"well... you stopped contacting me after i last saw you with her. of course i'd start believing it."

"oh? i thought you had my number blocked. were you anticipating my texts? you missed me, after all." sukuna leans in closer to you, smiling cockily.

you should have just kept your mouth shut...

"i'll take you home. you have a lot of luggage, no?" sukuna offers, taking your bags back from your hand.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you know you're supposed to decline here. but you let your feelings get the best of you... and end up letting him lead you to his car.

he was supposed to just quickly drop you off home.

"you have a lot of stuff. i'll help you carry it home," sukuna gave his excuse, with something more sly hiding in his eyes. you know exactly what he wants. but when he insists so strongly, you can't deny him. like the fool you are.

you unlock your door and he comes inside to put your bags down on the floor at the entrance. and as you had expected, he doesn't leave right away. instead, he looks down at you with a coy smile, while you return the gaze with a more standoffish one. the tension feels thick and heavy as neither of you speak for a moment.

"well? i'm sure you didn't let me in without knowing my intentions..." sukuna moves forward and closer to you, hands very naturally finding their way to your waist.

he leans down slowly and offers you a brief kiss, a very light and short one, like he's testing the waters. he scans your face for your response. your lips feel all tingly. and all he sees is that you're not pushing him away.

"we shouldn't..." you whisper, but your resolve is too weak. you can't tell him to go away, much less kick him out of your home.

"i know."

in truth, he doesn't really. why should he be separate from you? you belong to him. he pulls you in for a deeper kiss. and you just let it happen.

and, lord, he smells and tastes divine. there's a reason why you always forgave him despite his scummy behaviour when it came to using protection. though you ended up breaking him off, you wonder if it'll be different if you give him another chance.

he wastes no time in lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing, and heads off to your bedroom, before you can change your mind. you comply, holding onto his strong embrace weakly, having missed this kind of treatment.

when you're laid onto your own bed, sukuna smirks again as he cages you between his arms.

"you're being so obedient. must've regretted breaking up with me-?"

pulling him in with a hand to the back of his neck, you shut him up with another demanding kiss, not letting him speak for long. sukuna groans as you slip your tongue into him, initiating something messier than what the both of you were doing before.

he's quick to unzip your skirt and side it off, along with your panties. in desperation, he doesn't take the time to fully get you naked and instead, pushes your shirt and bra up to fondle your jutting breasts. sukuna then peels his own jacket and shirt off.

"spread your legs for me, sweetheart. i'll spoil you tonight."

you part your legs slowly - and he sees that you're already glistening with slick. bringing his face down, he aims straight for your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it entirely. your back arches as you gasp, the warm and wet feeling being so arousing like nothing else in this world.

you feel the tip of his tongue flicker up and down your clitoris in a mesmerising rhythm - knowing exactly what you want, and need to reach your orgasm. and the way he sucks on you with the correct amount of pressure, while making the lewdest noises, forcing your hips to stutter uncontrollably against his mouth, with the way it feels so mind numbing, is just too much in its own way.

you let your erotic moans ring out, because you know he loves it when you show him how good you're feeling - and your hands can't help but hold onto his hair from the intense pleasure, which he never seem to flinch from.

the first orgasm hits you like a truck, with the way you're left breathless and gasping for air as your legs reflexively try to close up - sukuna has to hold them apart with his strong grip as he continues tonguing you even as you're cumming, your cunt thrumming against his lips.

"o-ooh- fuck-! sukuna!" you plead, your blank gaze meeting the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, hips jolting without restraint.

when he does eventually show mercy and remove his mouth from your poor aching clit, you're already on the brink of sobbing, your legs down to your toes feeling all prickly from the overstimulation. your mind is in a haze.

so much so, that you didn't realise that he had bound your wrists to the bed frame until he was already done with it.

"wha- sukuna...? why're you tying me up-?" you question, still a little out of it from your last orgasm.

"shh, love. it's not like this is the first time...relax," sukuna comforts you, caressing your face. you can't help the small uneasiness from growing in your stomach. he suddenly gives your clit a light slap. it startles you a bit, and you gasp.

"you're so pretty. do you know that?"

you see your own reflection in his ringed eyes. your heart races, and you don't know if it's because you're flustered or terrified.

"i just wanna..."

his cock aches in his pants.

he never finishes his sentence. instead, he just offers you a soft, yet sloppy kiss.

sukuna frees his erection, and sighs in relief. it's all messy and leaky with precum. he lines it up against your wet and puckering cunt. you won't deny that you want it...

"sukuna... condom..." you remind him gently, getting slightly nervous from the way he's rubbing his tip up and down your slit.

"... 'm sorry sweetheart. i don't think i can do that."

he pushes his hips in one go, and you're left gasping from the sudden intrusion. you're immediately pushed into a mating press.

sukuna groans from how he immediately feels your wet walls sucking him in, your slick making his cock glisten as he thrusts in and out. he's missed this so, so much.

"fuck- sukuna! you can't- oh my g-god..." your hands tug at your bindings as you try and resist your moans from coming out of your throat, but the way his dick satisfies your cunt is otherworldly, his tip kissing your cervix, over and over again.

"that's it, baby... just enjoy yourself," he urges you on, getting breathless from his own fast pace, cock pulsating inside of you in excitement. god, you always drive him crazy.

still, in the back of your mind you still have a sliver of trust in this man. foolishly so. surely he'll pull out at the last second. surely he won't cum inside you in this situation. it's been a while since you stopped being on the pill.

your bed creaks from how roughly sukuna pounds your pussy, all while groaning with such shamelessness, only caring about the pleasure that is found from the warmth and wetness of your puckering hole.

"fuuck... fuck! to think you were gonna let some other bastard do this to you..." he growls under his breath, brows furrowing. you don't hear him. he remembers his original motive for all of this. to remind you who you truly belonged to.

"ooh-! sukuna! you're being too rough..." you whine, feeling the pressure of an incoming orgasm already building in your abdomen.

he only grips your hips harder, looking down at you with a toothy smile. his dick aches so badly. he's endured through so much patience just for this moment.

your mind goes blank as you forget about the fact that he's not wearing a condom, drool spilling out the side of your mouth from the pleasure you feel as his girthy dick drills in and out of you, a squelching noise happening everytime he sinks himself in. there's the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your ass. and also the friction from his pants, that he hasn't bothered to fully take off. the juices from your cunt has dampened them, but sukuna couldn't care less right now.

"sweetheart... my love... take- taking me s-so well..." sukuna groans, panting and words slurred. despite the deeply affectionate words, his hips move like an animal. you can't do anything but moan and cry.

sukuna feels himself getting high again. there's just something about you... god, he's so pussydrunk he can't even think properly. only the thought of breeding you is on his mind. make you his, completely. to see your belly get bigger from his seed... a powerful thrum goes to his cock and he shudders again.

he has to make it take, this time.

"i'm gonna cum," he tells you breathlessly, knowing you won't be able to stop him, this time around.

"sukuna!... wait," you protest, weakly tugging at your binds again, but you can't say anything more than that, as his lips come down onto yours, silencing you effectively. he tongue kisses you roughly, desperate and messy as you can feel his laboured breaths on you.

and the final thrust that he gives, where he pushes his dick in so deeply, tip meeting your cervix, sends you into another trembling orgasm. sukuna groans deeply against your mouth as he cums, hips stuttering against yours, eyes shut tightly as he savours you completely. you take your lips off of his, and try to say, "stop...! no- pull out," but he stops you with another kiss.

you sob, because it's over. but you're also sobbing because it feels so good.

sukuna's deep kiss trails down to the crook of your neck.

"you can't tell me to pull out... when your cunt is... seducing my cock like this..." he shivers between phrases, mumbling against your neck, mind all hazy from the way you pulse around him from your orgasm, milking his dick as spurt after spurt of his seed shoots straight into your womb.

you can't even say anything back to him - you're coming off your high as he empties his balls into you, letting out more than usual. you're done for.

"i hate you," you sob.

"i know you don't really mean that. you can't live without me," sukuna tells you, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead afterwards.

"and the same applies to me. i'll never let anyone else have you."

he begins to litter kisses down again, until he reaches your chest, while his cock is still inside you. his soft lips caress your tits, and then he begins to lather his tongue around your stiffened nipples, making you feel good again, even through the tears.

the night is far from over.

sukuna becomes much more gentle and soft after the first time, opting for slower but deeper thrusts this time around, adding plenty of little kisses in between as well, "loving" you with everything he has. you have no choice but to accept all of him, as he cums inside of you over and over again.

his cock is in its own haven, being trapped in your gummy walls without rest. and at some point, sukuna's even released your wrists, and now you're willingly making love to him with your arms around his neck, coping with the thought that resisting doesn't even matter anymore - it's already too late, and you're tired of trying to fight back.

you can't count how many times he's dumped his load into you, how many times he's said "i can't get enough of you," how many times you've kissed him back when he kisses you.

and when he finally does eventually pull out, his semen oozes out of you in a disgusting amount. you're spent, and completely exhausted. you can't help your heavy eyelids from closing up, and the last thing you hear is his soft voice.

"goodnight, sweetheart. i'll take care of everything, from now on. i promise."

he holds you so closely and lovingly that you believe him.

Masterlist

[scarletmika]

Let Me In : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Stark!Reader

Summary: Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

Warnings: angst, fluff, acquaintances to friends to lovers, some language, mentions of death, SPOILERS for Endgame and Thunderbolts*

Word Count: 4,603 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“You’re leaving me off the mission?”

The bite in your voice wasn’t surprising to anyone, they’d all become used to it over the last few weeks since settling into the Tower (per Valentina’s request). Yelena, Ava, and John were plenty used to the attitude that rolled off you, having had it since the second they’d met you down in that vault, eyes wide as they got a good look at your face and realized who exactly they were trapped underground with.

“It’s nothing personal-”

“Just like my grandparents’ deaths, right, Barnes?” you’d sneered, jabbing your finger into his chest, barely shoving him back a centimeter. The tension in the room was clear, the hurt that flashed across Bucky’s eyes gone in a second, as he took hold of your wrist and removed your hand from him.

“You aren’t a child anymore, Stark, quit acting like one,” the tone of Bucky’s voice had dropped considerably after your comment. Hands at your sides, clenched into fists, Bucky turned around to address Alexei, John, Ava, and Yelena, ignoring you. “Should only take a day, maybe two, for this one. Slight recon needed, then it’s get in and get out as quickly as possible. Wheels up in twenty.”

This was the second time in the last month, since being officially stationed in the tower as The New Avengers, that Bucky had left you off of missions. You were plenty capable of taking care of yourself, with and without your suit, and yet he’d found excuses somehow to claim you weren’t needed. Your resentment was growing toward the super soldier, who still somehow saw you as the young girl he’d met back in 2016 instead of the capable young woman you were now.

You’d been through enough shit in life, you were plenty capable of whatever missions Valentina had assigned your team.

The jet had taken off for the assigned location just an hour prior, and the bitterness had seeped through every part of you by now. The kitchen was silent, except for the quiet music playing off of your cell phone on the counter, as you hacked away at the vegetables on the cutting board in front of you.

“Did…those t-tomatoes do something to you?”

The knife in your hands clattered to the countertop before you, sucking in a breath at the voice behidn you. You whipped around to face the kitchen doorway that led out into the main hallway, exhaling and trying to calm your erratically beating heart.

“Shit, Bob! Don’t scare a woman wielding a knife…or sneak up on a woman in general!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he held his hands up in innocence, taking a few cautious steps into the kitchen before tentatively sliding himself into one of the bar stools at the island counter. You shook your head at him, picking the knife back up and continuing to prepare the dinner. “I-I didn’t mean to scare you, I j-just saw you very…angrily chopping tomatoes.”

“You didn’t scare me, you just came close to having a knife lodged in whatever part of your body I might manage to hit,”

If you asked anyone on the team, they’d say that Bob was the only one you were at least semi-friendly to most of the time. At least, he was the only one you hadn’t thrown sarcastic and borderline rude comments toward at any point in time since meeting that day in the vault. And it wasn’t that you talked either, or that you considered him a friend, because you didn’t. None of them were your friends, they were simply your coworkers.

Bob was the only one, though, with a chance of holding a conversation with you without leaving with a bruised ego.

“That would hurt,” Bob had meant it as a joke, though his awkward delivery wasn’t doing it any favors. You glanced up at him for a second, raising an eyebrow, as he fidgeted, realizing his joke hadn’t landed how he wanted it to. “Why uh, why aren’t you on the mission?”

“I wasn’t invited,”

“But you’re, like, more of an Avenger than any of us-”

“Don’t call me that,” there was an edge to your voice as you looked up at him this time, pointing the knife in his direction. That sharp edge you’d taken on faltered as you saw Bob slink back in on himself, letting out a deep breath and resuming the chopping of your vegetables, looking away from him for a moment. Bob didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Just…just don’t call me that. Please.”

Bob hesitated for a second, watching you focus diligently on the task at hand, before speaking again.

“W-why?”

Bob saw the way your hand froze, the faraway look that seemed to enter your gaze, as if you were stuck in your own mind, stuck in memories you’d never wanted to relive. You’d already done that once, to save Bob’s life, and you didn’t want to do it again.

“My father was the Avenger…not me,” your gaze drifted back up to Bob as you placed the knife down on the counter, gripping the edges in your hands. “Look, Bob, we’ve all got regrets. We’ve all done bad things, but me? I had no reason to become what I did. I…he was a hero, not me. Now, if you’re done playing twenty questions, come help me prepare dinner so we don’t starve without the rest of them.”

He’d done as you asked, albeit hesitantly at first, joining you at your side. You turned on the stove, directing him to simply watch the water and put the box of noodles in once it was boiling. You, in turn, went back to the vegetables before you, chopping away.

There was silence in the kitchen between you both, which was unsurprising to either of you. Neither of you talked much to one another, but that wasn’t on purpose. Most days, you were holed up in the lab that you’d essentially forced Valentina to add to the tower for you, getting most of your social interaction from speaking to FRIDAY all day.

Bob never really got the chance to talk to you…but he wanted to. He heard the way the others spoke about you, but he didn’t want to believe it. You’d thrown yourself in harm's way to protect him multiple times when escaping the vault, you’d jumped into the endless rooms of shame to save him from himself. Bob knew there was no way you were as terrible as the others made it seem at times.

“N-nice shirt,”

It seemed that Bob had decided to end the silence between you both, finally. You glanced down at the old Black Sabbath t-shirt you were wearing, the way the ends reached almost to your knees, fitting you more like a dress than a shirt.

“Was my dad’s,” you commented back, taking a quick glance back at him before adding the chopped tomatoes into the salad bowl in front of you. “You know, if you’re trying to play twenty questions with me, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to get a turn.”

Bob froze for a second at the stove, unsure if you actually meant that you were in fact playing along with this little game that he hadn’t really meant to start.

“U-uh right, right…you can ask me something?”

“Okay…why are you so interested in me?”

Your eyes were on him, eyebrows raised in question as you walked past him to grab something else from the fridge to add into your salad bowl.

“Oh, I uh, I just…” Bob stumbled along, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Walker, he uh…he sometimes calls you mean. Or a hardass.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

There wasn’t much in your tone to give away any feelings you might have had, but Bob caught it. That small hint of vulnerability, that small inflection in your voice that suggested you did care what others thought about you. As someone who cared deeply about what others thought of him, Bob knew it when he heard it.

“I-I think they just don’t know you,”

You huffed, shaking your head as you walked past him again.

“And you do?”

“No…but i-if Walker thinks you’re mean then y-you can’t be all that bad. He deserves it,”

There was silence for a moment before you let out another huff, this time laced with laughter. Bob was frozen for a second, never having actually heard you laugh before, until you turned to him with a small smirk on your face.

You looked just like your father like that.

“I underestimated you, Bob, you’ve got jokes,” you nodded, gesturing him to your side to help you. He followed your movements, holding onto the salad bowl while you added in the dressing and olives you’d grabbed out of the fridge moments before. “You want to know me? Really know me, Bob?”

“Yeah, I…I do,”

“Then you should know that I hate it here,” the water was boiling on the stove now, so you quickly walked past him, dumping in the noodles and giving it a stir. “I don’t want to be here.”

“W-with the team?”

“In this tower,” he’d followed your hand movements as you gestured around the room. “This was his, then it was theirs, and now it’s supposed to be ours. They can call us the Avengers all they want, but we aren’t them. We’ll never be them. This place is crawling with memories of my childhood, and after what I’ve done I just…I can’t be here.”

It was the most vulnerable you’d been with anyone on this new team of yours before. It was everything you’d been dying to get off your chest for so long now, and in front of Bob it was all simply pouring out now. He watched you, head cocked like a little puppy in a way that you couldn’t admit to yourself was kind of adorable.

“What…what did you do?”

“I lost it, Bob. Why do you think I was in that vault that day?” you laughed bitterly to yourself, shaking your head. “Throw enough grief on one person, and eventually they lose it. My mother, half the world, my friends, my father, the Avengers themselves. I snapped, and I tarnished my father’s legacy.”

“We’ve all done bad things…” Bob tried his best to comfort you with his words, but comforting someone else wasn’t something he was well adept at. “I-I don’t think anyone judges you for that. We’re…we’re all here for you.”

You eyed him for a moment, shaking your head with a short laugh as you moved past him.

“I think I’ve said enough. I’ve ruined my ‘bad girl’ reputation already enough tonight. Letting any of you in means caring about you, and I don’t do that anymore,”

Bob worried for a moment as you moved past him again, afraid that the little work he’d done in order to get you to talk to him was going down the drain in a second. His hand shot out, grabbing onto yours, as you spun to look at him the second your hands connected, as the room was bathed in black for a split second.

The scene around you both changed in an instant as Bob looked around, trying to discern where you both were now. You hadn’t even turned your head, but you knew where you were. You could smell the gunpowder and dust in the air, you could feel the heat that still trickled through the breeze.

The worst moment of your life played out right before Bob’s eyes.

Rhodey’s hand fell from his best friend’s face, and tears were already streaming down his cheeks. Tony Stark looked at him the best he could, the burns across his right side shooting pain through every inch of him, but he was too numb to it all to notice the pain.

“...dad?”

With every bit of strength he could muster, Tony’s head lulled back to the side, just as you’d dropped to your knees in front of him. Your armor was dirty, dented, and pieces of it were broken off. Dust and blood covered your face, splotches of it stained on the purple and gold of your suit, but none of that mattered as your armor-covered hands came up to hold your father’s face.

“Love…you…”

“Shhhhh, shhhh it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re fine,” you were hyperventilating now, trying desperately to hold in the sobs that threatened to claw their way up your throat. “It’s okay, I-I love you too, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay, daddy, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Pepper’s hand was the one to grab your shoulder first, trying to back you away before you lost control of yourself. You cried out, clinging to your father, mumbling apologies over and over and over again in hopes that he’d hear you, that he’d believe them.

It took Steve Rogers to tug you away, to hold you in his arms as you sobbed violently, eyes never straying from your father as the light of his arc reactor finally went out, a hush coating the battlefield around you.

Bob was back in the tower suddenly, and you were still in front of him, hand still lying in his own. This time, though, there were silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Bob was shaking his head, lip quivering after realizing the weight of what had just happened. He’d done that, he’d brought you there, he’d made you relive the worst moment of your life. “I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t trying to- sometimes it just, it takes control and I-I can’t stop it-”

Your hand squeezed his, and you gave him a small smile even as you silently cried before him. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever been in front of any of them, but especially in front of Bob. he realized in that moment how beautiful you looked, even as you cried, and he wanted to make sure you never cried again.

“It’s okay, I know. I…I lost so much that day. I lost my dad, I lost Natasha, I lost Steve…and then I lost myself,” your other hand came up to wipe away your tears. “Eventually, you learn that if you just stop caring, if you stop letting people in, you can’t get hurt anymore. Other people learn that, too, once they see you’re just damaged goods.”

Bob’s fingers twitched around yours, around the hand still resting in his own that you didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon, as you watched you carefully.

“I…I had a girlfriend once. Before…all this,” Bob spoke softly, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment as he seemed to reflect on his memories. “I left her because I thought she deserved better than me. I-I was just some high school drop out, some meth addicted loser…damaged goods weighing her down. She deserved better than- than someone so-”

“Broken,” your whispered voice finished his sentence for him. “Someone so broken…who didn’t think they deserved anything good.”

It was unseen, but an understanding seemed to pass through both of you in that moment, a shared moment where you both seemed to realize just how much you maybe did have in common. That there was someone else who understood the battles you fought inside your own head.

There was silence for a few more moments, before you spoke up again, a crack evident in your voice as you tried to hold it steady.

“He left me…he left me, he left Pepper, he left my little sister, and I haven’t been able to pick up the pieces. He left me full of this darkness that just won’t go away…how selfish is that?”

Darkness. That word had Bob tilting his head, his grip on your hand tightening.

“Y-You can’t push the darkness down, you have to spend time together with others. It makes it lighter…Yelena taught me that,” Bob paused, but the small smile on your face encouraged him to continue. “I…I want to be there for you, i-if you’ll let me.”

You hadn’t said yes that night, but you also hadn’t said no. And the second the rest of the team arrived back from the mission two days later, they could feel something had shifted in the tower.

They walked on eggshells around you for a bit, before you shocked them by starting conversations with them yourself. Now, you hadn’t changed all that much, still carrying the signature Stark snark and witty comments in every conversation, but something about you seemed lighter. You didn’t bite their heads off in the same way as before, you even managed to laugh at their jokes from time to time.

Eventually, in the coming weeks, you’d even dragged yourself out of your lab and to the weekly movie nights that Alexei had insisted upon. All eyes followed you the second you’d joined them that night, but they didn’t question it for fear of you running off and changing your mind.

In all of the ways you’d changed, they’d noticed one more thing: you and Bob were almost conjoined at the hip. It didn’t matter the time of day or what either one of you was doing, but you were always together. And when you were together, there always seemed to be a smile on your face, one that mirrored his own.

Locked in your lab one day, focused on an idea you’d had to upgrade the blasters and rocket boot functions of your suit, you were in your own little world.

The suit was hanging from the ceiling above you as you slid around below the suit on a rolling board. AC/DC was, of course, blasting through the speakers as you worked, taking you back to the better moments you could remember, of sitting on a desk in the lab back in Malibu as you watched your father work, or even the moments you got to help him and Bruce in the tower.

Through the music and the noises of your own tools against, somehow you were able to make out the sound of a throat clearing. Sliding out from under your suit and throwing your protective goggles off, you smiled at the sight of Bob standing a few feet away, shooting you a shy smile.

“Made you dinner,”

“My hero,” you joked with him, climbing up to your feet to hop up on top of one of your work desks, happily taking the plate from him with the burger that lay upon it. “Careful, people will start getting ideas around here if you keep making me dinner.”

There was an instant flush to Bob’s cheeks at your words as you laughed, bumping your foot against his knee as he stood in front of you with his own plate, sending him a wink. He took a seat on the desk chair in front of you, turning to look up at the suit hanging beside you both.

“Whoa…I-I’ve never been down here while you’re working on this,”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” you were grinning to yourself, admiring your handiwork as Bob turned his attention to watch you instead. “This is a newer model than what you’ve seen. Decided it was time to take after dad and try out nano-tech instead, so far I quite like it.”

“Did he make you your first one?”

“Nah, I made that one in secret. About gave Pepper a heart attack one day when she walked into Dad’s lab and saw me with a blaster on my hand,” you watched him with a grin as he laughed at your story from your childhood. “Isn’t it movie night? Shouldn’t you be up there?”

Bob only shrugged, taking a bite of his own burger as he spoke through a mouth full of food.

“R-rather be with you,”

It wasn’t the first time that an off-handed comment from Bob had brought heat to your cheeks, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore those little moments.

“Why?”

Bob swallowed his food, looking at you and giving you just a small shrug, before placing his plate down next to you, getting up to take a closer look at your suit.

“That darkness…I have it too. Y-You make mine lighter,”

It was such a small comment, but the effect it had on you was profound. It knocked the wind out of you, it had the feelings you’d been trying to bury and ignore for weeks now threatening to crawl out of you and spill out into the open.

And through it all, Bob didn’t even realize how much lighter he was making your own darkness.

Bucky had seen the change the most out of the team, probably because your snark and attitude usually ended up directed toward him. He took it, he understood it. You needed someone to hate, and for the Stark family, he was an easy target.

“Hey…”

The super soldier was sitting alone at the kitchen island counter, flicking through mission files that had been sent over by Valentina. Behind him, the rest of the team sat in the common room as Alexei screamed out something about ‘NASCAR being the greatest American sport of all time.’

It was you who appeared across the counter from Bucky, shooting him a nervous smile. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, eyeing you curiously and cautiously.

“Hi…”

“I…owe you an apology,” you managed to say after a beat of silence. “For what I said weeks ago, before that mission. For the way I’ve been acting since…since that day. It’s not fair to you.”

“You were grieving. You needed someone to hate-”

“And it shouldn’t have been you,” you cut him off earnestly, and Bucky could see how hard it was for you to have this conversation, to be this vulnerable. “You didn’t kill my grandparents, HYDRA did, and I know that. I’ve always known that. You’ve been there for me since that day, checked in on me over the years, and I repaid you with being an ass.”

Bucky was, frankly, a bit stunned at your words. He’d never truly expected it, he was content to let you hate him for the rest of your life if it made you feel better inside.

“I mean, knowing your father…the behavior didn’t shock me,”

You laughed, shaking your head lightly.

“Yeah…yeah, he really knew how to be an asshole, didn’t he?”

“He did…but he was a good man. Thank you, though, it does mean a lot to hear you say it,” Bucky’s head cocked a bit to the side. “What’s made you have such a change of heart these last few weeks?”

The super soldier didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked past him for just a moment to the common room behind him, before returning back to give him your full attention.

“Because someone taught me that it’s okay to let people in, that it’s okay to care…that they can make that darkness feel a little lighter,”

Bucky knew exactly who you were talking about, and you knew that he did. His eyes glanced back over to the common room, focused in on Bob as he sat in a chair across from the rest of the team, laughing at yet another comment from Alexei.

“He’s good for you,”

“I know,” your voice came out as a whisper. “That’s what scares me.”

“You did bad things, kid,” Bucky said, grabbing the files from the counter and rising up. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve good things. Your dad would want you to be happy.”

Bucky’s words stayed with you the rest of that day, and there was a tiny little voice inside you that was beginning to believe them.

When you reentered your floor that night and walked into your bedroom, you weren’t surprised to see Bob waiting for you. It had become a nightly routine between you both, staying up and admiring the few stars that you could see in the sky through the New York City light pollution, talking about everything under the sun. It was comfortable, it was sweet, it made you feel at home to have someone like that in your life again.

Tonight, you were more nervous than anything.

“Hey! T-The stars are actually kind of bright tonight!”

You hummed, joining him by the large windows, glancing up at the sky for just a moment, but your gaze inevitably came back to Bob. You took in every detail of his face that you could, illuminated by the lights of the city reflecting through the window, and that bedside lamp you kept on every night to ward away the nightmares.

“Bucky said something to me earlier,”

Bob turned back to look at you instead of the sky, and almost instantly, he could feel the shift in the air. His nerves were suddenly on edge as he looked at you, the anxiety written across your own face as you watched him.

“What uh…what did he say?”

“That just because I did bad things,” your hand came up, moving one of those stubborn pieces of hair out of Bob’s face so you could see him clearly, not missing the sharp intake in his breath at the motion. “Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve good things, too.”

“H-He’s right…you deserve the world,”

There was a flutter in your chest at his words, one you’d tried to ignore for so long, but there was no ignoring it this time. You didn’t want to anymore, because maybe Bucky was right. Maybe you did deserve good things.

Your hand quickly cupped his cheek as you dragged him down to you, placing yourself on the tips of your toes, as you pressed your lips to his. It was sweet, it was hesitant, and there was a shake to your body as you tasted the sweet vanilla flavoring that coated the chapstick you’d seen him use everyday.

His hands tentatively found your waist, his grip firm but not overpowering, giving you enough freedom to back away fully if you needed to, if you wanted to, as he pressed back into the kiss.

It took every ounce of willpower you had to pull away, even for a split second, and Bob was already chasing back after you. The tip of his nose bumped with yours, his breath ghosting over your lips and fanning out across your skin, his hands gripping you just a little tighter for a moment. Your eyes were half fluttered closed, a breathy laugh escaping you in the moment as your hand found the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You terrify me, Robert Reynolds,” the whisper was just loud enough for both of you to hear in the quiet of the room. “I let you in, and now you occupy a space in my heart that I thought I’d keep closed off forever. You helped me pick up some of those pieces by just…being there, and if I lost you now too I…I don’t think there’d be any repairing it-”

Bob barely let you finish speaking before his lips were back on yours, as if he were a starved man and you were the first sip of water he’d taken in weeks. This kiss was harder, it wasn’t as gentle, it was desperate and messy and so awkward Bob had almost lost balance and sent you both toppling to the floor in a heap of laughter.

It was so him. And you adored him. 

You’d let him in, and there was no way you were ever letting him back out.

[gf2bellamy]

tipsy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're drunk and talking. a lot. content warnings: reader is drunk, mention of a guy hitting on reader a/n: my crush on spencer is getting out of control

The bar was loud and chaotic. Everything Spencer didn’t particularly enjoy, but he stayed because the team was celebrating.

And because you were here. 

He sat alone in a corner booth, quietly drinking a soda, watching as his teammates enjoyed the night. Morgan was on the dance floor, Emily and Garcia were deep in conversation with a group of strangers, and JJ had already called it an early night. 

Then, out of nowhere, you slid into the booth beside him. You practically collapsed into the seat as you scooted closer, closer than you probably realized. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you mumbled, voice heavy with alcohol, but there was also a hint of frustration. 

Spencer looked over at you, his heart stuttering in his chest before he forced himself to smile softly. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle. But the way you frowned made his stomach twist. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern slipping into his tone. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, your lips pouting just slightly. “No. Pen took away my drink,” you grumbled, sounding genuinely betrayed. 

Spencer huffed out a quiet laugh, though his amusement quickly faded when you scooted even closer, your head suddenly resting against his shoulder. 

His entire body locked up. 

Oh. 

You were close. Too close. 

He could feel the warmth of your skin, the soft tickle of your hair brushing against his arm. His heart slammed against his ribs. 

This wasn’t fair. Spencer had spent months, maybe even longer,trying to bury his feelings for you. Trying to convince himself that you were just his friend, just his colleague, that what he felt wasn’t real, that he was reading too much into your smiles and lingering touches. But now with you leaning into him like this, drunk and soft and so unbelievably perfect? 

Yeah. He was absolutely screwed. 

Before he could even attempt to gather his thoughts, you mumbled something against his shoulder, voice muffled but heavy with exhaustion. “Some guy wouldn’t leave me alone back there.” 

Spencer stiffened. His hand twitched against his thigh, resisting the urge to reach for you. “What?” 

Your eyes were fluttering closed now, your breathing slowing. “Some guy,” you repeated, voice hazy. “He kept talking, wouldn’t take a hint.” 

Spencer felt something sharp curl in his chest. He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nuzzling your face just a little deeper into his shoulder. “I’m okay now.” 

His breath caught. You felt safe with him. That realization hit him harder than it should have. Spencer barely had time to process it before your voice came again, soft and hazy with sleepiness. 

“I told him I liked someone,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred. 

Spencer froze. His mind stalled for a second before rebooting at double speed. You liked someone? His throat suddenly felt dry. “You did?” he asked carefully. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, a little more hesitant this time, “…You do?” 

It was almost painful how hopeful he sounded. There was no way you were talking about him. 

No way. 

You nodded, eyes barely open, leaning into him even more. “Mhm,” you hummed, voice low. 

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding against his ribs. 

“Yeah, I told him…” You shifted slightly, and Spencer instinctively steadied you with a hand on your waist, brushing your hair gently out of your face. 

“…I told him that the guy I liked was so much smarter than him,” you continued, your lips curling slightly in amusement. 

Spencer's breath caught in his throat. He stared at you, heart racing, every fiber of his being begging him to not read too much into that. 

“And taller,” you added with a drunken, sleepy smile, your cheek pressing against his shoulder.Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his lips parting slightly in shock. Your fingers curled loosely around his hand, and Spencer swore his entire body short-circuited. 

“You’re warm,” you murmured, lazily tracing the lines of his fingers, running your fingertips over each one like you were memorizing them. 

Spencer watched you, completely and utterly mesmerized. He could hardly breathe. You were so close, so soft, so effortlessly intoxicating and you had no idea what you were doing to him. 

And then, suddenly you let go of his hand like it had burned you. 

“Oh no,” you gasped dramatically, blinking up at him with wide, drunken eyes. “I’m sorry, I forgot—hand-holding involves too many germs!”

Spencer huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he reached forward and gently took your hand back into his.“I don’t mind,” he mumbled.

Your fingers twitched slightly in his grasp before relaxing, a slow, sleepy smile spreading across your lips. Your head was still resting against his shoulder, warm and so unbelievably close, as you started tracing his fingers again. Spencer swallowed, watching you fascinated , the way your fingertips glided gently over the ridges of his knuckles, the absent-minded way you focused on memorizing the shape of his hand.

Then, out of nowhere, you mumbled, “I also told the guy that you’re so much nicer than him.”

Spencer froze. His breath hitched in his throat. Had he just heard that right? His brain struggled to process the words, replaying them over and over again in an attempt to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

“I—” He blinked rapidly, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react, but he couldn’t help the way warmth flooded through his body at your words.

So he settled for something simple. “You did?”

You nodded against his shoulder, your eyelashes fluttering delicately against your cheek. Then, slowly, you lifted your head, pulling away from him completely.

And Spencer missed you instantly.But before he could mourn the loss of your warmth, you turned to face him.

And suddenly his entire world stopped.

Because you were staring at him.Really staring.Your eyes, soft and unfocused, locked onto his, studying him with open admiration, with a look he had only ever dreamed about.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your lips curling into a small, drunken smile. “You’re also so much more handsome.”

Spencer’s brain completely short-circuited. His lips parted, but nothing came out.You had to be joking.

There was no way you actually meant that. Right?

But you weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were just looking at him.Like he was something special.Like you actually meant it.Spencer’s throat felt tight, his pulse pounding violently in his ears. He tried to breathe, tried to tell himself this was just drunk talk.

But you reached out.Your hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, like you were testing some kind of unspoken boundary.And then your fingers brushed against his cheek.Light. Soft. Barely there.

Spencer’s entire body went rigid.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t even think, as you traced your fingertips gently along the sharp angle of his jaw, your thumb grazing his cheekbone with a featherlight touch.His skin burned beneath your fingers.

And you just smiled, completely oblivious to the way you were shattering him.“Yeah…” you whispered. “So much more handsome.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his mind a complete mess of emotions.

Because you were drunk.

And he was sober.

And this wasn’t fair. But God…

He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life.

[mminghaos]

best friend seungcheol whom you have a crush on, but never told him. he doesn't know it either and y'all just bicker all the time as bsf, one day all of it changes when you finally say you found a match on some dating app. he realises it and bam! hot and heavy shit go down.

bitter crush , choi seungcheol x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: your bestfriend doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for years, but when you mention matching with someone on a dating app, everything changes.

WARNINGS: smut, fingering, kissing, teasing, mingyu as the failed date lmfao

requests are open, do send some in!!

you’ve been friends with seungcheol since high school, watching each other grow up — first jobs, first kisses, and everything in between, sticking together through the highs and lows. your friendship is built on bickering and teasing each other like it’s second nature. but now, the bickering feels different.

“i matched with someone on that app i told you about,” you say, placing your coffee down on the wooden table of the café you and seungcheol are sitting at.

you’d decided to give a dating app a shot, hoping it would help you take your mind off seungcheol. maybe meeting someone new will help you move on, or at least distract you from the constant thoughts about him. but so far, it’s just more of the same — swiping, chatting, but none of its ever seemed to match the energy you share with him. you might as well move on, since seungcheol has is own hookups and girlfriends, and none of them will ever be you. its frustrating, the way this burning crush for him is always shimmering beneath the surface, gnawing at you. this is going to be the death of you — that’s what you always tell yourself.

“so you’re telling me you’re out here swiping on strangers?” he responds, his voice laced with something you can’t quite place. “what happened to the whole ‘not needing anyone’ thing?”

“it changed.”

“really? that’s weird.” he says, his eyes never leaving you. “thought you were too busy to deal with anyone new.”

you roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “yeah, well, apparently im not as busy as i thought.”

you’ve never been the type to casually date or get involved with someone just for the sake of it. but lately, things feel different. seungcheol’s always been there — constant, reliable, and annoyingly perfect in his own way — and it’s hard to ignore how your thoughts always circle back to him, no matter how many times you try to push them away. you’ve never said it out loud, never let him in on the truth of how much he’s been occupying your mind, and the idea of dating someone else? it almost feels like a joke. you’re not really here for some random guy who doesn’t know you like he does. but the more you try to distract yourself, the more you realize how little it helps. no matter how many matches you get, no conversation ever seems to compare to the effortless back and forth you share with seungcheol. it’s like you’re chasing something that doesn’t quite exist, and each swipe only makes you feel more frustrated. but you can’t exactly admit that, not to him, not to anyone. so you keep trying, hoping maybe this time will be different, even though you know deep down it won’t be.

“so, who’s this guy?”

you shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “kim mingyu. he’s nice. we’ve met a few times before, actually — works at that bar down the street.”

seungcheol leans back in his chair, his arms crossed as he watched you. he clears his throat. “just don’t pick some random guy who doesn’t get you, alright?”

“what, are you jealous or something?”

“no.”

the date with mingyu went well. you two got along really great — there was no shortage of conversation, and the chemistry was comfortable. you both enjoyed the meal and found common ground in ways that made the evening feel lighthearted and easy. it was nice, actually, to just relax and enjoy someone’s company without any pressure.

even if the date was good, you and mingyu both agreed that you should just be friends, neither of you feeling the sparks you were hoping for.

you walk into your apartment, slipping off your shoes and placing your keys under the mat. its quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. you head towards the living room, where seungcheol is sprawled on your couch, sorting through the groceries he offered to pick up for you earlier this week.

“you’re back early,” he says, glancing up with a smirk. “thought you were gonna be out all night with your… date.”

you roll your eyes, not really in the mood to talk about it. “it was fine,” you reply, shrugging as you drop your purse on the counter. “nothing special.”

seungcheol raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “really?”

you let out a breath, trying to sound casual. “yeah, well, turns out i’m not as interested as i thought.”

he tilts his head, looking at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “what do you mean?”

you hesitate, leaning against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the countertop. “we got along, i guess. but we just decided to be friends.”

“huh.” seungcheol shrugs, clearly unconcerned, though there’s something in the way he watches you that makes you pause. “so you’re saying you don’t feel any connection with him at all?”

you shift, rubbing the back of your neck. “it’s just… not there. but whatever. i’m fine.”

“you sure?” seungcheol presses, his voice dropping an octave, and you can’t help but notice how close he’s sitting now. “because i’m sure someone else would love the chance to—”

“ugh, please.” you cut him off, trying to brush it off. “i don’t need some random guy to be interested.”

he smirks, clearly not buying it. “really? sounds like you do.”

you bite your lip, trying to hold onto your patience, but it’s slipping through your fingers. you know he’s teasing, and usually, you’d laugh it off, but tonight feels different. there’s a tension in the air that you can’t ignore, something that’s been building for years. frustration bubbles up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“cheol, i like you, okay?” you blurt out, your voice trembling slightly, surprised by how easily it all comes rushing out.

he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words. there’s a moment of silence, and you feel like you’re about to suffocate under the weight of it. his gaze flickers to your face, then down to your hands, then back to your eyes, as if trying to figure out what’s really going on.

“wait,” he says slowly, his tone less playful and more cautious now. “you’re not drunk, are you? had drinks or something when you were out?”

you quickly shake your head, trying to steady your breath. “no, i’m not drunk. i just—” but the words feel clumsy on your tongue, and suddenly, you’re unsure of how to take them back.

“i shouldn’t have said that,” you mutter, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “this was stupid, i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i—”

you start rambling, trying to downplay the confession that’s just slipped out. each word feels like it’s digging you deeper, and you just want to take it all back. “i mean, i don’t even know what i was thinking—this is—god, i’m so—”

but before you can finish, seungcheol pushes himself off the couch and walks towards you, stopping just a few inches away. his eyes still lock on yours. the silence stretches, and you feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. you want to say something, to apologize again, but all the words are caught in your chest.

“stop,” he says softly, his voice low, but there’s an intensity in it that you can’t ignore.

you open your mouth, wanting to explain, to take back the awkward confession, but the words jumble in your mind. “it’s just… i didn’t want to make it weird, and now i’ve probably ruined everything—”

seungcheol doesn’t say anything, just watches you with an unreadable look in his eyes, waiting for you to stop rambling. you go on anyway, trying to explain yourself, even though you can feel yourself getting more flustered with each passing second.

before you can continue, he steps forward, his hand gently cupping your face, cutting off your words. you freeze, eyes wide, but before you can process anything, his lips crash onto yours, effectively silencing you.

the kiss is deep and urgent, like he’s been holding back too. your brain barely registers what’s happening as your hands instinctively move to his chest, but the tension that had been building between you both for so long snaps. everything goes quiet in your mind, and for the first time tonight, all the chaos and nerves fall away, replaced by the heat of his kiss.

the kiss lingers for a moment, intense and raw, as if neither of you wants to pull away. your breath mingles with his, the world around you blurring until there’s only the feeling of him so close, so real. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds you just a bit tighter, as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

when he finally pulls back, you’re left breathless, your forehead resting against his as you both try to catch your breath. his hands are still on you, one gently holding your face, the other resting on your hip, grounding you.

“you really don’t make things easy, do you?” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse, the teasing edge back in his tone, but it’s softer now, more affectionate.

you don’t trust yourself to speak right away. all the words that had been stuck in your chest before are now lost, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of him so close, his touch still lingering on your skin. instead, you look up at him, meeting his eyes, trying to make sense of everything, but before you can say anything, he smiles slightly, a genuine, soft expression.

“i didn’t realise how much i liked you until you told me about that guy,” he admits, brushing his thumb over your cheek gently. “i was too stupid to notice.”

you dont get to reply because his hand moves down your back, pulling you closer, your chest pressed against his. the room feels warmer now, charged with something you can't ignore. your hands find their way to his chest, pushing lightly at first, unsure if you should pull away or let it happen. but he doesn't give you that chance.

his lips return to yours, but this time, there's more urgency in it, his kiss deepening as his tongue brushes against yours. you let out a soft sigh, the tension that's been building between you two for what feels like forever finally snapping. he groans, his hand moving to your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss further. the heat between you both grows, and you can feel every inch of him pressing against you, making your pulse quicken.

seungcheol's voice is low, almost a whisper as he takes a step back, hands resting on your waist, grounding you both. "do you want to keep going?" he asks.

you nod, your heart racing, but your mind is clear. “yes.”

he doesn't say anything more, just nods and gently takes your hand, leading you through the apartment. when you get to your room, he lays you down on the bed gently, his hands never leaving you.

seungcheol hovers over you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you’re unsure. you can feel his body close to yours, the warmth radiating off him. “are you sure?”

“yes, cheol.” you let out a light laugh, pulling him closer. “im sure.”

his lips trail down your jaw, each kiss softer than the last before he moves to your neck, his teeth grazing slightly over the skin. you let out a soft sigh once he pulls back after reaching where your shirt starts. before he can say anything, you’re reaching for the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric over your head.

seungcheol takes a moment, his gaze lingering on you before meeting your eyes again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says, unclasping your bra and slipping it off. “god.”

his hands find their way to your pants as he trails kisses down your chest, each one growing more desperate as his lips move lower. the warmth of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you, and you can feel your heart race with every gentle press of his lips.

eventually, he pulls your pants off, discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him. “please.” you breathe out

“hmm?” he responds, his fingers slipping just under the band of your panties. “what do you want, baby?”

“need you inside me, please.”

he glances down at you, lips twitching up into a smirk. “patience.”

“no, no, no— cheol, please—” you whimper out.

“don’t worry, you’ll get what you want.” he cuts you off, pressing a light kiss to your collarbone.

when he finally stops teasing you and pulls your panties down, tossing them god knows where, you’re already a mess underneath him. every nerve in your body is on edge, anticipation building as he slides two fingers through your folds. “fuck, you’re soaking wet for me, baby.” a low groan escapes his lips, his restraint wavering as he fights to hold himself back.

he slowly pushes one finger into your pussy, giving you a moment to relax before he adds another and starts to curl them into all the right places.

“cheol!” your head falls back against the pillow, hand going to grab his wrist for some sort of stability.

“yeah, you like that?”

you’re already so close — just from the way his fingers move inside you, hitting every spot that sends sparks shooting througu your body.

you nod over and over again, hips rising to match the rhythm of his movements. “don’t stop— fuck— please, im so close.” 

your breath hitches, and you clutch at his arm, desperate for grounding as the sensations overwhelm you. every stroke of his fingers feels like its pulling you closer to the brink, and the tension in your body winds tighter with each passing second. “please—” the word slips out as a whisper, barely audible. your legs start to shake, the pleasure coursing through you almost too much to bear.

before you can even warn seungcheol, you’re coming undone all over his fingers, hips bucking up at the same time.

“god, thats so hot.” he mutters, but you’re too out of it to know if its to you or himself.

"you alright?" seungcheol asks softly, his hand resting on your hip as he looks down at you with concern. his touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he's checking for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your breath still ragged, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "yeah, i'm good. just... didn't expect that." your voice is breathy, the lingering effects of the moment still making your body tingle.

seungcheol smirks, clearly pleased with the reaction. "you sure you're not too overwhelmed?" he teases, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

you laugh softly, the sound shaky but genuine. "im fine" you reply, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye. "was that your way of saying you like me too?"

“it was.” he smirks, eyes locking onto yours. “think you can go for one more round?”

he really is going to be the death of you.

[a-very-tired-jew]

I do love seeing all the antisemites scream about pine trees in Israel whenever there's some sort of ecological issue or disaster going on or they want to use them as "proof" that Israel is a white European colonial project. Why? Because I've never seen them say what pine trees are the culprit. It's always some allusion to pine trees being non-native to the region and that they were planted to make the country "more European" or something like that. The articles are written in English for a Western audience that has pines in their backyard and are likely associated with the winter months in their culture. The implication here is "how could your Winter Xmas Pine Tree survive in the desert?!" which leads to the colonial assumptions and so on and so forth.

This entire schtick plays upon the general populace not understanding anything about ecology, range distributions, species, and other biological concepts. Most people see the term "pine tree" and assume it's the same pine trees they've seen their entire lives. The concept of different species all being colloquially referred to as "pine tree" is not a common conception.

So if you're reading any of those articles or posts that scream about colonialization because of "pine trees" then you need to stop and ask "what species?" Because the JNF has planted 3 particular pines - The Aleppo pine (Pinus halepensis), the Turkish Pine (Pinus brutia), and the Canary Pine (Pinus canariensis).

All three species are endemic to the Mediterranean region and are subtropical species. Meaning, all three have distributions that include Israel in their native range and have a biological history of being there. At one point or another many of them were cut down for some use (from what I understand, primarily for ship construction during the Ottoman Empire). In fact, the Aleppo was almost wiped out from its Middle Eastern distribution until it was brought back (and the three species are all closely related and adapted for the climate in the region).

Now, I've seen variations of the land shouldn't have been greened, they cut down native forests, they drained swamps, etc, etc... as criticisms. I even had the "they shouldn't have drained and greened the swamps" as an argument, barring the fact that the swamps only existed because the native forest was cut down for use by the Ottoman's and as such caused environmental degradation and change.

And the thing is, there's valid criticism for planting so much pine. It's a very dry tree species that catches fire easily. Especially when it becomes sick and/or damaged. There's also concern that it's planted in parts of Israel that are not suitable for said tree species. But at no point are they a foreign invasive species. They are native to the region.

However, what stands out the most to me is that never do one of these articles, blog posts, rants, or antisemitic screeds mention Eucalyptus.

That's right.

Eucalyptus, a genus (or Tribe) primarily endemic to Australia, was brought in to drain swamp, wetlands, and marshlands and make them habitable. And not just one! But multiple species were introduced for this purpose (Eucalyptus camaldulensis, Eucalyptus gomphocephala, and Eucalyptus torelliana).

Not a single writing has ever mentioned these trees, and that should be a big warning flag that what you're about to read is mired in half truths, falsities, and lies of omission besides outright ignorance. Solely focusing on pine trees is to elicit the response I mentioned above in Western audiences who only associate "pine tree" with their winter time and climate. It's a malicious technique to manipulate the reader and come to a false conclusion and assumption that will stoke their outrage at the "colonial" behavior of planting "colonial non-native" trees.

[traveler-at-heart]

Good Luck Babe

Summary: Wanda's boyfriend is the biggest asshole you've ever met. You think she'll choose you in the end.

Wanda Romanoff x F!R, eventual Natasha Romanoff x F!R

A/N: Don't be fooled by the summary, this is a Natasha Romanoff x R fic

Classes can be a drag. Especially the early mornings, where not even a cup of coffee can make you focus.

And then, there’s Wanda Maximoff, looking at the professor as she speaks, diligently taking notes while looking perfect, as usual.

She catches you staring and you have to look away, pretending that you weren’t just wondering how she manages to look effortlessly beautiful.

Class is dismissed and you take a minute to pack your things, preparing for the next session. You try not to roll your eyes as you find Wanda with her idiot boyfriend right at the door. As usual, they take up too much space, and you have to push one of them aside.

“Coming through, princess”

You don’t have to look back to know Wanda glares at you, annoyed at the nickname.

To be fair, the first time you used it you thought you were both involved in playful banter. Hell, you even meant it to be flirty, but she took great offense in it, which was the case with most things you did, whether they were aimed at her or not.

It was pretty clear she hated your guts. You just didn’t know why.

——

“I don’t know what her problem is” Wanda says, the music loudly booming across the house.

“What?” Jarvis says, leaning forward because he didn’t hear a word Wanda said. Partly due to the loud music and also because he’s looking at other girls, albeit discreetly.

“Y/N. She’s always being a total ass” the girl says, watching as you enter the house, avoiding her stare.

“She’s just jealous because you’re so pretty” he says and that’s enough to distract Wanda.

Across the room, you curse under your breath at the sight of the Maximoff girl. God, you hate her stupid boyfriend. Always runnig his mouth to his friends about Wanda, telling them private things… you’d overheard them at a bar once and it took every ounce of your being not to kill him right then and there.

Not to mention, the rumoured affairs that everyone knew about. Everyone, but Wanda, that is.

“You made it!” Carol greets you, and then follows your gaze. “Ugh, that guy’s the worst”

“Agree” you nod, turning to look at her. “Shots?”

“Hell, yeah” your friend says, taking you to the kitchen where Val is pouring some alcohol.

To your relief, you get to avoid Wanda for the entirety of the night, and as your friends arrive you quickly forget what had soured your mood in the first place.

Wanda, on the other hand, is not having such a great time. At some point while she was chatting with Pepper, she lost sight of Jarvis and can’t seem to find him anywhere. Knowing Stark could get crazy ideas, she worries that they might be doing something reckless so she goes around the house, looking for her boyfriend.

She’s expecting everything but seeing him with his pants around his ankles while a girl Wanda doesn’t even know gives him head.

“Wanda!” Jarvis shouts, startled.

“That’s not my name” the girl says, smiling playfully. “Or are we role playing?”

“I need to get out of here” Wanda says, closing the door.

Of course, he chases her down the hall, desperately sayig any excuse he can think of. Wanda tries to walk past him, but he blocks her from going downstairs.

“Don’t be so uptight about it” he loses his patience when Wanda refuses his apology. “Guys just need to do it more than girls, it meant nothing”

“You’re an ass” she says, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Wanda, don’t leave” he warns, as she finally walks around him to go to the first floor. The shouting makes some people turn around, and it���s almost impossible to ignore the commotion.

You’re standing next to Val and Darcy, unable to look away as the oh so happy couple keeps shouting at each other.

“Guess he got caught red handed this time” Darcy mutters. She and Wanda were friends but had a fallout and you suspected it had to do with Jarvis and his side pieces.

“Let go of me” Wanda insists when he takes her arm, pulling her close to him.

“People are staring, shut your fucking mouth”

“You’re hurting me” she protests, trying to losen his grip.

Maybe it’s the way she says it, so defeated or even scared, but those words make you snap, and you walk up to them, pushing Jarvis away.

“Stay out of it” he warns.

“Make me”

You are expecting the first punch so you dodge it in time, but he manages to land another one on your mouth, and you feel the taste of blood.

“You’re gonna regret this” you say, launching yourself forward until you knock him over, landing on a coffee table that breaks. Grabbing him by the shirt, you land two punches and go for a third one when he kicks you, making you gasp for air.

“That’s enough” Thor steps in, his brother looking delighted at the chaos. “You better leave”

Jarvis glares at him, but truth be told, Thor doesn’t like him and he is your friend. He leaves the Odinson house, cursing under his breath.

“I’m fine” you tell your friends as they bring over ice to put on your cheek.

“Want us to take you home?” Carol offers.

“It’s good” you say, shaking your head. “I should go, take some painkillers”

“Call us if you need anything”

“Ok” you pat Darcy’s back, leaving the house where everyone’s partying like nothing even happened.

As you walk to your car, you spot Wanda, sitting on the sidewalk, wiping away the tears that roll down her cheeks.

“You ok?” you ask, standing next to her.

“He’s an idiot. No, I’m the idiot for being with him” she rambles.

There’s a very sarcastic comment at the tip of yout tongue but you save it.

“Did he drove you here?” Wanda nods and you jiggle the car keys. “Come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm”

“I don’t want to be alone” Wanda hugs her knees, and in spite of everything, your heart aches for her.

“Any friends that can take you in for the night?” she shakes her head no and you sigh. “Wanna stay at my place?”

“Are you sure it’s ok?”

“Yeah, come on” you say, walking to the car. You drive in silence, eager to get home and put some more ice on the punch.

Wanda gets out of the car and follows you to the dorm you share with Carol, who usually stays with Val most nights.

“Take the bed” you say, handing over some clean clothes so she can change.

Wanda looks at you, and you feel uncomfortable at the intensity of her gaze.

“I… thank you, Y/N”

“Sleep tight, princess” you say with a smile and for the first time she doesn’t look upset as you call her that.

——

The smell of bacon and butter wakes you up and you stretch, trying to remember why you’re in the couch.

When you see Wanda in your kitchen, everyhing that happened comes back and you groan, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

“Ouch” you say when you rub close to the punch on your cheek.

“You’re up” Wanda says, smiling. It’s a strange sight, as she’s used to glaring at you or just ignoring your presence.

“You sleep ok?” you say, trying to hide your blush when you notice she’s still wearing the clothes you let her borrow.

“Yeah, thanks” she nods, pulling up two plates with pancakes. “I wanted to thank you for everythig you did last night”

“No need” you say, grabbing a fork and eating. Wanda’s just being nice and you honestly don’t want to force her to interact with you, so all you want is to finish your food and give her an out so she can leave.

“He’s been texting me” Wanda says, looking at her food but not eating anything. “Saying it was a mistake, a one time thing and that it would never happen again”

“And you believe him?” you try to control your tone.

“I’d heard the rumors… even from Darcy. You probably know already”

“We assumed that’s why you fought, but she told us it was none of our business. And I know this isn’t none of mine, but you deserve better”

Wanda giggles at that and you look at her, intrigued.

“I’m just… I thought you didn’t like me”

“Where’d you get that?”

“The nickname, your constant glares across the room…”

Oh, shit. Here you were thinking you were obvious about your crush, and Wanda thinks you hate her.

“I hate… Jarvis. I knew he was a dick so I always disliked him. Seeing him with you. Yeah”

“Do you like me?” Wanda asks and you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders.

The girl smiles, finishing her food. You stay in the kitchen, fidgeting with your fork until she comes back, changed into her own clothes.

“I should get back. Do you need anything? Painkillers, ice?” she leans forward, her hand touching your bruise gently. Then, you notice her eyes drifting to your lips.

“I’m fine” you say and she nods, stepping back.

“See you in class?”

“Yes” you say, smiling as she waves goodbye. Carol walks in ten seconds later, looking behind her.

“Was that…?”

“Yes”

“Did you…?”

“No” you cut her off. “She just didn’t want to be alone after what happened”

“Y/N…” Carol says in that tone you dislike so much. You’re about to get scolded over something that isn’t that big of a deal.

“Carol, come on. She slept in my room, I stayed on the couch. That’s it”

“I just don’t want to see you getting hurt” your friend says and you nod. “I mean, you got a split lip and a black eye already so maybe it’s a little late for that”

“Yeah, that’s true. Come on, there are some pancakes left”

——

You tell yourself it means nothing. Wanda sits next to you during class, and offers a second scone she got from the cafeteria.

“How’s the eye?”

“I’m not blind” you shrug your shoulders. “Jarvis hits like a little bitch”

Wanda snorts at that, and you can’t hold back your own laugh. That attracts the attention of Professor Harkness, who focuses on your eye.

“Do I even want to to know, Y/L/N?”

“Nah” you shake your head and she rolls her eyes.

“Alright”

With that, the lesson begins. You try hard to focus, but Wanda smells really nice and you’re only human. At one point, she shuffles in her seat, her leg coming in contact with yours and you give up on taking notes.

“You ok?” to your surprise, Wanda follows you out of the classroom. “I can let you borrow my notes, if you want”

“Wanda” you stop abruptly, sighing. “Listen, you don’t owe me anything. I helped because it was the right thing to do. So don’t worry about paying me back in any way”

“That’s not… ” she stutters, fixing her hair. “I don’t really have any friends. I was always with him”

“Oh” you feel like an idiot. “Well, ok. I could use those notes”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, come on. I’ll trade them for a coffee” you smile, walking next to her to the library.

—

It surprises you, how much you and Wanda have in common. She likes sitcoms and though you’re more of a Friends kind of girl, it’s fun to watch those old shows where they dance and sing from time to time.

“I only know Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins” you confess one time, which prompts Wanda to invite you to her dorm for a marathon.

“Where are you going?” Darcy says when you walk past her and Carol that evening.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun” Carol smiles and you glare at your friend.

“Well, Wanda and I…”

“Oh, my God! You traitor. Brutus!” Darcy shouts, throwing a napkin at you. “She’s the worst”

“I wouldn’t know. You didn’t tell me what happened”

“She got you there” Carol points out, eating popcorn while she enjoys the show.

“That is besides the point”

“Look, I’m not putting Wanda on my will or anything, we’re just hanging out. And if she mentions you, I’ll be the first one to defend you”

Darcy sighs, chewing on her lip.

“It’s not about me. Wanda has the habit of just… using people when she’s bored or on a break from that idiot. And then they get back together and forgets about you. Which sucks. I wouldn’t want it to be the case for you, that’s all”

“I’ll be careful” you promise.

Once at Wanda’s, you’re trying to enjoy the show, but Darcy’s words are echoing in your head. You had to admit that if you spent more time with Wanda, you’d probably develop an even bigger crush. And if she went back to that asshole, it would hurt you.

Was it really worth it?

“Is the show boring? We can watch something else. I know it’s weird that I like this” Wanda pauses mid episode.

“No, it’s just… Darcy said some things…”

“Oh. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to hang out anymore” she sighs, looking down at her hands.

“I’m just thinking… maybe it would be good if you fix things with her? Say sorry. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it”

“I can try, but you know her. She won’t make it easy” you both laugh at that. “Is that all?”

“Yeah” you lie. “Come on, let’s keep watching. I wanna know if Rob goes to Ritchie’s play”

Wanda smiles, this time moving closer to you. Her head rests on your shoulder, relaxing against you. It’s so intoxicating, to have her so close, to feel her warmth.

And all you can think over and over again is “please don’t break my heart”. But you can’t ask for the impossible.

—

You’re really not expecting Wanda to take your suggestion at heart, but one day you see her speaking with Darcy in the hallway, your friend pretending to not be interested in the conversation at all.

The only sign that she actually forgives Wanda is when you’re sitting with the girl at the cafeteria and Darcy sits next to you, carrying a tray.

“This is the only seat that I could find” she mutters unconvincingly, making you and Wanda smile.

Though you spent most of the time in each other’s dorms, watching movies or shows. You learn that Jarvis was the one that dragged Wanda to all those parties and anytime you invite her to one she politely declines.

Now, you’re staying in while the rest of your friends are at the Odinson mansion. You don’t know if they’re allergies or a mild cold, but you’ve been feeling sick all day and wanted to rest.

“Coming” you groan when someone knocks. You open the door to find Wanda on the other side. “You’ll get sick, what are you doing here?”

“I made you soup”

“Thanks” you take the container, and you gotta admit the idea of warm soup makes your mouth water. “I’d say do you want to come in, but I really do worry this might be contagious”

“I’ll be fine” she walks inside, finding her usual place in the couch and patting the spot next to her. “Come on. We’ll even watch that boring show you like”

“The Office is not boring!” you huff, making her laugh.

A couple of episodes later, and you feel your eyes slowly closing, a side effect from the  medicine you took. Wanda notices, and makes you walk to your room.

As you lay in bed, you’re drifting off to sleep when you feel Wanda sliding next to you, her hand on your forehead.

“Your fever is down”

“Mhm. Thanks to the magic soup”

“I’m staying, in case you need anything”

“Ok, baby” you nod, too sleepy to notice what you’re saying.

Wanda’s heart flutters at the term of endearment, and she watches you sleep peacefully, her mind racing with thoughts about what could this possibly mean to you both.

On the other hand, you don’t remember anything and are startled when you feel someone sleeping next to you.

“Wanda?” you say when you turn around, smiling at how cute she looks, all confused.

“I must have fallen asleep here. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks” you lay on your side, still smiling. Wanda is still thinking about the way you called her and it’s fairly obvious you don’t remember.

Still, she leans forward and you almost watch in slow motion as her lips meet yours in a short kiss.

“Why did you…”

“You make me feel… I don’t know. Safe. I’m sorry, if I crossed line. Maybe I should go…” she sits up and you follow suit, making her turn to you.

This second kiss is a bit more urgent and less delicate, but you hope it makes a point.

“Now I really hope that what I had wasn’t contagious”

Wanda laughs at that, her hand over yours.

——

The next few weeks you grow closer to Wanda. You spend most of the time at her place, watching sitcoms and more often than not, you end up making out on her bed, until you’re both out of breath.

She also enjoys teasing you endlessly, like that time she sat next to you in Agatha’s class and put her hand on your thigh. Your knee jolted forward, crashing against the table and making the professor glare at you.

This time, you’re supposed to be studying in your room, but you find that looking at Wanda as she goes over her notes is far more interesting.

“Stop” she says after a few minutes and you smile.

“I’m not doing anything”

“You’re staring”

“Can you blame me?” you crawl behind her, placing small kisses down her neck. She sighs at the contact, leaning against your front.

“Are you doing this to get my notes?”

“Maybe” you laugh against her shoulder, making her turn until you’re kissing her, and she pushes you down on the bed, straddling your lap.

“You better work for them, then”

Next day, when you’re done with your test, the first thing you do is reach for Wanda’s hand. To your surprise, she flinches away, grabbing the strap of her bagpack.

“Did you do ok on the test?” she’s quick to ask, hoping you won’t push it too much.

“I think so, yeah”

“If you pass, I’d say you owe me for borrowing my notes” she smiles.

“Well, we could go out to the movies. Or dinner?” you suggest, your heart beating faster. It’s a thought that has been going through your mind recently.

Not that you don’t enjoy the kissing and sneaking around, but you’re eager to take Wanda out, find new places together, talk about something else other than classes and her old shows.

“I’m not sure I can make it” Wanda says, avoiding your eyes again.

This new rejection stings and you drop your shoulders, looking for an excuse to leave.

“Yeah, you’re right. We have lots of stuff to do. I’ll catch you later” you say, walking faster and not waiting for Wanda’s reply.

The rest of the day is spent in your dorm, which isn’t unusual. The only difference is that you’re alone instead of enjoying Wanda’s company, and hiding from seeing her.

“Wanna go to Joe’s with us?” Carol offers. “To celebrate midterms are over”

“Sounds fun” you agree, because it’s been forever since you’ve been with your friends.

“You can invite your girl”

“She’s not my girl”

“Oh?” Carol tilts her head to the side, putting the pieces together. “So that’s why you only hang out in the dorms”

“What did you think we were doing?”

“Having sex like crazy”

No answer comes to you, because sex is something that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe never, considering Wanda doesn’t want anything more.

“I don’t think she knows what she wants, Carol”

“Do you?” she asks gently. Your immediate response is a shrug of your shoulders, and it’s a lie, because you know exactly what you want. “Come on, it’s her loss then. Let’s just go out and have fun”

Meeting your friends does improve your mood and you’re happy you listened to Carol. You eat and play pool, until everyone gets restless and looks for something else to do.

“Heard Stark is having a party” Carol says, knowing he always gets the fancy booze.

“Pass” you’re the first one to speak.

“Why?”

“Isn’t he best friends with Jarvis?” Darcy says. “We don’t want to have another fight, do we?”

“Oh come on, there will be so many people he won’t even notice that you’re there!” Carol insists, and you can tell she’s gonna be stubborn and annoying until she gets what she wants.

So, you agree, but spend the whole time looking around, waiting for that jerk to pop out of nowhere and pick up a fight.

“I don’t think he’s here” Darcy says, patting your back. “Let’s just have some fun, then Val will drag Carol out of here and we can go home, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan” you nod.

For the next hour, you do enjoy the party and are even surprised when Tony seems happy to see you. To be fair, he is a lot nicer than most of his friends. You’re relaxed, dancing to the music and doing shots with Darcy and Val, almost forgetting why you were so sad in the first place.

That is, until you walk out of the living room to get another beer, but the place is so crowded you bump into a girl.

“Sorry, are you ok?” you say, turning to make sure she’s fine.

Your stomach drops when your eyes meet Wanda’s.

She calls for you, but the sound of her voice is drowned out by the music and the ringing in your ears. Jarvis says Wanda’s name, and you take advantage of the distraction to escape, pushing people out of the way.

When the fresh air hits you, the first thing you do is bend over the railing of the porch and throw up, coughing and wretching violently.

“It’s ok” Darcy comes out of nowhere, getting the hair out of your face.

“Shit” Val sobers up immediately. “Time to go home?”

“Yeah, come on. Let’s get a cab” Carol says, patting your back.

They think you’re wasted, but all you are is heartbroken. Wanda was with him, after everything you’ve been through.

The shame over being so naive makes you stay in your dorm for the entire day.

Wanda shows up the minute Carol leaves.

“You should go”

“Please let me explain”

“I don’t think that’s possible” you shake your head. You know it, deep down. She’ll never give you a place in her life.

“We’re just… friends. He wanted to talk, apologize”

“Wanda” you plead, hoping she’ll stop. But instead, she pushes past you, her hands in your face.

“I can’t lose you”

“Why would I stay?”

Wanda answers with a kiss, that is slow at first, and then borderline agressive. You’re pushing, then pulling, unsure of what you want from her, but she pulls your pants down, just enough for her hand to fit, moving past your underwear and circling your clit. Your nails dig into her shoulders, gasping and breathing as she enters roughly, her fingers moving fast and hard.

It’s not nice or affectionate, but a way to further claim you, ruin you, brand you. Now she’s reached and touched more of you, and you’ll never be able to erase it.

Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, and after the high, you come crashing down. All you feel is bitterness and guilt and anger. Wanda stays inside, biting your neck. The sting reminds you, you’re only gonna get pain out of this.

—

It becomes a vicious circle. Wanda is distant in public, because more often than not Jarvis is by her side. And then, she corners you in any spot she can find, kissing you and pressing her body against yours.

The more you let her in, the weaker you are and it’s nearly impossible to stay away. It will hurt if she leaves, and it hurts to be with her.

“I don’t know how to stay away” you confess to Carol one particularly hard night. Darcy was called to offer her support, and she provided that along with snacks. “You were right, Darcy”

“I didn’t want to be” she says, holding your hand. “You’re the only one who can put a stop to this. She’ll never stop looking for you”

You can’t see yourself doing that, but then you walk past her in the hallway, and you hear her saying those words to Jarvis.

“I love you”

You couldn’t even get her to hold your fucking hand.

Pushing past her, you walk away, hoping to find the nearest bathroom and lock yourself there. Lucky for you, Wanda doesn’t follow you.

There’s someone else waiting outside.

“Miss Y/L/N” Professor Harkness greets and you nod, looking at your feet and hoping she doesn’t notice your red eyes.

“Professor”

“You’re too advanced for my class. My wife has a spot in her lecture. New people to impress, most of them pHD students”

Her emphasis in the new makes you understand.

You won’t have to see Wanda in class.

“Ok. I’d like that”

“Keep your head high, kiddo” Agatha says, her hand on your chin. “And don’t tell any of this to Rio or she’ll accuse me of going soft”

“Yes, Professor Harkness. Thank you”

“Mhm” she nods, giving her signature smirk and turning around.

One less place where you’ll have to see Wanda.

Soon after that, you change everything about your routine. Where you eat, study, even go out for runs. Hell, you change your phone number and Darcy is kind enough to let you stay with her for a while. That, and the Thanksgiving break are enough to give you three weeks of space.

It hurts and more than once you have to stop yourself from looking for Wanda. But what’s the point of being a secret? The longer it goes on, the more it will hurt.

Still, there are days when anger weights heavier than sadness. You’re mad at yourself, for being so stupid. At Wanda, because she was a coward and a liar. And those times, you get restless and go out to run, listening to music until you reach a hidden lake. It’s one of the few places you can be at peace, because you found it after Wanda broke your heart. So, there’s no ghost of her here, only you and your conflicting emotions.

Throwing stones at the lake is a way to pass time, and you’re doing exactly that when you hear rustling behind you.

“Sorry” a raspy voice says. Your eyes meet green ones, but these are softer, almost shy. The girl has beautiful red hair, braided with a few strands lose. She misinterprets your silence, and quickly retreats. “I’ll find another spot”

“That’s ok. I can… I can go”

“No, you don’t have to” she’s quick to reassure.

“Well, we can always share” you propose, smiling. The girl nods, and places her bagpack next to a log. She pulls out a book, and begins reading. You continue throwing rocks, stealing glances here and there.

“Is the book any good?” you finally ask.

“Depends”

“On what?”

“On your fascination with social expectations in Russian society during the 19th century”

“Pass. Got anything lighter?” you joke. To your surprise, the girl pulls out another book.

“How about the perils of indulging in romantic fantasies?”

“I know those very well” you say, grimacing. She puts the book down, smiling at you. You try to smile back, but turn your attention back to the lake until you’re able to calm down.

“Lit major?” you guess, pointing at the spot next to her. She moves her bag, allowing you to sit.

“Yeah. You?”

“Anthropology. Minor in Art History. I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other in the building”

“I'm a grad student, so I’m usually at the library” the girl says.

“No parties?”

“No one ever invites me” she shakes her head.

“I’d invite you” you blurt out, finding her blush adorable. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be forward”

“It’s not… you’re fine”

“So. Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary. Are you trying to find out if Tolstoy really wrote his book with Flaubert’s in mind?”

The girl gives you an appreciative smile, nodding.

“Yeah, but it’s more about how men in 19th century wrote about women. Even in two different societies, the protagonists are punished for following their desires”

“No one should be punished for that” you say, looking at her. She averts her eyes, holding back a smile.

“Why Anthropology?” she changes the subject.

“Because. We’re the same and we’re not, even thousand of years apart. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“How so?”

“Do you think you have anything in common with someone who lived thirty thousand years ago?”

“We need food to survive. Sleep, water, oxygen” she lists, and you nod.

“Mhm. All basic needs. Next question, did you make a drawing of your hand when you were a kid?”

“Everyone did” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to see what it looked like. Because it was my hand and no one else’s”

“And people thirty thousand years ago thought the same thing. And left their handprint in a cave in Southern France. Isn’t that something wonderful?”

She stays silent for a second and then smiles.

“I suppose it is, yes. To have an impact, so long after you’re gone too”

“You get it” you nod. “I’m Y/N, by the way”

“Natasha” she says, smiling at you.

The next few days, you catch yourself thinking about Natasha, and even with all the distractions, your mind goes back to her. It takes every ounce of self control to not wait everyday by the lake. Why would you want to get hurt, when you just started healing?

Love never ends well for Anna Karenina, Emma Bovary or yourself.

And yet… three days later you’re by the lake, holding a book of your own collection and an extra scone. You’re about to give up when Natasha shows up, and she seems as eager as you.

“Hey”

“Hi” she answers, a smile on her face. “Am I interrupting lunch?”

“This is for you. I mean, I was hoping I’d see you here” you stutter, looking everywhere but Natasha’s eyes.

“I was hoping to see you too” she confesses. It takes you by surprise, so she grabs the scone and the book as you try to gather your thoughts.

“Emily Dickinson” she reads. “Enjoying it?”

“You can borrow it if you want. I mean, yes I enjoyed it when I read it. But I just thought, you might like a change from male authors”

“Thank you” she nods, holding it close to her. “I actually have to go…”

“Oh, right” you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

“Can I have your number?” Natasha blurts out, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair. “To give you your book back”

You smile, handing over your phone.

“I recently changed my number and I haven’t memorized it yet. So give me yours”

“Ok” she says. As soon as the device is back in your hands, you send her a text.

“See? Now I’m sure I gave you the right number”

“Talk to you soon. Thanks for the food”

When is it appropriate to text someone without looking desperate?

Either way, you can’t hold back your excitement as you walk to your dorm, jumping on Carol’s back as she’s eating her cereal.

“Are you mad?” she says, flakes and milk flying all over the counter.

“I’m just happy!”

“Why?” she glares, hoping you’re not back to your old ways.

“I spoke to a girl. And she gave me her phone number”

“Oh, my God! Y/N!” Carol shouts, the rest of her cereal thrown away as she dances around.

“What’s all the fuss?” Val says from the shower, concerned over the noise. Carol runs to the bathroom and opens the door wide.

“Y/N met a girl”

“Way to go!” Val joins the celebration and you’re about to say thank you when you notice she’s stepping out of the shower.

“Gah, bye”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want your new girlfriend to think you’re a pervert!”

“Shut up” you say, walking to your room and flipping her off without turning back.

The rest of your evening is spent studying, but also looking at your phone waiting for anything to come through.

As you’re getting ready to sleep, there’s a text.

Nat: I’m ready to give the book back.

Y/N: It’s been… seven hours?

Nat: I’m a fast reader.

Nat: Secret spot? Saturday morning.

Y/N: I’ll be there

—

It’s the first time you’re there so early. The light filters through the leaves, birds chirping as their day begins with the rays of sunshine.

The walk to the lake is lovely, and you spot a couple of small flowers as you find your way to the place. Deciding to get one for luck, you twirl it around in your fingers.

You sit by the log, looking at the fog over the surface of the water when you hear soft footsteps approaching.

“I was afraid you’d stood me up” you joke when Natasha sits next to you.

“And stole your book?”

“The book, I could get over” you admit, giving her the flower. Natasha smiles, her fingertips caressing the petals delicately.

Your eyes are focused on the curve of her lips and those beaufitul eyes.

“Well, I’m here” she says, smiling when your eyes meet hers. “Thank you, I enjoyed reading it”

You take the book, your hands touching briefly.

“There’s a problem, though”

“What is it?” you say, worried that something’s wrong.

“I gave the book back, but I still have to thank you for that scone”

“Oh” you laugh.

“So, what is your preferred payment method? Ice cream? Coffee?”

“It’s a little early for ice cream”

“Then we’ll get it later. I know just the place”

“Yeah. I’d like that”

Though there are no classes, Natasha still has to meet with her advisor, so you chat for an hour until she has to go back to uni, agreeing to meet at your dorm in the evening.

“Is this a date?” you ask your friends on the video call as they agree on what you should wear.

“Of course it is, you silly goose!” Carol says, her face occupying half of the screen. “Wear something hot!”

“No, something comfortable. It’s an ice cream date, not a club” Val argues, trying to get a glimpse of the options.

“Something comfortable AND hot”

As they keep arguing, you opt for a pair of jeans, a white cotton t-shirt and a light jacket.

“Gotta go” you say when someone knocks. After hanging up, you are surprised to check Natasha’s ten minutes early. Plus, you don’t remember giving her your exact room number, agreeing you’d come down and meet at the lobby.

You’re about to open the door when the voice on the other side makes you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N? Please. Open up. I need you”

Wanda.

That voice, those words, the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to push away and bury come back. But instead of hurting you, they make you angry. You’re about to go out with a wonderful girl, who seems geniuenly interested in you. And here comes Wanda, trying to stain that as well.

Without thinking twice, you climb out of the window, holding on to the emergency ladder. You look down, unsure of what to do when you reach the last step.

"What are you doing?" Natasha says, rushing to stand above you.

"Parkour?" you reply weakly. "Is it too high?"

"Don't worry, I'll catch you"

Trusting her, you jump. Truth to her word, she eases the fall as you land, but you drag her along with you as you stay on the floor.

“Are you hurt? Why did you do that?”

Her hands are running over every inch of your face, going down to your shoulders and arms. The worry in her eyes only makes your heart beat faster.

“My roomate accidentally locked me inside”

You figure it's better than saying "My situationship is outside my door and I wanted to avoid her"

“You could have told me, and I would have gone and find her” Natasha insists.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s get ice cream? I won’t ever do this again” you promise, holding her hand. The redhead rolls her eyes, but nods and leads you away from the building.

You make small talk, appreciating how her hand doesn’t leave yours as you get away from campus and to the walking district. You try to look discreetly behind you, hoping Wanda didn’t see you and followed you.

Natasha finds the store, opening the door for you.

“Rocky road, please” you give Natasha puppy eyes and she smiles, ordering strawberry ice cream for her.

“So, what’s your deal?” she asks as you leave the store.

“My deal? What do you mean?” you say, mouth full of ice cream. The girl wipes the corner of your mouth with her napkin.

“You mentioned parties. Are you some sort of wild girl looking for someone to charm every night?”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite the Casanova” you laugh. “No, come on. My friends are cool and we just like to have fun from time to time”

“So, not a player” she notes with a smile.

“I did get my heart broken, though”

“Fella done you wrong?”

“His girlfriend done me wrong” you correct, wishing you were talking about anything else. But truthfully, if you want things to work out, you better be honest. “She was with me, but only on her terms and as if I were a secret”

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that”

“I moved on. So, don’t think I’m just messing here, Nat. I really like you” you hurry to say, blushing slightly.

“I like you too” she takes your hand. “Now, let’s finish our ice cream so I can show you this awesome bookstore I found”

The next few hours are spent talking about college, some of your plans for the future and also, your friends. You smile when Natasha comments she’d love to hang out with them.

Before it gets dark, you walk back to campus. Worried that Wanda might still be at your door, you asked Darcy a while back to go check. Apparently, the coast was clear.

Natasha walks you to the door.

“I had the best time” you say, smiling. “We should do it again. Maybe go to the movies?”

“Would love to” Natasha nods, her eyes drifting to your lips. You lean forward, heart beating fast as you’re eager to feel her lips on yours.

“Are you still here? I told you to beat it!” Darcy opens the door, making you both jump back. “Oops, I thought you were someone else. Sorry, I’ll go back inside. Pretend this didn’t happen, make out”

“Darcy” you groan. Your friend doesn’t get inside, though.

“The famous Natasha. Y/N here won’t shut up about you”

“Shhh, don’t listen to her, she’s off her meds” you ask Nat, covering Darcy’s mouth and pushing her inside. As you close the door, you hold it so she can’t open it again.

Natasha laughs, her hands going to your hips and pulling you softly. You take a few steps forward, smiling as she lifts your chin, leaning to connect your lips in a slow kiss.

It’s mindblowingly good, although too short for your liking.

“So, when are we doing this again?”

“The date or the kiss?” she jokes and your hands go around her neck.

“Both”

“As soon as you’re free” she says, kissing you once more before leaving for the day.

Darcy snaps a picture the second you walk inside.

“That’s the gayest you’ve ever looked, congrats” she says, sending the picture to the group chat.

You roll your eyes, pulling out your phone and smiling.

Y/N: Best I’ve ever had

Nat: The kiss or the ice cream?

Y/N: What do you think?

Smiling at your phone, you walk to the couch where your friend is sitting.

“I’m happy that you’re happy” she says, relieved that you’re healing from everything that Wanda put you through.

“Me too” you sigh, pulling your knees against your chest. “Though I do have to ask. Did Wanda say why was she here?”

“I didn’t care enough to find out. All I did was tell her to leave you alone. And then I pretended you were inside so she wouldn’t go anywhere else looking for you”

“You’re a great friend” you nudge her with your foot and she glares.

“Ew, get that thing away from me”

“I take it back” you show her your tongue.

The next week, you text Natasha between classes, and though she’s very busy, she’s always making time to get back to you. You agree to go out on another date on Friday, but neither one can wait to see each other, so you end up at the library on a Wednesday evening, each one focused on your work.

Well, Natasha is focused on her work. You’re looking at her, because this is the first time you’ve seen her wearing glasses and it’s adorable.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Plenty” you say, not even pretending to be reading your notes.

“You’re not the only one who’s staring” Natasha’s eyebrow arches, speaking without looking up. “Brunette, green eyes, a lot of rings and eyeshadow”

“Oh”

“Is that the infamous ex?” she says and you’re scared she’ll be upset about this whole situation.

“Uhm… yeah. I’m sorry. If she’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll just leave…”

Natasha looks up at that, eyeing you up and down as you struggle to read her expression. She surprises you by pulling your chair until it bumps against hers, leaning forward and kissing you, one of her hands on your thigh and the other holding your chin, in that signature move that always makes your head spin.

“Maybe that’ll keep her away” Natasha says, smiling and bumping her nose against yours.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and expect me to focus on an essay” you say, biting your lip.

“Then let’s get something to eat. We need a break from all this studying” she proposes, picking up her things and leading you out of the library, her hand in yours.

You don’t care to look around for Wanda to check if she’s watching, because this moment with Natasha is yours. She’s holding your hand, kissing you, spending time with you whenever she can, instead of hiding you like you’re a dirty secret.

By being herself, she’s given you the one thing you always craved for. Something real.

Finally, Friday comes and you’re buzzing with excitement, getting ready to meet Natasha.

“Wanna go to a party tomorrow? You can invite your girlfriend” Val says, painting her nails while Carol throws a ball in the air.

“We haven’t had the talk about being each other girlfriends”

“What? And you call yourself a lesbian? This is the second date, you should be adopting a cat by now”

“Like you and Val with Goose?”

“Yes!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint the sapphics, I’m just trying to not scare her away. And about the party, yeah, if Natasha’s up for it, we’ll stop by”

“Alright, it’s at Stark’s”

“Oh. Maybe not, then”

Your friends share a look, and you glare as they both stay silent.

“You can’t avoid her forever” Val is the first one to speak. “She’s gonna keep looking for you, getting in the middle of what could be a good relationship just because she thinks she can”

“Yeah, next time you see her, don’t jump out the window. Open the door and tell her off�� Carol agrees.

“You did what?” Val looks at you, baffled.

“It’s ok, Nat was there to catch me. Speaking of which” you hear a knock on the door, and stand up. “See ya, cat ladies”

“Hey! We only have the one”

You laugh as you open the door, but then you’re interrupted by Natasha’s lips on yours.

“Hey”

“Hello” she smiles, and then looks behind you as your friends whistle.

“Meet Val and Carol. My two former best friends” you grumble when they make kissing sounds.

“Nice to meet you” Natasha greets over your shoulder.

“Bring her home at a decent time” Carol says. “Unless you plan on having sex. In that case take her back to yours so she doesn’t wake me up”

“I hate you so much” you sigh, pulling Nat away.

“We’ll see you at the party tomorrow”

“Sorry about them” you mumble when you’re going down the stairs.

“What was that about a party?” she asks, opening the car door for you.

“Ever heard of Tony Stark? Big house, bigger ego. Loves to have parties. We don’t have to go unless you want to” you say, half expecting her to turn down the invitation.

“If you want me to go I’ll be there”

“I just want us to spend some time together, doing whatever you want” you say, blushing.

“I did promise I’d try going to a party with you, and it seems like the perfect time. Could meet the rest of your friends”

“Alright then” you nod, excited and terrified about how things could turn out if a certain someone is there.

Carol is right, though. You can’t be looking over your shoulder all the time, expecting Wanda to approach you and open those wounds.

If you have closure, in whatever way that is, she won’t have the power to hurt you anymore.

It’s hard to focus on the movie with Natasha by your side, her hand clasped in yours over your leg. At one point, you lean against her shoulder and she kisses your temple.

She’s so perfect, it makes you dizzy.

“What did you think about the movie?” she asks as you go out of the theater, her arm around your waist.

“It was good. I’m glad I understood most of it without having watched those other Alien movies”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have picked a different one” she protests, pulling you to a stop.

“I just want to be with you. Plus you looked so excited to watch it, I had a hard time saying no”

“Is that so?” she arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t use that against me, Natasha” you warn, getting ready to argue but her lips silence you, and you moan against the kiss.

It’s not nearly enough, and you need more of her, not just kissing.

“So if I ask you to go back home with me, will you still have a hard time saying no?”

“On the second date? What do you think I am, a harlot?”

“I’d count the lake as a date of it’s own. And the library too”

“So, this is like the fourth one?” you say, counting with your fingers.

“You don’t have to, I was only…”

Natasha’s words are cut off by your lips on hers, and she holds back a moan of her own when you run your tongue over her bottom lip.

“I’d very much like to go back to your place”

The drive back is silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. There’s a certain tension, and the expectation of what is about to happen makes you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest.

“This is home” Natasha says, opening the door to her apartment. Of course, as a grad student, you expected her to have her own place, but you still admire how homey it feels. There are books everywhere, which makes sense, and pictures of Natasha’s family.

“It’s lovely” you say, turning back to look at her. The tour of the place is forgotten, as you watch Natasha approach you slowly, her hands dropping to your waist.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah. A bit” you admit, because lying to Natasha has never been something you’d consider doing. “I want this to be perfect. And for you to really like it”

For me to be enough.

“It’s already perfect” she says, coming closer and kissing you slowly. Your eyes close as you enjoy the sensation of her lips against yours, hands wandering to your lower back. Without breaking the kiss, you discard your jacket and take hers off as well, and she immediately pulls you against her, your hands holding her cheeks as she deepens the kiss.

“Are we doing it standing up?” you ask when she breaks apart, breathing heavily against your neck. “Because I’ve never tried it, but I am open to experimenting”

“You could just say that we should take this to the bedroom” she laughs against your temple.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Still, she laughs as you pull her by the belt loop of her pants, guessing that her bedroom must be that last door to the left.

“Bingo” you smile, opening the door. There are more books scattered on the nightstand and the floor, but at least the bed is clear. “God, Nat, your reading is gonna kill me” you say as you fall to the bed and make her land on top of you.

“Sorry, I don’t have company very often”

“Are you a virgin?” you tease, knowing full well she’s dated in the past, though nothing serious.

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, her lips drifting down to your neck, and then lower to your stomach. In one swift motion, she unsclaps your bra and lifts your shirt up, her tongue swirling around a nipple. You moan, surprised at the contact, holding her head in place as she moves to the other nipple.

“Does it look like my first time?” Natasha says against your lips, her hands going down to undo the button of your jeans.

“I’m sorry, I was only joking, baby” you say, and it’s almost embarassing how desperate you sound.

“Good girl” she comments, pulling your pants down. You struggle with your underwear and Natasha’s too impatient, so she pulls it aside and starts eating you out, her tongue making circles and swirling around your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you say, biting your hand to keep you from screaming. Natasha nudges your clit with her nose as she moves to go up and down and you’re close when she stops. “Why?”

“I want to be inside you”

It’s a mystery, how your brain doesn’t stop functioning at that, but you manage to discard your shirt and start to undress Natasha, eager to feel her skin against yours. Once you’re both naked, she flips you, so you’re on top of her, straddling her lap.

“I’m debating if it would be better to have my fingers or my strap buried in your pussy” she says, and you wonder how the girl who is so well spoken can manage to be so crass.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Anything you want” you say, aware that you’re rubbing your center against her thigh.

“What’s that?”

“I… please. Just use me” you plead, desperate for some release.

Those words do it for Natasha, who takes out a strap on from her nightstand. You protest when she stands up to fasten it around her hips, feeling like you’re gonna combust if she’s not touching you.

“Shh, I’m here” she soothes you, laying on top of you and rubbing the strap against your entrance.

“Fuck me, Nat” you squeeze your legs around her, hoping she stops teasing you.

“That’s the plan, baby. Tell me if it hurts?” Natasha asks as she begins to fill you up, and you’re too far gone to give a verbal confirmation, nodding instead.

“More” you insist when she stops, searching for any sign of discomfort. Natasha thrusts forward, sinking the entire shaft and you moan, arching your back. “Harder”

Truthfully, Natasha’s never been so adventurous or forward in her sex life, but the way you’re pleading, clenching and panting underneath her, wakes something entirely new inside her. Pushing your knees against your chest, she moves in and out, reaching new spots that make you see stars.

“Yes, yes, yes” is all you manage to say, holding on to the sheets as your knuckles turn white. “Nat, I’m gonna…”

The words are stuck in your mouth as a powerful orgasm takes over, leaving you breathless. You feel Natasha slowing down her movements, and then she goes to kiss your neck, the strap still buried inside you.

“That was…” you sigh, trying to make your brain work. As your breathing steadies, your muscles relax and you let a finger run up and down Natasha’s side. “I don’t know what to say. You’re the one with the big words”

“That was fucking hot” she says, making you laugh. “And I’m not done with you”

Good thing your schedule was clear for the next day, because you weren’t getting any sleep tonight.

—

Your muscles feel sore when you wake up, stretching and turning in Natasha’s arms, watching her sleep.

Her alarm woke you up, but she’s still sound asleep.

“Nat” you say, moving her fiery hair out of her face. “Baby”

“No” she protests.

“Time to get up. You’re meeting your advisor, remember?”

Natasha curses under her breath, clearly not caring enough to wake up.

“Hey… what if I sit on your face?”

“I’m up” she says, opening her eyes and pulling you by the waist. “Come on, giddy up”

“Nuh-uh. Get dressed”

“Why would you lie about something like that?” she whines, burying her face in your neck.

“I didn’t lie, because technically, I didn’t say I’d do it right now. Get dressed, I’ll make breakfast and then we can go back to uni”

“Fine. But this discussion is not over” she kisses your cheeks, neck and then your lips, smiling as you laugh. “Morning”

“Morning, baby” you say, appreciating how beautiful she looks even with bed hair.

When she gets up, you find one of her t-shirts and go to the kitchen, looking at your options. You opt for french toast and make some coffee, because Natasha is definitely gonna need it to stay awake.

“Tastes amazing” she comments when you sit down to eat.

“Breakfast or me?” you tease and she almost chokes with her coffee. “Sorry, let’s eat”

“So, what are the plans for today?”

“Laundry, some homework. Standard stuff”

“Do you have any plans for lunch?” Natasha asks and you shake your head no. “Would you like to eat with me? After I’m done with my meeting and you finish your stuff, of course”

“Would love to” you say, smiling at how domestic and perfect it all feels.

Once you finish breakfast, you get changed and walk to Nat’s car. Parking close to your dorm, she kisses you goodbye and walks to the professor's offices.

You’re so distracted, thinking about everything that happened that you don’t notice Wanda sitting outside your dorm until you’re at the door.

“Wanda” you say, your hands in the pocket of your jeans. “Hey”

“Y/N? Did you just get here?” she says, looking around and then at the time on her phone. “You didn’t sleep here?”

“What do you want?”

“I want… to apologize”

You sigh, hoping the conversation ends soon so you don’t have to ever talk to her again.

“Anything else?”

“I thought he would change. He promised. But then it happened, again and again. And all I could think about is how you’d never do that to me”

“No, I wouldn’t. But now it’s too late. You made your choice”

“It was the wrong choice. Please, just give me another chance. I was scared before…”

“No, Wanda. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it and we’re not gonna be anything at all. Natasha is… she’s amazing and I want to be with her. You had a choice to make and you went with him. And now… I have to choose the girl I’m in love with”

“Is there anything I can do or say…?”

“No. I’m sorry” you shake your head. Wanda nods, wiping away the tears. It does tug at your heart, seeing her so alone and broken. But it’s not on you to fix this.

Not anymore.

You let out a sigh when she leaves the hallway, turning in the other direction so she doesn’t see you wiping away a tear of your own.

Your eyes meet Natasha’s. She’s holding a bouquet, looking at you intensely.

“Nat. I can explain.”

The redhead drops the flowers and you’re scared she’ll walk away, but instead, she approaches you, lifting you as she kisses you. You sigh against her lips, holding on to her as if she’s the only thing in the world.

“I heard. Everything. You don’t have to explain anything” she puts you down, smiling. “I’m in love with you too”

“I don’t… know what to say” you laugh, craddling her face in your hands.

“No need to speak” she pulls you closer again, walking back until your're cornered against your door.

“I swear to God, if it’s that girl again I’m going to…” Carol opens the door without a warning, making you almost fall. “Awww, you guys! Val, come look! They’re kissing”

“With tongue?”

“I hate you so much” you complain, hiding your face in Natasha’s neck. She laughs, kissing your temple. “Now close the door so I can say goodbye to my girlfriend”

“Girlfriend? Val, they’re girlfriends!”

“Wohoo!” the girl screams from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Agh, it’s like having overbearing lesbian mothers” you slam the door shut, turning to Natasha. “I’m staying at your place tonight, or they will drive me insane with all their questions”

“Tonight, every night. Whatever you want. Just know… you’re getting very little sleep” she says with a smirk, kissing you.

“I can live with that”

[foxtrology]

calm before the storm (5)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 11.3k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, angst, fluff, smut.

The espresso arrived in delicate porcelain cups with gold rims, served on a tray so elegant it looked stolen from a palace. A curl of lemon peel floated in hers. Harry’s had no lemon, no sugar—just black, bitter, and scalding, like everything else about him.

She stirred slowly, eyes flicking across the candlelit table as the night wound down.

Marcella was reapplying her lipstick with a tiny compact mirror.

Lorenzo was swirling the last of his wine, looking far too smug for someone who hadn’t said more than five words during dessert.

Paolo… was watching her.

Still.

His gaze was lazy and smug, lingering on the exposed curve of her shoulder where her dress dipped low. His smile said too much. His espresso stayed untouched.

She felt Harry shift beside her.

The air around them had been tense ever since Lucy was mentioned—no, dropped like a live grenade mid-meal. And now, every breath was edged. Every movement calculated.

She took a sip of the espresso.

Warm.

Sharp.

Nothing like the chill that had settled between her and Harry since Lorenzo opened his mouth.

Marcella rose first. “A beautiful dinner, as always. I do hope we didn’t scare her away, Harry. We’re just curious by nature.”

Harry stood politely. “I’ve noticed.”

Marcella turned to her. Kissed both cheeks, leaving behind lipstick marks, the scent of expensive perfume clinging like static. “You’re lovely. Don’t let us corrupt you.”

She wanted to scoff. But didn't.

Livia followed, flicking her perfectly toned hair over one shoulder, clearly trying not to show how annoyed she was by the way Paolo had looked at her all night.

“It was… a pleasure,” She said with a tight smile.

“Likewise,” Livia replied, cool.

Then Paolo leaned in.

And it was way too close.

His arms wrapped around her like they’d known each other longer than ninety minutes, like he thought he was owed something soft and flirtatious just for finishing his pasta.

“Stunning,” he whispered, right by her ear. “Absolutely stunning.”

His hands hovered at her waist.

And lingered.

Until Harry’s voice cut in like a whip. “That’s enough.”

Paolo didn’t flinch.

Just smiled. Slow. Smug. Sleazy.

He released her, turning back to Harry with a shrug.

Livia’s jaw ticked. The muscle along her neck pulsed once.

Francesca playfully rolls her eyes when Livia's back is turned.

"Ignore her. Jealous." 

Luca nods at Harry, muttering out a goodbye. Francesca kisses her cheek, whispering ciao before disappearing with her husband.

“Let’s go,” Harry muttered, his hand finding her back—not gentle, not affectionate. Just there.

But before they could walk away, Lorenzo cleared his throat.

“Harry—don’t forget tomorrow. Nine sharp. Contract revisions with Giuliana. She’s flying in.”

Harry’s mouth was a flat line. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She offered a tight smile to the rest of group she didn't bother to get the names of, stepping back from Harry slightly. Just enough to create distance, but not enough to make a scene.

Danny approached, arms crossed loosely, face unreadable. But as everyone else started peeling off toward their rooms or the private bar tucked into the side of the villa, he leaned in close to her.

Low enough that Harry wouldn’t hear.

“They’re assholes,” Danny whispered. “All of them. Don’t let them make you feel small.”

She blinked.

He glanced back toward the dinner table, then met her gaze again.

“You’re the only real person here.”

Then, louder, “Night, boss. Night, trouble.”

He smiled at her. And left.

The walk back to the room was silent.

Not companionable silence. Not comfortable silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

Her heels clicked sharply against the stone walkway. The air smelled like rosemary and wine, but it was ruined now. Everything felt sharp-edged and unfinished.

Harry’s hand wasn’t on her back anymore.

She hugged her arms around herself, silk dress clinging to her skin, still warm from the evening, now feeling like too much. Like a costume.

He didn’t speak until they were halfway up the stairs.

“You’re quiet.”

She didn’t look at him. “So are you.”

He scoffed. “You’re mad.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “I’m—” she stopped. “I’m not mad. I’m… processing.”

They reached the room. He opened the door. Held it open for her.

She stepped in.

The villa room was still warm, glowing from the faint amber lights left on by the staff. It smelled like lemons and her perfume and something delicate hanging in the air, still waiting to break.

Harry shut the door behind them.

The tension was immediate.

A rope pulled taut.

She didn’t turn around. Just stared out the open balcony doors, arms crossed, back stiff.

Harry set his watch on the nightstand. “Say it.”

She blinked. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since dessert.”

She turned now. Slowly.

Her dress shifted with the motion, silk whispering against her thighs.

“You didn’t tell me,” she said quietly.

“Didn’t tell you what?”

She blinked. Really?

“That you were invited to Lucy’s wedding.”

He sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t think it mattered?”

“It was just a fucking card. An invite. I didn’t even RSVP.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she repeated, voice rising. “You brought me to Italy and introduced me as your girlfriend in front of those people—people who clearly still talk to your ex—and you didn’t think it would matter?”

“She’s irrelevant.”

“Is she?” Her voice cracked slightly. “Because it didn’t feel that way when everyone at that table kept bringing her up like I was some new accessory you brought to distract from the fact that you haven’t moved on.”

Harry stiffened.

Jaw tight.

“She’s not why you’re here.”

She folded her arms tighter across her chest. “Then why am I here, Harry?”

His eyes darkened.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You brought me to Italy. To this villa. To that dinner. And you made a scene every time someone looked at me too long—”

“I didn’t make a scene.”

“You glared at Paolo like you wanted to set him on fire.”

“The way he touched you.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You’re unbelievable.”

He moved closer, slow and predatory. “You’re upset because I didn’t tell you about the invitation?”

“I’m upset because I don’t know what I am to you, and tonight it felt like you brought me here just to show me off.”

He flinched. It was subtle. But it was real.

“I didn’t bring you here for them.”

“No?” she whispered. “Then why now? Why Italy? Why introduce me like I’m your girlfriend and then not tell me the one thing that could change the entire context of this trip?”

Harry looked away.

And that was worse than yelling.

It was silence again.

Cold. Strategic. Familiar.

She hated it.

“I’m not her,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not Lucy.”

He didn’t respond.

She stepped back.

“I don’t want to be part of some rebound performance for your colleagues. I don’t want to be the girl you use to prove something.”

“You think that’s what this is?”

“I don’t know what this is,” she snapped. “Because you don’t talk about it. You just show up. You just do. You make tea and buy groceries and show up in the rain and give me keys and whisper things when we’re in bed and none of it makes sense.”

His voice dropped. “It makes sense to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t to me.”

She didn’t mean to cry.

But the tears came anyway—furious and humiliated and hot against her cheeks.

And Harry just stood there.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Not reaching for her.

And that—

That broke something.

She turned toward the door.

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t say her name. Didn’t chase her.

So she walked out. Into the villa hallway. Barefoot.

Wearing that stupid silk dress that now felt like a costume for someone she didn’t recognize.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the quiet aftermath.

Watching the door. And saying nothing.

Just like always.

That’s what echoed in her head after the door clicked shut behind her—just like always.

It followed her down the hallway, a shadow of a thought that curled into the folds of her dress, into the crook of her neck, into the hollowness that lived behind her ribs.

Outside, the air smelled like something ancient.

Not perfume. Not wine.

Stone.

Wet stone, cracked and sun-warmed, steeped in centuries of candle smoke and blood and rain.

The kind of smell you didn’t get in America.

The kind of smell that told you, you were far from home.

She walked without a purpose.

The path outside the villa was dimly lit, bathed in the low flicker of lanterns strung between olive trees. The gravel hurt her feet—of course it did—but she didn’t turn back for shoes.

Didn’t care.

It was almost satisfying, the tiny stabs against her soles. Something real. Something sharp. Her dress clung to her thighs, catching on her knees with each step. It whispered as she moved. Almost pleading.

She passed the vineyard, now just a silhouette of stalks and wire. The grapes had been picked already, nothing but the memory of harvest clinging to the air.

The road bent to the left. She followed.

She walked until she didn’t know where she was.

Until the villa was gone behind her.

Until the only thing she could hear was the sound of her breath and the soft crunch of gravel.

She wished she had brought her coat.

She wished she’d screamed at Harry.

She wished she’d stayed quiet.

Most of all, she wished she was home.

Not New York. Home.

Her shitty little apartment. Her corner of chaos. Her socks with holes and half-made puzzles. Her books stacked like fire hazards. Her stupid crooked lamp and the incense she lit when she couldn’t sleep.

And Frances.

God, Frances.

She would’ve followed her into the bathroom. Sat on the sink while she washed her face. Meowed like a tiny judge if she cried.

Now there was nothing.

Just an old road in a country that didn’t belong to her.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up.

12%

A panic rose. Brief and strange.

It wasn’t just battery. It was proof of connection. A lifeline. A thread.

And when she saw Maya’s name in her favorites, she pressed it without thinking.

She didn’t even know what time it was back home.

Didn’t care.

The phone rang twice.

And then—

“Dude,” Maya said, voice groggy, “It’s like five a.m.—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, so quickly it came out cracked. “I just—I just needed to hear your voice.”

Maya paused.

Then sat up. She could hear the rustle of sheets.

“Oh no,” Maya murmured. “What happened.”

“I left.”

“What?”

“I left the room. I’m—I’m outside. I don’t even know where I am.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you safe?”

“I think so.”

Another pause.

Then Maya exhaled slowly, her voice softer. “What happened.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It was supposed to be this beautiful, perfect thing. And it was. It was, for like, five minutes. And then it all cracked. It just—cracked. And now I’m here. Barefoot. And I just want to be in my bed. With my cat. I want Frances sitting on my stomach while I try to sleep.”

Maya let her talk.

Didn’t interrupt.

She sniffled. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I thought he brought me here because he wanted me here. And now I feel like—I don’t know. Like I’m a prop. Like I’m some beautiful thing he found and polished and put on a plane to prove something.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.”

“Did he make you feel that?”

“Yes.”

A breath passed on the line.

“Then fuck him,” Maya said, calm and certain.

She laughed through her tears.

“He’s just a guy, babe,” Maya said, her voice warmer now. “A guy with a nice face and a big wallet and apparently zero communication skills. But you? You’re you. You were whole before him.”

“I don’t feel whole.”

“You’re just cracked at the edges right now. That’s temporary.”

She said nothing.

Maya added gently, “And also, Frances misses you. She sat on your hoodie and refused to move for three hours.”

That made her laugh again.

“God, I’m so tired,” she whispered.

“Then come home.”

She blinked into the night.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Then stay. But make it worth it. Don’t mope in a five-star villa.”

“I’m not in the villa.”

“Where the hell are you?”

She looked around.

Then up.

Stars. So many of them. Not like New York. They looked like spilled sugar.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, find someone who looks like they know where they are and ask them to take you to wine.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Classic.”

Another beat.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’ll keep my phone on.”

She nodded, though Maya couldn’t see her.

“Love you,” she added.

“Love you too. And hey—fuck him.”

The call ended.

6%

She slipped the phone back into her dress pocket and exhaled, long and shaky.

And then—

A voice behind her.

“Excuse me?”

She turned, startled.

A girl stood a few feet back. Early twenties, maybe. Italian. Short hair, dark curls clipped back loosely, face flushed with wine.

She was holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.

“You okay?” the girl asked, English accented but clear.

She blinked.

Nodded too quickly.

The girl tilted her head. “You look sad. And barefoot.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice cracked.

The girl didn’t move.

Didn’t leave.

Instead, she smiled softly. “We’re having drinks. Me and my friends. You should come.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

The girl looked down. Then smiled again—this time wider, open.

Without a word, she stepped out of her sandals and handed them over.

“They’re a little big,” she said. “But they’ll get you there.”

She stared at the sandals.

Then at the girl.

Then back at the sandals.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Chiara,” the girl said. “Now come. Before the bottle runs out.”

And without thinking, without hesitating, without asking who the friends were or where the drinks were or what kind of night this would turn into—

She slid her feet into Chiara’s sandals. And followed her into the dark.

Into something that was not Harry.

Not heartbreak. Not home.

But something. And sometimes?

That was enough.

For now, at least.

Chiara led her through narrow, winding cobblestone alleys that opened like secrets into wider roads.

The buildings were the color of peaches and faded terracotta, windows shuttered, vines trailing down from balconies. The air was warm even at this hour, kissed by the day’s sun, soft with the hum of nightlife.

She could hear music before she saw it—something pulsing and golden in the distance. A rhythm built from laughter and basslines and clinking bottles. It wasn’t a club. Not here. It was something older.

Wilder.

More communal. Like the heartbeat of a town that refused to sleep.

The street opened onto a wide stone courtyard surrounded by low houses and lanterns strung in crooked lines between olive trees and window hooks. Someone had dragged out folding tables and plastic chairs. Children ran barefoot. Older women in cotton dresses danced slowly near the center. Men clinked glasses. Twentysomethings passed along cigarettes.

Everyone looked like they belonged.

And there, on a makeshift stage cobbled from old crates and a rug, a small local band played with chaotic joy. The guitarist was in his sixties, sunglasses on, nodding along as the singer belted out Heart of Glass in a thick accent, missing half the words but not a single beat.

Chiara turned to her with a grin. “See? Worth it.”

She smiled back, dizzy with the scent of grilled meat and overripe lemons. The sandals were too big, but they kept her grounded. The silk dress fluttered around her knees. Her hair was a mess. Her mascara probably gone. And she looked exactly like someone who had been crying.

And still—

For the first time all day, she didn’t care.

Chiara handed her a glass of something cold and pale.

“Try,” she said.

She did.

Wine. Sharp and dry, with a citrus aftertaste that bloomed on her tongue like summer. It made her eyes water in the best way.

They didn’t go to the center of the party at first. Chiara weaved through groups, greeting everyone like a favorite daughter. Everyone smiled when they saw her. Kissed her cheek. Clapped her shoulder. Called her name.

And then—Chiara turned, placed a hand on her arm, and said, “You should meet a few people.”

And she did.

She was led to a long table tucked beneath a tree strung with fairy lights. Four older locals sat there already—men and women with weathered hands and soft laughter. One wore a scarf around her hair and had a cigarette burning in an ashtray shaped like a tomato.

They didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to fix her. They just pulled out a chair. Made room.

Set a plate in front of her with bread and soft cheese and figs.

The woman with the scarf poured her another glass of wine. “Bella. Mangia.”

She did. And for a while, she just watched.

She watched a teenage girl dance with her grandfather, both of them barefoot, both of them smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong in the world.

She watched Chiara spin with a boy in a leather jacket, laughing like a movie scene.

She watched people clink glasses and hold hands and sing even if they didn’t know the lyrics.

The way the light caught on olive oil skin, on soft teeth, on silver bangles.

The way everything moved in circles.

Like life was a loop of love and forgetting.

She didn’t look at her phone.

Didn’t think about Harry. Didn’t allow herself to.

Not yet.

Chiara returned with a new plate of something fried and a boy trailing behind her. Tall. Tanned. Tousled curls. A soft jaw and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off.

“This is Nico,” Chiara said with a wink. “He is nice.”

Nico smiled at her shyly. “Ciao.”

“Hi,” she murmured.

He sat beside her.

Didn’t touch her. Didn’t push.

Just started talking.

His English was halting but eager. He was from the next town over. Studied architecture. Played piano. Wanted to move to Berlin one day but hated the cold. His favorite American movie was Kill Bill. His favorite band was The Strokes. His mother made the best limoncello in the province. He had a cat named Pesto which his little brother named.

She smiled. Asked questions. Laughed.

He made her forget, for a few minutes, that her chest was full of broken glass.

When the music slowed and a new song began by Fleetwood Mac, softer now, melodic—Nico offered his hand.

She hesitated.

Then stood. They walked to the edge of the courtyard.

He didn’t pull her in close. Just kept a polite distance, hands barely touching her waist, eyes downcast, respectful. He danced like someone who wasn’t trying to impress her. Just trying to make the moment stretch.

And she let herself sway.

For a while.

Until something shifted.

Until he looked at her and his fingers brushed the bare skin at her hip and her whole body stiffened—

Not because she was afraid.

But because she couldn’t.

Wouldn’t. Not to Harry.

Even after everything.

Even after the silence and the lies and the way he just let her walk out like she was nothing.

She couldn’t be the one to do something cruel.

She pulled back gently.

Nico stepped away immediately. “I’m sorry—did I—?”

She shook her head. “No. No, it’s not you.”

He nodded once. “Is it someone else?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

His mouth curved in a sad smile.

“Then he is lucky,” he said softly.

She blinked. Swallowed.

“Thank you,” she said. “For dancing with me.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Even girls like you deserve to dance.”

She smiled. A real one.

He kissed her hand. Briefly. 

Then he walked away. she didn’t follow. Didn’t sit down.

Just stood there as the song changed again—Call Me this time, the band getting rowdier, the tempo rising.

And she laughed. Out loud.

Because it was absurd. Because she was barefoot in borrowed sandals in a foreign town, dancing to Blondie with strangers under stars that didn’t belong to her.

Because the world hadn’t ended. Not yet.

Chiara reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair wild. “You okay?”

“I think I am.”

Chiara beamed. “Good. You stay until the last bottle. That’s the rule.”

She nodded.

And she did.

She stayed through four more songs, four more drinks, two more strangers who told her she had kind eyes.

She stayed until her dress clung to her knees and her feet were dirty and her phone was down to 3% and her laughter felt like it belonged to someone new.

Harry had stopped pacing only to check the time.

10:52 PM.

Then again.

11:14.

11:37.

11:58.

12:17.

And every time, the numbers made less and less sense, like they were mocking him. He’d checked his phone so many times he couldn’t remember if he’d texted her once or ten times. He hadn’t called, though—not yet.

The first hour, he was sure she’d be back.

She just needed air.

That’s what people say when they need to cool off, right?

Get space.

Take a breath. She was always walking off somewhere when she needed to process—he remembered her telling him that once, offhand, like it was no big deal.

"I just walk. It helps me think. Helps me not freak out."

So he waited.

Like an idiot.

Let her walk out in a silk dress with nothing on her feet and a thousand emotions clawing at her throat and said nothing.He hadn’t even moved.

He hated that version of himself. Hated the silence. Hated how familiar it had become, how easy it was to fall into that old defense mechanism of shutting down before things could get worse. That’s what he did with Lucy. That’s what he did with everyone.

But she wasn’t Lucy.

God, she wasn’t Lucy.

And he had wanted to tell her that tonight. Had planned to. Right after dessert. Right after Lorenzo made that comment about the invitation. Right after Paolo looked at her like she was something edible and Harry had nearly ripped his throat out with a butter knife.

Instead?

She asked why she was here.

And he didn’t have the courage to answer the way he wanted to.

"Because you’re the only person who makes the rest of it feel quiet."

But it was too late now. She hadn’t texted back.

His last message sat there like a ghost,

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Where are you? Please. Just tell me you’re okay.

He sat with that for five minutes. Then stood. Paced again. Kicked the edge of the nightstand by accident and cursed. Then noticed something on the floor near her suitcase.

Her sandals.

The flat ones she packed at the last second because she hated the way heels made her feet ache when they walked too long. She almost didn’t bring them. He remembered teasing her about overpacking. She’d rolled her eyes and stuffed them in anyway.

He picked them up.

Turned them over in his hands like they might tell him something. Then he grabbed his coat for her.

Left the room.

The hallway was too quiet. Like the villa itself had exhaled and gone still. He made it to the main staircase before spotting one of the employees—a young guy, maybe twenty, sweeping flower petals off the marble.

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Did you see a woman leave earlier? Silk dress. Barefoot.”

The guy blinked. “Ah, yes. Yes. I think she went toward the town. A girl was with her. Dark hair. They were laughing.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

The town.

Jesus Christ.

She was barefoot in a foreign town at midnight wearing something that belonged on a fucking Vogue cover and she didn’t have a goddamn jacket and—fuck.

He nodded tightly. “Thanks.”

And then he walked.

Not drove.

Walked.

He didn’t want the barrier of a car. Didn’t want anything between them when he found her—because he would find her. He had to.

And he’d do it holding her sandals like a goddamn fool, because if she needed them, he’d be ready.

The gravel gave way to the road. The olive trees faded behind him. The lanterns thinned. The cobblestones began. He followed the noise.

He knew this kind of sound. Not the sound of a bar or a club—but community.Music. Voices. Bottles clinking. Old songs sung out of tune. A courtyard party. Some kind of celebration.

And when he turned the corner, it was like walking into another century.

The stone square was alive with light and movement. Paper lanterns, wine bottles, music bleeding from a band tucked under string lights. Kids dancing. Grandmothers smoking. Tourists. Locals. Some combination of both.

And there—God.

There she was.

At a table tucked beneath a tree.

Laughing. Barefoot.

Wearing the silk dress he loved so much, with her legs tucked under her like she’d been there for hours, a half-eaten peach in her hand, juice dripping down her wrist. An older woman sat beside her, talking with big hand gestures, and she nodded along, eyes bright, like she understood every word.

Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She looked radiant.

She also looked...not sober.

And he should’ve been mad. He should’ve stormed across the courtyard and demanded to know what the hell she was thinking. But the moment he saw her—truly saw her—his anger dissolved.

Because she wasn’t being reckless.

She was surviving.

In the only way she knew how.

He approached slowly. Not wanting to scare her.

The older woman saw him first. Gave him a sharp look, one that said, don’t you ruin this for her. And then she leaned over and said something to her in Italian. She turned her head.

And saw him.

Her eyes went wide. But she didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

Just looked at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She blinked. “Harry.”

“You left your shoes.”

She looked down at his hands.

And then—God, then—she laughed. Just a little. Just enough to break something in him.

“You came all this way to bring me shoes?”

“I came to find you,” he said. “The shoes are just...part of the deal.”

She swallowed.

The older woman stood and patted her shoulder. Then her cheek. Then kissed her forehead like she was her own granddaughter and walked away into the party.

Harry sat down beside her.

Set the sandals on the ground.

She didn’t put them on.

Instead, she looked at the peach in her hand.

Then up at the sky.

“I met a girl named Chiara,” she said. “She gave me shoes. Then gave me wine. And then took me here.”

He nodded.

“I was worried.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

He nodded again.

Her voice was slower now. Tipsy. Not slurring, but looser than usual.

“I called Maya,” she added.

“I figured.”

“She told me to stay. Make it worth it. Not mope in a five-star villa.”

A beat.

“Were you moaning about me in Italian to strangers?”

“Only a little.”

He smiled, finally. “That’s fair.”

Another beat. She looked at him then.

And her expression cracked, just a little.

“I didn’t mean to leave like that.”

“I didn’t mean to let you.”

She closed her eyes.

Harry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a napkin. Reached forward. Wiped the peach juice gently from her wrist. She didn’t pull away.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought maybe you were coming back. The first hour. I thought you were just—walking it off.”

“I was.”

He exhaled.

“I didn’t know how to fight with you,” she said. “This was our first one.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“I hated it.”

She looked at him again. “I thought you were going to yell.”

“I don’t want to be that guy.”

“I didn’t want to be the girl who runs.”

“And yet.”

She smiled, tired. “And yet.”

A pause.

Harry leaned back in the chair, watching her like he didn’t know whether to kiss her or hold her or just sit there until the sun came up.

“I should’ve told you about the invitation,” he said finally. “I didn’t because I didn’t want it to take up space in this. In us. But I should’ve known it would.”

She said nothing.

He tried again.

“I didn’t come here with you to prove anything. I came here because I wanted to wake up next to you in this place. I wanted to see you eat peaches and drink wine and wear that fucking dress and let me love you.”

She flinched slightly.

“You could've told me that,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

He looked down at her bare feet.

“I brought your sandals and my coat in case you got cold,” he added. “I didn’t want you walking back on the road with nothing.”

“You remembered I packed them.”

“I remember everything.”

She pressed her hands to her face. “God, I’m a mess.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m wine-stained and peach-dripping and probably sticky.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She dropped her hands.

Met his eyes.

And for the first time all night, he saw the pain underneath.

“You let me walk away.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t think I could.”

“Well,” she said, voice cracking, “you could’ve tried.”

That was what broke him.

He leaned forward.

And gently, slowly, reached for her.

One hand on her thigh, steady. One hand on her jaw.

“I’m trying now.”

She looked up.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t apologetic. It was real. Soft. Unshaken. Earnest.

When they finally pulled apart, she touched her forehead to his.

“Take me back,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Villa?”

She nodded her head. “Please.”

He nodded.

And helped her to her feet.

She didn’t put on the sandals right away. So he bent down. And slipped them on for her. One foot. Then the other.

She looked at him like she couldn’t believe he was real. And maybe, finally, he felt real too.

He wrapped his coat around her shoulders. Tucked her against his side.

She gave Chiara back the shoes just as they were reaching the edge of the courtyard.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with wine and gratitude.

Chiara waved her off like it was nothing, grinning. “Don’t thank me. You needed them more than I did.”

They stood there for a beat—Chiara’s cheeks flushed, her sandals dangling in one hand, the air around them scented with smoke and lemon zest and melted sugar.

Then, Chiara turned to Harry.

Her eyes flicked up and down, assessing him the way only someone deeply unfazed by power could. “You’re the boyfriend?”

Harry blinked. “I—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sleepy but certain. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like she already knew the answer.

Harry turned to look at her.

And then back at Chiara.

Chiara smirked, eyebrows lifting with mischief. “My family is having a dinner tomorrow. It’s for the town. You should come. Both of you.”

“Dinner?” she asked, dazed, adjusting the coat around her shoulders. “Like... family dinner?”

“Like long tables, cheap wine, too many cousins, lots of pasta. Real dinner,” Chiara said. “Everyone’s invited. But you’ll be my favorite guests.”

She hesitated.

Harry didn’t say anything.

And then Chiara added, almost in a sing-song whisper, “Boyfriends are allowed.”

That made her laugh.

A soft, surprised sound that bubbled out before she could stop it.

She looked up at Harry.

Hair messy. Eyes tired. Mouth pink and smudged. Wrapped in his coat like it had always belonged to her.

He looked at her like he was still catching his breath.

She turned back to Chiara. “We’ll come.”

Harry still didn’t speak.

He just nodded once.

And the way he looked at her—like her saying yes was the only thing that mattered—was its own kind of vow.

He’d do whatever she told him to.

The walk back to the villa was slower this time.

She was quiet now, the kind of quiet that only came when the world had finally stopped spinning. Her shoulder pressed into his side as they walked. Every few steps, she stumbled slightly—nothing dramatic, just enough for him to catch her waist and steady her.

“You alright?” he murmured once, voice low in the hush of the road.

She nodded into his shoulder. “Mhm. I’m just…falling in love with you.”

Harry swallowed.

He wrapped an arm around her tighter.

By the time they reached the villa gates, most of the staff had gone. The courtyard was quiet, the lanterns dimmed to a low, amber flicker.

But one worker—a young man in pressed linen, eyes wide the moment he spotted Harry—stood frozen near the entrance, stacking empty glassware into a crate.

Harry didn’t break stride.

He glanced once in the man’s direction. “Water and crackers to our room. Now.”

The man paled. “Yes, Mr. Castillo. Right away.”

She didn’t say anything.

But she looked up at him.

“You didn’t even ask,” she whispered, scoffing.

“You’ve been drinking. You’ll wake up with a headache.”

“Harry.”

He didn’t look at her. “Don’t argue. You’re not going to win.”

She smiled. Sleepy. Touched.

“I wasn’t going to argue,” she murmured. “It’s… nice.”

He said nothing.

But his fingers flexed at her waist.

As if holding her tighter was the only way to respond.

Back in the room, the air was warm again.

The balcony doors had been closed by the staff, but the faint smell of night drifted in anyway—lavender and stone.

He helped her out of the coat.

Set it carefully over the back of the velvet chair.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there in the middle of the room, blinking at the floor like her body had finally remembered it was tired.

“You want to shower?” he asked, gently now.

She nodded. “I feel sticky.”

“Alright.”

He stepped into the bathroom. Turned the water on. The steam started to rise immediately. When he returned, she was standing exactly where he left her.

Still in the dress. Still barefoot. Her hands limp at her sides.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She did.

He pulled her in slowly.

Guided the silk down with careful fingers. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooled at her waist, then fell to the floor in one elegant sigh.

She stepped out of it.

Now just in her underwear. Still quiet. Still soft.

He kissed her shoulder. Just once.

Then reached for the towel.

She followed him into the bathroom like she was moving through water. The steam curled around her ankles.

She shivered once. He noticed.

The water was warm now.

Gentle.

He let it run first. Down her back. Her spine. The delicate curve of her hip.

She didn’t speak. She just stood there.

He reached for the soft cloth the villa had left.

Soaked it. Added soap—vanilla-scented, already faintly familiar. And then—he bathed her.

Not rushed. Not sexual. Just intimate.

His hands moved slow, reverent, washing her shoulders, her arms, her back. He knelt down to scrub her calves, careful not to press too hard. His palms circled over her skin like she was something ancient he didn’t want to break.

When he reached her forearm, he froze.

Barely noticeable.

A flicker of ink.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

There, just inside her left elbow—so faint he almost missed it—was a tiny tattoo.

A letter.

T.

Just a small, quiet T.

Harry’s throat tightened.

But he didn’t ask.

He just finished washing her arm with the same gentle touch, eyes moving on, heart slightly heavier than before.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did.

But she didn’t say anything either.

Once she was clean, he wrapped her in a towel. Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Carried her out of the steam like she weighed nothing.

He dried her carefully, patting down her legs, her collarbone, her stomach. He found a fresh shirt in the drawer—his, oversized, white, worn soft at the edges. He slipped it over her head since it was already buttoned.

Her hair was still damp.

He knelt to towel it gently, fingers combing through the strands until they no longer dripped.

She watched him do it.

Eyes half-closed.

“You’re very good at this,” she murmured.

“Good at what?”

“Loving me.”

Harry didn’t speak.

Just brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

And kissed her—soft, long, like a whisper.

He helped her into bed. Propped the pillows. Tucked the blankets around her like she was something precious.

Then brought over the glass of water and plate of crackers the staff had delivered while they bathed.

She nibbled one. Took a sip.

Then collapsed back into the pillows.

He undressed quickly—just his shirt and slacks. Left on his briefs. Climbed in beside her.

She shifted automatically. Turned. Pressed her body into his side.

Her leg hooked over his. Her arm wrapped across his chest. Her breath slowed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For coming to find me.”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

He didn't bring up the tattoo. Not yet.

They didn’t talk about tomorrow or what's to come. Not yet. 

They didn’t talk about anything. They just breathed.

And slept.

And healed.

And in the morning—Italy would still be there.

So would peaches. And pasta. And a dinner table strung with lights.

But for now—

It was just them.

In a room that smelled like lemons and warm stone.

Wrapped in each other.

Wrapped in the kind of silence that finally felt safe.

Morning came like it was trying not to wake them.

The room was amber with early light, seeping through the curtains in soft, sleepy stripes. Somewhere outside, birds were chirping. A breeze moved through the barely cracked balcony door, brushing the linen curtains like a lullaby. The whole villa felt hushed, like it knew.

It was 8:02.

Harry was already awake.

He laid still beside her for a while, eyes open, body warm under the weight of her leg still tangled around his. Her breath hitched faintly as she dreamed. The collar of his shirt—still on her, buttons halfway undone—had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of skin he’d kissed hours earlier. One arm was splayed above her head on the pillow, the other tucked beneath his own.

She looked like a painting.

And for a moment, Harry just watched.

Tried to memorize her like this. Sleepy. Safe. Still here.

But work waited.

So he moved carefully, untangling his limbs from hers like she was glass. She stirred only once, face nuzzling deeper into the pillow, hand curling slightly into the sheets like she could sense his absence and wanted to hold on to something.

He kissed the top of her head.

Then slipped into the bathroom.

The water was cold at first. Harry didn’t mind.

He turned it hotter as he moved, running his hands over his face, under his jaw, through his hair. The steam clung to the mirror and his skin alike, fogging everything. He leaned both hands on the tile at one point and let the water pound against his neck.

It cleared his head, but not enough. He couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

About her walking barefoot into a foreign town because he’d shut down when she needed him most.

About the way her voice cracked when she said you let me walk away.

About the tiny tattoo on her arm—T, barely there. So small you’d miss it unless you were right next to her. Unless you were bathing her.

And now?

Now she was asleep in his bed like none of that had happened.

Like she trusted him again.

Like he hadn’t ruined everything and somehow still got to keep her.

It was a kind of grace he didn’t think he’d earned.

He stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, water dripping down his chest, towel slung low on his hips. His hair curled in wet waves. He padded barefoot into the bedroom and dressed quickly—black slacks, a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, two buttons undone. Watch on. Shoes polished. Silver chain on.

She still hadn’t moved.

He sat beside her on the bed. Bent low. Ran his finger gently up and down her cheek.

Her face twitched slightly. Eyelashes fluttered.

"Shh," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her temple. "Don’t wake up yet.”

She half-opened her eyes—barely.

He smiled, close to her ear now. “Sleep. I’ll be gone a few hours. Stay in bed. Don’t go anywhere.”

She made a sound in her throat—something like a hum of protest.

Harry chuckled under his breath, then pressed his lips to her temple.

“I’ll bring you something sweet,” he whispered.

She nodded without opening her eyes. He waited just a second longer—then left.

The door clicked shut. And the room was quiet again.

She woke twenty minutes later.

The sheets were tangled around her legs, the pillow smelled like him, and her entire body ached in that slow, heady way that meant she’d actually rested. She blinked against the sunlight and rolled onto her back, groaning faintly.

It was too quiet.

Harry was gone.

She reached for her phone. Then realized it was across the room—battery still dead. She decided to leave it there.

Instead, she pushed back the blankets and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The tile was warm from the sun. She found a silver bowl on the counter, filled it with cold water, and dipped her hands in. The chill snapped her out of the morning haze. She dabbed her face, then dragged wet fingers across the back of her neck.

Afterward, she dressed slowly.

A soft cotton tank top, half-tucked. Loose trousers that hit her ankle. A thin cardigan she’d almost left in New York. Her hair went up in a loose bun with a clip she’d stolen from Maya’s drawer months ago.

Still barefoot, she padded back into the room and scribbled a quick note on villa's stationery—

Back soon. Don’t panic.

Then she plugged her phone—leaving it charging on the nightstand.

The villa was already humming by the time she stepped into the hallway.

She passed a few staff members carrying trays and linens, all of whom startled slightly when they saw her. Gave tight nods. Quick, deferential greetings.

One man even bumped into a flower vase as he tried to walk and bow his head at the same time.

It was weird. And sort of funny.

Apparently, being Harry Castillo’s girlfriend meant even your morning stroll inspired a mild wave of panic.

She rounded a corner—and there she was.

Francesca. From dinner.

Slender, sharp-eyed, hair pulled behind her ears, long dress with thin straps and a vintage scarf tossed over her shoulders like armor. She held a book in one hand and an espresso in the other, leaning casually against a column in the sun.

“Francesca, hi” she says.

Francesca looked up. Grinned.

“Well, well. She rises.”

She laughed. “Didn’t expect to see you up.”

“I didn’t go to bed.”

“Oh?”

Francesca held up the book. The Secret History. Pages dog-eared, spine cracked, annotated within an inch of its life.

“Started rereading at midnight. Got to the murder again by sunrise. Can’t stop now.”

They fell into step together without speaking.

Walked through the garden, past the edge of the pool, toward the gravel path that led down into the town.

Francesca sipped her espresso.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“A little.”

“There’s a place.”

“A place?”

Francesca smiled. “Where they don’t care if you’re underdressed. They don’t care who your boyfriend is. They only care if you eat.”

That was enough.

She followed her down the winding path.

The town appeared slowly—first rooftops, then chimneys, then the low hum of traffic and laughter. Morning energy pulsed beneath it all. A few locals bustled through the square. Bread vendors called out from carts. Children ran with gelato already staining their fingers.

Francesca led her down a narrow side street.

Past closed shutters and old stone fountains.

They turned into a tiny café with vines crawling up the side of the building. There was no menu. No sign. Just four tables, all mismatched, and the smell of garlic already floating from the back.

An old woman came out with two mismatched mugs and a basket of bread.

Francesca handed her the book.

The woman took it without a word.

“They trade novels,” Francesca explained. “She hates Kindles.”

They sat.

No one stared at them. No one whispered. No one cared.

It was perfect.

They talked. Not about Harry. Not about the dinner.

They talked about books. About unreliable narrators. About Marguerite Duras and poetry that tasted like metal. About Sylvia Plath’s letters and whether or not Donna Tartt would ever write another book.

They lingered. Coffee turned to tomato toast. Toast turned to pastries. Pastries turned into wine even though it wasn’t even ten yet.

And at one point, Francesca reached into her bag and pulled out a little polaroid camera.

“Smile,” she said.

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because you are gorgeous. And that’s worth capturing.”

The camera clicked. She didn’t smile. But her eyes were soft. And that was enough. For now.

Meanwhile across town—

In the velvet backroom of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Florence, the air was thick with espresso, cigarette smoke, and the kind of tension that clung to cufflinks. The room was dim and windowless, paneled in dark wood, framed by heavy crimson curtains, and lit by a single crystal chandelier that hung too low and sparkled like a threat.

Harry sat at the head of the table.

He wasn’t speaking.

He didn’t need to. People rarely spoke first when he was in the room.

Lorenzo was swirling his double espresso like it was a Negroni. His Rolex caught the light every time he flicked his wrist.

Paolo was leaning far too close to the waitress, his fingers brushing her tray every time she approached, voice oily with charm as he mispronounced grazie on purpose to make her laugh.

She didn’t.

Luca looked like he wanted to disappear.

And Danny? Danny was sweating.

Not visibly—yet. But his collar was too stiff, his shoulders too rigid, his jaw too tight. He kept sipping water like it might help, but the glass never emptied, and he hadn’t made eye contact with Harry since they sat down.

Harry noticed. Of course he did.

He noticed everything.

He sat still in his chair, one ankle resting across his knee, a finger tapping once every few seconds on the armrest. His blazer hung off the back of his chair. His shirt was crisp, unbuttoned at the throat, and the light caught the sliver of silver chain just below his collarbone. His hair was damp from the morning shower. He looked composed.

But his jaw hadn’t unclenched since Giuliana walked in.

She was seated across from him, all sharp cheekbones and smooth efficiency, her tablet glowing on the linen tablecloth. Everything about her was glassy, manicured, calculated.

"These are the revisions," she said flatly, turning the tablet to Harry. “Standard margin adjustments. Expanded options for the additional properties. And a clause we’d like to include about exclusivity with vendors.”

Harry barely glanced at the screen.

“Exclusivity how?”

Giuliana smiled thinly. “You can read the fine print later.”

“I'll read it now.”

Across the table, Paolo stifled a laugh and took a drag from his cigarette.

Giuliana didn’t flinch. “Of course.”

Harry leaned forward, scanned the clause once, then again. His jaw moved slightly. “No.”

“No?” Giuliana echoed, arching a brow.

“You want control over my vendor list without adjusting the revenue share?”

“That’s the proposal.”

“Then it’s a dead one.”

Silence.

Even Paolo shut up.

Luca exhaled quietly, grateful for the pause in verbal combat. He’d taken to chewing the inside of his cheek and staring at the antique mirror behind Giuliana like it might teleport him home.

Giuliana didn’t argue. Not yet.

She just tapped a new page on her tablet. “Then we can revert. But don’t be surprised if the board follows up with a counter.”

“They can send what they like,” Harry said, voice even. “Doesn’t mean I’ll sign it.”

He sat back. Calm. Steady.

But his eyes flicked—just once—to Danny.

Still quiet. Still tense. Still refusing to look up from his notepad.

Harry’s gaze lingered a little too long.

Danny cleared his throat. “We can loop back on the exclusivity clause during the second round of review. After—uh—after the revisions from finance are incorporated.”

Giuliana gave a tight nod. “Fine.”

Paolo made a noise in his throat, leaned back in his chair, and said to the waitress as she returned, “Due moretti, bella, grazie. Unless you’d rather share one with me.”

The woman didn’t respond.

Harry’s head turned.

Slowly. One look. That was all it took.

Paolo shut up again.

The waitress placed the espresso in front of Harry. Her eyes darted between him and Danny, then back to the door, then away entirely.

Danny swallowed.

His phone buzzed on the table.

Once. Then again.

He flipped it over without checking it.

But Harry saw the name flash across the screen the first time.

Allegra / NYT.

He filed it away.

Another tap of his finger on the armrest.

The same rhythm. The same restraint.

Giuliana was talking again—something about property assessments, something about taxes and city permit negotiations—but Harry wasn’t listening.

Because Danny hadn’t stopped shaking his leg under the table for the past twenty minutes.

And that wasn’t just nerves about the deal.

That was something else.

Something worse. Something guilty.

And Harry could feel it—like a shift in temperature, like a drop of blood in a glass of water. Barely visible. But spreading.

Danny had barely slept.

He’d spent the entire night texting anyone he could think of, pulling strings, calling in favors that weren’t his to call. He’d offered to Venmo three separate interns eight hundred dollars each just to “accidentally” delete Carrie Roth’s file folder.

It hadn’t worked.

One of them—Allegra—called him at 6:23 in the morning, voice full of regret.

“She still has the photo. But she’s not allowed to publish it yet. The girl—Harry’s—there’s nothing on her. It’s weird. No last name. No socials. Nothing. She’s a fucking ghost.”

Danny had rubbed a hand down his face, staring at the window.

“And Lucy?” he asked, already bracing for it.

Allegra hesitated.

“…Yeah. She gave a quote.”

Danny closed his eyes.

Fucking Lucy.

Of course she had.

"How bad is it?"

“Not bad-bad. But not good. Vague. Something like, ‘I hope he’s happy. We all move on eventually.’ But it’s laced.”

“Laced?”

Allegra sighed. “She sounds like she’s holding a knife behind her back and smiling for the camera.”

Danny had spent the rest of the morning doing damage control.

He knew how Harry would react.

Or worse—how he wouldn’t.

The silence was always worse. The version of Harry that went still. That closed off. The version that pushed the good things away.

And Danny…Danny had never seen Harry like this with anyone. Not even Lucy. Not even close. There was something softer now. Something better. Harry laughed more. He joked. He sat closer. He smiled like someone who actually felt peace for once.

And if some fucking quote from his ice queen ex managed to ruin that?

Danny would never forgive himself.

So he sat. In the backroom. In the middle of a million-dollar meeting. And tried to pretend he wasn’t unraveling.

Harry knew.

He didn’t know what Danny was hiding yet, but he knew it wasn't good.

He watched his friend fidget with a sugar packet. Watched his gaze drift anywhere but Harry’s face. And he did what he always did when people lied to him.

He waited.

Let them hang themselves with silence.

Let the lie grow heavy.

Let the guilt set in.

Then he’d strike. Not yet. Not today. But soon.

He sipped his espresso.

Looked straight at Danny. And said nothing.

Danny didn’t meet his eyes. Which told Harry everything.

The meeting didn’t end so much as dissolve.

Giuliana closed her tablet with a firm snap, gave Harry a businesslike nod that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and rose from the table without another word. Her assistants followed in silence.

Lorenzo didn't bother saying goodbye.

He just huffed, muttering something to Paolo in rapid Italian, and disappeared behind a cloud of aftershave and espresso.

Paolo lingered, naturally.

He adjusted his collar like someone waiting for a round of applause, then turned to Harry as if they'd just finished a friendly brunch rather than a laced negotiation.

“Enjoy the rest of your little vacation,” he said with a crooked smile. “And tell your girlfriend to try the gelato place on the corner of Via Luce. It’s almost as sweet as she is.”

Harry didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just said, “Walk away.”

Paolo did. Chuckling to himself, the kind of laugh people used to cover fear.

Then it was just the three of them—Harry, Luca, and Danny—in the quiet echo of the emptied room.

Luca stood awkwardly by the far wall, holding his phone in one hand, glancing towards the door. He looked like a schoolboy waiting to be dismissed, trying to figure out whether he’d be expected to walk home or if someone was going to make him stay behind for detention.

Harry noticed him hovering.

“You waiting on a ride?” he asked.

Luca looked up, startled. “Ah, yeah. I called for a car but it’s taking forever. No signal in here.”

“I’ll take you back,” Harry offered simply. “Come with us.”

Danny perked up immediately. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get dropped at the villa first. I’ve got—uh—work to do.”

Harry turned to him slowly. “Work.”

“Yeah,” Danny said quickly, already pulling out his phone. “Emails. Calls. Logistics. Just, you know, stuff. Need to get ahead of it.”

Harry arched a brow but didn’t press.

Not yet.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside into the Florentine afternoon—the kind of golden, honey-warm light that made everything look like a painting. The car, black and sleek, was already waiting, engine humming low and loyal.

The driver opened the door.

Danny climbed in first, barely offering a word before burying himself in his phone. His thumbs moved at an unholy pace, scrolling, tapping, texting, double-checking some digital disaster Harry was clearly not yet privy to.

Luca slid in next, offering a polite grazie to the driver, and then Harry joined, stretching out as the car pulled away from the curb.

For a while, the only sound was tires against cobblestone and the soft clicks of Danny’s frantic typing.

Then Luca’s phone buzzed.

He looked down, smiled, and turned slightly toward Harry.

“Francesca says she’s with your girlfriend,” he said. “They found some little café. She said to tell you not to worry—they’re safe, they’re having croissants, and we are both invited if you’re done playing mafia.”

Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Tell her I’m on my way.”

Luca sent the message, then tucked his phone away. He seemed a little lighter now—shoulders relaxed, voice warmer. The post-meeting haze had faded from his features.

Harry glanced at him sideways. “Francesca yours?”

Luca blinked, then smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah. My wife. We got married last year.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You’re young.”

Really ironic of him to say when he's fucking involved with a girl who's 26. 

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“Still.”

“I know.” Luca chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone told us we were crazy. But she’s… Francesca. She could’ve ruined me if she wanted to, and I would’ve said thank you.”

Harry smirked faintly at that. “Sounds about right.”

“She’s opening a boutique,” Luca added. “In our town outside London. Small, but she’s excited. She’s good at what she does. Always has been. Fashion, interior work. Makes everything feel expensive even when it’s not. I think she wants to build something that’s hers.”

Harry nodded, thoughtful.

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest,” Luca agreed. “She helped me rebuild after the last deal I tanked. Stuck around when I had nothing. The ring I gave her was bought with borrowed money and blind faith.”

“She sounds like someone worth keeping.”

“She is.” Luca glanced out the window. “Not everyone’s that lucky, you know? Finding someone who lets you be soft without thinking less of you for it.”

Harry didn’t respond.

Just looked out the opposite window.

Thought of her curled in bed this morning, the soft sound she made when he ran a finger down her cheek. The way she whispered his name in her sleep. How her breath had hitched when he wrapped his coat around her shoulders last night like it was the only thing he could offer.

The car slowed.

They were near the villa now, winding through the familiar lined paths. The sun cut through the trees in slats of white gold, casting shadows like ribbons across the windshield.

Danny didn’t look up from his phone.

“Here’s good,” he muttered, already gathering his things.

The driver stopped.

Harry didn’t say a word.

Just watched as Danny climbed out like the car was on fire, muttering something about emails and pressing timelines, phone already back to his ear.

He walked toward the villa at a pace that could only be described as erratic.

Harry watched him go.

Luca then gives the driver the cafe's address. The driver nods, starting the car back up.

He looked sideways at Harry. “You think he’s okay?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Instead, he rolled down the window.

Let the wind rush in.

Let the city open around him, brick by golden brick.

And somewhere, in a quiet café across town, she was laughing over croissants and gesturing with her hands, probably making Francesca snort her coffee and wave for more napkins.

He could feel it.

Like gravity.

And for the first time in hours, the tightness in his chest began to loosen.

He was on his way back to her.

The car wound through the hills, the stone and roads softening into something warmer as they dipped toward town. Golden light pooled on terracotta roofs, and the scent of warm bread and basil drifted through the open windows.

Harry barely noticed. His fingers drummed silently on the armrest, but it wasn’t impatience. It was gravity. Like some part of him already knew where she was. Like some thread between them had pulled taut and was pulling him home.

Francesca spotted the car first. She waved lazily from the doorway of the cafe, espresso in one hand, sunglasses on, expression unreadable. Her other hand was tangled with his girl’s, who stood beside her in soft linen trousers and a tank top, cheeks flushed from wine or sunlight or maybe just relief.

Harry stepped out of the car without waiting for the driver to open the door.

She looked up.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

She crossed the stone patio in three quick steps and wrapped her arms around his waist. Not urgently. Just naturally. Like that was where they belonged.

Harry exhaled into her hair.

Francesca raised her brow. “We’re going to lunch.”

Luca stepped out behind Harry and nodded. “I told you they’d be ready.”

The restaurant wasn’t far—tucked into a shaded side street, the kind of place only locals knew about, with uneven cobblestones and no name on the door. The tables were mismatched wood, the plates chipped, the wine poured without asking.

They sat under vines.

Harry kept his arm draped along the back of her chair, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. She leaned into it like instinct. Her hand drifted to his thigh more than once, casual, familiar. The air was warm but not hot. They ordered bread, fruit, and some pasta. 

They got wine drunk slowly.

Not the loud kind. The soft, sleepy kind.

The kind where she bit her lip to keep from smiling every time he looked at her. The kind where Harry started to say something about her hair, got halfway through, and just shook his head because the words wouldn’t do it justice.

Francesca snapped a photo of them with her old film camera.

They didn’t even notice at first.

She was resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. He was whispering something into her ear that made her laugh, soft and slow. The kind of laugh that lives in your chest. Francesca snapped again.

“You look like you’ve been in love for a hundred years,” Francesca said.

Harry blinked. “Haven’t I?”

She just swats him.

The wine kept coming. The food kept coming. She fed him a slice of peach soaked in something syrupy and giggled when the juice dripped onto his shirt. He didn’t care. He just licked it off her thumb like it was a reflex.

At one point, he said her name in that voice—the low, quiet one he used when the world fell away and there was only her.

She leaned in.

He kissed her under the vines. Soft. Long.

Not showy. Not loud. Just... there.

She pulled back when she realized she was still in public. 

Harry smirked. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He stood. Took her hand.

“Just come.”

She didn’t ask again.

They slipped out the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen doors, into a narrow alley framed and hidden by stone walls and jasmine vines. The air was thick and cool, and the quiet wrapped around them like smoke—intimate and heavy with the weight of what was about to happen.

Harry backed her against the wall with a hand on her waist, his body pressing flush to hers.

His eyes were dark, hungry.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered, grinning.

“A little,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along her jaw. “But not on the wine.”

Her breath caught.

He kissed her again—slow, consuming. His hand slipped beneath her tank top, palm hot against her bare skin, gliding up to cup her breast. He loved when she didn't wear a fucking bra.

She gasped softly, arching into his touch.

“Here?” she breathed, half-laughing.

“No one’s coming,” he said. “But you are.”

Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of that sun-drenched alley, Harry shoved her loose linen trousers down, dragging her panties with them. She stepped out, trembling slightly, and braced herself against the rough stone wall.

He looked up at her with a wicked glint, then leaned in.

He didn’t kiss her like she was fragile. He devoured her like a man starved—tongue hot and wet, lips greedy, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still. The first stroke of his tongue made her moan, the second had her thighs clenching around his head.

“Fuck, Harry—”

He groaned in response, mouth never leaving her. He licked her like he meant it, filthy and relentless, nose buried in her pussy, tongue lapping every drop, every twitch, every whimper. He moaned into her like she was his favorite meal, like the taste of her was addictive.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs, locking her in place as he flicked his tongue over her clit again and again until she was gasping, squirming, one hand gripping his hair like she needed to anchor herself to the world.

He sucked her clit hard, then teased it with the tip of his tongue, slow and obscene.

When he slid two fingers inside her—deep, curling—she nearly collapsed.

“Fuck—fuck—” she choked out, her voice high, wrecked.

Her orgasm hit fast, sudden and overwhelming. Her knees buckled. She cried out, hand smacking the wall behind her as pleasure tore through her, her body shaking.

But Harry didn’t stop.

He kept licking, kept fucking her with his fingers, chasing every aftershock, every tremor, until she was sobbing his name and clawing at his shoulders, too sensitive, too overwhelmed, dripping onto his tongue.

He only pulled back when she pushed at his head, breathless and dazed.

His mouth was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes wild.

He rested his forehead against her stomach, breathing hard, his hands still splayed on her thighs like he never wanted to let go.

She laughed breathlessly. “You’re fucking insane.”

He kissed the inside of her hip, slow and reverent. Then stood. His mustache was glistening with her, and he didn’t bother wiping it off.

“You taste like wine and fucking salvation,” he whispered, voice rough.

She buried her face in his shoulder, dizzy.

They fixed her clothes, hands brushing, bodies flushed with heat. Her thighs were still trembling.

He laced their fingers together as they walked back, like he hadn’t just ruined her in a sunlit alley with nothing but his mouth.

And she let him.

Like nothing happened.

And when Francesca saw them, she just raised a brow and handed her another glass of wine.

Meanwhile, back at the villa—

Danny had turned his suite into a digital warzone.

Two laptops. One iPad. Three chargers. Twelve tabs open. Phone on speaker.

“Allegra,” he said, pacing. “Tell me you have good news.”

The voice on the other end crackled slightly. “Define good.”

“She hasn’t sent it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“But she will.”

Allegra exhaled. “It’s Carrie Roth. Of course she will. She’s sitting on it like a fucking vulture. Waiting until it hurts the most.”

Danny scrubbed a hand over his face.

On his laptop, the image was still frozen. The photo Carrie took. From the lobby. The one Harry made her delete. So he thought.

Carrie hadn’t published it yet. But she would. She always did.

And when she did? It wouldn’t just go viral.

It would scare her off.

This girl Harry was in love with—really in love with—she wasn’t built for this.

Not yet. Not that kind of spotlight.

Not the New York fucking Times with a headline about her being a mystery. About who she was, what she wore, why she mattered.

It would ruin everything.

Danny knew it.

Harry wouldn’t survive it if she left. Not after Lucy.

Not after that silence, that grief, that hardening it took to survive someone walking away.

And this girl?

She was different. She made him soft. She made him happy.

Danny had never seen Harry like that. Not once.

So he’d do anything to protect it.

Even if it meant calling Carrie himself.

Even if it meant trying to spin it, bribe her, threaten her, beg.

“Allegra,” he said, heart pounding. “Text her. Now. Ask for a meeting. Say it’s urgent.”

“What do I tell her it’s about?”

Danny stared at the photo.

He swallowed.

“Tell her it’s about blood in the water.”

Back in town, Harry reached for her hand beneath the lunch table.

She let him.

And when he leaned in, lips grazing her ear, and whispered, "I’m never letting you walk away again," she believed him.

Because this time, he meant it.

[luvvyouforever]

undercover - aaron hotchner x reader

synopsis: in the middle of a case, your worst fear comes true. you have to go on an a date with aaron hotchner, the boss you've been crushing on for months. content: canon-typical violence, tropey, kissing, flirtatious aaron, mentions of alcohol, afab reader who wears a dress. word count: 4k+ a lil bit oops author's note: ahhh my favorite trope in crime shows. enjoy!

"so based on this geographical profile y/n and i worked on, there's only two bars our unsub could frequent with his victims. the first one is more of a nightclub and we don't think it's likely that he'll be bringing them to such a rowdy environment," reid spoke to the crowd of officers and agents awaiting instruction. "the other bar also has a restaurant attached so we'll be keeping our investigation here."

jj grabbed a handful of papers with the bar's information and passed them out to the officers. once reid had stepped to the side, aaron came forward to wrap up their profile.

"he's cunning, yet incredibly violent. do not ambush him. he will escape your grasp and hurt you in the process. be on the lookout officers," he said with a tap to the desk that sent everyone back to work. with a subtle turn, aaron gazed at you and reid. "good work on the mapping. meet back up in the conference room in 5."

"thank you, sir," you and reid echoed before beginning to organize your files back into a folder.

all the while you tried to remain professional, your heart throbbed in your chest at the smallest ounce of praise from your boss. the way he held the room in his hand and demanded respect without ever having to actually ask for it was a part of the reason why you've had a crush on them for the better part of a year.

crush, now, felt too small. it was an infatuation at this point.

it didn't matter much, however, because would you ever confess your feelings for your boss? the boss who has been nothing but stoic your entire time of knowing him? absolutely not.

shrugging the butterflies in your body away, you head over to the impromptu coffee station created for the large number of people inside the police station and pour a cup of stale yet hot and much needed energy. this case was a doozy, one that had every agent just wishing for its end. and it felt like it was soon to come to a close. they had been coming up with some kind of plan. what that plan was, you weren't entirely sure.

when you managed to snap a lid on the coffee cup, you headed into the conference room where the rest of the bau were seated haphazardly around the room. you took a spot between emily and reid, eyes focused on aaron and rossi standing in front of a whiteboard.

"that coffee's not any good, is it?" rossi asked, noting the cup in your hand.

"every sip is somehow worse than the last, but i think we all need it," you said, following your statement up with another pained drink. rossi laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you could've swore that the corner of aaron's lips titled into a smirk. you ignored it, though, and began reading the words on the board.

"so, we're hoping to catch the unsub tonight," aaron started suddenly, turning with his ever-present air of professionalism. "if he's still following his schedule, he'll find his next victim tonight, most likely at the bar reid and y/n found. we've thought about how we're going catch him and i think we'll have to go undercover. two of us."

"under what pretenses, exactly?" derek asked on the other side of the table.

"on a date," rossi answered. just faintly, a red tint appeared on aaron's cheeks. you wondered what could possibly have made him- "we've picked our two already. y/n and aaron."

"oh!" you said surprisedly. "what led to this decision, pray tell?"

aaron looked down at his folders as if they were the most important thing in the world in that very moment. rossi glanced over, shook his head, then looked at you again.

"you two just seem the most likely out of any of us to go on a date. we don't want to look suspicious, no?" rossi answered.

"i-uh-i suppose not," you said. "my go bag isn't really packed with date wear clothes. mostly just pantsuits and academy t-shirts."

aaron finally cleared his throat and met your eyes for the first time since it was announced that you two would technically be going on a date. even if you would be wearing bulletproof vests under your clothes.

"that's okay. we won't be going out till 7pm. it's only three now. you're free to find something. as long as it's easy to move in," he said in a voice that felt an octave deeper than usual. and then he did something that almost made you faint on the spot. aaron dug into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and pulled out a credit card. his credit card. "use this."

sheepishly, you took the card from his hands and placed it into your own bag. "thanks," you muttered. an elbow jabbed its way into your side from beside you and emily was smirking at you. you dismissed her with your hand and stood to exit the room.

"hotel lobby at 7, yeah?" aaron said.

you forced a nervous smile to your face and nodded, then left the room. with aaron's credit card in your bag. about to buy an outfit. for a date with him. you weren't entirely positive you could safely drive.

౨ৎ

with the information you had about the bar, you picked a semi-formal, simple dress that paired well with heels you already packed. aaron was already paying for the dress. you couldn't ask him to also pay for the accessories.

after some test laps up and down your hotel room, you declared the outfit was "easy to move in" and grabbed your bag, ensuring that his credit card was still inside. the time was only 6:45, but you knew aaron would already be there, waiting.

with a check that your holster was properly attached to your thigh, you left the room and took the elevator down to the first floor. your heart was beating irregularly in your chest and your hands were clammy, but the reflective surface of the elevator's walls let you know that you looked good. for a fake date with aaron hotchner.

the elevator dinged when the doors opened and immediately, you saw aaron sitting in a lobby chair. he looked up at the sound and stood. he was dressed impeccably well in a suit with his hair done in its usual middle part. handsome was the only word on the tip of your tongue.

"you look beautiful," he said upon reaching your figure. it seemed like he didn't mean for the words to slip out, but instead of retracting them, he simply held out his arm for yours to wrap around.

your mouth went dry, but you knew you had to say something back. "thank you, hotch. you look handsome yourself."

"i think for the purposes of tonight," he said, "you can just call me aaron."

you nodded, finding words hard to muster up. instead, you allowed him to lead out of the hotel to one of the least suspicious looking SUVs parked outside. when he reached the door, he opened it for you.

you couldn't hold back a little laugh at the gesture. "you know...we're not on the date yet," you said. regardless of the light humor of the situation, you allowed him to help you into the passenger seat. he smirked, shut the door, then walked around to his door.

when he got in, his usual stone expression found its way to his face again. "forgive me for wanting to make this feel as natural as possible. i'm sure it's awkward going on a date with your boss. even if it is undercover."

"oh, no!" you blurted out. his eyebrows raised as he backed out of the parking spot. his arm wound its way around your seat, neglecting the back-up camera for the traditional method. "sorry. it's not awkward. you don't have to worry. promise."

"yeah?" he asked, putting the car back into drive and heading to the downtown area of the small town you were in. at a stop sign, he turned to look at you. if you weren't such a highly trained profiler, you would've certainly missed the way his eyes raked up and down your body, taking in your dress of choice. "you made a good pick."

your cheeks warmed with his flattery. to avoid meeting his gaze, you fished the credit card out of your purse to offer back to him. "thanks," you muttered. "you didn't have to pay for it, you know?"

he took the credit card from your grasp and shoved it into his pants pocket. "don't worry about it," he said with a wave of his hand. "figured if you're forced into going on a date, you should have something nice to wear at least."

you looked over to his body in the driver's seat, his face focused on the road ahead of him. "why do you keep assuming that i'm hating every second of this? i mean...how rare is it that we get to eat somewhere nice while on a case? and i'm getting paid for it while in the presence of a handsome man. could be worse things." you didn't know what compelled you to add on the last bit, but when you saw his cheeks flare up, you didn't regret it.

instead of responding, aaron's body relaxed in the driver's seat.

after several minutes of driving, the bar came into view and you bit your lip in nervousness. this unsub was pretty intense and you were heading directly into the lion's den. you tried to cram the nervousness deep down in the pit of your stomach as aaron pulled into the small parking lot next door.

before turning the car completely off, aaron turned his body towards yours. "now we really need to look as inconspicuous as possible. it might feel weird, but we need to look like a real couple on a date, okay?"

"yes, sir," you responded on impulse. "i mean...yes, aaron."

despite his attempts not to, he breathily chuckled. "already off to a great start," he joked. you chuckled with him and unbuckled your seat. "i'm gonna text the team that we're heading in. don't open your door. let me do it."

a minute of quick texting passed by and aaron shut off the car, then stepped out. a few seconds passed before your door opened and aaron was extending his hand to yours. you took it with a sweet smile and let him lead you out of the car. he shut the door behind you and your arm found his own again.

regardless of the reason being for the case or for just the pure want to be closer to him, you leaned into aaron's strong body. he took to the gesture immediately and held you even closer. it was intoxicating, but you kept your gaze focused on the bar ahead.

after what felt like agonizing hours of walking side by side, you came onto the host stand at the front of the restaurant.

"how many?" the host asked.

"two," aaron responded. the hand that was holding on to your arm began rubbing the skin there up and down. every touch of his fingers left goosebumps.

the host gestured for the two of you to follow her. quicker than you'd like, she led you towards a table in the middle of the restaurant. your eyes surveyed the restaurant and bar around you, scanning for someone that resembled the unsub's profile. once the host walked away, you and aaron looked at each other and shook your heads, signaling that nothing felt out of the ordinary so far.

"order whatever you'd like," aaron said, his head pointing towards the menu in your hand. "hon," he added.

the petname rolled from his tongue naturally, as if it was a name he had been calling you for years. you tried to not show that it affected you much, but aaron noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. despite the nervousness that settled over your body, you decided to take another leap and with a shift in your seat, your heeled foot grazed over his leg. he was shocked at the sudden touch, but spread his legs further nonetheless.

you didn't pull away either when the server came forward.

"welcome, guys. date night tonight, i'm guessing?" she asked with a smile.

"mhm!" you answered first. "decided to get out and dress up for once in a while."

aaron looked at you with an almost impressed look. maybe rossi was right. you did look like a couple.

"isn't that nice? well, what would you two like to drink tonight?"

"an old-fashioned, please," aaron responded. "and a water."

"i'll take a cosmopolitan and a water," you added.

the server noted down the drinks and walked away. your foot continued sliding up and down aaron's legs, becoming a subconscious act at that point. he flipped through the menu once, then glanced around the room again. still nothing.

"an old-fashioned, hmm?" you asked, eyeing one of the meals on the menu that sounded particularly tasty.

"is that shocking?" he asked.

"no," you answered honestly. "just learning more about you, aaron."

aaron hummed, as if he were about to say something, but instead focused on his menu again. a few minutes of comfortable silence passed before the server came over with a tray of your drinks. she sat them down on the table, along with the waters, then pulled out a notepad again.

"had enough time to pick what you'd like?" she asked.

"know what you want, dear?" you asked, looking up at aaron.

"i'll take the steak frites," he said to the server.

both he and the server looked at you. you told her what you'd like from the menu, hoping it wasn't expensive enough for aaron. he barely registered the price, though, and instead collected your menus to hand to the server. if this was what dates were usually like with him, you could definitely tolerate them.

"you look like you're thinking about something," aaron said from the other side of the table where he had been watching both you and the door intently.

you took a sip of your drink and sat it back down. "i thought we said no profiling your coworkers, dear," you teased. "i feel like that applies tenfold when you're on a date."

he chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. you noted just how attractive he was with a glass of whiskey in his hand, laughing.

"pardon me for wanting to know what my beautiful date has in her head," aaron said. his words made you bite your lip and look down at the table. suddenly, though, his demeanor shifted as his eyes connected with someone coming in at the door. "don't turn around."

"is he here?" you whispered.

he nodded and picked up his drink, eyes following him to the bar. almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head towards the bar. "fifth seat," he whispered back.

sure enough, an unsub matching the physical profile had seated himself next to an alone woman at the bar. almost immediately upon sitting down, he began talking to her. the fact that the man you had been trying to catch for a long time, the man who committed some really gruesome murders was that close to you made you almost ill. you passed your emotions off by taking a drink.

"i'm gonna grab another drink, baby. i haven't seen the server around," aaron suddenly said. he nodded to you, perhaps for reassurance, before standing and adjusting his blazer to ensure the holster on his side was covered. luckily, the seat directly next to the woman was empty and he positioned himself on the other side of it. the unsub barely registered his presence, which was good. you took note of his clothes, his hair, everything, just in case she slipped through your grasp again.

eventually, aaron had flagged down the bartender, ordered his second drink, and came back with it in his hand.

"he's just flirting with her," aaron whispered once he was out of earshot. "but she's falling for it. probably not long till he tries to leave with her."

"i won't get to finish my food," you said half-seriously.

"i'll get it boxed up for you, hon," he said. though that time, aaron's voice was a whisper. the petname was for you alone.

just as aaron had expected, the unsub stood from his seat at the bar, the woman next to him following suit. together, they headed towards the back where the bathroom was, along with an exit inside the kitchen which he was likely going to use. both yours and aarons followed them and with a curt nod, you both stood to head towards the back, several paces behind them.

suddenly, they went through a door, to what seemed like a closet first before going into the kitchen. you and aaron paused at the beginning of the hallway. then some noises erupted from the closet, ones that would make an older woman blush and hold her hand to her mouth.

aaron looked back at you with a confused look on his face. at that very moment, the closet door opened. you and aaron looked at each other in panic, but just before they stepped out of the closet, you grabbed aaron by his tie and pulled him closer to you.

within seconds, you had hiked your leg up his own, revealing your thigh in the dress. his hand quickly came to the skin and he squeezed tightly. to add to the scene, you wrapped a hand around the base of aaron's neck and pulled him down. his lips met your own with a rough clash, but then the kiss smoothed out.

at first, he was still, lips unmoving against yours. when your fingers tangled themselves into the short hairs at his neck, he finally kissed you back. acting, he thought to himself as he deepened the kiss and pulled your leg higher up his. undercover, he tried to remind himself when your lips let forth a whimper into his mouth.

neither of you wanted to pull away. you only pulled your head back when you heard the kitchen door swing open and closed. you inhaled a deep breath and met aaron's dark brown eyes. they were wide and his cheeks were flushed.

"sorry. i-it was all i could think to do," you stuttered out.

aaron shook his head. "don't be," he said quickly. "come on, he's about to leave. we'll talk after."

you felt the warmth of aaron's body leave yours as he pulled the gun from his holster. you retrieved your own from your thigh and followed him through the kitchen. he flashed his badge towards the chefs to get them to stop yelling and they pointed towards the exit where the unsub had just left.

both of you picked up your pace. had the kiss deepened for a few more seconds, you would have certainly missed him. however, as soon as you threw open the exit door, the unsub was forcefully shoving the young woman into his car.

"fbi! put your hands up and back away from the car!" aaron yelled. the unsub didn't do immediately as asked, despite two guns pointing in his direction. "i won't ask again! put your hands up and back away from the car!"

in a quick flash, the unsub reached inside his jacket. in the streetlight, you saw the glint of a gun. hardly a second passed before he pulled it out, aimed, but then fell to the asphalt.

your finger came off the trigger and before lodging it back into the holster, you turned the safety back on. you hadn't killed him, only immobilized him in his right leg. it was enough for aaron to run forwards, take the gun and throw it to the side. while he placed handcuffs on the unsub, you ran to the other side of the car and rescued the woman from the passenger seat. crying, she fell into your arms. suddenly, you were surrounded by the town's police department, along with the rest of your team who had been waiting just down the street.

before everything got too hectic to seek each other out, you and aaron took a long look at each other. he nodded with a smile, his form of praise, before hauling the unsub into a police car.

౨ৎ

a few hours had passed before everyone was released from the scene. the bau loaded up into their SUVs, aaron taking the one you had rode together in. much to your chagrin, his car filled up before you could get in with him. instead, you rode with emily and reid on the way back to the hotel to gather your belongings.

when you arrived to the hotel, everyone split off into their rooms. aaron seemed to be speaking privately with rossi so you opted to go upstairs and change out of the outfit you had been wearing for the better half of the night.

as you were unbuckling your heels and placing them back into your go-bag, you heard a faint knock on the door. you rose from the bed, feet aching, and answered it.

there, aaron stood with a white t-shirt on, having had to change out of his clothes from the scene.

"hey," you said.

"can i come in?" he asked.

only then did you notice that he was holding something behind his back. you stepped to the side to allow him to enter and he scooted the item in front of him to prevent you from seeing.

"what do you have there?" you asked. slowly, he brought forth two boxes of food, having kept his promise from earlier.

"it's probably not the freshest anymore, but nothing that a microwave can't fix," he said sheepishly.

you could've cried on the spot. smiling brightly, you took the food from his hands and sat it on the hotel desk. a grunt escaped his lips as your arms engulfed him in a hug. his arms wrapped around your body and your feet lifted from the ground a little.

"thank you," you said genuinely.

aaron watched as you took the food and warmed them up, going for yours first so that he could have the slightly warmer meal. once they were both ready to be ate, you found some plastic silverware in the little coffee tray and handed one set to him.

"round two?" you said with a shrug.

"round two," he agreed. "but...i wouldn't mind a round three, or four, or five, when we get back home." he picked up a fry from his plate and popped it in his mouth.

"glad to know my impulsive gift didn't scare you off," you joked. you paused for a second and set the food down. "which, i mean, i wouldn't mind a round two on that either."

aaron paused too, setting his own box back down on the desk. he stood and offered his hand to help you up from the bed. you took it and rose. then, his hand wrapped around your back where his palm was splayed across the skin there.

"i wouldn't mind a round two either," he said quietly. "but i call the shots this time."

your knees felt weak being so close to aaron. you didn't miss the way his cheeks flared and one of his hands shook nervously. had he been feeling the same way for you for this long too?

"you can call the shots anytime, hon," you teased, echoing the petnames for earlier.

smirking, his free hand ghosted up your side till it met your chin. his fingers titled your head upwards and ever so softly, he leaned in. this kiss was much more romantic, more loving, less rushed. he had time, now. he wasn't kissing you to hide from someone else. he was kissing you because he has been wanting to for oh so long.

minutes must've passed before the two of you pulled away to a pure need to breathe. he smiled. "good round two?"

"i think i'm gonna need a few more just to double check."

[amplexadversary]

Sometimes shows that are otherwise pretty good make some decision that makes me feel like I'm suddenly watching The Office.

And I really don't appreciate that, because if I wanted to sit around, wanting to not be the person who has to figure out whether some really tasteless choice was motivated by racism or extreme stupidity, I'd go watch The fucking Office.