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mari-positas · 9 months ago

Text

run

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only. no mention of reader’s race or skin tone.

summary: When you’re given the chance to run from your captor, you don’t take it.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. MENTIONS PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). reader is described washing her hair (the exact length is not specified) and she wears a dress. she is also shorter than Joel. violence, kidnapping, reader has major stockholm syndrome, Joel is fairly soft for her but HE IS STILL NOT A GOOD MAN, brief mention of Tess and Joel being involved with each other, Tess seems like the villain but she might actually be the only one of these three who is not totally fucked up in the head. SMUT. daddy kink. size difference (no description of reader’s body type, Joel is just a big guy with a big dick, enjoy it). oral sex (female receiving), super risky unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader ovulating, Joel pulls out, don’t be be like these two, practice safe sex), creampie (yeah he doesn’t give a fuck the second time around). many, many pet names (baby, baby girl, honey, angel, sweetheart, little girl). um i think that’s it. oh, and they fuck in the dirt.

PLEASE HEED ALL WARNINGS.

word count: 8.6k

a/n: one thing about me is i WILL soften up EVERY version of Joel Miller to my little heart’s content. HUGE HUGE thank you to @endlessthxxghts and @joelsdagger for lending me their eyes and beta-ing this fic for me last night. <33 i love and appreciate you guys SO MUCH. i loved seeing you both in the doc at the same exact time lmao. this can be read as a standalone, but it is considered part of the captive universe.

Everyone in the group has a job. Except for you.

Or at least, that’s what you hear them say.

That bitch doesn’t do shit.

She never has to lift a fucking finger.

She should work for her meal—just like the rest of us.

Bitterness laces their tones when they talk about you.

Insults grow a little bolder when he’s not around.

Useless.

Freeloader.

Leech.

You might not be out there with a rifle in hand hunting game or invading camps and spilling blood for supplies—but you do in fact have a job, and that job is to make Joel Miller happy. It is your responsibility, your duty, to please him, and to keep him satisfied. Because keeping him satisfied keeps him in a good mood, and one thing you’ve come to learn about your captor is, where there is a good mood, often there is mercy.

Hell, you’re doing them a favor by keeping their violent, fearsome leader in a good mood. Because you’ve seen what he does to them when he’s not. He can be just as brutal towards his own people as he is to strangers.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. They still see you as nothing more than his coddled little whore.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He groans, his thick, callused fingers digging harshly into the softness of your flesh as he holds you firmly in place underneath him. “Oh fuck, baby girl,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips as he uses his own weight against you, pressing you down into the old mattress until you feel every uncomfortable lump, each creaking spring.

While he isn’t fucking you as roughly as he has on other occasions, he’s hardly being gentle. It’s hard, fast.

Loud.

Joel couldn’t care less about the rest of the group, the men and women on the other side of the wall, forced to listen to the sounds coming from the single bedroom of the cabin he decided they would hunker down in for the remainder of the summer season. Strings of curses and brutish grunts that came rumbling from deep within his chest, pleading gasps and whimpers that fell from your swollen, bitten lips. If anything, knowing they were listening only spurred him on—it didn’t hurt to remind them, especially the men with wandering eyes, that you were his special girl.

His good girl.

You certainly did your job, and you did it so, so well.

“Christ, sweetheart. M’so fuckin’ close—” Joel picks up speed, his hips snapping even harder, faster, the front of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. Each thrust causes the bed’s rusted, iron headboard to slam violently against the wood panel wall.

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale, yellowing sheet beneath you, each stroke he delivers knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He is so heavy on top of you, this big, broad, bulk of a man who makes you feel swallowed, smothered, and small. Joel takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

It’s a craving, a need.

Worst of all, it’s slowly becoming a want.

“Daddy,” you choke out, fisting the sheet tighter, your skin stretching taut over your knuckles. Can the others also hear the squelch of your drenched cunt around his cock as it begs him for more?

“Fuck. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Joel croons his praise. His hands abandon your hips and he hunches over you, his thrusts momentarily ceasing. He crushes his chest against your sweaty, quivering back and leans forward even further, bracing his large hands on either side of you. Then, his lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. “Y’take me so well, honey. Y’take Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ well. This pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me. She was made jus’ for me—ain’t that right, angel?”

He’s right.

Oh, how you fucking hated that he was right.

It was made for him. Your cunt. Your body. You.

Every part of you was made for him, and only for him.

All you can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

“Say it,” Joel whispers his firm command. “Wanna hear you say it. Be a good girl and use your words. Say it, say this pussy is made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan obediently, prompting him to grin against your ear. “My pussy is made for you, just—just for you. No one—no one else. Only you.” Could this really be the same voice that would break, grow hoarse from screaming for him to stop? The same voice that would beg and plead for him to set you free?

Jutting his hips forward, Joel buries himself to the hilt, eliciting a noise from you, something caught between a pained whimper and a contented sigh. His balls, heavy and full for you, rest on your clit, which is still sensitive to the touch after he’d spent a majority of the morning with his head buried in between your legs. Desiring yet another release, you try wriggling around beneath him in a silent plea for more. More, more, more.

Please, Daddy. More.

Joel’s grin widens. He places one of his hands on your soft lower belly, fingers dragging down the slope of it until he finds the slick swell of your seam between your legs where his girth splits you open. “Ready, baby?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer him, but the sound of your own groan cuts you off when his fingers firmly circle around your throbbing, swollen bud. “Oh,” you breathe, instantly sinking right into his touch. Your eyes screw shut tightly in pleasure, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder. The scruff of his beard is rough on your cheek, and it burns, the same way it had burned the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

His hips find their rhythm as you rub against his hand—you’re almost there. He knows this, you can tell by the chuckle that thunders in his chest and against your back. But you’re too busy chasing your pleasure to be embarrassed.

He’s made you a needy, greedy girl.

“Daddy,” you mewl, trying your hardest to move under him, to work your cunt up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna come—” You gasp, back arching as Joel strokes in and out, his fingers rubbing your clit with urgency.

Joel plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Give it to me, baby,” he grunts. “C’mon. Lemme feel her squeeze me.”

Feeling how close he is too, you try to hold on for just a little bit longer, at least long enough to finish with him, but Joel’s relentless, and you’re forced off of the ledge you’re both standing on first.

Crying out, your walls spasm around him, asking to be filled until he’s made a complete mess out of you, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel rasps. He lifts himself off you and he pulls out, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. His chest heaves as he fists himself, the wet sound of your slick in his palm filling the room. “Down,” he grits, and you obey him, lowering down yourself on the mattress until you’re lying almost completely flat before him. He gives himself one final stroke just as you look over your shoulder at him, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes the last push he needs. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck—” Joel spills his load, shooting thick ropes of warm cum along the soft curve of your spine.

You rest your cheek on your folded arms, biting back a small sigh.

He’s left behind an ache—you feel painfully empty.

But it was Tess, who had been given the task of helping you track your menstrual cycle, that had given him the warning earlier that morning. “She’s ovulating. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Joel. Last thing we need is for her to—”

“Relax,” he’d gruffed in response. “I fuckin’ know.”

Spent, Joel hunches over you once more and he lightly kisses the top of your head before burying his nose into your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs. Affection that once was unwelcome and unwanted, that once made you feel sick to your fucking stomach, now makes you feel something else entirely. You’re not quite sure what it is, only that it’s warm. Comforting. “Y’did so well for me, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your lips curl into a faint, tired smile he doesn’t see.

A while later, you find yourself perched on the bed with the sheet wrapped around you, quietly watching as he gets dressed. “Daddy?” you say tentatively as he drops into a nearby chair to pull on his boots.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Do you—do you think we can go to the creek today?”

Joel finishes lacing his boots and looks up at you.

“I’d really like to wash up,” you admit, softly. That, and you would like to see the light of day. He’d boarded up the windows with slabs of wood—sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get some decent light seeping through the teeny gaps.

“Not today, honey. I’ve got some things to take care of. Supplies are low, we gotta do a run. Don’t have the time to take you.” He stands and picks up his rifle, slinging the strap of it over his shoulder. Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel’s eyes soften. He walks over and gingerly cups the side of your face in his palm. His thumb strokes your cheek. “Promise I’ll take you to the creek tomorrow, sweetheart. First thing. Alright?”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands in your lap.

“Okay.”

Joel kisses your forehead, then leaves the room.

He makes sure to lock the door from the outside, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows locking you in is no longer necessary.

“I can take her.”

Joel’s dark eyes remain focused on the state map laid out on the table in front of him. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Tess?” He sees her in his periphery, but is too busy figuring out the group’s best route to look her way.

“I heard her asking you to take her to the creek so she can bathe,” she tells him. “I can take her.”

Finally, his head snaps up and he turns to her. “What?”

Tess leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Tommy can take the group, go and take care of what you have to take care of. I’ll stay behind and take her down to the creek,” she suggests casually, as if she’s not asking him to trust her with his most prized possession—the only damn thing on what was left of this fucking earth Joel Miller actually gives a shit about. “Once she’s washed up, I’ll bring her back to the cabin and put her back into the room. Easy.”

Joel stares at her, bewildered. “What makes you think I’d fuckin’ allow somethin’ like that?”

“Oh, come on.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Anytime I bitch about having to do something for that girl, you’re on my fucking case about it, and now that I’m offering to do something for her, you don’t wanna let me?”

He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “You’re talkin’ about takin’ her outside, Tess. Without me.”

“The creek’s just a mile away,” Tess reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting her there and back with no trouble, Joel.” When he says nothing, she cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “What? You don’t trust me enough to take her under my wing for a couple hours?”

Joel’s lips pull into a tight line.

Of course he does. Tess was his right hand woman, his second in command.

He trusted her more than his own fucking brother. She had never given him any reason not to, had never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty to him. No, his lack of trust has nothing to do with Tess—but everything to do with you. He doesn’t trust you. He will never trust you.

“What if she tries to—?” He can’t even say it.

“Tries to what?” She pauses. “Run?”

His throat goes dry and he gives her a subtle nod.

Joel Miller was a bad man who did bad things, but you were his good. You’ve brought back some meaning into this wretched life of his, gave him something that felt a lot like a sense of purpose. You were something for him to take care of, to keep safe and protect.

Tess raises an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d even give her the chance? Besides, the girl’s not that stupid, Joel. She knows better than to try anything. She knows she wouldn’t get very fucking far.”

“Tess—”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for her. Besides, I think it might do her some good to be in the company of someone else for once—the company of a woman.”

Joel peers at her, taking a minute to think it over in his mind before asking, “You’ll have her back in the room before I get back to the cabin?”

“Long before then,” she swears. “All in one piece.”

He hesitates. He’s still not sure.

It’s then that he remembers that disappointed look on your sweet, pretty little face. “Alright,” he relents with a deep sigh. “I trust you, Tess.”

It always feels a bit strange to be outside.

But being outside without Joel?

It feels even stranger.

When he’d walked back into the room and told you Tess was willing to take you to the creek, the news had taken you by complete surprise. When he said he was willing to let her take you, that you almost couldn’t believe. It hadn’t even sunk in until the three of you stood outside the cabin and he was kissing your forehead sweetly in a temporary goodbye before turning to Tess.

“Never take your eyes off her,” he’d instructed her.

“She’ll behave.” She had smiled at you as she pulled her pistol from the waistband of her jeans, the gleam of the silver barrel catching your eye. “Isn’t that right?”

Swallowing dryly, you had answered with a strained, “Of course.”

She’s the last fucking person you wanted to cross. She was almost as terrifying as Joel, if not more.

“Tess? W-Where are we going?” you ask as you trudge along behind her, hoping you don’t sound as winded as you feel. Although you had no way to keep track of the time, it felt like you’d been trekking for at least an hour. Your feet are starting to hurt in your shoes—old, worn, yellow canvas sneakers that certainly weren’t made for hiking. “I don’t remember the creek being this far from the cabin.”

Tess snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“It’s just—we’ve been walking for a really long time.”

She glances over her shoulder at you. “Here I thought you would be a little fucking grateful to be out getting some fresh air,” she chuckles, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

“I am,” you squeak, stumbling over a fallen branch.

Silence falls over the both of you.

“We’re not going to the creek,” Tess finally speaks after a minute. “I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere even better. Just trust me, kid. Now hurry up.”

It takes another hour before you reach your destination, and you hear it before you can even see it, a humming sound that turns into buzzing the closer you get. Then, you feel it, a vibration in the rocks beneath your feet. “Is that a—?” Stepping around her, your mouth falls open in absolute awe at the sight before you.

The waterfall is nestled right in between the trees and surges over the rocky mountain, throwing up bubbles of spray as it plunges into the lake at the bottom, and from there, it foams into a thick, white lather at the base. On the bank, where you stand, you spot different types of vegetation you couldn’t identify even if you tried—all you know is that it’s green, and it’s beautiful.

“This is incredible,” you gasp.

“Way better than some little creek, huh?” Tess tucks her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and shrugs off her pack. She digs around in the front pocket and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of crumpled brown tissue paper. She hands it to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’d fucking open it, you would know,” Tess rolls her eyes. “It’s my last piece of soap. It’s all yours.”

Her kind generosity comes as a surprise—usually, Tess wanted nothing to do with you. But you don’t question it, and you certainly don’t turn the rare luxury down.

“Thanks,” you say, shooting her a grateful look.

Tess nods towards the body of water. “Alright, then. Go on and get to it.”

You take the piece of soap out the tissue. The scent of lavender is faint, but still very much there. Joel will like the smell of it on your skin tonight, you think.

As you start to pull the strap of your cotton blue dress down your shoulder, you feel her gaze fixed intently on you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Uh, aren’t you going to turn around?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she scoffs. “I’ve got what you’ve got. Now hurry up, we don’t have all fucking day.”

Nodding, you peel off your dress and underwear, your face on fire as the older woman’s eyes slowly drag over your naked body. Carefully, you step off the bank and wade into the water. It’s so clear that you can count the pebbles underneath your feet.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Tess calls out, “You have ten minutes! And stay out of the waterfall! Last thing I need is for you to fucking drown.”

As she lights a cigarette, you can’t help but stare at her. Her features, though worn down after the hell she had been through trying to survive the post outbreak world, are beautiful. Big, dark green eyes, a perfect nose, and full, pouty lips. There’s never been a doubt in your mind that she and Joel have been involved with one another, and lately, the mere thought of anything between them made you uncomfortable.

It’s an odd sensation deep in your gut—jealousy?

But what were you jealous of? Her having had him first?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Insecurities you have never in your life felt before seep into your bones.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s fucking rude to stare?” Tess quips, raising an eyebrow at you. She shoves her lighter into the back pocket of her jeans.

Nervously, you sink lower into the water, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “Tess? Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly fucking want to ask me?”

You hesitate.

“How—how long have you known each other?”

“Who?” Tess plucks the cigarette from between her lips and flicks the ashes. “Me and Joel?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Six, seven years?”

“How did you two meet?”

“Long story that’s none of your fucking business.”

You ask your next question before you lose your nerve. “Have you two ever—?” Unsure of how to phrase it, you stop and clamp your mouth shut in instant regret.

“Have we ever what?” Tess studies your face, and she quickly realizes what you’re trying to ask her. “You’re seriously asking me if me and Joel have ever fucked?”

Biting your bottom lip, you glance down into the water at your feet. You honestly don’t expect her to answer, so when she does, you look back up at her in surprise.

“Yeah.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then adds, “Few times.”

Something unpleasant claws at your insides. “You two were together? Like a couple?”

“Something like that,” Tess mutters, flicking her ashes once more.

“What happened?”

She looks at you, pausing before answering, “You.”

Oh.

Before you can utter another word, Tess snaps, “Quit asking so many goddamn fucking questions and finish up washing. You’ve got eight minutes left.”

Not wanting to push your luck further than you already have, you do as she tells you in complete silence.

You lather up the soap in your hands, washing your hair first, and then your face and body, using your hands to scrub yourself as best as you can. Between the calming scent of the soap, the soothing sound of the waterfall, and the warm afternoon sun, you find yourself relaxing. You try to clear your mind, live in this peaceful moment which you very well may never get again, but your mind begins to wander.

And it wanders straight to Joel.

Closing your eyes, you can’t help but picture him here, standing behind you in the lake. You can almost feel his hands on you, long, thick fingers lathered with lavender soap, sliding down your body. His lips at your neck, he cups your breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your hardened nipples until your head lulls, falling back onto his shoulder. Joel drags his hands further down, over your stomach, going lower and lower towards the place where you need them the most. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your neck, dipping one of them between your legs until you are, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. “This where y’need me?”

Breathless, you respond, “It’s where I want you.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap open.

There is a wetness between your thighs, one that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing waist-deep in the middle of a lake. You shake those thoughts away and finish washing yourself.

“Time’s up,” Tess calls. She meets you on the bank with a dry rag. “Here.”

The rag doesn’t exactly cover much surface area, but you dry yourself off as best you can before tugging on your underwear and slipping on your dress. Just as you crouch down to slip your shoes on, she tosses her pack and it lands in front of you with a soft thud.

Confused, you glance up at her.

“There’s about a week’s worth of jerky in there. Longer, if you know how to ration,” Tess explains, calmly. “And a canteen for water. I also packed you a flashlight and a pocket knife. It’s not much, but—”

Frowning, you rise to your feet. “What are you talking about, Tess? What’s going on? Why are you giving me your pack?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance, kid.”

A feeling of dread pools in the pit of your stomach.

“A chance to what?”

“Run.”

Your heart stutters a beat. “Run?”

“He’ll come looking for you. You need to get as far away from here as possible. Run away, as far as you can, and don’t fucking look back.”

All you can do is stare at her in shocked silence.

“I can help you get a head start,” Tess offers, quietly. “I can show you which direction to go in and put you on a path leading to the closest state highway—”

“But what if I don’t want to run?”

Tess places her hands on her hips, and she exhales an incredulous laugh. “Jesus,” she breathes, shaking her head in pity. “He’s really got you fucking brainwashed, doesn’t he?”

You glare at her. “I am not brainwashed, Tess.”

“You’ve gotta be if you’re telling me you wanna go back to him.”

“Tess—”

She cuts you off. “He gave the order to raid your camp and kill your people,” she reminds you. “He fucking slit your father’s throat right in front of you, then took you as his prisoner. He made you his fucking sex slave.”

“He takes care of me! He feeds me, makes sure I have a bed to sleep in no matter where we are. He keeps me safe. He—he cares about me.” You will your voice not to tremble as you stand your ground. “No. I’m not running away, Tess. I want to go back.”

Tess sighs. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Take me back,” you all but demand, your hands curled into the least menacing little fists she had ever seen in her life at your sides. “Take me back to the cabin—take me back to him, Tess. I mean it.”

Amused, she huffs through her nose. “Or else what?”

“You can’t make me run away, Tess.” As you take a step towards her, she reaches behind her and swiftly whips out her pistol from the waistband of her jeans. You halt, freezing in fear when she aims the barrel of the gun at your chest.

“Actually, I can,” she says, her finger hovering over the trigger. “So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna walk away now. And if you even think about following me, or trying to find your way back to the group, you will die.” She tosses you a tiny, wry smile. “Believe it or not, I’m doing you a real big favor, kid. Problem is, he’s got you so fucked in the head that you can’t see it.”

“Tess, please,” you plead. “Don’t do this to me!”

She begins to back away. “Remember when you’d say that to him? How you’d beg him not to do those things to you every night? Beg him to let you go?”

“Please, just take me back to him!”

You start to follow her.

“You take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, her eyes darkening. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tess keeps her pistol pointed at you until she slips into the trees and disappears, abandoning you in the middle of the forest.

He’s furious. Livid.

Joel paces back and forth on the porch.

“Where the fuck are they?”

The old, rotting wood that wraps all the way around the cabin creaks, and certain softer spots bend and buckle, threatening to give way beneath his heavy boots. Joel’s younger brother leans against the railing, which is just as fragile, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Christ, Joel. Can you fuckin’ relax?” Tommy grumbles, fishing around in his back pocket for his lighter. “You’re gonna bring the whole damn cabin down if ya don’t cut that shit out.” He sparks a flame and lights the filtered end of the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “You’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’, brother.”

“S’almost sundown, and they’re still not fuckin’ back.” Joel shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew I shouldn’t have let Tess take her. Somethin’ happened, Tommy. I just know it.” He lifts his shirt and reaches for his pistol, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. “M’gonna head to the creek myself to find ‘em. Ain’t gonna sit around on my goddamn hands and wait for it to get fuckin’ dark.”

“She’s with Tess. M’sure the girl’s fine—” Tommy stops, his eyes widening slightly. “Well, hell.”

“What?”

Tommy jerks his chin over Joel’s shoulder before taking another slow, casual drag of his cigarette. He savors the last few seconds of peace before shit inevitably hits the fan and his brother unleashes his wrath on anything, or anyone, in his path.

Joel whips around and his stomach sinks, his blood ice in his veins when he sees Tess approaching the cabin. Alone.

Both his mind and body go numb. It’s a jarring shock to his nervous system, and it takes him a minute or two to fully process the fact that you’re not with her.

“Joel,” Tess says his name carefully as he descends the porch steps and walks towards her. “I need you to take a breath, alright?”

“Where—where is she?” His voice breaks, his weakness momentarily slipping through the cracks.

Not that Tess didn’t already know you were Joel Miller’s weakness, his soft white underbelly, the only vulnerable part of his hardened self that could be penetrated—you would have been his downfall. As much as she’d like to say she did what she did solely for your own good, she also did it for his, and for the sake of the group as a whole.

It needed to be done.

He stands in front of her, a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Prepared to face whatever consequences of the choice she had made, Tess tucks her gun away and sighs. “You need to take a breath—”

Joel snatches her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. His emotions hit him all at once.

Fear, worry, anger. It’s the third that takes precedence, and before Tess can utter another word, Joel yanks her forward. She crashes against his chest so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. “Where the fuck is she?” He leans down, his nostrils flaring as he brings their faces the closest they have been in almost a year.

“Joel, take a fucking breath—”

“Where. Is. She.” His grip on her arm tightens with each word he bites out through his teeth. He’s vaguely aware the others have piled out of the cabin, gathering on the porch to watch the altercation.

“She ran,” Tess explains, calmly. She doesn’t falter, not even as his fingers sink deeper into her skin, promising her painful bruises which will take days to fade away. If he decided to let her live. “She ran away, Joel. I turned my back for one fucking second and she was gone. She even took my fucking pack. I tried going after her, but it was no use. She was too fast.”

Behind him, Tommy snorts. “She outran you?”

Her eyes momentarily flicker to him. “Her knees are a lot younger than mine,” she replies, flatly.

“Which direction did she go in?” Joel demands. When Tess doesn’t immediately respond, he shouts, “Which fucking direction!”

Tess manages to snatch her arm out of his grasp. She glowers at him, hissing, “What the hell does it matter which direction she went? You won’t fucking find her.”

His eyes meet hers, and he sees it. Feels it.

She’s lying to him.

“Tess.” Joel’s voice drops dangerously low. He studies her face, his brows creasing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, Joel. She fucking ran away.”

Without warning, Joel takes her by her throat. His other hand brings his pistol to her head, shoving the barrel of it against her temple. His nose touches hers. “Now, tell me why I have the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me the whole truth?”

Tess lifts her chin. She searches his eyes, a sharp ache shooting through her. After everything, all the hell they had been through together—he would end her life, put a bullet in her because of you? Did she mean that little to him?

Or maybe she’d never meant anything to him at all?

She’s not sure which stings more.

“Because you’ve fucking deluded yourself into thinking that she willingly wants anything to do with you,” Tess finally answers. “That’s why.”

He ignores the burn of her scorching words.

“Where the fuck is she, Tess?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from here by now,” she hisses. “I did everyone a fucking favor, Joel. That girl is just another fucking mouth to feed. And what if you get her pregnant? That’ll be another one. Not to mention, a crying baby could draw unwanted attention and get us all killed. Ever thought about that? She’s not an asset to the group, she’s a fucking liability. Besides, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all fucking tired of hearing you ra—”

Joel digs the barrel harder into her temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Listen to me. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where she is, y’understand me?”

“Or what? You’ll blow my brains out?” Foolishly, Tess chooses to call his bluff despite not knowing for certain whether or not he’ll actually pull the trigger. “Go ahead, then. Kill me, Joel.”

His finger twitches over the trigger, but he doesn’t pull it. He can’t fucking pull it. Not on her. Not on Tess.

Still in his hands, she sags slightly in relief.

Swallowing harshly, Joel Miller lowers his gun and does something she’s never seen him do before. He begs.

“Tess, tell me where she is,” he whispers. His pleading is subtle, and only she can hear it. “Please—just fuckin’ tell me where my girl is.”

Tess stands her ground and says nothing.

Releasing her, Joel shoves her aside and with nothing but his gun in his hand, he sets off to find you.

“Ow, fuck!”

You gasp, quickly lifting your bare foot off the ground.

You’d stepped on something sharp—a stick, or maybe a rock?

In a desperate attempt to try and keep up with Tess’ tracks, you had stupidly left behind your shoes back at the waterfall. But the mere seconds you had spared by not stopping to put your shoes on hadn’t given you the advantage you thought it would. She had moved much too fast, and within minutes, you’d become helplessly, hopelessly lost. Every tree and every bush, they all look exactly the same, and for all you know, you’ve probably been going around in fucking circles for the past couple of hours in your search for her footprints in the dirt.

Sagging against the trunk of a nearby tree, you take a minute to try and catch your breath, to give your poor little feet a break from hiking over fallen branches and jagged stones.

Your head falls back, eyes gazing through the canopy of trees. Dusk has settled in, and nightfall is on its heels. It was foolish of you to leave behind your shoes, but even more so to leave behind the pack she had given you—in the pack were all the things meant to help you survive. Knife, flashlight, food.

Sure, you can survive a night out here in the wilderness without any of those things—but then what? Come dawn, what do you do? Where do you go? Do you just stumble around in the woods and hope for the best? Pray you’ll make it onto a highway with signs that will point you to a quarantine zone?

Hell, maybe you’re overestimating yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about your next move. Howls in the distance remind you there’s wildlife out here, dangerous predators that come out after dark in search of their next meal. Or what about infected? It wasn’t unheard of for them to veer off the highway and lose themselves in the trees.

You recall your first few weeks in Joel Miller’s hands.

Escaping them was all you could ever think about, even though the chances of you surviving alone were slim to none, just like they are now. Never having been on your own, death would have been inevitable—but back then, in your darkest moments in captivity, you wished for it. You’d welcomed the idea of starving, freezing, or being torn apart limb from limb by an entire hoard of clickers. At least then, you’d die with your freedom.

Almost a year later, that wish has been granted.

You’re free.

You may very well die, but you would die free.

Closing your eyes, you think about Joel. His arms, that once held you down—held you still—as he did all those things to you without your consent, are arms your heart yearns to have wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Jesus,” you grit, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Maybe Tess had been right. Maybe he really does have you fucked in the head.

Joel was a monster. He had taken everything from you, including your innocence. He’d defiled you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. He was a terrible, terrible man.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you fed.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you warm.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you safe.

Another tear slides down the side of your face. What is fucking wrong with you?

You don’t know. But what you do know is, the thought of never seeing Joel again is somehow more terrifying to you than the thought of dying even the most brutal of deaths.

A loud rustling sound brings your train of thought to an immediate, sudden halt, and your eyes wrench open.

It’s darker now, but you manage to catch a movement in the shrubs, only mere feet in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, it rattles you to your very core, and even though every nerve in your body is urging you to move, you freeze, your back flush against the tree trunk. Your fingernails dig painfully into the bark as you watch the shrubs part down the middle, and a tall, hulking figure emerges with a heavy grunt.

At first, you think it’s just a figment of your imagination showing you what you wanted to see—a hallucination. Blinking furiously, you lightly shake your head, and then take another look at him. Your breath hitches when you realize it’s Joel.

He stares at you in the same manner, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re real, or if his mind is playing a cruel, cruel trick on him. Feet cemented to the forest floor, he watches you take a small, tentative step towards him.

Once adamant that you’d never look him in the eye, you find your gaze locking directly with his as you carefully take another step closer. Then another, and another.

“Joel?” It’s the first time you’ve ever uttered his name.

He seems as taken aback hearing it as you are saying it.

“Joel.” It rolls off your tongue smoother, and with more ease the second time around.

It sparks a flame somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a fire that burns differently than those ignited by carnal desires.

No, this is something else entirely, and you feel it too.

“Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “S’that really you?”

“Joel!” you cry, hurling yourself into his arms.

Joel’s gun falls from his hand and he curls them around you. Burying his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply. The scent of you, the feel of you—you’re fucking real.

Shuddering with sobs of relief, your arms wrap around his waist, and you cling to him as if you’re clinging onto dear, precious life itself.

“Hush now, s’alright,” Joel soothes, cradling the back of your head in one hand, while the rubs soft, calming circles into your back. “I’ve got you, honey. M’here.”

“I swear I didn’t want to run away,” you explain through your tears. “I begged her to take me back to you, Joel, I really did! But she left me out here—she said she would shoot me if I tried following her back. Please, you have to believe me, you just have to believe me!”

He squeezes you harder against his chest. “I do, baby. I do believe you,” he assures you. Pulling away, he takes a step backward and takes your face between his palms, peering at you in concern. “Y’hurt, sweetheart?”

“No,” you hiccup, curling your hands around his wrists. Your lower lip trembles. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. I was scared I wouldn’t,” you admit, softly.

Joel’s thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “M’here now,” he murmurs. “You’re with me, baby. You’re safe, alright?” As a late evening breeze passes through, he lets you go and shrugs out of his brown jacket. He goes to drape it around your shoulders, but you snatch it right out of his hands, then toss it aside.

Something in you snaps. You take fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him down towards you to do yet something else that takes you both by surprise—you initiate a kiss. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a little swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as you clutch tighter at his shirt, holding him in place. Groaning, Joel opens his mouth more, his tongue brushing yours.

Liquid heat pools in your belly, and before you realize it, you’ve grown frantic, kissing him with fervor. Releasing his shirt, you slide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, lower and lower until you find his belt buckle. Desperate, you clumsily fumble with it, and that’s when Joel tears away from you, his breath hitching.

You’re begging before he can even say a word. “Please. I need you—I want you. Right now.”

You cup him through his jeans, and he exhales sharply.

“Fuck.” Without giving it a second thought, his hands reach for the straps of your dress, pushing them off of your shoulders. He roughly tugs at the material, letting it slip down your body until it falls around your feet. In a tangle of limbs and tongues, you both sink to the forest floor. Your hands brush his buckle, and he catches your wrists. “Not yet, baby girl. M’still in charge, alright?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

“Say it.” His command is firm, but somehow still gentle.

“You’re—you’re in charge.”

“Good girl.” Joel guides you onto your back. He’s over you in a second, swelling your lips with a hard, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless. He moves his mouth, teeth scraping over your cheek and jaw, down to your neck where he nips at the tender, delicate flesh over your pulse point. Then, he bites his way over your collarbone and to your shoulder. “Bet she’s already wet for me,” he mumbles into your skin. “Ain’t she, baby?”

Pushing himself back onto his knees, he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small gasp from you. Hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear, he yanks the fabric down your legs. It catches on your foot, your wetness smearing against the inside of your ankle.

You’re drenched.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling your hips over his thighs. He leans over you once more, your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his jeans. He tuts lightly into your neck as you buck against him. “Such a fuckin’ needy little girl.”

Desperate, you try rolling your hips into his. “Joel.”

“Kinda like it when y’say my name.” He starts making his way down the length of your body. “Think I’ll like it even better when you’re screamin’ it. Won’t I, baby?”

Your stomach tightens as he nibbles his way down your neck again, teeth scraping over your clavicle and down your chest to your heaving tits. Taking one in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his tongue is scorching hot over your nipple. He licks the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “Oh fuck,” you gasp.

Releasing your breast with a wet pop, Joel sinks further down your body. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your tummy, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. He stops over your mound and hovers for a fraction of a second before pressing his nose into the silky soft curls there. Inhaling deeply, Joel picks up the subtle, herbal scent of the lavender soap you had washed yourself with. “Fuck, y’smell so fuckin’ good.”

He pushes your thighs open, pinning one to the ground with his hand while the other goes over his shoulder. Your foot slides down his back, toes curling despite the fact that he hasn’t even reached the spot where you’re aching to have him most. Heart thundering, your blood rushes, roaring in your ears.

Joel turns his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh in another kiss. “S’this where y’want me, honey?” he asks you. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of your skin as he draws closer, his breath like steam on your core. He glances up at you, his cock twitching against his zipper at the sight of you laying naked before him on the floor of the forest. Willing. Wanting. “Hm? Right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

Thankfully, you only have to ask him once, and then his face is buried between your legs, and he is giving you what you want.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Back arching, your head tilts back until the crown of it meets the ground, leaves and twigs finding their way into your clean hair.

Joel’s tongue flattens over your cunt in a broad stroke, then dips between your folds, collecting your slick with a harsh groan, one that sends a bone-rattling vibration throughout your entire body, from head to curled toes. His mouth opens wider—a starving, greedy man trying to eat you whole. Sliding his tongue over your clit, Joel seals his lips around it, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until it swells in his mouth.

High-pitched little cries and whines spill from your lips. Your hands shoot down, fingers tangling themselves in his dark, graying curls, eliciting a grunt from him when you tug at his roots. “Joel, fuck,” you choke, your nails scraping against his scalp. He slurps and swallows your wetness, the sounds drowning out those of the night—the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft hooting of owls are washed away until all you can hear is him devouring your pussy.

Your body starts to tremble, and you know you’re close. Joel does, too. He feels your thighs twitch, threatening to close around his head, but he wrenches them further apart with a muffled but firm, “No.” He drapes his arm over your pelvis, his large hand splayed on your belly.

Relentless, he sucks your clit, gliding his tongue over it, again and again until the muscles in your lower tummy tighten and you burst at the seams, unraveling into his mouth. Warm slick gushes out of you, a sweet mess he licks clean. You choke back sobs of pleasure, your body tensing, vision blurring with every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth over your clit.

Joel lifts himself onto his knees with a grunt and gazes down at you—his good girl, sweet and pliant and ready to be fucked full of his cock. His hands slide his belt out of its brass buckle, eyes still trained on you as he pops the button of his jeans and yanks down his zipper.

Your mind is fuzzy, still syrupy and dripping—it doesn’t fully register what he’s doing, not until he climbs back over you and you his hard cock brushes your thigh, hot velvet that sears the inside of your leg. Precum smears your flesh.

“Y’feel that? Feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

“Joel.” Hands shaking, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on yours. You whine when he catches both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Your clothes—”

“Stay on.” Ducking his head, he nips at your pulse point and mumbles, “Tell me what y’want, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts over you, his cock now resting on your lower belly, thick and heavy and leaking.

You squirm under him, hips coming off the ground, that hollow thing inside of you begging to be filled.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what y’want.”

“You, Joel—I want you. Please, please, please—”

He hushes you.

“I’ve you, baby. I’ve got you,” Joel promises. He wraps his other hand around himself, dragging the head of his cock along the seam of your puffy folds, up and down—he elicits a ragged little gasp from you when he grazes your clit and his fingers tighten around your wrists. He coats himself in your slippery slick until he’s glistening with it, and then he gives a slow roll of his hips, working himself into you.

Your mouth falls open. No words come out, no pleas for more—only jerky breaths, pathetic little pants for air as you take it.

Joel’s cock throbs, pulses like a heartbeat as your cunt welcomes him home. He presses his forehead to yours. “She’s always so fuckin’ sweet to me.” His voice is low, rough gravel. His eyes meet yours in the dark blue glow of the forest, and he savors the last moments of seeing your pretty face before the last traces of dusk are gone. Brushing his lips to the corner of your mouth, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, murmuring, “That’s it, honey. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You melt around him at his praise.

Releasing your wrists, he moves his hand, placing it on the crown of your head. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he swears. “Alright? Never gonna be apart from me again, baby girl. Never. Y’understand me?” He curls his other hand firmly around your jaw, his fingers sticky with you and him. “Do you understand me?”

“Never,” you repeat, softly.

Joel kisses you, deep and slow, almost sweet. Tender. He breaks away, his lips hovering right over yours as he pushes his hips forward, bottoming out inside you.

Moaning, your hands grasp at his shoulders. Your legs widen further to accommodate the breadth of his hips.

“There y’go.” Joel presses deep within, until your belly feels hot and full. “That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he coos, drawing his hips back, then rolling them right back into you. He takes one of your ankles and tosses it over his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck into you.

A loud cry tears from the back of your throat. “Joel!”

He grins in the darkness. He knew he’d like hearing you scream his name.

Joel’s hand settles on your leg that’s over his shoulder, your thigh already shaking. “Y’gonna be a real good girl n’ give me another one?”

You try to answer him, you really do, but your mind falls further and further away.

His fingertips sink into your thigh. He strokes in and out of you, never retreating more than inches at a time so he keeps you full. Stuffed. “Christ. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he croons, moving your leg off of his shoulder so they are both wrapped around his waist. Hunching over you, he bears down hard, using most of his weight. He almost chuckles at the little oof that puffs out of you.

Rocks and twigs dig painfully into your back, but all you can do is feel him. How close he is.

You’re right there with him.

“Joel—fuck, I’m gonna co—”

You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp.

“That’s it. C’mon, honey.” Joel slips his hand between your thighs, his fingers firmly rubbing your clit. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock—”

It rips through you like an electric current, a shockwave that has you clawing at the dirt. You come crying Joel’s name, crumbling into a whimpering, quivering mess.

Within seconds, he’s swept away by the same tide.

“Baby,” he groans, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck. He goes still and lets your tight cunt clench at him, gripping his cock as it throbs, pulses, empties into you. After a minute, he brushes a kiss to your neck before mumbling, “My sweet girl.”

Joel makes no move to pull out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your soiled fingers toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, shattered breaths slowing and piecing back together.

You gaze up through the trees at the night sky, feeling the safest you’ve ever been with the earth at your back and your whole world on top of you, his cock buried in your cunt.

Tess is right. Joel Miller really does have you fucked in the head.

You’re certain of it when you make the realization with a smile.

divider credit to @/saradika 🖤

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

#why yes #i AM going to queue this to post when i am dead asleep #captive!joel #dark joel miller #dark! joel miller #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #tw dark fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #fic: run

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dearlenore · 2 months ago

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THE FIRST, FIRST LOVE COMPLEX • S.REID

SUMMARY: when a serial killer obsessed with Spencer sends threatening letters to the BAU, they uncover mentions of a mysterious first love the unsub vows to kill. Confused, the team questions Spencer — wasn’t Maeve already dead? Left with no choice, Spencer is forced to confess the truth.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears sun dresses and bikinis, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of death, stalking, etc

a/n: i was thinking about this concept forever and finally got around to writing it so this one might be my longest fic yet please bare with me <3

w/c: 3.5K (goddamn!!)

The BAU’s bullpen was unusually quiet for a Tuesday morning. Phones still rang, keys still clattered, but there was an undercurrent of unease — that lingering tension that crept in before a storm.

Spencer Reid sat at his desk, flipping through a worn copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach. The logic should have grounded him, but his mind refused to focus. His fingers fidgeted with the corner of the page, folding and unfolding it absentmindedly. Something was gnawing at him — something he couldn’t quite place

“Reid?”

He startled, glancing up to see JJ standing by his desk, a thick envelope in her hand. Her expression was serious, eyes scanning him with quiet concern.

“This came in this morning,” she said, placing the envelope on his desk. “Addressed to you.”

Spencer’s eyes dropped to the envelope. His name was scrawled across the front in elegant, looping cursive. No return address. The paper felt heavy, expensive — like something you’d use for wedding invitations. His stomach twisted.

“Did you open it?” he asked quietly.

JJ shook her head. “I wanted you to see it first.”

The bullpen felt quieter now, the air heavier. Spencer slid his letter opener beneath the envelope’s seal and carefully unfolded the thick parchment inside. The paper smelled faintly of ink and something floral — lavender, maybe.

And then he read the words:

A heart once shattered, sewn in gold,

Memories linger though years turn cold.

The girl who smiled with eyes so bright,

Will burn again before the night.

A book’s torn page, a crimson thread —

Retrace the steps or find her dead.

Spencer’s fingers went numb. His pulse thumped in his ears as his gaze lingered on the words — especially the third line.

“Reid?” JJ’s voice was softer now. “What is it?”

“It’s… it’s a poem,” he said quietly, his voice tight. He swallowed hard. “It’s referencing my first love.”

JJ’s brow furrowed. “Maeve?”

Spencer nodded hesitantly. “She used to write me poems like this — riddles, puzzles. But this…” He reread the words. Will burn again before the night. His stomach twisted.

JJ’s expression hardened. “I’ll get Garcia.”

“No.” Spencer’s voice was sharper than he intended. JJ froze, her eyes narrowing.

“Why not?”

“Just… give me a minute,” he said, folding the letter carefully and sliding it into his desk drawer. “I need to think.”

JJ didn’t look convinced, but she relented. “Okay,” she said softly. “But you’re not figuring this out alone.”

As she walked away, Spencer leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, pressing his fingers to his temples. His heart raced — not just from the letter, but from the secret he had buried for months now.

Because whoever wrote that letter wasn’t just referencing Maeve.

They knew about her.

The team gathered in the briefing room minutes later. The envelope lay open on the table, its contents displayed beside it. Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her usual energy tempered by the tension in the room.

“Okay, so the envelope’s custom stationery,” Garcia reported. “Handmade, actually — imported from Italy. Not cheap.” She tapped a few more keys. “I’ve reached out to the company for a buyer list, but this isn’t something you grab at a corner store.”

Hotch nodded grimly. “This poem… you said it references Maeve?”

Spencer shifted in his seat. “I think so,” he said carefully. “The way it’s written — it’s similar to how she’d write riddles for me. But the wording…” He hesitated. “It’s different. Darker.”

Emily’s gaze sharpened. “You think the unsub’s mimicking her?”

“Or they knew her,” Spencer murmured.

“Maeve’s been gone for over two years,” Rossi said. “Why now?”

Before Spencer could answer, Garcia’s computer pinged. She clicked into her inbox, her eyes widening.

“Oh no…” she whispered.

“What?” Hotch asked.

“There was a break-in at a lab in New York. last night. One of the items reported missing…” Her fingers moved rapidly as she pulled up the list. “Several vials of thallium sulfate. Highly toxic, fatal in small doses.”

“Wait,” Emily said, her face pale. “That’s the same poison Maeve’s stalker threatened to use, isn’t it?”

Spencer barely heard her. His mind was spiraling — the poem, the poison, the threat.

Retrace the steps or find her dead.

“Spencer?” JJ’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I need some air,” he mumbled, pushing back his chair.

The corridor outside the bullpen felt too bright, too sterile. Spencer leaned against the wall, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs.

“You’re not okay,” JJ’s voice said softly.

He didn’t turn. “I just… need a minute.”

“You’ve been quiet since this morning,” JJ pressed. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“I told you everything I know,” he lied.

JJ didn’t buy it — he could feel her gaze on him, sharp and unwavering.

“Spencer…”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped. His voice cracked, betraying him.

JJ stepped closer, lowering her voice. “If this isn’t about Maeve…”

“It’s not,” Spencer admitted before he could stop himself. His breath hitched. “It’s not about Maeve.”

JJ’s expression softened. “Then who?”

Spencer closed his eyes. He could see her face — soft eyes, that satisfied smile, the way her hand lingered just a second too long when she passed him a book.

“Her name’s y/n,” he said quietly.

JJ blinked. “y/n?”

“She was… someone I knew years ago. Before Maeve.” His throat tightened. “I haven’t seen her in years, but…” He shook his head. “The poem — the way it references a ‘girl who smiled with eyes so bright.’ That’s her. She used to say that I —” He stopped, his voice breaking.

“You think the unsub’s targeting her?”

Spencer nodded. “I think they know about her. And if they’ve been watching me…”

JJ’s face hardened. “We need to find her. Now.”

Spencer knew she was right, but something cold coiled in his chest — the kind of dread that gnawed at the edges of logic.

Because whoever had written that poem didn’t just know about you.

They knew about him.

JJ and Spencer reentered the conference room, their faces shadowed with unease. The tension in the room deepened as they sat down.

“This…” JJ began softly, her voice unsteady. “This isn’t about Maeve.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence felt like a crack in the foundation — thin, fragile, and threatening to split wide open.

Hotch’s gaze sharpened. “Who is it about?” His tone was stern, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers twisting together. “Her name is Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like glass. “I knew her years ago… before Maeve.”

Emily’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t think it mattered,” Spencer said quickly, guilt bleeding into his voice. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought she was safe… that she’d moved on.” He paused, voice breaking. “I thought I’d moved on.”

“But the poem,” JJ pressed gently, “it’s about her?”

Spencer gave a shaky nod. “That line — ‘The girl who smiled with eyes so bright’ — that’s her.” His voice softened as if the memory itself had a heartbeat. “She always said…”

The room was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t tense — it was heavy.

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was softer now. “Why would someone go after her?”

Spencer let out a long breath, reaching down to his bag. The zipper hissed as he pulled it open, his hand disappearing inside. When he brought it back up, he was holding a sleek black hard drive.

“What’s that?” Garcia asked, her curiosity tempered with concern.

Spencer stared at the device for a moment, as if gathering the strength to hand it over. “It’s…everything.” He slid it across the table to Garcia. “Every memory I have of her.”

Penelope’s fingers curled around the hard drive, her colorful nails stark against the black plastic. “Everything?” she repeated softly.

“I started keeping track after we lost touch,” Spencer admitted. “Photos, videos… voicemails.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to forget her. Not again.”

“Forget her?” Emily asked, her gaze narrowing.

Spencer looked down at his hands, his fingers tightly intertwined. “I met her when I was still a rookie with the Bureau,” he explained. “We… we kept things quiet. She wasn’t in law enforcement, and I didn’t want her to get caught up in what I was doing. But then…” He faltered. “There was a case — a stalker who fixated on me. He started following Y/N too.”

“Wait,” Morgan cut in, voice sharp. “You had a stalker back then?”

“I never told anyone,” Spencer said quickly. “We weren’t public. Nobody knew about us — except him.” His eyes flicked back to the hard drive. “I thought if I cut ties with her… if I made her think I didn’t care… she’d be safer.”

“You let her believe you didn’t love her?” JJ asked softly.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I had to.”

“Did it work?” Rossi asked.

“For a while,” Spencer said quietly. “The stalker went dormant, and Y/N disappeared from my life.” His voice wavered. “I thought she was safe.”

Hotch leaned forward. “But now you think that same stalker is back?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “But this letter… the way it’s written… it’s personal. Someone’s been watching me long enough to know about her. And if they know about her…” He trailed off, his chest tightening.

“We’ll find her,” JJ promised firmly.

“I just…” Spencer shook his head, his fingers curling into his palm. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I do,” Garcia said gently. “This?” She held up the hard drive. “This is a map — memories, places, dates. If someone’s been following her or tracking you, I��ll find the connection here. I think it’s best we all take a look.”

Spencer managed a faint smile, though his eyes were still troubled. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Spence,” JJ said softly. “What was she like?”

His expression softened, memories flickering behind his eyes. “She was… kind,” he said quietly. “And patient — God, she was patient with me.” He chuckled softly, just for a second. “She had this laugh — this really loud, almost embarrassing laugh — but I loved it.” His smile faded. “She made everything… brighter.”

“You loved her,” JJ said gently.

Spencer exhaled shakily. “I do.”

For the first time in years, he let himself believe that maybe — just maybe — she still loved him too.

The team gathered closer as Penelope carefully plugged the hard drive into her computer. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of her system booting up the device. Spencer’s fingers drummed anxiously against the table, his eyes locked on the screen as folders began to populate the display. Each folder was meticulously labeled.

“You really kept everything,” Derek murmured, her voice soft with surprise.

“I couldn’t let myself forget,” Spencer admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright, sugar,” Penelope said carefully, scrolling to the Videos folder. “Where should I start?”

“Anywhere,” Spencer said tightly. “I just… I couldn’t pick…”

Penelope clicked on a file labeled “Bookstore - November 17” and the screen filled with a grainy but warm video.

The camera wobbled at first before settling. The angle suggested Spencer had set it on a nearby shelf. The room was dimly lit — a small, cozy bookstore with stacks of novels lining the walls.

You appeared in the frame, sitting cross-legged on the floor between two shelves, a book balanced on your knee.

“Spencer,” you called teasingly, barely glancing up from your page. “Are you filming me again?”

“You always read out loud when you think no one’s listening,” Spencer’s voice answered from behind the camera.

“That’s because I think no one’s listening,” you shot back with a laugh. “Now come sit down.”

The camera shook as Spencer joined you on the floor, his arm barely visible in the corner of the screen.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Sherlock Holmes,” you said proudly, tapping the book’s worn cover. “I wanted to understand what’s going on in that big brain of yours.”

“You could’ve just asked me,” Spencer teased.

“Yeah,” you said with a grin, “but this way I get to imagine you in a ridiculous hat and smoking a pipe.”

You both laughed — warm and unguarded. The kind of laughter Spencer hadn’t let himself remember in a long time.

The video ended, and the room fell silent.

Spencer swallowed hard, his chest tight. “Play another,” he said softly.

Penelope clicked on a second file titled “Movie Night - March 3.”

This time, you were curled up on Spencer’s couch, clutching a blanket to your chest. Spencer’s voice, from behind the camera again, spoke up.

“It’s just a horror movie,” he teased.

“You say that like you’re not the one who jumped during the last scene,” you shot back, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I did not jump,” Spencer protested.

“Oh please,” you giggled, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You’re the genius — shouldn’t you know when a jump scare’s coming?”

The camera wobbled as Spencer sat beside you. “Maybe I just like the excuse to sit closer to you.”

The playful grin on your face softened. “You don’t need an excuse.”

The video faded to black.

“That’s adorable,” Garcia whispered, her voice unusually soft.

“Play one more,” Spencer said, his voice tight. “Please.”

Penelope hesitated before opening the folder marked “Voicemails.” The file names were organized by date, and Penelope scrolled down until she found one titled “Last Voicemail.”

“Spence…” JJ said quietly.

“I need to hear it,” Spencer insisted.

Penelope clicked play.

“Hey, Spence!” Your voice burst through the speakers, light and full of energy. “I know you’re probably knee-deep in some criminal mastermind’s twisted head right now, but I just wanted to say I miss you. Oh, and…”

There was a pause, followed by muffled shuffling.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready!” Your voice returned, playful now. “I have something important to tell you…”

Another voice — Spencer’s voice — cut in faintly from the background.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Recording your new voicemail greeting, obviously,” you teased. “Come on, it’ll make you smile when you check your messages.”

There was more muffled laughter, then you continued in your most dramatic voice:

“Hello! You’ve reached the phone of the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s probably off being a genius right now, so please leave a message — and don’t forget to ask about statistics, he loves that.”

“I do not love that,” Spencer’s voice mumbled in the background.

You burst out laughing. “Okay, love you, nerd. Call me back.”

The voicemail ended with a beep.

Spencer pressed his hand to his mouth, his eyes fixed on the screen. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. The warmth of your voice — your laugh — it felt so close yet impossibly far away.

“You still have her number?” Morgan asked softly.

Spencer blinked, his hand slowly lowering. “I… yeah.”

“Try calling her,” JJ encouraged.

Spencer hesitated, but then slowly reached for his phone. His fingers hovered over the contact button — Y/N — for a moment before he pressed Call.

The room was so quiet you could hear the faint buzzing as the line rang once… twice…

Then came your voice — that same playful greeting that spilled from the speakers moments before:

“Hello! You’ve reached the phone of the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s probably off being a genius right now, so please leave a message — and don’t forget to ask about his statistics, he loves that…”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“I do not love that,” his own voice muttered faintly from the recording.

“Okay, love you, nerd. Call me back.”

The voicemail beeped. Spencer just sat there, phone still pressed to his ear. His voice shook when he finally spoke.

“Y/N… it’s me.” His voice cracked. “If… if you get this, please — please call me back. I just need to know you’re safe.”

He ended the call and set his phone down, his fingers trembling.

“We’ll find her,” JJ promised again, her hand squeezing his arm.

Spencer didn’t look up. His gaze remained locked on the screen, still frozen on your face — smiling, warm, and so painfully alive.

“The invitation… it looks like a wedding invitation…” Emily mused, holding it to the light.

“Yeah or a funeral if we don’t hurry. Wheels up in 10.” Hotch announced, walking out quickly.

The BAU’s jet cruised steadily through the sky, but Spencer couldn’t seem to sit still. He shifted in his seat, eyes flickering from the case file on the table to the phone resting in his lap — still silent. The unanswered call gnawed at him.

Across from him, Rossi watched quietly, fingers curled around his coffee mug. Derek leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied Spencer.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Derek said finally, breaking the silence.

“What thing?” Spencer asked distractedly, still glancing at his phone.

“That thing where you’re in your head so deep you might as well start charging rent,” Derek teased, but his tone was softer than usual.

Spencer sighed and set his phone down. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” he admitted.

“Good,” Rossi said simply, setting his mug down with a quiet clink.

Spencer blinked. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Derek chimed in. “If this guy’s targeting her, we need to know everything about her — who she is, what she cares about, what makes her stand out. That’s how we build the profile.”

“I know,” Spencer murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the file. “It’s just… I don’t know what’s relevant.”

“Then start from the beginning,” Rossi encouraged. “Tell us about her.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, unsure where to start. But once the memories began to surface, they spilled out like water breaking through a dam.

“She’s… different from me,” Spencer said softly. “Where I overthink everything, she’s spontaneous. She’s the type of person who’ll pull over just because she spotted a cute bakery and decided we had to try it.” He smiled faintly. “She doesn’t need a reason to be happy — she just… is.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty taken with her,” Derek said with a knowing grin.

Spencer’s smile widened. “I was — I mean… I still am.”

He glanced down at his phone again, hoping for a missed call, a message — anything.

“She loves color,” Spencer continued, his voice softer now. “Her whole apartment had these soft pastel accents — blankets, mugs, flowers… all delicate and warm. She always wore perfume that smelled like vanilla. You could walk in and just know you were in her space.”

Derek chuckled. “I can’t picture you in a pink room.”

Spencer’s smile turned wistful. “It didn’t matter. Anywhere was fine with her.”

“She sounds like she grounded you,” Rossi said.

“She did,” Spencer nodded. “And… she has this dream — one that always seemed so simple, but it meant everything to her.” He paused. “She wanted this little white house — nothing fancy, just something cozy — with a white picket fence and a big backyard. She wanted dogs — at least two, maybe three.” He chuckled softly. “She even had names picked out.”

Rossi smiled. “A dreamer.”

“She’s always been like that,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but warm. “She believed in fairytales — the real kind, where everything works out in the end.”

“You think she’d still go for that?” Derek asked. “The house, the dogs?”

“I know she would,” Spencer said with certainty. “Even when things were hard, she never stopped believing in that life — in finding comfort and love wherever she could.”

“Did she have a favorite place?” Rossi asked. “Somewhere she’d feel safe?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said, his brow furrowing in thought. “She loved this café — Mason’s Corner. She used to sit in the back corner with her headphones on, sipping iced coffee and writing in her journal. She’d lose track of time there.”

“Sounds like someone who chases the simple things,” Rossi noted.

“She does,” Spencer said softly. “She doesn’t need much to be happy — just a good book, an iced coffee, and somewhere quiet to think.”

Derek’s expression softened. “That’s what makes her special, man — that’s the stuff that sticks out. Whoever’s watching her isn’t just targeting her because of you… they know her. The way she thinks, what she wants. Everything you just told us — that’s what’s going to help us find her.”

Spencer looked down at his phone again, the screen still dark.

“I just hope she still believes in happy endings,” he whispered.

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screampied · 1 year ago

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NO NUT NOVEMBER ☆ JJK MEN

gojo, nanami, toji, getō, choso, jujutsu kaisen men & how long can they last during nnn

2.7k+ ☆ total wc ☆

☆ tags ☆ afab!reader. overstim , edging , dry humping , unprotected sex , oral [f] , orgasm-denial , semi-public sex , dirty talk , choking , dumbification kink, brat taming.

FAILED NOV. 1 ☆ GOJO SATORU

poor gojo fails on the first day immediately. he's so cocky once you suggest you two should try it—see which one breaks first and it's obviously gojo. you walking around in a sundress was just about enough for him to forget about the entire challenge.

“you really don’t think i’ll last for the entire month?” gojo says, and he’s just following you around. it’s november first and he’s already losing it. the pretty sundress that hung down you, practically and barely reaching your ass made him ten times hornier. “pft. please. i can last the whole month without—” and then he stops mid-sentence at the realization, and his lip quivers a bit whilst he’s rubbing himself against you from behind. “…can't i at least.. touch you, baby?”

“no,” you spoke, letting off a gasp once he bends you straight over the kitchen counter. all it took was for gojo to pull up your sundress a few inches towards your waist, and he nearly lets off a needy moan once he sees you’re wearing no panties. “you can last a month satoru. it's not that long.”

“hey ‘s not fuckin' fair,” he groans, and he’s so close propped up against you. his bulge hardens against you, he’s only wearing simple grey sweats and he slides his hands against your waist. “planned this all out, d-didn’t you,” and he lets off a low breathy sigh. “there's no rule sayin' i can’t bend ya over like this,” he speaks, his voice sounding whiner by the second—you gasp once he squeezes your ass, feeling his thumb brush against your slit. “is there, baby?”

gojo couldn't help himself. once he had you bent over, you now found yourself in mating press with him being pumped full over and over again. a day hasn’t even passed and he already lost—to be fair, in his defense it was your fault for walking around in a pretty short sundress that nearly showed the bottom parts of your ass.

“s-so nice ‘n warm f’me.” he’d pant again and again, having you in quite the position to where you’re laid flat on your back, his own cum is so much it’s oozing out of your pussy. your grip onto his wrist tightens as he dips his hips in and out, you’re moaning from his thrusts—already forgetting about the stupid dumb challenge you suggested for you and your boyfriend to participate in.

to think of going one month without being intimate with gojo.

“s-satoru,” you moaned, and his base just smacks just smacks and smacks against you. you're so dizzy, craving more of his sticky load by the second, desperately wanting to be even more full. it was such a mess between your legs. he’s panting and staring at you with that same hungry feral gaze, swiping a tongue across his sheeny lips—gojo leans in to kiss you hard, yet more so passionate. he’s moaning and whining into your mouth while preparing to cum again and he’s so sensitive. he can barely think straight. “m-mhm.”

your body is basically being fucked dumb into the fats of the silkened mattress. gojo’s weight hovers against yours as his cock thrusts in and out, giving you whiplash so good to where it has you digging your pretty nails into the pale roots of his arm.

“not finished with you,” he pants, his eye-lids were low, and he was still panting up a storm once he pulls out for a brief moment. gojo stares down at the mess he create—licking his lips once more before leaning down to briefly lick a little of his own cum from your thighs before letting off a sigh. “we… can try again next year, y-yeah?”

FAILED NOV. 3 ☆ CHOSO KAMO

choso would have honestly failed on the first day too, but he has a bit more self control which is surprising. he's a very needy man not to mention quite clingy too. three days felt so long for the poor guy though. three days without cumming inside—he'd go mad. so he had to improvise.

“just a taste princess, just a…taste,” he’d pant, staring at you with such intent. you’re just lying down on the bed, glancing back up at him while rubbing a hand over your tummy before smiling. “don’t look at me like that.”

“choso it’s only been three days,” you giggle, reaching for his hand and he was so warm—he lets off a soft moan just from your touch alone, so touch starved and it hasn’t even been that long.

a big baby.

but eventually, he was so cute and you gave in. choso didn’t even want to fuck you. all he wanted to do was please you, more than please himself. but he does end up pleasing himself just a tad bit. you getting off gets him off if that makes sense. the raven-haired man was propped securely between your legs, his tongue latched onto your sweet cunt, lapping it up continuously while his moans fanned against you—making you create out tiny whines and moans yourself.

“s-so good, so hungry,” he whines, and choso can’t help but reach into his black and white boxers, stroking himself. he couldn’t help it, just hearing your sweet noises was enough to make him cum right through his sweatpants. “drivin’ me s-so insane.”

“fuck choso,” you whimper, some long strands of his hair tickles and brushes against your thighs, he’s so sloppy too. making sure to spit on your pussy only to clean it up. choso wasn’t never fond of his pretty baby to be messy. he’s so into it, his lashes remained closed as he ate you out, continuing to stroke his dick—moaning right into your folds, eventually your slick drips down his chin and he’s craving more and more. “don’t stop, your tongue feels so g-good, baby.”

“praise me more,” he whines, giving you a brief stare, his eyes opens for a second and his eyebrows raise down and furrow. a cute saddened expression of how wanting and needy he was. “want you to tell me how good ‘m makin’ you feel, gorgeous.”

you’re panting heavily from his tongue and how deep it reaches, each suck and slurp he creates before you dig your fingers through his hair to make him maintain eye contact. “you’re so good, choso. you’re making me feel so good.”

“….oh, s’ all i want, pretty,” he sighs, giving the front part of your pussy a sweet kiss before dragging a single orgasm out of you.

FAILED NOV. 9 ☆ FUSHIGURO TOJI

you make toji fail because you’re just…horny. toji believe it or not, toji could last a few days of nnn despite being an actual walking sex-machine. it was your idea, but now you regret it. it makes his ego boost tremendously seeing how you couldn’t take it anymore, such a cock hungry girl.

“toji!” you’d pout, desperate for him to at least touch you at least—but no, he was busy occupying himself by working out. raising the hefty bench pressed up and down, he looked so good. and he was just ignoring you. a smirk lightly pressed against his lips as he lifts the gym equipment up and down, counting his sets in his head and you bit your lip.

you had to do something, you couldn’t wait. it’s been nine days, you were sitting on toji’s lap. specifically, his hard bulge that was poking through his grey gym shorts. “yes baby,” he speaks, acting as if you weren’t squirming on his lap, so desperate to get him off.

“i need you,” was the only pathetic words leaving your lips, and he watches as you slide your hands up his white tank tee, brushing your fingertips against his abdomen—his rock hard abs just flexing, a bit sweaty and you nearly moaned. “so bad. sosobad. fuck me please. ‘s was a stupid idea.”

“tch. ‘bout damn time. and ya said i’d break first,” he chuckles, setting the black dumbbells aside to their original position. “mm. at least y’er aware. now now, be a good girl ‘n take those filthy panties off f’me.”

you whined, thankful you wore a skirt so all you had to was really slip your panties off—you stare down at toji as you’re riding him and he’s still laid flat on his back on the gym bench. at least it wasn’t many people around but they’d still probably see you. but from anyone’s perspective, it’d look like a silly girl on her boyfriend’s lap for whatever reason.

“s-shit,” you moaned, feeling his cock expand deep just from his girth alone. it was so good, it nearly had you drooling. toji’s fat dick was something you could never get enough of. it stretched you out so good—it was indescribable to say how great it made you feel, your pussy yearned for more each time, your mouth grows dry as you grind your hips against him. and he’s just staring at you with his toned arms are just smugly pinned behind his back, watching you have the time of your life. “s’big toji. fuck.”

“ya know how to take it every time though, doll,” he grunts, bringing a hand towards your waist to somewhat guide your movements. you whimper once he brings a hard smack to your ass once he feels you start to slow down, he’s so big, his tip kisses against deep inside of your pussy and you’re so dizzy, you can’t even speak words. “fuckin’ whore-” he groans, and you end up making toji cum quicker than he thought he would—it shoots right inside you, his head goes back for about two seconds and it’s sexy, you can see his adams apple just briefly.

“better savor that shit,” he grumbles, watching you catch your breath yourself, and he brings two fingers and dips them inside your pussy before letting off a grunt. “should make ya lick my fingers clean. bet you’d like that, little slutty girl,” and he gives you a brief head pat while you’re pushed into his chest, panting over and over. “yeah ya fuckin’ would.”

FAILED NOV. 18 ☆ SUGURU GETŌ

geto could last long, but everything changed once you decided to tease him a bit too much. sending him videos of you touching yourself while he’s out at work or busy. he comes home to you—and he just can’t take it anymore.

geto’s breath shakes once he holds his phone in one hand, seeing you on the screen—only in your bra and panties, sliding a hand up and down your body. his eyes trail and observe every inch, his mouth dry a bit, wishing you were with him right now. “suguru baby, you miss me?” you’d say in the video recording, dragging your fingertips further and further down until you eventually stopped at the very hem of your panties. “it’s been eighteen days since you last touched me.”

“yeah…” he pants, knowing you obviously can’t hear him, but he wished you could. so bad. “miss you so bad, princess. miss your pussy.”

“remember, you can’t touch yourself to me either. or cum until the month ends, okay? love you.” and the video clip ends. of course, he watches it at least seven more times—nearly cumming his pants just at the sound of your voice alone.

geto groans, feeling the bulge in his pants strain staggeringly get bigger and bigger. once he finally gets home, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

you were already waiting for him on the bed, with a sly smile—geto's quick to pick you up and kiss you all over, staring with your lips and your neck. “the tip, just the tip. swear. jus’ gotta feel you baby. feel your warmth.”

“fine,” you smile, already making your way onto him. geto tells you at least ten shaky thank you’s once you’re hovering over his cock—geto looks so pretty underneath you, his hair covers his face and he starts whining once you’re doing as promised, just the tip. “what’s wrong, do you want more than that?”

“yeah but baby, you’re gonna make me c-cum.” he moans, feeling you start to sink down lower until your hips rocks against him and he lets off a soft whimper by accident. “damn, just like that. ride me baby. make me cummm,” and his voice is so smooth but shaky, his dark pretty eyes nearly rolls back and it’s so sexy, he’s so sensitive he keeps swallowing and bracing himself before within seconds—geto ends up shooting white ropes inside, you feel his dick twitch as he’s still spasming, it’s been so long and his load is so much.

“shit.” he whines, leaning in to kiss you and he ends up moaning in your mouth once you return the kiss. “saved- saved s’much for you, baby,” he moans, grabbing ahold of your hips, making you continue to rock against him—only before he grips your waist, and starts to make you slam onto him and you whined, completely taken aback. “gotta remind this pussy who it really belongs to though.”

FAILED NOV. 30 ☆ NANAMI KENTO

nanami's the only one of the few who can actually go an entire month, although he just about barely makes it. he comes home from a long day at work and he’s just so pent up and stressed. all he can think about is using you as his personal cum dump.

“you don’t know how hard it was to not—” and he pauses, having you lied flat on your back, using a single hand to pry your pretty legs open. you shiver from feeling the cold band of his watch brush against your thighs. “woman, you torture me, you know that?”

you whimper from feeling him slowly sink himself inside—he’s staring down at you and his weight presses against your ass, he groans once he goes in and out, he’s teasing you. his cock was so thick, it stretches you out in every shape or form. your pussy hugs and grips him tightly, and he just can’t help himself. “kento, cum in me p-please,”

“thought you said i couldn’t cum until december first, sweetheart,” he says in a low voice, it’s almost seductive by the sounds of his pronunciation. nanami’s just sliding his tip in and out, it’s leaking with some of his own pre-cum, and he lets off a chuckle once he hears your cute whine of frustration. “this is your little game, i’m just playing by the rules.”

“didn’t mean it,” you cry out, so needy for him to fuck you. he was so warm, so so warm, your eyebrows parted together in annoyance and you bit your lip at him sinking a few inches inside your tight needy cunt before pulling out again. “kento please. fuck me, cum-cum in me, i need it.”

“oh, i know,” he breaths, and you gasp once you feel him spank your ass before rubbing it softly. nanami groans—swiping his fat reddened tip against your throbbing hole, spitting on his hand before rubbing it against your entrance to make you whimper, then spanks your pussy. “to think i haven’t touched this pretty body for a damn near month. you only ended up torturing yourself, sweetheart. can’t last a day without me filling this sloppy cunt up,” and as he’s talking, you’re growing more and more dizzy. you’re practically drooling from how needy you were.

and he dumbs his words down just a tad bit for you, his voice grows low once he leans up close to you purposely, wrapping a hand around your throat as his weight pressed against your ass. “tell me,” he whispers. “say the words and i’ll overflow your pussy with everything i have, pretty girl.”

“please kento, need your cum. need it so bad. fill me up please. breed me.”

“anything for my girl.” he kisses the top of your head, stroking a thumb against the middle part of your neck before stuffing two fingers of his into your mouth—he didn’t expect you to suck on them, but you did, whining and whining over and over again once he starts to thrust inside of you. he’s slow but his strokes are deep, and it’s so romantic. “that’s it, jus’ relax for me. let me claim these walls, then i’ll claim your heart next.”

10K notes · View notes

spencerreidenjoyer · 8 months ago

Text

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is.

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum.

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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joemama-2 · 5 months ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.6k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: pls ignore any grammar/spelling errors if so, I wrote some of this on my phone series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

You’re silent for a moment. Firstly, caught off guard by this woman stopping you from your responsibilities, but also the fact that she seems to be regarding you with such disgust. Do you know who I am? That question pisses you off. Should you say yes? Or no? Instead, you straighten up, scrutinizing her right back. Long, pretty brown hair. Hazel eyes. Pink lips. Expensive clothing. Damn it, she’s pretty.

“Should I?” Perfect balance between the two options.

Her lip curves up into a bitter smile, pushing past you into the penthouse with no apologies. This causes you to stumble back slightly before finding your stance again, turning around to face the woman as she paces Satoru’s apartment with a wave of confidence. Almost more than the man himself. “Where is he?”

“Satoru is at work,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest.

Himari pauses mid-step, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she turns to face you. Her eyes scan the apartment briefly before landing back on you, sharp and assessing. She raises an eyebrow, her expression one of disbelief, as if your answer isn’t good enough for her. "At work?" she echoes, her tone laced with skepticism. "And you’re here, what, playing house in his absence?"

Your jaw tightens, her words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. "I’m here because of my son," you snap, arms still crossed as you try to maintain your composure. "I don’t owe you an explanation."

Himari’s lips curl into a now mocking smile as she slowly approaches you, her expensive perfume wafting in the air between you. "You’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out where you stand in all of this. Because trust me," her voice lowers, dripping with condescension, "whatever this is? It’s temporary."

You feel your anger rising, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let her see that she’s getting under your skin. "I think you’re confused," you say, keeping your voice steady despite the fire in your chest. "This isn’t about me or you—it’s about Koji spending time with his father. And I’m not going to stand here and let you try to turn it into something else."

Her expression hardens, and for a brief moment, the mask of superiority slips, revealing a flash of something you can’t quite place. Jealousy? Fear? "Koji," she repeats, almost spitting the name out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "Is that the name of the little brat that’s ruining everything?"

“Watch your mouth,” a motherly wave of protection instantly befalls you at her choice of words.

“Why should I? That kid is nothing but a—”

Your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and your voice hardens. “I said, watch your mouth. I won’t let you badmouth my child.”

Himari’s eyes widen slightly, the mask of composure slipping even further as she takes in your reaction. For a moment, she looks almost startled, as if she hadn’t expected you to bite back. But just as quickly, she recovers, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a sneer. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she says, her tone sharp. “I’m just calling it how I see it. Satoru and I had plans, a life we were building, and then you come waltzing back in, dragging some kid into the picture. Don’t act like this hasn’t complicated everything.”

Your jaw clenches, and it takes everything in you to keep from shouting. “Koji is Satoru’s son,” you say firmly, your voice low but cutting. “If you think for one second that I’m going to apologize for that, you’re delusional. Whatever plans you think you had with him, they don’t erase his responsibilities as a father.”

Himari scoffs, her eyes narrowing. “Responsibilities? Don’t make me laugh. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? Using that child as leverage to worm your way back into his life? Everyone can see through this little game of yours. You seem like a poverty-stricken nobody who probably has nothing better to do with her life than go back to a man you never had just for that security. Let me guess, you’re blackmailing him that if he doesn’t help you out, he’ll never see his son again. People like you are pathetic and you leech off the important people like us—like my boyfriend. ”

Your blood runs cold at her words, and your chest tightens with a mixture of fury and disbelief. For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, the sheer audacity of her accusations stealing the breath from your lungs. But then the weight of her words sinks in, and a protective fire ignites inside you. You take a step closer to her, your eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. “Say whatever you want about me,” you begin, your voice low and steady, though it trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Insult me, make your assumptions, spin whatever narrative helps you sleep at night—but leave my son out of it.”

Himari raises an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance, but you see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Oh,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“Damn right you did,” you snap, your voice rising. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve sacrificed, or what I’d do to protect my child. Koji has nothing to do with whatever petty insecurities you have, so don’t you dare use him as a weapon to take cheap shots at me.”

Himari’s smirk falters, and she takes a slight step back, though she tries to mask it with a scoff. “Oh, please. Spare me the sob story. You can play the victim all you want, but it’s obvious what this is. You’re desperate, and you’re using that boy to sink your claws back into Satoru. You have no idea how much this ruins everything.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you say, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “This isn’t about Satoru. It’s not about you, either. It’s about giving Koji what he deserves—a chance to know his father, to have someone who loves him unconditionally. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong in his life.”

Himari glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension in the air crackling like static. Finally, she lets out a derisive huff, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll see,” she says, her voice icy. “We’ll see how long this little charade lasts. But don’t get too comfortable—you won’t win. People like you never do.”

“And people like you…” you start, biting the inside of your cheek; debating whether it’s worth stooping down to this woman’s level.

Himari freezes in place, her lips curling into a sneer. “And people like me?” she asks, her voice sharp and challenging.

“People like you,” you say, stepping forward again, close enough to reach out and slap her, your voice unwavering, “think the world owes them something just for existing. You walk around acting superior, but all you’re doing is hiding how insecure you really are. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because deep down, you know Satoru isn’t yours to keep.”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. She clenches her fists, but her laugh is bitter and hollow. “Insecure? Please. I have everything I need, and I definitely don’t need to play house with some random ex to prove my worth. Satoru’s with me because he wants to be, not because he feels sorry for me like he does for you.”

You take a deep breath, steadying the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night. But let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to stand here and insult my son or me. Koji is Satoru’s priority, not some trophy you can use to boost your own ego. So if you’ve got something to say, make sure it’s worth my time.”

Himari’s face twists in frustration, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she straightens her posture, her mask of composure slipping back into place. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” she says coolly, her tone a forced calm. “Someone should really teach you what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.”

“Then teach me.”

You don’t want to egg her on, you didn’t even want to see this girl in the first place. But nonetheless, the things she’s saying—how she’s acting, it’s bringing out a side of you that you try to keep hidden. Composed under years of self-calming techniques and resilience. Maybe it’s just adding onto the extra shit going on right now, but the fact that she’s managed to anger you this much in such little time is infuriating in itself. You don’t want to give her the energy or time of day. But, you also don’t want her to think she can get away with speaking about Koji like this—about you like this.

You two are engaged in a heavy staring contest, neither one of you seeming to want to back down. Facing each other with an equal stance of hostility. The air between you is thick with tension, every second stretching like an eternity as neither of you breaks eye contact. Himari’s jaw tightens, her polished exterior beginning to crack. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the slight twitch of her lip, the faint waver in her composed demeanor. For all her bravado, she didn’t expect you to stand your ground.

“What’s going on?” Satoru’s worried, but quick and abrupt voice interrupts the moment. Coming in through the still-open door, closing it behind him, and meticulously placing himself between you two. He looks at you, checking to make sure you’re okay but focusing on his girlfriend. “Himari, what are you—”

The sound of a palm smacking hard against his skin reverberates throughout the place, cutting him off with such force that it leaves a stunned silence in its wake. Your eyes widen, watching as Satoru doesn’t move his head for a moment from the side it has just been slapped to. Looking closer, red already begins to break out on his pale cheek. Your jaw clenches.

He slowly looks back at Himari, who faces him with an angry look. Satoru’s face hardens as he does so, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, a sharp edge that doesn’t appear often but sends a chill down your spine when it does. His voice is low and measured, a stark contrast to the tension radiating off him. “What the hell was that for?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm but laced with steel.

Himari doesn’t flinch, her fury unabated. “For letting this—this circus go on!” she snaps, gesturing between you and him. “For embarrassing me, for letting her waltz in and ruin everything we’ve built! How can you stand there and not see what she’s doing to us?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffs out, straightening his jaw out.

“You lie to me, you dodge my questions, and now I find out you have a fucking son? And with a woman like her?” She points to you, scoffing at the idea.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of levity, are clouded with frustration now. “Himari, stop,” he says firmly, his voice low but commanding. “You’re crossing a line.”

Himari laughs bitterly, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, I’m crossing a line? You’ve been lying to me for who knows how long, and I’m the one in the wrong? I think I have every right to be angry, Satoru!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “You’re angry, fine. But don’t you dare talk about her like that,” he snaps, nodding toward you. “This isn’t her fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”

You’re the last one to blame, Satoru. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat of the moment radiating off them both. Himari’s sharp gaze darts to you, her lips curling in disdain. “Of course, you’d defend her. She’s nothing but a leech, clinging to you because she has no other options. And now you’re letting her use that kid to worm her way into your life.”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, startling both you and Himari. He steps forward, his towering presence imposing as his icy glare fixes on her. “You don’t get to talk about her—or my son—like that. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Himari’s eyes widen, a flicker of shock passing through her anger. But she recovers quickly, her voice lowering to a venomous hiss. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re ruining everything for someone who’s nothing to you. Do you really think she’s here for you? She’s here for your money, your status. Wake up, Satoru.”

“Himari, you should go now.”

“Oh, I will,” She tilts her chin up at him. “My parents have a lot to say to you and your own. So be ready for that. If you think I’m bailing out on this relationship, I’m not. I am not letting you ruin this—ruin us.”

She speaks with finality, practically pushing into him as she heads for the door. Not even sparing another glance back before exiting, the door slamming after her. All that’s left behind is an uneasy silence. Satoru stays frozen in place for a moment, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the exhaustion, the lingering anger. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his snowy hair before turning to face you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost defeated. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Your lips form a faint grimace, your head slowly shaking. “No, don’t apologize. I–I’m sorry.” You pause again before carefully asking, “Are you okay?”

He closes his eyes momentarily with a sigh, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Does she…slap you like that, like—usually?” The question feels nasty to ask, but you can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of seeing your ex and father of your son being so carelessly and almost nonchalantly hit like that. No matter who did it.

“Well, no,” he says. “But when she gets really pissed at me, well—she lashes out.”

Your stomach churns at his words, and despite the tension that still hangs between you two, your heart feels heavy with a mix of concern and unease. You want to reach out, but you’re not sure how, not after everything that’s happened. “That’s not okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. No one should. I don’t…like seeing you get treated like that, Satoru.”

Satoru’s gaze softens, though he quickly brushes it off with a wave of his hand, as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “It’s fine, really. It’s just how she is when she’s angry. I’m used to it.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes your chest tighten. You want to argue, to tell him that being used to it doesn’t make it right, but you hold back. He’s not a child; he doesn’t need to be coddled. But the way he brushes off the situation, like it’s no big deal, makes it hard to ignore that maybe he’s been through this for far too long. You almost start wishing you could go back in time and slap her instead.

“Still,” you say, taking a cautious step closer. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve that.”

Satoru finally meets your gaze, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. He seems grateful, but there’s also a wall behind his expression, a part of him that refuses to acknowledge the pain beneath the surface. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “But I’m okay. Really. I just…I know how to deal with her.”

The words seem rehearsed, like he’s convincing himself as much as anyone else. You can tell he’s not fully okay. And, despite the atmosphere between you two, you know he’s not asking for your sympathy. But you can’t help but feel like there’s more beneath it all that he’s not saying, things he’s kept hidden far too long. “It looks a little swollen, do you want to ice it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He agrees, walking to his freezer and getting out a small icepack. You hover awkwardly, unsure if you should leave him be or offer some strange sense of comfort. But it feels wrong to just leave like that. Sure, there’s a certain line marked between you two, but you still have empathy. Morality. You’re still a good person, and so is Satoru. So, you step forward slowly, still leaving enough room for him to deny you.

Satoru doesn’t protest as you move closer, but you notice the way his body tenses just slightly, a subtle indication that he’s still not entirely comfortable. He continues to press the icepack to his cheek with a quiet sigh, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The sound of the ice against his skin is the only noise filling the silence between you. You can’t help but feel the weight of it all—the tension, the unresolved emotions, the hurt. You know he’s not the type to open up easily, but something about the way he’s holding himself, the guarded look in his eyes, tells you he’s struggling with more than just the immediate confrontation with Himari.

Your hand reaches up and tentatively replaces his own on the pack.

Satoru tenses again for a moment at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. He lets you take the icepack from him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The warmth of his skin against yours lingers, and you feel a shift in the air between you, something unspoken, yet palpable. You keep the ice gently on his swollen cheek, careful not to apply too much pressure. Your eyes meet his, the proximity somehow making everything feel more intimate than it should be, and yet, in that moment, it feels right—like you’re not just helping him physically, but in some quiet, emotional way too. His gaze softens, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually guarded expression. The situation reminds you of the past.

Nights when he was too sleep-deprived to function, the times when he accidentally cut himself with a knife while making dinner, or the times you used to apply face masks together during your sleepovers. It all feels like how it used to.

"Let me," you say softly, a quiet reassurance in your voice, though you’re unsure why you feel the need to offer it. Maybe it’s because, despite the complicated history between you two, in this moment, it feels like you’re more than just the roles you’ve played—more than the messy entanglements that surround you both.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a few seconds, his eyes focusing on the ice as you hold it against his cheek. The silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but rather, it feels like a rare kind of peace, a brief respite from the chaos. "Thanks for doing this," he says eventually, his voice softer than usual. "I know it’s not easy, dealing with all the shit going on, but... I appreciate it."

You nod, unsure of how to respond to that. It’s strange, helping him like this, especially considering how much tension has been between you two recently. But the act itself, simple as it is, feels like a small moment of clarity amidst all the confusion. "You don’t have to thank me," you say quietly, looking up at him. “I’m here. For whatever you need. Just…don’t blame yourself. It’s all my fault.”

You both stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, just sharing the space. No words are needed, the action itself speaking volumes more than anything you could say aloud. He looks like he wants to protest, to say that you’re wrong and that he has some blame in this giant mess too. But he stays silent, enjoying the comfortability of a life that seems to offer none of that so far. It’s like he still—after all this time—finds his peace with you.

That thought makes him feel put off.

Because while he can’t stop how his heart feels and force it to feel the opposite, there are still lingering emotions of annoyance. Of how this all could’ve been avoided. Of how he still hasn’t completely forgiven you. Of how that small part of him hates you. Hate? Does he hate you? It seems like he has an answer to that question when you gently place a hand on his chest. Head leaning up like it’s ready for something, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He sees it; knows it’s coming. But he doesn’t move, for some reason.

Your hand freezes the moment you realize what you’re doing, quickly stopping yourself from leaning up anymore. Though it’s a little too late for that, considering you’re this close to his lips. You hadn't even noticed it at first, your body moving on instinct, closing the distance between you two. But now that his chest rises and falls steadily under your palm, the weight of your action feels impossibly heavy.

“I…” you stammer, the words getting caught in your throat. You glance up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, searching for some kind of response. But his expression is unreadable, his pale lashes half-lowered as he looks at you with something in between confusion and guarded curiosity.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, and you can tell he’s trying to process what just happened—what’s happening now. His lips open like he’s about to say something, but the silence stretches between you both instead. Finally, his hand moves, brushing lightly over your wrist, a cautious touch, testing your reaction. “Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual, yet laced with an edge of something you can’t quite place. It’s not anger, but it’s not entirely calm either.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You pull your hand back quickly, as if you’ve burned yourself, clutching it against your chest like it might shield you from the tension. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“No,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You were.”

His words send a jolt through you, and for a moment, you feel exposed, like he’s peeled back a layer of your defenses you weren’t ready to give up. He doesn’t break eye contact, but there’s a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper—conflict, maybe.

“Satoru,” you start, but the name sounds so small, so uncertain, even to you. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re making this complicated,” he cuts in, his tone sharper now, like he’s trying to create a barrier between you again. “I’m trying to figure this out. Everything. And you…you can’t just—” He stops himself, exhaling harshly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “You can’t just do things like that and expect me to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

You flinch slightly at the bite in his words, but you don’t back down. “I’m not trying to complicate anything,” you reply, more firmly this time. “I just—I don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s like I can’t get it right.”

Satoru takes a step back, putting more distance between you, but his eyes never leave yours. “Yeah, well, join the club.”

A silence befalls you two. One that threatens you to curse yourself for ruining something so small and tender because of your own selfish desires. What reason was it for? Why did you do that? Maybe it was just a small moment of hallucination. You weren’t thinking right, only your body was. Or maybe it was the peacefulness that tiny moment brought you, or it felt right and nostalgic. Your feelings are already all jumbled up, this situation didn’t make it any better.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you both stand there, neither daring to speak or move. You feel the weight of your own actions crashing down on you, each second of quiet like an accusation. What were you thinking? The question echoes in your mind, louder and louder. Was it a lapse in judgment? A selfish impulse? Or something else entirely—a longing for something that no longer exists?

You glance at Satoru, his expression unreadable, the cool mask he wears so well firmly in place. You wish he’d say something, anything, even if it was to scold you or tell you to leave. But he doesn’t. He just stares, and the silence twists deeper into your chest.

Why did you do that? you wonder again, your thoughts spiraling. Maybe it was the way his presence felt familiar, and comforting, even after everything. Or maybe it was the way the tension between you two softened for just a fleeting second when you held that ice pack for him. Or, it could’ve been just the nostalgia—a memory of a time when things were less complicated when you didn’t feel so distant, so broken.

But now? Now it feels like you’ve ruined even that small, fragile thread of peace. The silence between you isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s damning. You’ve crossed a line, one you didn’t even realize was still there.

You open your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, to apologize again, but no words come out. Because what could you possibly say? That it was a mistake? That you weren’t thinking? That for just one moment, you wanted to feel close to him again, even if it wasn’t real? Satoru finally exhales, breaking the quiet. His gaze flickers down, then away, like he can’t look at you anymore. “I think…” He trails off, his voice quieter than before. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t… overthink this.”

You blink at him, unsure if he’s trying to offer you an out or protect himself. “Overthink what?” you manage to ask, though your voice is barely above a whisper.

He looks at you then, his expression softening just slightly, but there’s still a wall between you. “Whatever this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you two. “I’m trying to figure things out, and this...it just complicates everything.”

Your chest tightens at his words, but you nod, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “I get it.” But do you? Or are you just agreeing because it’s easier than admitting that you don’t know where the lines are anymore? Or if they still exist. Or that you don’t even know how you feel—let alone how he feels.

“I should go,” you say finally, your voice steadier now. You grab your bag again that you set on the table haphazardly after the girlfriend run-in, avoiding his gaze, and head for the door. But just as you’re about to leave, you pause, turning back to him. “Satoru… I’m sorry.” I really didn’t mean it.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his hand lifting briefly as if he’s going to reach for you but dropping back to his side. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Me too.”

You don’t waste time in making your departure after hearing his words. The door closes behind you as you briskly make your way to the elevator. Letting out a breath you must’ve been holding the whole time once you’re in. Watching yourself drop floor by floor, each thought sounding louder than the previous one. Questions of why bouncing off the walls of your brain. You don’t know why; or maybe you do, you just can’t face it yet.

You’re not sure you want to face it.

You can only hope Satoru is right about all this and he stays true to his word. Don’t overthink it, pretend it didn’t happen. That should be easy, right? It should be simple, just forget it.

The elevator doors slide open, and the cold air from the lobby greets you as you step out. The stillness of the afternoon settles around you like a blanket, thick and suffocating. You pause just outside the building, inhaling deeply as if the fresh air will help clear your head. But it doesn’t. The questions still echo, louder now in the quiet of the world around you. Maybe the answer, it’s been there all along, waiting for the cracks in your armor to show. But facing it means confronting feelings you’ve kept locked away for years—feelings you’re not sure you’re ready to admit exist.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence. You pull it out, and Hana’s name lights up the screen. Guilt instantly knots in your stomach. You’ve been so caught up in your own whirlwind of emotions that you completely forgot about your shift. “Hey,” you answer, your voice tight but steady.

“Y/N? Where the hell have you been?” Hana’s voice is sharp but concerned. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stammer, forcing a calm tone. “Just… had some things to take care of. I’m sorry for being late, I’m coming right now.”

There’s a pause on her end, and then she sighs. “Look, just get here when you can, alright? We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, already walking toward the nearest bus stop. “I’ll be there soon.”

As the line disconnects, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and quicken your pace. Hopefully, work will be a distraction, something to keep your mind from circling back to Satoru, to what happened, to everything it could and couldn’t mean. Because right now, pretending it didn’t happen feels safer than admitting that it did. And you can only hope—pray, even that Satoru is doing the same.

Satoru had barely even eaten the lunch he grabbed from his fridge. Driving back to the office in complete silence, not even putting the radio on as background noise. Now, he’s just staring down at his food on his desk, finger tapping against the armrest of his chair. The food sits untouched in front of him, its aroma barely registering as Satoru leans back in his chair. His finger taps rhythmically against the armrest, an unconscious outlet for the storm of thoughts swirling in his head—an unusual quietness for someone who usually thrives on noise.

But now, the silence feels deafening.

His jaw tightens as he replays the scene in his apartment, your expression when you left, and the weight of your hand on his chest, the way you leaned in so casually, so instinctively. He lets out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “Get it together,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the half-eaten sandwich sitting before him like it’s the cause of his current turmoil.

He’s angry—not just at you, but at himself. At the way his heart reacted in that split second, betraying him when he was supposed to have control. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything, not after everything that had happened between you two. But that small moment—the fleeting touch, the look in your eyes—it’s left him shaken in a way he can’t quite articulate.

The sharp knock at his office door jolts him out of his thoughts. He straightens, hastily pushing the food aside and clearing his throat. “Yeah, come in,” he calls, his voice a little rougher than intended.

A junior colleague pokes their head in, a stack of files in their hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but these need your signature before the end of the day.”

“Just leave them on the desk,” he replies, barely sparing a glance.

The younger employee hesitates, sensing the tension in the room, before quickly placing the files down and retreating. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his desk as he buries his face in his hands. He knows he won’t get anything done like this, but his thoughts are relentless. And no matter how much he tells himself to let it go, he can’t shake the memory of your hand, your eyes, the way you looked at him as if you were searching for something he’s not sure he can give. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, shoving his chair back and standing abruptly. Maybe he needs to walk it off, clear his head, do something—anything—to stop thinking about you.

A few minutes pass, busying himself with the signatures before the doors open again, this time with no warning knock. “I’ve had people look into the leak, it was an anonymous source. There’s a group of men your father sent to scout out the possible places the picture was taken from.”

His mother’s voice is a small distraction from his inner turmoil. Of course it’s not the exact thing he’d like to hear and discuss right now, but anything to take his mind off today's earlier events. “Any luck?”

She sighs, rubbing a hand through her greying hair. “As of now, no. But we’re narrowing it down. Your father believes the leak came from a possible rival.”

Satoru sits up straight. “Like the Zenins?”

Grimacing at the mere mention of that family, Akane frowns but shakes her head. “No, surprisingly. They were out on a family vacation to Italy. I got word they landed back last night.”

“Still, it could’ve been from them. Maybe they hired someone.”

The Zenins and the Gojo Group have been rivals for a long time now. Though most would probably consider them to have a “frenemies” sort of relationship, some of the people in that family are just…horrible. Not all, but almost all. Satoru lets out a low breath, leaning back in his chair as memories of past encounters with the Zenins flash through his mind. He’s been forced to deal with them more times than he can count—at corporate events, business dealings, even unfortunate leisure events—and each time, their games get more infuriating.

The Zenins own a massive real estate and infrastructure business called the Zenin Development Group, or ZDP for short. The ZDP hasn’t shied away from the use of rumors in the past that attempted to damage the Gojo Group’s image. Satoru remembers one incident where word had been flying around about the Gojo Group “losing its footing in certain markets”. A sorry try at weakening their investor confidence. The head of the Zenins, Toji, is usually the more critical and logical man. His cousin however, the man who was supposed to be in Toji’s spot, isn’t. That cousin, lacking Toji’s cunning and restraint filled nature, remains a wildcard Satoru would rather not deal with.

Still, their family name alone is enough to make Satoru’s jaw clench.

Akane pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “It’s a possibility, but your father’s men are thorough. If the Zenins hired someone, we’d have a trail by now. And honestly, Satoru, with the way that family operates, they’d have made sure you knew it was them. Subtlety isn’t exactly their strong suit.”

Satoru lets out a dry huff, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right. They love to flaunt their chaos.”

“Exactly,” Akane replies, crossing her arms as she paces. “This is different. It feels… personal. Whoever leaked that photo isn’t trying to start a war—they’re trying to cause damage. To you specifically or the company name, either or.”

He tilts his head, processing her words. “Why would it be specifically me? And not the family, not the company?”

“Well right now, it’s focused on you. It’s not the usual business sabotage we see with rivals.” Akane’s tone is pointed as she stops pacing, fixing him with a meaningful look. “They knew about Koji. This wasn’t some random slip. Someone wanted that information out in the open.”

Satoru’s chest tightens, his mind flickering to you and Koji. It hadn’t been long since his son came into his life, and now—now everything felt like it was spiraling faster than he could keep up.

“You think it’s someone close,” he mutters, not quite phrasing it as a question. “A partner?”

Akane’s silence is enough of an answer.

Satoru pushes a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “If it’s personal, then who the hell has it out for me like this? Himari’s pissed, but she’s not stupid enough to—”

Akane cuts him off with a sharp look. “Don’t rule her out just yet.”

Satoru scowls. “Come on, you really think—”

“I think people do crazy things, no matter if we think they will or not,” Akane interrupts firmly. “And she’s been in your life for years now, Satoru. She’s close enough to pull something like this without you suspecting it.”

Satoru is quiet for a beat, his mind whirring. “And if it’s not her?”

“Then it’s someone else in our circle,” Akane says, her voice cool and confident. “Someone with access. Someone who knows where to hit.”

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. His world already feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and now someone is actively trying to make it worse.

“What do we do now?” he asks finally, his tone subdued.

Akane straightens, her expression hardening with resolve. “We tighten security, keep this contained as best as we can. Your father will expect you to do damage control. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging to find out who’s behind this.”

“And what’s his plan if we find the source?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

Her lips thin into a straight line. “We’ll handle it as we always do. Quietly. Efficiently.”

Satoru nods, his jaw set. “Good. Do whatever you have to. I want answers.”

Akane turns to leave but pauses at the door. “And Satoru—be careful who you trust.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Satoru alone once more, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the silence.

Someone close to him betrayed him. Someone knew about Koji. Was he getting followed again? It couldn’t have been the informant his parents sent after him when he was gone, they already checked in with him and scared him to keep his mouth shut about anything.

Satoru swivels the mouse to his computer, lighting up the screen once more. An article he had stopped reading a few minutes prior appears. The Zenin Development Group, of course, had been the first to make a comment. Within hours of the news breaking, they released a veiled statement—dressed up as “a comment on modern family values”—that clearly took aim at the Gojo Group. The implication had been clear: Satoru Gojo, the golden heir, had secrets. Unpredictability. For a family like the Gojos, where control was everything, it was a calculated jab. The Zenins would never miss an opportunity to capitalize on a weakness. He laced his fingers together as his mind runs.

The real estate moguls weren’t the only ones circling, though. Smaller partnerships had already started asking questions. He was hoping that deals that were already set in stone wouldn’t suddenly slow to a crawl with poor excuses of “we’re just waiting to finalize a few details” piling up. However, investors did send cautious emails, politely “checking in” to ensure the Gojo Group was still on track.

And the last thing the Gojo Group needed were foreign partners—companies Satoru and his father had worked years to solidify relationships with—showing even hints of hesitation. People wanted answers, of course, clarity. How does the man who’s heir to one of the country’s largest conglomerates have a child hidden away? And more importantly, what else don’t they know?

Satoru exhales sharply, his fingers pressing harder into each other. It had taken everything in him not to lose his temper in the initial meetings of this morning. The entire damn building practically gawked at him more than usual when he strutted in. He felt their silent questions, their shock and confusion. None of them voiced anything, but that didn’t stop them from secretly whispering to each other when they thought he couldn’t hear. He kept his voice steady, his demeanor calm—like none of this mattered, like he wasn’t feeling the weight of it all pressing against his ribs. To his credit, most of the major deals were still holding. The Gojo name was far too powerful to be shaken by one scandal, but that didn’t mean cracks hadn’t appeared.

There were still murmurs, even within his own company. Executives muttering over coffee, wondering if the family would take action to “correct the situation.” His parents had already made their stance clear—they wanted this “mess” cleaned up quickly. A statement. A press release. Something that would sweep the story under the rug.

But Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he? What would he even say? That he’s sorry?

His son wasn’t a mistake.

He glances over to the untouched lunch on his desk, appetite long gone. Koji hadn’t asked to be born into this family, into this life of scrutiny and power plays. And yet here he was—thrust into the spotlight because of some unruly person who doesn’t give a damn about anything. The Gojo Group would weather this storm—he’d have to make sure of it.

Still, it’s the moments between all the business calls and the carefully crafted emails that gnaw at him the most. When he catches a glimpse of Koji’s face in the news coverage, or sees your name being dragged into articles alongside his. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d be shocked at how quickly the public found that out.

It’s just business, he reminds himself.

But Satoru knows better than anyone—nothing about this has ever just been business.

He rubs his face again this time harder, checking the time.

Distraction, distraction, distraction. He takes his phone out, going to his messages. Hovering his thumb over your name, before biting the bullet and sending you a text.

I’m picking up Koji today.

A few minutes later…

Y/N:

Are you sure? I can

Already decided, don’t worry about it

Satoru pauses again, his thumbs doing circles over the bright screen as he thinks of the correct way to articulate his next text.

You should probably stay over again. I’ll watch Koji but if you’re working late, he’ll end up falling asleep. I don’t want you guys out alone at night.

Is that too forward of him to say? Truly, he does mean it for your protection and safety. He’s willing to look past whatever it was earlier today, just as long as you and his son don’t accidentally get ambushed by reporters or strangers. Besides, he’s making up for lost time, remember?

Another few minutes passed with no reply. Assuming you’re busy at work right now, he’s about to shut his phone off and stand up when you say…

Y/N:

Oh, okay. Just one more night

He wishes he can read your tone better through text.

“Papa.”

“Yeah, buddy?” Satoru wipes a small stream of chocolate ice cream from his son’s mouth. He wonders if you’d scold him for giving him ice cream on a cold day. But hey, his son did ask. And who is he to say no?

“On January 5th, it’s a special day.” Koji grins, little legs swinging back and forth over the bed, watching his father clean up the room his son will be sleeping in again tonight. Another reason you’d probably be mad at him for eating ice cream, it’s night time and he’s about to go to sleep.

Satoru had gone to the store after picking up Koji from school to buy a quick set of pajamas and tiny underwear for the boy after realizing he had absolutely no spare children’s clothes laying around.

Why would he?

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Koji’s grin widens, his little hands clutching the edge of the bed as if he’s holding onto the excitement bubbling inside him. “It’s Dad Appreciation Day at school!”

Satoru freezes mid-motion, Dad Appreciation Day. He turns slowly, trying to keep his voice light and teasing even as something twists in his chest. “Oh, is that so? And what happens on Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji beams up at him, oblivious to the subtle tension in his father’s stance. “It’s a day where we get to bring our dads to school and show them all the cool stuff we made! Mr. Ito says we’re gonna draw pictures and talk about how awesome they are!” He pauses for a second, as if gathering his thoughts. “And I already told everyone my dad is the coolest of them all.”

Satoru swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “You did, huh?”

Koji nods enthusiastically, his little legs still swinging. “Yeah! ‘Cause you are the coolest, Papa.” He says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world, his voice full of innocence and pride.

Satoru stares at him for a beat too long, that twisting feeling growing stronger. He crouches down in front of Koji, meeting his son’s wide, expectant eyes. But he can’t hold back the warmth that blooms in his being. “So, you want me to come to this Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji nods again, so quickly it looks like his head might fall off. “Yep! And I want you to meet my friends! And—” he pauses suddenly, glancing down at his hands as if shy about what he’s about to say. “And I want them to know you’re real.”

The words hit Satoru harder than he expects. He blinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. “What do you mean, buddy? Of course I’m real.”

Koji fidgets, his fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Sometimes the other kids say I’m making stuff up. That I don’t really have a dad ‘cause they’ve never seen you. But I told them you’re real! And you’re awesome and tall and can do anything. I don’t have pictures of you either to show them.” He lifts his head again, his little face hopeful. “So…you’ll come, right?”

Satoru feels something ache deep in his chest—a mix of guilt, pride, and something he can’t quite name. This is what he’s been afraid of. The impact his absence might have on Koji, the doubts his son has had to defend himself against. Although it’s not his fault, he still feels awful over the fact that his son is getting criticized by other little shitheads for “lying about his dad”.

Again, who is he to say no?

Satoru musters a soft smile, reaching out to ruffle Koji’s hair. “Of course I’ll come, buddy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Koji’s face lights up, a pure, unfiltered joy spreading across his features. “Really?! You promise?”

“I promise.” Satoru’s voice is steady, despite the weight of the promise he’s just made. Because for once, he isn’t thinking about the scandal, the headlines, or what his family might say. Right now, all he sees is his son’s smile—the only thing that matters.

Koji throws his arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Papa. You’re the best.”

Satoru wraps his arms around the little boy, holding him close as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “No, Koji. You’re the best.”

At this moment, Satoru feels like he’s doing something right.

Satoru sits back, still holding Koji close as the boy relaxes in his arms, content and unaware of the complexities that hang over his father. For a few moments, the weight of the world feels light, and the chaos of his personal and professional life fades into the background. He can’t help but wish he could bottle up this peace and take it with him everywhere.

Koji yawns, his little body starting to slump against Satoru’s chest, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Satoru gently shifts him back onto the bed, tucking the covers around him. Taking his ice cream from him, the room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. He watches as Koji’s eyes flutter closed, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.

Satoru stands up slowly, lingering for a moment to make sure Koji is comfortable. He reaches for the nightlight switch, casting the room in a soft glow, then turns back to the door. His thoughts are no longer on the promises made to the company or the looming questions about his future with his family. It’s all about Koji, about being the father his son deserves.

As he steps out into the hallway, Satoru feels the familiar weight of the world returning, just a little. There are meetings tomorrow, more calls to take, and a whole slew of problems waiting for him. But tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, he has something to look forward to. A chance to be present, to be the kind of parent he knows he can be. And that’s enough for now.

He takes a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he heads to the kitchen to grab a drink. Tomorrow will come with its own challenges, but tonight, he can rest easy knowing that for once, he has what he wants within his grasp.

Despite his long day, Satoru feels a small obligation to stay up for you. Ensuring you make it back safe and all. You had insisted on using the bus back home, but he sent you money for a cab instead. Sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating atop. Still in his white button up and black slacks, white socks on. Once you knock on the door, he’s answering. “Hey, how was work?”

“Okay,” you mumble, walking past him inside. From your demeanor, you look tired. Maybe even still awkward. He locks the door shut and walks over, hovering next to you as you did your body of your coat and shoes.

“Koji’s asleep.”

You nod. “Okay, thank you.”

“No problem ,” he lightly shrugs. “Um…are you hu—“

“No, no. Not really. I think I just want to shower and sleep.”

Satoru watches as you slip off your shoes, your shoulders heavy, and your movements slower than usual. He can tell you’re not in the mood for any more conversation, and he doesn’t want to push. The tension between you both is still there, unspoken but present in every glance, every word. But he’s trying to keep the peace, trying to respect the distance you’ve put between the two of you.

“Alright, well, if you need anything...” he trails off, not sure what else to say. He knows he could offer more, but right now, he’s unsure what would make you feel more at ease. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like he’s prying.

You glance over at him for a brief moment, your face unreadable. “Thanks,” you mutter, the words soft but genuine.

He hums back, putting his hands in his pockets. “And he told me about the Dad day. I’ll clear my schedule and go.”

You glance up at him, a surprised but relieved expression flickering across your face. You hadn’t expected him to follow through so easily, but the way he says it so matter-of-factly makes you believe him. “That’s… that’s really great, Satoru,” you say quietly, trying not to let your gratitude sound too heavy. You didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. But deep down, you’re thankful. For Koji’s sake, for his happiness, and maybe for yours too.

Satoru gives you a small smile, almost like a silent reassurance, though his eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s still unsure of how to navigate all the unspoken words hanging between you two. “It’s nothing. He’s my son, after all. I wouldn’t miss it.”

You nod, giving him a small smile back, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

“I should let you get some rest,” he adds, his voice softening, almost like he’s giving you an out. “I know you’ve had a long day. I left some of my clothes out in the bathroom for you, if that’s okay.”

You nod again, appreciative of his understanding. It’s strange how he can act so distant and yet, in moments like these, he can be so… present. For once, you don’t feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. Maybe it’s because of Koji, or maybe it’s because Satoru’s actually trying. “That’s okay, thank you again.”

“Stop thanking me so much,” he shakes you off, walking over to the sink to begin washing the dishes. For a second, you watch his back, seeing the muscles of his firm skin through the almost dangerously thin material of his shirt. You look away, realizing you’ve been staring for too long and head over to the bathroom to begin your shower.

Once again, the water feels warm and comforting against your skin. It’s what you look forward to after your days. Relaxing and letting loose, letting your shower ease your tension in your shoulders. Freeing your body of the day’s dirt and oil, feeling an ungodly amount of clean. Maybe it’s Satoru’s detachment shower head, or his lovely smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but it makes you sight wistfully.

You allow yourself to bask in it, longer than you would back at your place because it’s not your water bill. As you step out and dry yourself off, the clothes that are left are a simple white t-shirt with boxers. Probably the only thing he has that can semi-fit you.

However, you can’t resist the urge to bring the soft material up to your nostrils, eyes closing as you inhale deeply. It fills your senses with a strange, but familiar twist. Oh god, how you love his smell.

That’s okay to admit still, right?

It’s not even just his cologne, but him. You’ve always loved it, always sniffed him and his clothes randomly. He’d make fun of you sometimes for it, just light teasing. Of course, he also was in love with the idea that just his scent alone can get you going.

Inhale after inhale, practically stuffing the clothing in your face before taking the moment to actually put them on. Still big, but manageable. Besides, it’s just one more night. You and Koji will be back to the apartment tomorrow.

After a good 45 minutes in the bathroom, you step out and walk in the direction of the room Koji’s in. But, you bump right into Satoru as you do so. He’s holding his own pair of pajamas in his arm. “Oh, sorry,” you quickly apologize and step back, voice low in effort to keep your son asleep. The dim lighting of the hallway almost makes his features even more pretty. “Did I take a long time? I thought you showered already.”

“No, it’s okay,” he replies, the bright hue of his eyes moving up and down. “You look…” He pauses, and there’s something in his gaze that’s hard to place, but you can feel the weight of it. “Comfortable.”

You feel your cheeks warm under his attention, but you don’t say anything in response. “Yeah, I am.”

He nods briefly and in silence. Once again, it’s like that moment from earlier today is making an appearance again. But this time it feels a little more electrified. Maybe it’s from the way his Adam’s Apple visibly bobs up and down like he’s gulping hard. Or the way his mouth has suddenly dried out. Or the way he has sudden invading memories of you wearing his shirt with nothing else after a passionate moment. Suddenly, he feels a problem.

“Goodnight,” he swiftly utters, walking past you into the bathroom. His movements are hurried, turning the shower back on, putting his clothes down onto the sink—ridding his current wear. In just a second, a knowing throb is taking place, one that almost causes him to groan out when his hand accidentally brushes against it.

The water’s still cold as he gets in—he figures that’s a good thing.

As the water splashes over his skin, Satoru tries to focus on the cold, the sting of it against his flushed skin, to fight off the growing tension that is so hard to ignore. His thoughts are a blur—memories of moments with you, your laughter, the way you’ve always looked at him, the touch of your skin, your smell. They all collide inside his head, each one triggering the next, until it’s impossible to escape the warmth of his desire. He tries to shake it off, tilting his face up to splash cold water onto it, breathing heavily as the icy droplets hit his skin. But the image of you wearing his shirt, the softness of the fabric against your bare skin, refuses to leave his mind. It’s maddening. There’s a part of him that feels guilty, like he’s crossing some boundary, but another part, the part that craves the connection with you, is too strong.

The tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, feels like it’s pulling him in two different directions. The man he’s supposed to be—focused, disciplined, in control—and the man who craves more than just physical closeness.

“Get it together, idiot,” he mutters under his breath, the words coming out as a sharp reprimand, though he knows it’s easier said than done.

The water begins to warm, slowly, but he doesn’t notice, his thoughts swirling like a storm. What the hell are you doing to him?

He takes a deep breath and turns the temperature up, letting the water envelop him, hoping that it will cool the fire inside of him. But somehow, it just feels like the heat of the moment is following him everywhere.

What was he thinking letting you wear his clothes again? He’s practically asking for it. He should’ve thought more about his decision. But at the time, he was thinking with his brain, not his hard cock.

Sparing a small glance down, his lips downturn. The tip is already an angry red and he’s barely touched himself, his veins becoming more prominent by the second as the blood rushes up and up. It’s practically begging to be felt, begging to be released.

He feels like such an idiot. A perverted idiot.

But with each blink, he’s getting flashbanged of past memories. The way your moans sounded heavenly in his ear, the way you squeezed around him that had his eyes rolling back. When you’d make that cute little noise when he’d circle a thumb on your pussy clit, simultaneously bullying your hole with his cock. The way you’d hold onto him. The way you—oh god.

His body has such a mind of its own.

He’s twitching in his hand, achingly so. Forcing down the surge of sudden need and focusing on the now. Willing his body to stop reacting so…blatant. It’s hard. In both ways. Satoru’s a grown man. He’s not used to such childish behaviors like this anymore. Keeping the lewd noises that threaten to leave his lips down like he’s a teenager all over again, scared of getting caught jacking off in his bedroom while his parents were down the hall. And he especially didn’t think he’d react like this all over again, and so damn easily too.

That’s what pisses him off most. Aside from the fact that you seemed so nonchalant. As if you didn’t know what was happening. That, or you’ve just become a good actress.

The water pellets down on him, hoping that the sound of his warm shower is enough to drown out the noise of the shaky moan that accidentally slips from his lips. This is bad; you and his son are sleeping peacefully in the other room and he’s here doing this.

But he just can’t help himself. His cheeks are flushed red, not just from the water. Head tilting back as he lays his left palm flat on the shower wall. For a second, he lets himself indulge in his selfish desires. And he doesn’t mind the fact that he just came to the thought of another woman and not his current girlfriend.

Jesus, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?

The next day proves to be busy. With the sudden influx of customers, everyone has been practically busting their ass off. You’re happy to go home, no longer dealing with that hustle and bustle.

Hana stays for another couple hours until she too will be saved. She can’t even count on her hands how many times a customer or customers have asked for you. She feels bad, of course. You seem to be handling it, but at the same time, you’re not.

She’s learned her lesson not to pry anymore when you seem close to the edge, that doesn’t diminish her worry as your friend.

It’s slower as the day continues, the sun beginning to set and paint the sky with pretty shades of orange. She’s cleaning the tables, humming a small tune when the ding from above the door sounds.

Like clockwork, she stops her cleaning and goes behind the register, planting a customer service smile. “Hello, welcome in.”

The man smiles back, though his seems more fake. Stepping upfront in front of her, looking over the menu placed above. He hums and talks his chin with his pointer finger. “What do you recommend?”

“The cookie butter latte is our best seller,” Hana replies.

He nods again, his feline eyes flickering back down to her own brown pair. “That sounds wonderful, can I have that?”

“Of course.” Hana taps the order into the screen of the register, looking back up. “Anything else?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” He smoothly says.

Hana blinks in surprise, momentarily thrown off guard by the man's sudden compliment. She forces a smile, not quite sure how to respond. Compliments were part of the job, but this one felt a little too close for comfort. She can feel the warmth creeping up her neck as she tries to keep the conversation professional. "Thank you," she says, voice even and polite. "Anything else I can get for you today?"

The man tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Maybe just your name?"

She offers a small, practiced smile, hoping to keep things casual. "Hana," she replies, maintaining eye contact but not giving away too much. "Now, would you like anything to go with your latte?"

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes scanning the pastries behind the counter. "A chocolate croissant, please."

"Great choice," she says, quickly adding it to the order. "That'll be all?"

"For now," he says with a slight nod, but there's something in his tone that makes her wonder if it's really the last time she'll hear from him today.

Hana nods. “And a name for the order?”

He pulls out a crisp total of one thousand yen. “Naoya.”

a/n: writing the "kiss" scene made me think back to a time I dodged my ex's kiss b4 we started dating and I felt so embarrassed for him

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ghostedgwen · 1 month ago

Text

but I knew you | j.potter [part three]

note : Thank you all so much for the love and support on the two previous parts! I am still trying to get back into writing and getting my old style back but it is still a work in progress. Really happy you lots enjoyed them and are asking to even be tagged in the next parts!

warning : more angst but some cute moment as well, Remus is an mvp on this one I love him, mentions of blood and injury, violence, there's a nasty fist fight, a brief moment of a man being a man and some misogyny.

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

It's been weird. Actually, that's an understatement. It has been absolute hell ever since that Quidditch accident, no one knew how to act around either you and James.

By now, the whole school knew and with how the school is quick to absorb gossip like greedy sponges, it was quick to be the topic of every conversation.

Girls would throw pitiful looks your way, and it grated your nerves to receive them. You didn't need their pity, not even one bit.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," you groan into your hands, pressed into your closed eyes. "This fucking sucks."

Remus gives you a tight-lipped smile that might as well be empty. "How about retracing your steps?"

You frown, taking your palms off your face and turning to Remus who began putting his book down.

"I'll talk to him, I'll convince him to practise with you."

"Practise what?"

"Remembering. You should know the core memories you two have made throughout your relationship, just recreate those moments with him," Remus shrugged. "Might work."

"It might not." You shake your head, giving up hope before it could even exist.

Remus makes a face at you. "This is so not you, you're not a quitter, ____."

A pregnant pause.

You heave a sigh. "Okay," you give in. "Bloody hell."

You watch as James casually approach you. Same mannerisms and all that but he feels unbelievably strange, you almost didn't recognize him with how he regarded you so casually. Curtly nodding and crossing his arms.

"Moony convinced me to humor this," he huffs. "Where are we off to?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to go through with this despite not wanting to do this. This was the only solution that made somewhat sense, and it was ultimately better than waiting it out while you try to act like the problem did not exist.

You click your tongue. "Where you first fell for me," you answered. "In your own words, of course. A bit cheesy for me, in all honesty."

He chuckles at that and you gesture him to follow you which he did. He walks beside you, not too far but also not close enough. You have to constantly remind yourself that it's not his fault. If he had met your James, he would've been pissed at himself right this very moment.

You didn't mind the distance much and continued your strides to the spot. You both pause, he looks around the empty hall with a frown.

"Sirius said he'd make sure the hall was clear for us." You tell him.

How he made it happen doesn't matter to you, but you had a few guesses. No time to dwell on that when he turned to look at you expectantly. You scan him, before speaking again.

"What do you feel when you look at me?"

"Honestly?" he licks his bottom lip with hesitation. "Nothing."

Wow, ouch. Okay.

You were about to speak again when he continued - "At first, because I really don't know you. . .but the more I look, the longer I stare at you - I have this urge to hold you."

That brought a small smile out of you. "Seems my James is still in there somewhere."

He didn't react to that, pretending he didn't feel a clutch in his heart at that. You shake your head, forcing the smile away and turned to the very spot you two stood on that day.

"Muggles science did say that love is in the head, not exactly the heart," you tell him with a bitter chuckle. "I guess you don't abide by that law. You still feel for me, despite not knowing me. I just badly need you back."

You can only imagine how much harder this is on him. While it absolutely hurt to be forgotten by your lover, you can empathize with his situation. How confused he must be to be a 14-year-old in the body of a 16-year-old James.

"How does it feel?" You ask him.

"Weird," he answered truthfully. "I feel weird. Like every inch of my body is on fire but it doesn't hurt. Uncomfortably warm."

You cannot even begin to image what that feels like. "I'm sorry, by the way. I have been too focused on the fact you forgot about me to even realize you lost a whole lot more than that."

He blinks. Your voice was comforting, and your words were kind. He still does not know how he pulled away from Lily, but he can see the appeal of why he fell for you. Your words, how you carried yourself and that confidence that oozed out of your every action without trying hard.

"I'm sorry too." was all he said.

You cleared your throat. "This is where I slapped you, by the way." You laugh humourlessly at your own words. "You had the absolute audacity to imply that you'd buy me, what a right git you were."

You look at him and see him blink in confusion, "What's your last memory before waking up in the infirmary?"

He gives you a huff, dropping his shoulder and walking to the wall with a wide open window. He sat there, leaning against the stone wall with his head hanging low. "I remember just returning to Hogwarts, I had asked Li- Evans out again during the welcome dinner, got rejected again - and I went to bed after arm wrestling with Pads."

You followed him, sitting across him while listening attentively. "Then I woke up, and here I am."

A moment of silence passed, you just watched him. You can see the gears turning in his head, a faraway look in his eyes as he gets lost in his thoughts. "It must be extremely hard for you too."

James nod. "It is, because I can see that I'm hurting you - and the lads, but I can't force it out of me. I feel a bit unwanted."

You scoot closer, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. "That's not true, we're all just struggling as well. You don't know it yet, but Sirius - he could never unwant you, you two are basically soulmates and I am the thirdwheel."

"Does something happen? To him?"

You nod when he lifts his head to look at you. "Yes, but that's not until you both are 15."

"When do you come in?"

You smile bitterly. "Today. The second day during our fourth year, I enter the story."

James' jaw dropped. "I remember everything - until exactly the day I meet you?"

You laugh humourlessly, nodding to his words. "What a cruel joke."

"How's it been?" Remus asked, settling beside you on the couch. You had a book propped on your lap and was getting lost in the words when he pulled you out and grounded you back to reality. "You've been at it for a week. What timeline are you in now?"

"Just about finishing up fifth year," you answer him casually. "He's compliant, and behaved. Would you believe that? He's behaved, around me."

Remus laughs. "That's good at least, he's willing to try."

"He said he felt unwanted by us," you tell him, watching his jaw drop. "We got too busy minding the fact he forgot."

"Merlin - " Remus runs a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"He's 14, right now and he must feel so scared to be in this familiar - yet strange environment he has ended up in. I didn't wanna tell you, he confided in me but I can see how he's been struggling throughout the week. He needs his brothers too, not just me."

Remus slowly nod along your words. "You're right. We thought to give you some space. Pads is still in shock and Peter is just depressed at this point."

You heave a sigh. "We'll get him back, no worries."

"____!" You turn to the voice that called you, you spy a familiar boy clad in black and yellow uniform run up to you. He had on a bright grin as he greeted you, a bookbag hanging off his shoulder. "Glad I finally caught up to you."

You frown at him. "You've been looking for me, McLaggen?"

"Yes," he nods and gestures to you. "But you've been with Potter this whole week."

You blink in confusion. "Of course I will, he's my boyfriend." You answer him bluntly, but he only shrugged at that with a tilt of his head.

"Whole castle knows by now that he's forgotten 'bout you, I thought you two had broken up."

You felt an eye twitch at that. "Nevermind that, why were you looking for me."

"Was hoping I could ask you to be my study partner, for the upcoming Ancient Runes quiz. You are pretty much a genius at it, wouldn't hurt to be tutored by you."

You cross your arm. He's never once had the courage to approach you before ever since James took an interest in you. He introduced himself so confidently when you transferred and even offered to show you around the castle - that was until James entered the picture and everyone steered clear.

No one wants to mess with the Marauders.

"Why would I do that for you?" You ask, having nothing to gain from his proposal whatsoever. He's demanding you help him study in a subject you excel in without even offering anything in return.

McLaggen flashes you a bright grin. "I'll treat you on a date on the next Hogsmeade trip."

You scoff at his words. "A date? You think I'd accept tutoring you for a bloody date? I'm taken, in case you forgot."

He laughs. "Your boyfriend doesn't even remember you, babe. I'm your next best bet, he's technically just a little boy right now, yeah? What age is he mentally? 12?"

"He lost two years, he's 14, you dumbass." You corrected him.

He shrugged. "Don't matter now, does it? He's just a little boy right now, you'll do well with a man."

You hold back a laugh at his words. "You think you're a man then?" You step back, providing more space between you and not once did his height intimidate you throughout the exchange as he address you while looking down. "You are a pig. Take your offer elsewhere, you disgust me."

"____-" he grabs your arm as you turn to leave but another voice also called out your name.

"____!" You turn to find James fast approaching, the rest of his gang trailing after him. "What's going on here?"

You tug at your arm and he finally released it. You fix your posture and glare at McLaggen, "We were just talking." you tell him and can see the anger bubbling in him with the expression on his face.

You turn to meet Sirius' eyes and gesture to James, he acted fast, grabbing him by the arm. "Calm down, mate. She said they were just talking."

"Didn't look like talking to me." James spat.

McLaggen stepped back, raising both hands in surrender. "My bad, mate. You don't even remember ____ anymore, the least you could do is let someone else have her."

You felt your jaw drop at his words, talking about you like you were an item to posses and freely give awya - like you had no say in the matter and you couldn't even process a reaction to his vile words when James swung for his face.

His fist colliding with McLaggen's face and he drops to the ground on the impact. He would have jumped on him as well if Sirius didn't pull him back with Remus who were desperately trying to calm him down.

"The fuck?" McLaggen hissed, clutchinng his now bruised cheek in disbelief. "Fuckin' hell!"

You turn to James, and it all happened so fast. The two boys lost grip on him and he slipped out - jumping on McLaggen to throw more punches but this time, the other boy got to react and returned the favor.

The two exchanged blows while the other three boys tried their best to pull them apart, you were only grateful that the halls are empty or this would be another spectacle for the whole castle.

You run to them, figuring that the three boys' attempts were not working - but it was too late. McLaggen pulled something out of the bookbag he carried - an ink bottle? And smacked James right across the head with it.

"Prongs?" Sirius called out to James who dropped after the hit, McLaggen appeared shocked at the result of his actions. He threw away the bottle and scrambled to get up.

"James!" You called out and dropped to his side, Merlin - he's out. He's breathing but he is out. The hit must have gotten him good. You angrily turn to see McLaggen running away from the scene. You can deal with him later, you turned your focus to the passed out James. "Bloody fuck, not again."

to be continued . . .

part four | masterlist

#james potter #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #james potter imagine #marauder imagine

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thefavouritelamb · 2 months ago

Text

GOLDEN CURLS and your BLOOD-STAINED KNIFE

premise . . . you should be terrified, you should be fucking horrified. all the annoying bitches around you drop dead like flies and the masked hottie man in front of you is about to kill you. and, oh my god, it's that nerd from chem

( requested by anon ! )

CAST virgin!slasher slutty!final girl TAGS plot with porn, murder and attempted murder, mentions of attempted suicide, crack treated seriously, possessive behaviour, light obsessive behaviour, light knifeplay, light femdom/dominant reader, light submissive slasher, brief breeding kink, creampie, unsafe sex done by unsafe people

affiliated links ─── pinned inbox requests (closed for now)

death clings to your scent—everywhere, it knows where you are. it started small, seemingly a one-time thing. some old hag dies and everyone assumes it was from old age. it wasn't. god forbid, it wasn't. whispers echo through the hallway and doesn't leave your ears; it was a murder. who the hell gave a shit though, right? you didn't. you couldn't care when that hag refused to give you the mark you deserved. fuck her.

then, mechanically, it comes after one another. you're starting to think of moving, really. like flies, your contact list fills with dead bodies. literally. name after name, vague description after just another number, the men you've slept with are all fucking dying. if you were superstitious, you'd think this was karma. yet, you're not. you're realistic. you know someone is haunting your trail and they aren't fucking stopping.

the world stops for a moment. the only thing you can hear is that repetitive bounce of some... fucking tennis ball or something. the house is dreary, the silence occasionally stabbed with the thrumming of the ball bouncing around. your heart pounds against your chest. you can't feel your fingers though they tightly wrap around the handle of the kitchen knife. you've been sensing you were next for a while. you just wish that it didn't end like this when you're half naked, a nameless man dead on the floor of your bedroom, and pussy out in the fucking cold.

it's getting closer. your hands are grasped in prayer as you pull it close to your chest. when the pounding stops, you know he's there.

quickly, you turn to face the man in the doorway. you raise your hand to stab yet he halts you by your wrist. fuck. all your anger and frustration bubbles into a punch but it comes out fruitless. his fist hammer to your ribs. you're promptly pushed down; weak, hurting, and pathetic. this was not how you wanted to die. the man towers over you as he drags you by the hair—a string of whines fall from your lips as you struggle out of his grasp.

"get the fuck off me, you sicko!" you scream, the sting at your scalp more painful than a knife stab. you think so, anyways. "i won't fucking report your ass just please! leave me the fuck alone!"

if he's been operating systematically, killing off your contact lists one by one, you just knew that telling him off wouldn't stop him. still, he drops you on the floor. you find yourself on your back, staring wide-eyed as the mask looks into your eyes. he has no eyes, not really. he has one mouth, a grin so wild. his entire body is cloaked and with it soaked in blood—you were too. both of you were bathed in the blood of some bloke you didn't even remember the name of. you hoped, just a little, you get to have one good fuck before you died.

"do you like pain?" he says your name, his voice unnatural and a deep monotone. "i know you do." fucking pervert, watching you getting your masochistic streak on. "you like inflicting them more than you receive them, though. i know you do."

"i don't know what you mean," your voice trembles. he slowly squats down to your level, his bloody gloved hands making a print on your cheeks. "j-just..." his knife kisses your jaw, "if i did something or i said something to you—... i'm fucking stupid. you can ruin my life however you want just let me live! wouldn't that be better? let me live with my own mistakes?"

his laugh comes out a growl through the voice changer. it's animalistic. "you have been living with your mistakes," he tells you, "everyday, every man you bring home. every single one of them is a man who doesn't even care for you. they're a mistake. you've lived far long enough with them, haven't you? i'm here to finally—" the edge of the blade traces a line on the bottom of your jaw, leaving a heated pain behind—"dissolve you from your past."

before you try to reason with him, he grips his mask. the white sullen face is pulled upwards revealing—revealing...?

him? "you?" this feels like a sudden joke. "no... oh my god, no fucking way."

you want to laugh; hat was, of course, your attempted reaction before you felt the blade go deeper in your skin. fucking ouch. the man above you is none other than that nerd in your chem class. you remember months ago how you laughed because he continuously tried to flirt with you. his attempts all but adorable with his soft face and thick glasses. it was endearing back then. you almost slept with him just because you thought he was cute.

but now? holy fuck. now, it's different. you almost couldn't tell they were the same person if not the mole on his lips, a gentle kiss from the gods that turned his mouth a shade of pink. the soft cheeks have slimmed into a distinguished jawline. strands of hair curl at the top of his head, almost shielding his watercolour eyes beneath those stupid glasses. you can't believe it. that fucking nerd, after disappearing for months, came back to do a killing spree all because... you didn't sleep with him?

"you embarassed me," he says, his voice almost whiny. "do you know how hard it was for me to go around school? everyone picked on me because you said that i was... i was a good for nothing fucking virgin! you made fun of me and the entir..."

it's odd how his words dulled into a muffled tone. from this angle, the cloak falls off a little and you see a glimpse of his collarbones. he lost weight, didn't he? that's slightly sad, you quite liked him in his softer body. you mourn it silently but you notice how his voice trembles into a deeper tone—had he gone through puberty again? jeez. he looks and sounds cute. you're smiling a little as your heart skips a beat from anything but fear.

"what the fuck are you doing?" he asks, snapping you out of your trance. before you could notice it yourself, your hands already moved down to your crotch. you haven't even came yet, not even a fake orgasm. you're only slightly bit shameful that you're touching yourself while he's having his villain monologue.

you hum, spreading your legs. "look, i feel a bit bad and all, but you really caught me at a bad time." you see his eyes trail to your cunt, seeing where your fingers disappear between your legs and how he gulps down in want. "come on, he didn't even have his cock out, baby. i was just barely taking off my panties when you interrupted us. and... you're kinda hot."

"you're sick." hah! the irony in that. "you want to fuck me now?" he laughs, gripping your hair again which makes you moan this time. you can see how his face loosens for a moment at the sound. "y-you only like me now because i lost weight! i starved myself from the bullying, and planning on how to fucking kill those people!"

"but baby, you're cute the way you are," you pout. "the only reason why i didn't fuck you was because you were just kinda weird at times. it was cute how you thought flower facts were going to get you pussy. and it was going to give you pussy, baby. but i can't risk my reputation if i fucked a cute nerd like you. can't give it all up just for one dick, you know?

"but now...?" you gasp, reeling in his attention with how two fingers slip in with ease. "you fucking killed those dickheads, baby. i fake orgasmed with most of them. i don't need a reputation when you've killed my audience."

his face drops into one of shock. you're not surprised that he's surprised. you're a bit surprised too—hah, you're kinda going delirious, maybe you are insane after all. despite the festering pain on your face, the stickiness of blood, you curl your fingers perfectly into your g-spot that has you moaning. you admire the way his eyes are trained onto you, his desires unfulfilled coming back again like a pest. he's tried to get over you but he hasn't. you're not letting him. absolutely fucking not.

his knife moves and you stick your tongue out, chasing the tip of it. you moan, looking into his eyes as you lay your tongue flat against the plane of the blade. "co' fu'h me?"

the words "come fuck me" were muffled but it seemed like he got the gist.

like how it was meant to be, you lay on stained bedsheets. it's a bit disgusting but you're too distracted with how cutely he's hurrying to undo his jeans. the cloak is pulled apart and you see how his hands struggle to undo his belt. silly boy. you reach out, hands expertly taking them off as he melts in your hold. it's thrown away along with your underwear, wherever it may be, as his pants are roughly pulled down by him.

you can't help but tease him, "feeling excited, baby?" he moans, hips grounding against you with a sticky fabric bordering you two. "so cute. did you cum in your boxers already? why's it all wet, baby boy?" he blushes, silent as you pick him apart knowingly. your hands make it inside his briefs and both of you moan at the contact—he's fucking wet, almost gushing. you would think he already came with the pre-cum leaking at the tip. despite that assumption, his cock is an angry red demanding warmth. your warmth.

"such a pretty little boy for me. take that off," he does so obediently. his fat cock—and it is fat, the length of it just nice but the thickness of it makes you drool in want—slaps against his stomach and makes a patch on his happy trail. "good boy, such a pretty and good boy for me.

you ask, "wanna shove it in?" and he moans, an echo of agreement and pleas falling from his mouth. he's pressing kisses against the open wound, a silent apology as he begs to be touched by you. the pain doesn't feel that bad now. it's numbed as his cockhead presses against your wet heat, wanting an entrance. you can only hear his ragged breathing as his tongue laps up the blood. your heart races against each other, the two of it throbbing with only both your flesh and bones separating them from mauling each other.

it's a miracle how he hasn't combusted yet. however, you hold onto that as he shoves the first inch inside. you've barely stretched yourself with two fingers and you almost wish you took more. the stretch of his cock punches a moan out of you, unwilling. the little thing above you whines and moans, "so good, so good, you feel so fucking good." it's the only thing he can muster in his brain as your cunt grasps him in a tight embrace, slick gushing around it as it tries to ease the slide.

"so good," he draws out in a tight moan. "i've never... you—i can't fucking believe it." you almost forgot the nerd was a virgin. "you feel so good around me. your pussy is so tight but it's, oh my god, it's opening up so nicely. so nicely for me."

your hands tangle itself in his hair after you pulled his hood down. "yeah, is it how you imagined? how does my pussy feel in comparison to your hand?" he's barely understandable with how fast he repeats so good so good so good. without prompting, one of his gloved fingers reach down to play with your clit. mostly the men need a signal or even a guide to do that. the leather is an odd feeling against such a sensitive area. still, it's not unwelcomed. you moan freely, your legs moving to wrap itself behind him. you want him to start moving. you need him to.

"come on," you goad, "need your fat cock inside me. you gotta start fucking me how you did in your fantasies, baby." then, that he does. he pushes inch by inch in, making you moan with the delightful and painful stretch. it's a feeling you're never going to tire yourself from. his cock splits you open more than anyone ever could. he presses it nice and deep, the tip kissing your g-spot gently. he doesn't move his hips, the vice around his cock too tight. he understands immediately and flicks your clit, a rapid motion that has you grinding against his hold.

that gets him to move. he starts to fuck his cock in and out of you. it's slow, pulling out until the tip is left just for him to fuck it deep again. his playful hand gets distracted but it's okay. every thrust you're groaning, your head having swivelled backwards from the pleasure. it's getting your legs to numb out. his balls slap against your ass and there's lewd sounds of skin slapping with echoing moans from the both of you. it's textbook erotic. you crave his cock just as much as he's craving your pussy.

"faster, come on." he's a show dog who's memorised all his cues. he moves his hips faster, opting for a more chaotic pace to chase both of your orgasms. he moves his hand again, a slower and more gentle act of circling in contrast to the impaling of his cock. your cunt is leaking in wet arousal as your breath is stolen from you. you can barely feel your legs when he's going ballistic. he mouths delightfully at your face now, just shy of kissing you.

you don't let his fantasy go to waste. eagerly, you tilt your head so your lips meet in unified desperation. he's moaning into the kiss. his pace stutters as he loses himself to the pleasure of being kissed. you're not surprised if you took all of his firsts tonight. in eager motions, he's chasing his orgasm orgasm. his first orgasm inside a cunt raw. you don't really mind that he's without a condom. you know you're safe when you've made everyone who tapped to wrap it up. this little killer of yours is, of course, a special exemption.

"'m gonna cum," he whines, dick hammering into your cunt. "gonna cum inside your pussy. gonna make it mine. gonna breed your pussy and you're gonna be all mine, all mine, all mine."

his free hand goes to grip your waist with one final thrust, both of you pulled into waves of orgasm. he's cumming inside of you and you mirror as you squirt all over him. the orgasm is intense as he gently plays with your clit, easing it with a slow lull. all of it becomes just a bit too much and you're writhing beneath him. he gets the point and moves away, carefully moving out of you.

in between the post haze, you feel the sheets move beneath you and you lay on the mattress. he wraps you in his arms and you're being embraced by the warmth of his body and the feel of his tongue against your lips. his kissing could be improved, you think with a laugh. that pulls him out of his cocoon-like touches. an insecure question of, "what are you laughing at?" has you smiling a little.

you answer him truthfully, "you fuck like a menace and kiss like a virgin. it's cute though, don't get me wrong." he blushes like a virgin too. you can't help but squish his cheeks. "gosh. you're adorable," the fog thins and you smell the corpse rotting at your feet, "and... you're a serial killer. how are you going to get rid of that dead fucking body?"

he looks down, almost surprised that there was a dead body there. "oh," he says, quite dumbly, "i actually don't know. i really did plan to kill you and then kill myself afterwards. i don't want to go to jail."

oh. o-fucking-kay.

you two sit up and you pull at your hair. the golden curls fall in front of your face in anger. "why the fuck would you go through all this just because you couldn't get some pussy?" he's about to answer you and you know he's going to repeat his monologue. "no, no. okay, i get it. i'm sorry. but seriously, i don't want to die and i don't want to go to jail because i fucked the murderer." this is bad. his knife is on the bed and you're thinking about just stabbing him.

wait, that could work. you grab the knife quickly and stab him. that immediately gets him to yelp, "what the actual fuck!?" he glares at the knife in his stomach then at you, "why would you do that?" he's looking at you like he's about to cry. you actually feel a little bit bad.

"sorry," you say, letting go. "i just needed to come up with a story." you pull your hair back, sitting cross-legged in front of him. "so, you were fucking me. he came here and tried to kill the both of us. he's all jealous that i was fucking other people—sounds familiar? yeah, well, this time, i kill him with this knife and now he's framed for the murder. assuming, of course, you don't have any incriminating evidence inside your house."

"no," he groans, hands hovering above the handle in wanting to get it out but knowing it should be stuck in. "your cameras are all dead too, by the way. it's been dead for a few days and no one saw the two of you when you sneaked inside from the back door. no one saw me too."

"great!" you promptly pull out the knife and he screams. "sorry! sorry! i just need to stab it inside of him and then call the cops." you put the knife right where he put it in earlier, right between his crotch. if this all goes well, you all go home without a worry. if it goes bad, well, you could always run away, right? you look at the killer bleeding, cock out and cum dribbling down his thighs and squirt on his stomach. you don't think both options are that bad.

"the costume?" he asks, looking down head to toe at himself. you're about to undress him gleefully and play dress-up with a dead body.

written and posted by thefavouritelamb

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downbad4sylus · 2 months ago

Text

“Caleb… You’re scaring me.”

(part 1, part 2, and part 4)

synopsis: You struggle with what it means for Caleb to remain in your life while in a relationship with Sylus. Caleb, however, is determined to make that decision for you.

content: sylus x afab!reader; use of Y/N; established relationship; slightly nsfw right off the bat (but it’s brief), then slightly nsfw/suggestive again a little later (but still brief); tension; angst; caleb acts like caleb but worse; zayne cameo; mention of stalking; kidnapping; use of Evol; ends on a cliffhanger; mostly proofread

word count: ~3.6k

tags: @zarakem @freddy-2002-blog @browneyedgirl22 @exactlysizzlingdonut

a/n: back by popular demand, here is the third part to the sylus v caleb series! things take a bit of a dark turn and will continue to do so in the final part. i do just want to say that, altho caleb is essentially the villain in this story, i genuinely like him as a LI. thanks so much for all your continued support, hope you guys enjoy!!

Sylus was buried deep within you and all he wanted to do was lose himself in the feel of you squeezing him oh so perfectly, but that was proving quite difficult when your phone kept buzzing on the nightstand.

It had been weeks since he last touched you like this, since he made love to you, fucked you. He wanted to be sure your shoulder and ribs were healed lest he only injure you further. And now he finally, finally, had you squirming beneath him, calling out his name in the throes of pleasure.

Except your annoyingly persistent childhood best friend refused to give either of you a moment of peace.

“Kitten,” Sylus rasped, his thrusts slowing to get your attention, “unless you want me to break your phone so it never rings again, I suggest you turn it off until we’re done.”

“Hah—s-sorry,” you panted, blindly reaching for the phone.

Your hand smacked the screen at the same moment Sylus hit a sweet spot within you, your loud moan echoing through the bedroom. Your fingers grasped the edges of the device and you managed to hold it in front of your face.

“Shit,” you swore, fumbling with the phone to end the call you’d accidentally picked up. “Shit, Sylus—ah—hang on.”

Sylus did no such thing, instead putting more force into his thrusts. You bit your lip to keep from making noise, praying that Caleb somehow could not hear what you and Sylus were doing.

Finally hanging up the call, you turned your phone off and tossed it aside onto the bed somewhere.

“Do you think he heard?” you asked Sylus as you looped your arms around his neck and dragged him closer.

He placed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbones. “If he did, then I’d say it’s pretty clear now who you belong to.”

—

Caleb gripped his phone so hard the metal groaned.

There was no mistaking the noises he heard. That you were making. It made jealousy and rage churn in his gut, but there was something else there too. A sense of ownership. You were Caleb’s. Only he should be hearing you make those sinful sounds. Only he should be the one buried inside you, making you feel good.

Caleb ran a hand down his face. He knew one thing for certain: the Onychinus leader had to go.

—

The conversation with Sylus was inevitable and you were dreading it.

He had said he didn’t want you going back to Skyhaven and you hadn’t gone, you’d been by his side for almost the entire time spent healing. But he never said he didn’t want you talking to Caleb.

If you were being honest with yourself though, you weren’t sure how much longer this could continue. Deep down, you knew sooner rather than later, you’d have to choose one or the other. Your choice was clear, one you’d make without a doubt, but the consequences of that choice were what worried you.

Sylus returned from the kitchen, handing you a glass of wine before settling beside you on the couch. You were in one of the sitting rooms at the base after enjoying the meal Sylus had made for you both.

Your boyfriend blew out a long breath. “Sweetie,” he began, and you prepared yourself for the worst, “I think we should talk about it, don’t you?”

While Sylus was hopeful you’d at least lessen contact with the Colonel, he wasn’t naive in expecting you to cut him off completely. But Sylus just couldn’t understand why. The Colonel had only brought instability into your life since he “came back from the dead.” You were bending over backward to appease him the best you could but it was never enough. It would never be enough for the Colonel, not if Sylus was still in the picture.

Sylus knew this would all come to a head eventually, where you would have to make a choice you should never have been forced into. He didn’t want you to have to choose, he wanted you to be able to have the best of both worlds. That was where he and the Colonel differed, something Sylus hoped you could see. Where they were the same, however, Sylus wasn’t going to give you up so easily.

“What exactly do you want to talk about?” you asked, a poor attempt at deflection.

Sylus frowned. “That your supposed childhood best friend has been incessantly calling and texting you since the moment you got back from Skyhaven.”

You winced. Caleb had indeed been blowing up your phone since you’d forgiven him for what happened. Little did you know, that Sylus had found not only a tracking device hidden in your phone but a mirroring program as well. He’d taken out the device immediately and wiped the program from your phone, ensuring there was no backdoor for the Colonel to maintain access. Finding them had enraged Sylus so much that he had to talk himself out of going to Skyhaven and hunting the Colonel down for at least a week afterward.

“I don’t always answer him though,” you protested weakly.

“That’s not the point, sweetie, and you know that,” Sylus admonished. “What happened to boundaries?”

You took a gulp of wine. Sylus was right, so why was it so hard for you to create those boundaries with Caleb? Maybe because he looked or sounded like a kicked puppy whenever you tried. He knew just how to slip past your defenses, and it worked nearly every time.

“I know, I just hate hurting his feelings,” you admitted.

Sylus’s expression softened. He reached for your hand and threaded his fingers through yours. “Sometimes your heart is too big for your own good.”

Your lips twitched upward. “I know,” you repeated. “But you’re right, and earlier was too far. I shouldn’t have to worry about Caleb interrupting every time we’re intimate. I don’t want to worry about it.”

Sylus tilted his head, waiting for you to make your conclusion.

“I’ll talk to him,” you declared, resolute.

Sylus lifted your entwined hands, kissing the back of yours. “Thank you.”

—

You were eternally grateful arguments—real arguments—with Sylus were rare because had they not been, you would’ve given in by now.

You and Caleb had been on the phone for almost thirty minutes now, talking in circles as you tried to lay down some boundaries. Caleb wasn’t having any of it, and you were seconds away from exploding on him.

“I just don’t see what the big deal is, pip-squeak,” he said, maintaining the same infuriatingly cocky tone he’d had since the start of the call. “What’s wrong with me checking in on you during the day?”

“What’s wrong is that I’m an adult, Caleb, and I don’t need you checking up on me every hour!” you shouted, throwing a hand up in the air. “I have a life you know, one that has become increasingly difficult to live with you pestering me all day!”

“Pestering?” Caleb repeated. “That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?”

“You aren’t listening to me!”

Sylus poked his head in, concern creasing his brow. Seeing him sent the tears already pricking behind your eyes spilling free. You waved him off when we came into the room, aimed straight for you. While you craved the comfort of his embrace, the second his arms wrapped around you, you’d lose your nerve. With a frown, he took up a spot against the wall.

You couldn’t help thinking about how, being with Sylus, everything was so easy. He never stifled you. Never told you what you could or couldn’t do. He let you handle your own battles, remaining a silent supporter, but would break that silence the moment you asked him to. He watched you thrive, encouraged it even, all while standing by your side. Sure, he was protective at times and he had a bad habit of using Mephisto to keep tabs on you when you were apart, but these things didn’t hinder you. It was as though Sylus was an extension of yourself, the two of you so intrinsically linked, two halves of one soul.

Nothing was easy with Caleb, not since he’d come back.

Where once you and he had an easygoing friendship, knowing each other like the back of your hands, now it was like the man on the other side of the phone was a stranger. You hoped with time, the two of you would fall into the ease of your previous friendship, but he changed. You changed. And now Caleb was suffocating you.

As much as you hated to admit it, there might no longer be a place for Caleb in your life.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe, Y/N,” Caleb said, his tone edging toward something sharp.

“Keep me safe?” You scoffed. “Like how you kept me safe in Skyhaven and I ended up with a dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs? I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Caleb, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I have a boyfriend who is perfectly capable of taking care me.”

Caleb chucked, but there was no humor behind it. No, it sounded far more menacing. “Are you sayin’ you don’t need me anymore, pip-squeak?” A chill went down your spine at his tone. “I leave for a year, doing all that I can to protect you, and you’re sayin’ it doesn’t matter? That you can take care of yourself? That you have him to take care of you?”

He laughed again, a terrifying sound. “I’m the only one who can take care of you, pip-squeak, and you’re giving me no choice but to prove that to you.”

Your hand shook. “Caleb…” you breathed. “You’re scaring me.”

Sylus pushed off the wall, reaching you in a few long strides. He motioned for the phone, his eyes blazing with fury, but you merely laced your fingers through his. He squeezed your hand but you shook your head, silently conveying I want to hear what he has to say.

“I only want what’s best for you, Y/N,” Caleb said, his voice noticeably softer. “You’ll see for yourself, I promise.”

“Caleb—“

“I’ll see you soon, pips.”

The line went dead.

You looked up at Sylus, tears spilling once more. “He’s not the same.”

Sylus pressed a gentle kiss to your brow. “I know, sweetie.”

—

“I got you something, sweetie.”

It had been two weeks, and you hadn’t heard from Caleb since that last phone call which was both a relief and incredibly unnerving. Sylus had insisted you stay with him a while longer at the base, concerned that he couldn’t keep you safe anywhere else. But as the days passed and there was no word from Caleb, you had to leave the safety of the base and return to work, to your life. You’d been out for long enough already.

Sylus came to your apartment every night, staying with you until he dropped you off at the Association come morning.

Tonight was no different.

You perked up from where you were laying in bed, doom scrolling, as Sylus waltzed over holding a small box tied with a ribbon.

“What is this for?” you asked, taking it once he crawled into bed with you.

Sylus smirked. “Just because.”

“Such a sly crow,” you teased.

You pulled the ribbon loose then lifted the lid, revealing a beautiful silver bracelet. The chain resembled one of the necklaces he often wore that you’d always likened to a dragon’s tail. Rather than onyx, the baguette gem resting in the bracelet’s setting was a bright red ruby, just like his eyes.

“Sylus, it’s beautiful,” you breathed, meeting his fond gaze. “Will you put it on for me?”

With gentle fingers, he took the bracelet from the box. “I’ll put it on as long as you promise never to take it off.”

Your brow raised. “I’ll have to take it off when I shower, I don’t want to ruin the metal.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, it’s made from platinum, which means it’s highly resistant to tarnishing.”

You huffed a laugh. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

“Only the best for my beloved,” Sylus drawled.

You smiled, your heart soaring. You offered your wrist and Sylus clasped the bracelet around it, the fit—unsurprisingly—perfect.

You threw your arms around Sylus’s neck, hugging him tight. “Thank you, I love it.”

He pulled you back, lightly tugging on your hair. “I love you.”

He kissed you, softly at first, before it grew into something hungry.

Soon, he had you wearing only the bracelet.

—

The hardest thing about stalking watching you these past two weeks was having to suffer through moments like these. Knowing you were moaning another man’s name. Knowing that man was bringing you pleasure when it should’ve been him buried deep inside you. It should’ve been him running his hands all over your body, memorizing every dip and curve. Kissing you, tasting you.

Caleb’s fists clenched and unclenched as he tried desperately to keep his anger in check.

Just a little longer, he kept reminding himself. Just a little longer and he’d be whisking you away to safety. To be with him, and only him.

—

“Hi Y/N!” Yvonne greeted you with a bright smile. “Are you here to see Doctor Zayne?”

“Hi Yvonne, yes, I have an appointment with him at three,” you said, leaning your arms against the reception desk.

“That’s a lovely bracelet,” she commented.

You glanced down at your wrist. “Thank you! My boyfriend got it for me.”

“He has great taste.” Yvonne grabbed the phone off the receiver. “I’ll let Doctor Zayne know you’re here.”

You turned from the desk, giving her a wave. “Thanks Yvonne, it’s always good to see you.”

“You too, Y/N!”

You made your way to Zayne’s office, your steps confident thanks to the countless times you’d come for a check up.

“Don’t bother sitting.”

Your spine straightened from where you’d been about to sit on the bench outside Zayne’s office.

“Zayne!”

His lips twitched in the barest of smirks. “Come on in.”

You followed him into his office and hopped onto the examination table where Zayne started prodding at your ribs and rotating your shoulder.

“How is everything feeling?” he asked, not lifting his gaze. “Any soreness? Lingering pain? Or general discomfort?”

“Everything’s feeling like it’s supposed to, though sometimes my shoulder will ache if I overwork it too much,” you said.

“Overwork it? Are you resting like you’re supposed to be?” Zayne questioned, finally glancing at you.

You offered him a guilty smile. “I’ve been working out a little.”

Zayne sighed and stepped back. “I expect nothing less from you, but I did expect more from your boyfriend.”

You laughed. “He’s the one who always made me stop! I would’ve kept going if not for him.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I’m convinced you want to feel pain.”

You kicked his elbow. “Come on, Zayne, you know that’s not true, I’m just really bad at being idle—“

The office door suddenly slammed open, despite the fact that Zayne had locked it.

Terror crashed over you as Caleb strolled into the office, hands in his pockets and a grin stretched across his face.

“C-Caleb?” Zayne stuttered. “I thought you were—“

“Dead? I know right,” Caleb said, joking as if he hadn’t just broken into the office. “Surprise!”

“What are you doing here?” you hissed.

Caleb tilted his head, the smile never faltering. “Can’t I stop by to say hi?”

“We’re in the middle of an appointment,” said Zayne. “And we still haven’t addressed the fact that you’re supposed to be dead.”

Caleb shrugged. “What can I say?” His gaze locked on you. “I guess I’m not so easy to get rid of.”

Then his eyes flicked to where you had been trying to sneak your phone out of your pocket.

Immense pressure surrounded your hand.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with that, pip-squeak?”

Zayne stepped in front of you, blocking you from Caleb’s line of sight. “What do you think you’re doing with your Evol, Caleb?”

Despite not being able to see you, Caleb’s Evol held fast, keeping your hand gripped around your phone like a vise, impossible for you to use your other to free it.

You hoped Mephisto was outside the hospital and had watched Caleb walk in. You hoped that Sylus had seen it and was on his way to you now. You hoped that he would arrive before it was too late.

“It’s in your best interest to stay out of this, Zayne,” Caleb warned, his voice dropping along with his facade. “I’m here to take Y/N with me.”

“Zayne, please,” you whimpered.

Frost began coating Zayne’s fists. “I don’t think she wants to go anywhere with you.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Caleb sighed. “I wasn’t really giving her a choice.”

In an instant, Zayne was crumpled on the ground, the weight of Caleb’s Evol forcing him to his knees. He groaned as he strained against the gravity, his own Evol flaring in response.

But it was no use, Caleb’s Evol was stronger.

You watched helplessly as pain twisted Zayne’s face. “Caleb stop!” you pleaded. “You’re hurting him!”

“He’s in the way, pip-squeak,” was Caleb’s only response.

You slipped off the exam table and fell to your knees beside Zayne. “Please, Caleb! He was just trying to protect me, please!”

Caleb said nothing.

“I’ll go with you!” you screamed, finally getting his attention. “I’ll go with you, just please let him go.”

Indecision flashed across Caleb’s face for the briefest of moments before he released his Evol’s effect on Zayne. The doctor slumped as his breath came in jagged pants.

Your hands flitted over him, unsure how to help. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Give him your phone,” Caleb commanded.

The pressure around your hand dissipated and you reluctantly handed your phone over to Zayne, but not before whispering, “The code is zero-four-one-eight. Call. Sylus.”

“Now let’s go, pip-squeak, I’ve waited long enough.”

You pressed your phone harder into Zayne’s hands. “Call. Sylus.”

“Y/N wait.” Zayne reached for you, but it was too late.

You rose to your feet, spinning on your heel, and strode toward Caleb. His face lit up as if he hadn’t just threatened Zayne, the friend from both your childhoods. As if he wasn’t forcing you to walk out of here with him.

Caleb held his hand out and you took it. His grip was strong, bruising almost, as he led you out of Zayne’s office and down the hall, likely toward a back exit.

You never expected Caleb to go this far, you were terrified of whatever came next, but you’d go willingly if it meant keeping Zayne from getting hurt.

Your hope that Sylus would be waiting outside to rescue you was dashed the second you stepped into the back parking lot of the hospital. There was no sign of him, no glimpse of snowy hair or bright red eyes.

You dug your heels into the ground, forcing Caleb to stop.

“Where are you taking me?” you demanded.

He glanced over his shoulder before dragging you forward. “Somewhere safe.”

You tried desperately to free your hand from his iron tight grip but it was no use, Caleb was stronger.

“Caleb, please stop this,” you begged. “You’re really scaring me.”

He squeezed your hand, as if in warning. “You’ll understand once we’re together, I promise. Just a little longer.”

You cried and pleaded for him to stop, to let you go, but all he said was this is for the best, you’ll see, all the way to the car he’d parked around the corner.

He tucked you into the passenger seat and buckled you in, all while standing in the doorway to ensure you couldn’t make a break for it. His gravity Evol kept you in place once he closed the door and rounded the front of the car to join you in the driver’s seat.

As Caleb shifted the car into drive, you watched silently out the window, tears streaming down your cheeks as you wondered where he was taking you, and what was going to happen next.

—

Several notifications from Mephisto lit up Sylus’s lockscreen, but before he could check them, your contact photo took their place.

Thinking you and Mephisto had a fight, he answered the call and raised his phone to his ear, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“What are you and Mephisto arguing about this time?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Sky—er, Sylus?”

Sylus sat up straight in his chair. “Doctor Zayne? Did something happen with Y/N? Is she all right?”

Why would your doctor be calling from your phone? Why was he suddenly referring to Sylus by his true name and not his alias? He couldn’t help but fear something was terribly wrong.

He was on his feet and moving before Zayne could answer, striding toward the base’s garage.

“Caleb, he’s alive. He came during our appointment.” Sylus froze in place, dread sinking like a stone in his gut. “He took Y/N.”

Sylus knew the Colonel had something up his sleeve, it was why he’d stayed by your side these past two weeks. It was why he had Mephisto shadowing your every move when Sylus couldn’t be there to do it himself. It was why he’d given you that bracelet, equipped with a tracking device should the Colonel take things too far and do the unthinkable.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus asked Zayne.

“Yes.”

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’re going to hunt the Colonel down and get Y/N back.”

#love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace angst #sylus angst #caleb angst

494 notes · View notes

maplesyrupsainz · 10 months ago

Text

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙lucky charm | LH44˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, age gap

warnings: age gap, brief mention of sex but barely

summary: in which you find love on your travels

a/n: me when i finally get a lewis request 💃💃💃

request!!!: Lewis age gap insta au with Cindy kimberly face claim please

my masterlist

fc: cindy kimberly

instagram ->

carmenmmundt 📍 rome

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and others

carmenmmundt when in rome... 🇮🇹

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

user1 so classy as always ❤️

user2 where's georgeee

user3 who's that girl she's gorgeous wtf

user4 just her friend i think

georgerussell63 woww 😍😍

carmenmmundt oh stop it you!

lilymhe miss you babes!

carmenmmundt aww same, let's plan a trip soon 🥰

lilymhe oh 1000%!!!

user5 i love wag friendships sm

lewishamilton looks like fun!

liked by carmenmmundt

user6 random

user7 perhaps…

yourusername 📍 rome

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, and others

yourusername ti amo, italia 💚🤍❤️

tagged: carmenmmundt

view all comments

yourfriend1 where to next? 😻

yourusername london! you coming?

yourfriend1 well actually........ 👀

yourusername 🎉🎉🎉🎉

user8 omgg so cute

user9 carmen is so gorg

user10 y/n ur so beautiful wowwww

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt miss you already ❤️

yourusername take me backkk 🇮🇹

yourfriend2 as gorgeous as ever 😘

yourusername ilyyy

yoursister so jealous omg looks amazing

yourusername you should come next time!!!

yoursister oh for sure

yourmother beautiful darling ❤️

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton gorgeous pics! i love italy

yourusername one of my fav places to visit!

lewishamilton mine too!

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by yoursister, lewishamilton, and others

yoursister miss you!!!!

yourusername miss you babes

user11 so beautiful

liked by yourusername

user12 😍😍😍

liked by yourusername

yourfriend1 see you there x

yourusername omg i cant wait

lewishamilton no way! are you free to link up?

yourusername i could probably make some time for lunch?

lewishamilton yea! if that's not too much trouble

yourusername absolutely not! you can text me xx-xxx-xxx :)

lewishamilton 👍

messages ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lewishamilton 📍 london

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and others

lewishamilton visiting home 🏠

view all comments

user17 omg??? soft launching already??????

user18 OMGGGG

user19 he loves her your honour

liked by carmenmmundt

user20 interesting interesting 🤨

user21 guys.....how old is she lol

user22 didnt even think about this

user23 she's in her 20s i fear

user24 …no comment

georgerussell63 whipped already

lewishamilton 🤷‍♀️ call me old fashioned

user25 yea old fashioned coz she's like 10 yrs younger than him 😂😂😂

user26 💀 violation

user27 not the classic age gap discourse abt 2 consenting adults...

liked by lewishamilton, yourusername

user28 them liking this 😂 they're already sick of it

user29 tbh she's cute as hell i love her lol

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourfriend1, carmenmmundt, and others

carmenmmundt miss you!

yourusername miss you babe

user30 oh to be friends with y/n

user31 still in london? 🤨

user32 feed us with bf lewis content 👀

lewishamilton you have other friends? 🤨

yourusername we're friends?

lewishamilton we aren't?

yourusername well i think we've got our wires crossed here… 👀

lewishamilton really? you free tonight? to uncross the wires, of course

yourusername for you? absolutely

lewishamilton pick you up at 7 x

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername 📍 london

liked by carmenmmundt, yourfriend1, and others

yourusername pics i sent to my mother this week 🍒

view all comments

user33 oh god this is so cute

user34 is she lewis' gf?

user35 apparently

user36 the caption awww

user37 her mother? true coz she's so young 👶

user38 😂😂😂😂

user39 oh please 🙄

user40 the love note on the napkin... ur sick omg

user41 sooooooo dreamy oh my god

liked by yourusername

user42 awww y/n liked this comment 🥹

yourfriend2 been swept off your feet? 👀

yourusername ask me again in a week

yourfriend2 😂 trust me, i will

user43 OMG?

user44 how is she so gorgeous wow

user45 cant get past her being younger than me 😭

user46 some of u guys are wayyy too obsessed with her age?? it's getting weird

liked by yourusername

user47 she liked this...

user48 yup she's sick of it too 🤷‍♀️

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lewishamilton, yourfriend2, and others

user49 CUUUUUTE

user50 ugh lewis is so doting bf

user51 he adores u girl

user52 luckiest girl on the planet

carmenmmundt & where are you now, missy?

yourusername budapest babe

carmenmmundt BUDA WHERE?

yourusername hm? 😇

carmenmmundt oh i will be seeing you this weekend

yourusername …

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, and others

user58 oh my god 🥺

user59 WHAT THE HELL THIS IS SO CUTE

user60 we lost him folks

carmenmmundt oh i called it 😊

yourusername shoo!!!

mercedesamgf1 💙💙

liked by yourusername

user61 i love them omg

user62 the most gorgeous couple

lewishamilton 📍 budapest

liked by georgerussell63, yourusername, and others

lewishamilton back up on the podium, what a weekend!

tagged: yourusername, mercedesamgf1

view all comments

user63 AHHH he's whipped for her tbh

user64 omg two pics of her 👀

carmenmmundt lucky charm!!!!

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton seems that way yea 🩷

georgerussell63 congrats man what a race 🫶

lewishamilton 💙💙💙

user65 aww a roscoe appearance so cute

charles_leclerc congrats! sending love from leo to the both of you ;)

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton big love! ❤️

user66 soooooo cute

oscarpiastri so honoured to share the podium with you this weekend lewis!! & so great to meet y/n of course

lewishamilton pleasure was all mine! will see you up there again im sure 🔥

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user67 WTFFFF

user68 so cute & supportive i love this sport

yourusername so proud 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

lewishamilton my lucky charm 💙 thanks for being there

yourusername oh im so honoured just to be invited!! you were amazing out there x

lewishamilton that's all i ever want to hear from u😉

yourusername 🥹🥹🥹🥹

THE END 💙

#f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton fanfic #lh44 #lh44 smau #lh44 fanfic #team lh44 #lh44 fluff #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lh44 fic #maddie's smau

1K notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 2 months ago

Text

Even Villains Need Sleep

Summary: In the quiet safety of Sylus’s private quarters, the usually arrogant and commanding leader of Onychinus allows himself a rare moment of vulnerability. With the chaos of N109 Zone raging outside, you find solace in each other’s warmth, teasing words giving way to unspoken truths. For once, Sylus lets his guard down, embracing the comfort he never realized he needed.

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Fluff, Soft Sylus, Cuddling, Vulnerability, Enemies to Lovers (Implied), Protective Sylus, Comfort, Gentle Moments.

Warnings: Mentions of past conflict/enemies-to-lovers dynamics, Brief mention of violence (implied from Sylus’s past), Slight emotional vulnerability.

A/N: I'm not sorry for getting into an another fandom... 🏃‍♀️💨

[Header credits]

The glow of neon lights filtered through the wide glass windows, painting the dimly lit bedroom in shifting hues of blue and red. Outside, the N109 Zone was alive with its usual chaos—faint echoes of distant sirens, laughter that bordered on madness, and the occasional pulse of a nearby explosion. But here, inside Sylus’s private quarters, the world was still.

You felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, limbs heavy as you leaned into the warmth beside you. Sylus sat at the edge of the bed, his silver hair damp from a recent shower, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bright red eyes, usually sharp with mischief or mockery, had softened into something unreadable. His right eye glowed faintly for a moment before dimming again.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” he drawled, amusement laced in his voice as he shifted to lie beside you, draping an arm over your waist.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile playing at your lips. “You’re warm,” you murmured, nuzzling into his chest. The crisp scent of his cologne lingered on his skin, mingling with something uniquely him—something familiar and strangely comforting.

Sylus hummed, lazily tracing patterns on your back with the tips of his fingers. “That’s a first. Usually, people call me cold.”

You scoffed, shifting to look up at him. “You are. But not now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. For someone who wielded so much power, who commanded entire territories with a mere glance, he was remarkably gentle in moments like these. It was as if the weight of the world he carried so effortlessly could be set aside, if only for a few fleeting hours.

His fingers curled slightly, pulling you closer as his lips brushed against your temple. “You’re strange, you know that?” he mused. “Leaning into the arms of someone you once thought of as your enemy. Should I be worried?”

You smirked, fingers absently playing with the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt. “Maybe. But I think if you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be holding me like this.”

Sylus let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back against the pillow. “Tch. You’ve figured me out. I suppose I’ll have to find new ways to keep you guessing.”

His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it—an unspoken truth. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to sharing warmth, to allowing someone this close without an ulterior motive. And yet, here he was, his grip firm but careful, as if afraid you might disappear if he held too tightly.

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his face. “You’re allowed to rest, Sylus,” you murmured, watching as his lashes lowered slightly at your touch. “Even villains need sleep.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And what does that make you, then? The hero that redeems me?”

You pretended to think for a moment. “More like the one who keeps you from self-destructing.”

His smirk faded into something gentler, something almost vulnerable. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The way he pulled you even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, said enough.

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm. The chaos of the city continued beyond the walls of his sanctuary, but for now, it didn’t matter. In this moment, there was only you and him—tangled in warmth, wrapped in something neither of you dared to name, but neither of you wished to let go of.

422 notes · View notes

bandgie · 6 months ago

Text

Stuffing to Give

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, AGE GAP, reader has an asshole family, hickeys (brief mention), cumming inside, Yunho bites once, clothe tearing, no protection, size kink if you squint, Yunho says 'young pussy', stomach bulge mention

3.5k words

notes! sorry I've been gone, life or whatever. buuutttt happy holidays! this fic took me too long but for being in a drought, I'm proud of it. hope you enjoy :) (divider from @/anitalenia) tag! @desirehorizon

“You know, you should be looking for a husband. Not worrying about your classes or anything like that. No man likes a woman too smart for her own good.”

It was your mom who opened the can of worms during Thanksgiving. The air was already uncomfortable being that distant family who were more like strangers sat at the dinner table, but mentioning that you’ve been single for so long, at such an ‘old age’, made everything a thousand times worse.

You’re not even old. Some would argue being in your mid-20s was still very young.

But no matter how much you’ve tried to defend yourself. No matter how many times you said you just wanted to focus on furthering your education, your aunts and uncles pressed one and one thing only.

Your uncle lifted his fork to his greasy lips, the white meat of the turkey forcing itself into his already stuffed mouth. “Y’know, your youth will only last you for so long. You’ll end up an old cat lady and regret not settling down.”

Regret. You hate that word, as if these people know anything about you, let alone have a right to say how you should live. The food you're trying to swallow feels too big for your throat. There’s a burning in your chest. A feeling you’ve tried desperately to suppress since the holidays started.

Anger. Hate. Hurt. Disgust. Fear.

You don’t want to be here anymore.

Dramatically, you throw your fork on the table. The silverware clatters harshly against your plate and bounces until it lands on the other side of the table. The chatter stops immediately, all eyes on you as you stand so quickly the chair topples to the ground.

A pin could drop and it would echo in the quiet room.

“You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me getting knocked up. It’s fucking weird. Get off my dick.”

Aunts gasp. Some Uncles laugh. But your mom, her eyes are so wide and shocked as if she wasn’t the one who started this whole issue and didn’t do anything to defend you.

Her own daughter.

“And you.” You look at her, but it’s hard when your vision blurs. “When I do find a husband, and when I do have kids, don’t expect to hear from me.”

Voices call your name as you turn away. Someone tries to hold you back by the forearm, but you tear from their grasp. Your only goal is to get the fuck out of there, heading for the front door and slamming it on your way out.

It’s cold. A gentle breeze blows your hair as you turn to the side of the house. The crunch of leaves sounds on the ground therapeutically. You can’t help but look at the pretty orange and brown beneath your feet. It’s the only thing keeping your frustrating tears from falling.

But you don’t see that there’s already someone at the side of the house with your gaze on the ground. You forget how close the houses are in this neighborhood.

“Bad day I take it?”

You lift your head, surprised to see someone already at your spot. The sun is setting despite the early hours. The only thing illuminating his face are the porch lights. His cheekbones are high. His brown hair is decorated with a few gray strands, framing his handsomeness perfectly. His lips curve into a smile, but more friendly than humorous.

Shit, you’re staring. “Oh you know, just family butting in when they shouldn’t.”

He grins at that. “Ah, good ol’ holiday joy. I can’t stand them either. Pretending they know me when they don't.”

Relief settles on your shoulders. At least you aren’t alone. “I know right? They change my diaper once and suddenly think they know what’s good for me.”

The man laughs. His smile lines deepen at his lips and his eyes close for a brief moment. You smile at him.

“I know the feeling all too well.” He studies you when he opens his eyes again, gaze dropping to your nylon-covered legs and the cut of your dress. He travels up to your face smoothly. “What was your name?”

It takes a second for the effect of his gaze to fade, but you manage to tell him. “I’m studying Chemistry right now. On my way to getting a Masters.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh wow! That’s really impressive! You look too young to have all that under your belt already.”

His compliments make you burn. “Oh, thank you. I just study hard.” You tuck a strand of hair that blows annoyingly in your face. “And you are...?”

“Yunho.”

You furrow your eyebrows together. “You know? No, I don’t think I do.”

He looks just as confused, but then realization settles on his face and he laughs again. This time, he clutches his stomach and bends over, getting close to your bubble. Not that you mind, you like the smell of his light, earthy cologne.

“No- not ‘you know.’ Yunho. Y-U-N-H-O.”

That smile is still on his face when it clicks in your mind. You feel your face burn from embarrassment, covering your mouth with cold fingers. “Oh my god. I’m such an idiot. Yunho. Okay, I get it.”

You’re still burning when he chuckles again, deep and velvety. “No worries. I think that’s the first time that’s happened to me.”

The two of you laugh once more before you settle into silence. The quiet doesn’t last long when he asks, “So why are you out here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Maybe it’s the warm, pleasant feeling in your stomach from talking to Yunho, but you don’t have an ounce of hesitation in telling him. “My family has always bugged me about starting a family. The moment I graduated high school, it’s like the only thing I’m good for now is popping out babies.”

Yunho scoffs. His jaw clenches attractively and you hate how your legs press together upon the sight.

“I know completely where you’re coming from. Trust me, that nagging never goes away. I’m already well above my prime and my brothers still bother me about finding a wife. With all this gray hair? I don’t think the ladies would want an old man like me.”

A demon must possess you because you speak before you can even think. “What? Yunho, I know we just met, but you’re like…very attractive. Finding a wife won’t be hard for you, even if you think you’re old.”

The lift of his eyebrow says it all. He’s shocked, at the very least. He stands straighter, towering over you. You hadn’t realized he was leaning against the wall to appear smaller, but his height stuns you.

He cocks his head to the side. “You think so?”

It takes a moment to gather your thoughts. His defined chest shows through his black turtleneck, nipples pebbling in the cold. His lithe arms wrap over his chest, adding to the clothed cleavage. If his upper body looks this good underneath clothes, you can’t even imagine anything less.

“I…” Fuck it. “Yeah. I do. You’re tall, handsome, fit, and some chicks dig older guys.”

He scoffs a little, but it’s more from embarrassment than pride. His full cheeks blush further and you know it’s not from the cold. If you manage to play your cards right, you can ditch your family dinner for a different type of feast.

Yunho’s smile turns darker, more sinister as he looks down at you through his bangs. “Oh yeah? What type of chicks?”

“If you want to get specific, maybe the one standing in front of you.”

His grin deepens. Bingo.

His car is nice. Like, really nice. The seats are leather and he's got interior lights that shine when he opens the passenger car door for you.

What a gentleman.

But it’s his flat that impresses you the most. The ones you see are usually in the movies, either too small for any average person to live in or big enough for a whole town. Yunho has the latter.

You want to compliment him. Or more so, ask what type of job he has to afford all this space, but the large hands on your back push you to the bedroom and remind you why you’re here in the first place.

He doesn’t bother closing the door when you two make it to his room. Yunho cranes his neck down, lips ghosting over your own before he finds your neck instead. You lean to one side, hands going up his back trailing to his hair that you intertwine with your fingers. His mouth is so warm on your cold skin. It has you shaking for a brief moment before you get used to his heat.

Yunho starts with pecks. His lips feel plush and delicate, causing your flesh to rise with goosebumps. He moves to the center of your neck and kisses there too, but just when your eyes are starting to flutter shut and your mouth opens to sigh, he bites.

You gasp instead. “Ah! Yunho!”

He doesn’t pull away from your throat, but you can feel his body jolt with giggles. He presses his kisses harder where his teeth marked you, a tiny apology you grow wet from. The two of you are still standing mere inches from the bed, but you don’t want to part from him. Yunho’s leg fits perfectly snug between your thighs and though you aren’t grinding, your cunt likes the warmth it provides.

But you can feel it throbbing. The aching for any tiny movement, but you force yourself still save for how you keep pressing yourself against him.

Yunho makes you feel so small. His hands feel as if they could hold you easily, and they seem to do that with your lower back. Long fingers dig into your skin, and it doesn’t take long for his hands to travel further down until he finds the fat of your ass.

He takes a moment to stop giving you hickeys and groans into your shoulder. “So fucking soft. Your ass looks so good in this dress.” He swipes his tongue from your collarbone to the place below your ears. Your nipples harden almost immediately, the wetness makes you cold for a moment.

“You should see how it looks without it on.”

Challenge sparks in his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. All it takes is a reassuring nod from you before he pulls away almost completely, save for the hands squeezing your ass.

“On the bed then. Let me see.”

You smile and pry his hands off you, lifting your dress above your hips, but not off your body completely. You turn around for Yunho to face your back, hands finding the bed so you crawl on the bed for him to see. Your knees are on the edge, but finding balance is easy when you arch, wiggling your ass in the air.

The nylons are still on, but the see-through fabric adds a layer of sexiness. Yunho’s fingers graze your ass, stuck on squeezing and spreading your cheeks. It makes your pussy lips move with it, opening and closing against your clit softly.

It’s such a tiny movement to your pussy, but with how you’ve been ignoring its leaking, it feels like so much more. You moan in the sheets, gently rocking yourself back and forth to try and get Yunho to spread your ass more.

“Jesus Christ.” He puts his thumb on your pussy, guiding it against your slit until he finds the bundle of nerves underneath your nylons and underwear. “I can feel how wet you are. You need it real bad, huh?”

His fingers are muted from the layers of clothes, but that doesn’t stop you from whining. You press back until his thumb is hard against you, swiveling your hips for friction.

“Yesyesyes. So bad. I want your cock.”

His one thumb turns into multiple fingers. You sing with pleasure, showing no shame as you ride his hand until you feel the subtle, but familiar feeling coil in your stomach. Your styled hair is now a mess as it covers your eyes from how hard you’re rocking. Though you can’t see, you can feel the arousal leaking down your thighs and gather at your nylons.

Your orgasm comes quickly. It gets easy to grind on his fingers when your body is desperately chasing the high. “Cumming! Fuckfuckfuck, I'm cumming.”

You lift yourself on your forearms, halting all your movements to let the blinding pleasure wash over you, hot and delicious. Moans tumble past your lips. The tiniest bit of drool seeps from your mouth as you shake. You rock again, this time, to milk out your orgasm to completion.

But Yunho pulls away.

A desperate cry leaves you. “W-wait. M-more. I want m-”

Familiar hands push you back into the sheets. Yunho holds you by the back of the neck, forcing you to keep your trembling ass in the air.

Your heart races. More gasps and heavy breaths filter through your chest, but it’s an excitement that bubbles in your stomach. So much adrenaline runs through your body that half of the shaking is from your nerves.

You just know he’s going to fuck you good.

“You came on my hand and you’re already asking for more?” Yunho tuts. “So impatient, but don’t worry, you’ll get it. Girls like you love cumming their brains out, huh?”

There’s no denying that. You nod in the sheets and whimper a pathetic yes, but Yunho approves nonetheless.

“Yeah, that’s why you’ll take any cock you can get, right? Even if it’s a stranger…” His free hand smoothes over your ass, but once he finds a good grasp on your nylons, he yanks. Your entire body pulls back from the force. You have to grab onto the mattress to not slip off the bed.

“Even if it’s a man who’s almost twice your age…”

Another harsh yank and you hear fabric tear. Yunho pulls and pulls until your ass and cunt are free from the material. It’s only your underwear in the way, but you doubt that’ll be a problem.

Yunho leans down until he’s at your ear. Your body breaks into chills. He feels everywhere. He is everywhere from how big he is. You know you’re safe, but the thought of being at his mercy heightens your pleasure.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll buy you a new one.” He sweetly pecks your head and pulls away.

You’d laugh from the drastic switch-up, but you moan instead when you feel his fingers at your cunt. He plays with your folds through your panties, poking where your entrance is and smearing the arousal staining the underwear.

You’ve never been this wet before. It usually takes some lube or way more foreplay, but Yunho turns you on in ways you didn’t believe were possible. His deft fingers and how his brown eyes can be warm but threatening. Everything about him is captivating and you can only hope he thinks the same about you.

With a finger hooking to the side of your panties, he tugs until your bare cunt is finally freed. You clit peeks from your hood, throbbing between your lips desperately.

For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel nervous. Yunho stares at your pussy longer than you’re used to, making you try and press your thighs together to hide it.

“Nuh-uh.” He jiggles your ass. “Don’t do that. I wanna see your pussy.”

You whine but obey. You put yourself face-first into the bed, ignoring how your cheeks turn red.

Soon, the bed shifts weight and you hear the sound of a zipper. You pick up your head to look back, but Yunho forces you to face the bed.

You pout. “I wanna seeeee.”

“You just want everything, don’t you?” Yunho sounds condescending, but he rewards you with the head of his cock. Your lower lips wrap around his tip when he grinds against your pussy, making sure to keep your underwear out of the way. “You want to cum, you want my dick, you wanna see it…And the worst part is, you’ve got such a pretty pussy that you’ll get everything you want.”

Yunho pulls back just enough to line himself up. You still haven’t gotten over how his tip felt brushing against you. He’s slicked himself up nice and wet to press, intruding on your entrance.

You squeal. His shape opens you so easily that his size doesn’t sting at all, but makes your brain fuzzy. Though Yunho won’t let you see, you know he’s big. You turn dumb too quickly, chest burning from the oxygen he fucks out of you when he buries himself to the hilt.

‘Oh my-...fffuucckkkk.”

Yunho groans at your moaning. He opts to hook his thumb in your panties and splay the rest of his fingers on your ass. Messily, he gathers your hair to create a makeshift ponytail with his other hand, forcing your chest up.

Out... In... Out... In…

The pace is slow, but that doesn't mean it’s dull. Yunho pulls out until his tip is barely inside before pressing back in. When his pelvis is flush against your ass, it has you kicking your feet up and down on the bed from the overwhelming sensation.

He feels like he’s in your ass. In your throat. You can’t escape how deep Yunho drills into you when he keeps you still by the hair, forcing you to take every unbearable inch.

You love every second of it.

“Nghhh. Yunnhooo. Fuck meee. Fuck me pleeasseee.”

The sound of your cunt squelching echoes in the room. Yunho grunts at your command, pulling you up a few inches.

“Yeah, you want it? You want it? Then fucking take it.”

It’s like a switch. That cautious pace turns animalistic, rough, and quick until your breasts manage to slip from the top of your dress and bounce freely.

Your breath gets caught in your throat. There’s no sound until a harsh thrust forces the moan out. Once you start, you can stop. All you can manage are gasps and whines from Yunho’s drive.

Every vein, every curve doesn’t go unnoticed between your walls. The repeated pistons force you to know his shape. You know he’s carving a place for him. So deep and good that you don’t think you could ever go back to hookups at your university again.

But it’s Yunho’s tip that does it for you. There’s no you could ever unknow how it kisses your cervix or how the shape digs into you. You can't stop clenching down on it, sucking it back in over and over despite the pleasure overload you’re enduring.

Your pussy’s in loooove.

The haziness of your mind clears a bit when Yunho pulls you up more. Your fingers barely graze the mattress, but the pain in your scalp feels dull when you look into his eyes.

They’re dark, hungry, and possessive. There’s nothing but carnal desire when you dreamily look up at them, eyes losing focus rather quickly.

“You’re gonna cum. I fucking know you are. You cunt’s so fucking loud, it’s begging for it again.”

You swoon. Yunho knows he can make you feel good, he can feel it. Something like affection burns in your chest and you look at his pink lips.

He grins. “You want a kiss?”

You nod, but it must look silly since your entire body is jolting.

Yunho looks borderline psychotic when he breaks out into a smile. “Fuck. I love how young and stupid your pussy is. I’m gonna cum all over it. You’d like that, huh?”

“Loooveee iiiit.”

Yunho quickens his pace. You swear if you look down, you could see his cock poking through your stomach from the angle. Instead, you’re held to look into his eyes, vision blurring as your second orgasm approaches. It’s so much more intense than your first. Now you have something to clench on. Something to cream on when you inevitably burst.

And with your crossed eyes looking into his, you do. You feel a burst of warmth from your stomach speedily reach your pussy. It makes you feel hot, the even hotter arousal pooling down your thighs and onto Yunho’s cock.

He moans above you. His hips grow sloppy, hitting different parts of your cunt that have you squealing. Yunho doesn’t break eye contact when he stills in you, dick throbbing as his cum shoots inside.

The two of you stay moaning into each other's mouths, lips a mere inch away until he finally gives you what you want. The kiss is sloppy, full of breaths and moans as you messily shove tongues inside.

He swipes the inside of your cheek. He twists his tongue with yours until salvia trickles down your chin. You suck on his muscle and he does the same, pulling away with a wet smack that leaves you buzzing.

Yunho stares at you for a beat, eyes blinking as he comes to a sudden realization. “I think I'll keep you.”

You don’t have the energy to respond, but you're thinking the same thing.

#smut #atz smut #ateez smut #yunho #Yunho ateez #Yunho smut #Yunho ateez smut #Yunho atz #Yunho atz smut #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #ateez

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quixotical-lymbo · 7 months ago

Note

Helloooo! I've never requested before... so this is my first time. (Is this how I request? I'm still clueless with Tumblr)

If you can! Could you do TFO Sentinel Prime x Advisor Cybertronian Reader? 😽

Pairing: Sentinel Prime x gn!advisor!Reader Rating: SFW-ish Summary: Working to keep the city of Iacon running as efficiently as possible proves to be difficult when the bot in charge has a tendency to throw a wrench in your plans. Warnings/Tags: cybertronian reader, implied toxic dynamics, brief mention of vomiting, one-sided attraction, or is it?, and corruption. Word Count: 1400+ words

Digits danced along the bright screen detailing the reports of data collected from the guards overseeing the mines. Your optics brightened as you processed the numbers and spotted a few increases.

Shifting your weight from pede to pede, your lower derma was bitten as you narrowed in on the section of the report where the increase was evident.

This meant another promotion was on the horizon, perhaps you should schedule a meeting with-

The datapad in your servos disappeared and when you snapped your gaze to glare at the thief, the heat of your glare was extinguished into an optic ridge lifting as your helm craned to look up at the face of your superior who came into view.

"___." Hearing your destination roll off his glossa felt like a group of scraplets biting at your circuits. Eating away at you until you're nothing left but an empty husk of everything wrong with you.

"...Sentinel," You greeted with a nod. Your optics locked onto the datapad before switching between the device and his face. Your arm lifted briefly as your digits curled slightly toward the pad. "May I…?"

"Oh…this thing?" Sentinel rose the datapad above his helm, knowing your stature couldn't reach such heights. "You want this…why?"

"It is mine."

"And?"

"I need it, sir."

"Is that so?" Sentinel observed the way your dermas pursed and digits flexed stiffly. The mech felt a warm fuzzy feeling erupt in his chassis in seeing you squirm within his presence. The tip of his glossa swiped over his bottom derma, "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask you a few things and I think this is the perfect time to do so!"

"But I-"

"-what do you do in your spare time? Me, I like to…"

You squeezed your optics shut and blocked out the sound from your audials. Your fears grew as Sentinel turned on his heel and walked away with your datapad in servo.

You really needed it back to be able to continue your work. Without the sensitive information on your personal datapad, you wouldn't be able to sit still for the rest of the chord unless you did something productive for the day.

"...___? You there?"

You snapped out of your stupor and stared dumbly as Sentinel rose his own optic ridge. The corner of his intake curved upward as he shook the datapad in his servo, "Come on, I gotta show you something."

Despite the alarm bells going off in your processor, you obeyed his silent order and followed him to his office. The large room made you visibly shrink into yourself as memories from long ago flashed in your helm.

This was the place that was a stark reminder of where you learned...that for the first time.

"Where are we going, ma'am?"

Airachnid didn't turn to look at you, not that she needed to, and simply said, "You'll see."

You looked around the unfamiliar area. Weird, thin blade-like things sprouted from the ground and were abundant in the mountainous terrain the two of you were trekking on.

You were halted by a servo placed in front of your chassis and when you glanced up to see Airachnid's digit pointing in a direction you followed it to see-

Your intake twisted in knots.

Sentinel, Quintessons, ships, so many ships.

Your internal fans kicked in as your frame began heating up. You felt dizzy, nauseous even, and you somehow found the strength to lock your blurry optics to the larger femme.

The corners of her dermas stretched upward.

You turned your helm and vomited.

You flinched when a heavy servo landed on your shoulder pad.

"Ah!" You stumbled forward as Sentinel pushed you along toward the large windows overlooking the city. You stood straight when the servo on your shoulder lowered to the area just above your aft.

A shudder dragged its cold digit up your back strut. The false Prime's laugh brought forth a second.

"It's been sometime since you became my assistant, huh?" Sentinel began. "I remember the first time I met you! Heh, can't believe you couldn't look at me in the optic because of how nervous you were…but after you warmed up to me, you were quite the yapper."

You acknowledged his words with a nod. The digits rubbing against your back paused as the expression on Sentinel's face plate darkened.

"I missed that."

You broke your neutral expression to look at him.

"You, being chatty and all, now you're….boring," Sentinel patted your aft and snickered when you jumped. He turned away from you and walked over to his desk, plopping on the chair he threw the datapad on his desk and slightly shifted his legs to leave them comfortably spread.

"What changed?" As if feigning ignorance, the mech had the nerve to appear sad.

You stalled for a moment, optics shifting and digits digging into the palm of your servos, "I…um, got busy. It's no easy feat helping someone like you–"

Sentinel's optics narrowed and you quickly sputtered out, "-someone as famous, uh, fabulous, and..um…and well-loved run a city!"

"Ok, ok, I get it, really." Sentinel Prime waved a servo. "You're…'busy.'"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm." Sentinel's optics racked over your frame. "You work a lot so you must be tired, c'mere and get off your pedes for a while."

"Oh, I shouldn't."

"I don't remember asking, ___." Sentinel moved one servo to rest on his lap. "Sit."

You inched over to the desk and made your way around it, but your wrist was caught and before you knew it, you stumbled back and fell onto the mech's lap. You immediately moved to get off but an arm snaked around your midsection plating and caged you against a broad chassis. The heat radiating off of the mech behind you caused you to stiffen.

"There you go, sweetspark." Sentinel cooed. "Let's continue where we left off, 'kay?"

"Now, what's so important it's managed to steal your attention away from me?"

"...there's been an increase in miner productivity," You mumbled.

"...that's what's got you in a tizzy?" Sentinel mulled over what you said before peeking over at the datapad disregarded at the corner of his desk. A noise left him as he nodded, "Oh, right…the method you mentioned in the last meeting we had…it worked?"

"Yes," You slowly crept out of your shell. "Allowing the miners to work without tight restrictions, more breaks, and even adding more recreational areas for their enjoyment has yielded good results."

You paused to check Sentinel's face plate. He was leaning back against the chair, the side of his helm resting against two digits as a soft smile etched onto his dermas. When you hesitated, Sentinel gestured for you to continue as his other servo rested on your hip.

"...and I-" You continued after gaining the green-light and divulged into your plan. Sometimes, you would catch the blue and gold mech glancing between your animated servos and the lower half of your face plate. Despite this, you felt…safe. Safe enough to ramble on and on about your plans and future aspirations for the city.

"...and I've been thinking, why not try to use some of my free time to look through our database to find information on where the matrix is-"

The servo on your hip dug into your plating causing you to hiss. Sentinel heard and removed his servo from you, "Ah, sorry."

He didn't sound like he meant it.

"Matrix?" Sentinel inquired with a loop-sided grin. "You what to try and…find it?"

"Well, maybe, I don't know the logistics, but if I can find a lead maybe you won't have to continue the deal with-"

"-shh, shh, shh," Sentinel cupped the side of your face and leaned down. The distance between you two caused your optics to grow in size, you don't even know if you're breathing anymore.

"Let's talk about something other than work…hey, what kind of drink do you like? Wait, wait, better yet, let me get us some. I'll buy the whole bar out."

You couldn't find the words to deny his request and watched as Sentinel pressed a digit to the side of his helm to comm some bot to bark his request.

…this'll be a long evening.

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banners by @kodaswrld !!

#transformers one spoilers #Transformers one #transformers one sentinel prime #sentinel prime #tf one #tf one spoilers #X reader #quixotical answers #thanks for requesting #sentinel prime x reader #Transformers one sentinel prime x reader #light angst #one sided #flirting #Or is it?

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steddieas-shegoes · 28 days ago

Text

no one but me

for @subeddieweek day 6 prompt 'possessive'

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 2013 words | cw: possessive behavior, jealousy | tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, semi-public sex, coming in pants, sub eddie, dom steve, brief mention of subspace, idiots in love, love confessions

also on ao3

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

Eddie’s laughing at the bar, head thrown back in something that can only be described as a cackle. It’s loud enough to be heard over the crowd, over the music that’s making Steve’s head pound. His eyes are closed, his hair is falling from the half-assed bun he put it in before they got here, and he’s having the time of his fucking life.

Steve sees red.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. He’s immediately embarrassed about the way he wants to grab Eddie by the scruff of his neck like he’s a poorly trained dog and lead him outside to make him sit for a treat. Steve winces at the feeling of ownership he has over someone who is very much not his.

Eddie’s face is a little red, but it’s because it’s hot as hell in here, not because of the obvious flirting the bartender is doing. No one makes Eddie blush except for Steve. That’s just a fact and has nothing to do with whatever jealousy is brewing in Steve’s chest.

He watches as Eddie takes the drink from the bar and leaves some cash in its place. He’s still smirking, like whatever the bartender said to him is still fresh in his mind.

Steve just has to stay cool. Act normal. Don’t make it obvious that he’s bothered that someone else made Eddie light up like that.

“You won’t believe what-”

“Bathroom. Now.”

Steve is walking away before he can hear whatever Eddie was going to say to him.

He knows Eddie will follow. Eddie always does what he asks, what he demands.

Sure enough, when the door of the bathroom closes behind him, Eddie’s right there, breathless and waiting. They shouldn’t do this here. Eddie gets so light, so far gone, it wouldn’t be fair to make him that vulnerable in a bar’s bathroom.

He’s just gonna make sure Eddie remembers he’s here with him tonight. They may be here as part of a group, but Steve’s the one who asked Eddie along, he’s the one who picked him up at his apartment. He’s the one who bought him his first drink tonight.

The bathroom is surprisingly empty, but it’s still early. No one’s had enough drinks to need to go, and no one’s had enough time to talk to anyone enough to convince them a bathroom hookup is what they need. Steve still reaches behind Eddie to lock the door.

They won’t have long, but he plans on getting his point across.

He keeps a few inches of distance between them, stares at the way Eddie is curling in on himself. A small part of him is glad he clearly feels guilty, but he doesn’t actually want him to be upset. He didn’t technically do anything wrong. He didn’t break any of their rules.

“Let me know if you’d rather have the bartender in here,” Steve says through clenched teeth. He has to get a hold of himself. “I’m sure he’d be willing.”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he seems to realize exactly why Steve reacted the way he did. And then he grins.

“I see,” Eddie steps in closer so his breath brushes across Steve’s lips when he huffs out a laugh. “You’re jealous.”

Steve could deny it, and he should. Jealousy is for people in relationships.

He knows what he wants to get from this, though. Trying to deny would just make Eddie leave.

His hand is around Eddie’s throat, pushing him back against the door. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t even do anything but rest his palm there. It’s enough.

“I didn’t think I had to worry about you being a slut tonight,” Steve says with a smirk. Eddie shivers against the door. “We were supposed to have fun with our friends and then go back to mine, weren’t we?”

Eddie nods. He swallows and Steve groans at the feeling.

“So what made you decide to flirt with the bartender?” He pushes his leg between Eddie’s, shoves his thigh up so it sits in what has to be an uncomfortable position against Eddie’s dick.

“I wasn’t-”

“Don’t lie.” Steve pushes his leg up further, almost taking Eddie’s feet from under him. “I know what you look like when you’re flirting.”

That’s how they got into this, after all. Eddie flirted with him during a movie night, played and lost a game of chicken he didn’t think Steve would actually play with him.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” Steve drops his hand from his throat to cover his crotch. “Do you think he would know how to take care of you?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Steve has to hold back his own shiver at Eddie’s response. He takes him in fully, his wide eyes, red cheeks, goosebumps on his arms.

“I could show him if you’d prefer his hands on you,” Steve offers. It’s an empty offer. There’s no way in hell, no amount of money or begging that would get him to give anyone else the secrets to making Eddie look and sound and act like this. “Maybe he’d be better at it.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No one better than you.”

“No?” Steve smiles. He can’t ignore how good it feels to know no one does this for Eddie except him. “That’s because I know you, baby. I know exactly how to touch you. I know what you need, when you need it.”

“Mhm,” Eddie ruts forward. Steve allows it this time. Sometimes he gives more than he should. “You got me.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed now. Steve looks at him. He’s really beautiful like this. He’s beautiful all the time.

“I got you,” he says quietly, softer than he means to.

Eddie’s eyes blink open as he smiles. He’s checked out a bit, not completely gone, but definitely floating away.

“Wanna be yours.”

Steve swallows. Sometimes Eddie says things when he’s like this that make Steve want more. He does want more, all the time. But that’s now what this is, what they are. Eddie made it clear at the beginning he doesn’t do relationships, just wants someone he can trust to take care of him like this when he needs it. Steve can’t take advantage of that.

“You can be mine, baby,” Steve plays along. “You gonna be good now? Make it up to me?”

Eddie’s dick is straining against his jeans and Steve’s hand curls around the bulge as he talks. He has no intention of sticking around this bar after he gets Eddie off. He’s gonna make him come in his pants and then take him home so he can wash him, kiss him, tell him he’s good.

“Please. I’m good,” Eddie says, and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Steve.

Steve moves both hands to his hips, holds him steady. He watches as Eddie tries to buck up, get any kind of friction he can. He only has a little from Steve’s leg in this position, definitely not enough to get off.

Steve nips at his jaw, licks a stripe down his neck. Eddie’s whimpering, trying his best to stay still. Steve didn’t even have to ask him to, he just knows he needs to.

“Good boy.”

Eddie throws his head back, closes his eyes again. Steve laughs as he sucks a bruise into his neck, something visible.

A claim that he doesn’t deserve to have, but Eddie always lets him take.

By the time he pulls away, Eddie’s begging for more. He’s not quiet and if anyone is on the other side of this door, they’ll hear him.

“Please, touch me, fuck me, need you.”

He’s not fucking him here. Steve can get mean sometimes, and they’ve been messy and done some gross shit, but he’s not fucking Eddie in a rush against a public bathroom door. He’s so close already, just from the words and the rough touches, he wouldn’t even last long enough to open him up on his fingers.

He didn’t bring lube or a condom anyways.

“I know you’re desperate for my cock, baby, but I can’t fuck you here,” Steve whispers against his ear, biting at his lobe. “You’re too loud. No one gets to hear how I make you feel except me, right?”

Eddie’s nodding, but he doesn’t think it’s because he’s actually listening. Steve’s hand rubs against his clothed dick, squeezes the bulge in his pants. He smirks to himself when he feels a small wet spot on his jeans.

“C’mon, you’re already wet for me. Why don’t you come so I can take you home and clean you up?” Steve pulls away, looks down at Eddie. Most of his weight is against the door and Steve’s leg now, and he keeps trying to move his hips against Steve’s hand faster.

“Can I?”

He’s so sweet like this. Steve’s so lucky.

“You’re so good. You can come.”

Eddie shakes through it, biting his lip until it’s bleeding so he doesn’t get any louder than he already is. Steve doesn’t stop rubbing against him, even when he can feel the wet spot growing, feels Eddie’s breathing hitch more at the oversensitivity. His hair is a mess now, front pieces sticking to his sweaty forehead.

He’s so beautiful, Steve feels like crying.

Instead, he kisses his mouth, hard. He puts everything he has into it, not letting his hand slow for a second. He knows what Eddie can handle.

Eddie kisses him back, moan nearly turning into a scream as Steve applies more pressure to his spent dick. The zipper has to be painful, rubbing wrong against his wet boxers. But Eddie doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to push Steve off of him. He takes it, like he always does.

“God, I love you,” Steve groans against his lips.

It takes a moment for him to realize Eddie stops kissing him back.

When he does, he pulls away, steps back. There’s space where there shouldn’t be, but he’s realizing what he said, and he doesn’t think Eddie will want him near him now.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, trying to focus, center himself back on the earth he’d barely been on only a minute ago. He wipes the hair from his face, brushes it back so it’s at least behind his shoulders now.

“Is that why you were so jealous?” Eddie’s voice is wrecked, but he’s focused. “Because you love me?”

Steve can’t hide now. It’s out there.

He’s ruined this. He might as well be honest.

“Eddie, I couldn’t do this with anyone I didn’t love,” he admits. “I know it’s not what you need.”

Eddie shakes his head. Steve’s heart breaks a little.

“Why do you think I don’t need it?”

The question isn’t what he’s expecting. He’s not sure how to answer.

“You didn’t know I’m yours?” Eddie continues when Steve can’t find words.

“I…thought you didn’t do serious stuff,” Steve finally says.

“I don’t. Not usually. But you’re an all or nothing guy, Steve. It’s hard not to want everything with you.”

“You’re really mine?”

Eddie kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his lips. “Yeah. Only yours.”

“So the bartender…”

Eddie laughs, the same bright, loud, chaotic laugh that he’d had earlier. Steve can’t help but smile at the way he glows.

“Was telling me that he saw Robin sneaking into the bathroom with the same woman the last three times she came and the woman is the owner of the bar. Apparently she’s older and he thinks she’s taking Robin for a spin as part of a mid-life crisis. I just thought it was funny.”

Steve laughs. He’s so ridiculous.

“But the jealousy thing was hot. Maybe I should go dance with someone and see what I get out of it,” Eddie continues, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Steve growls, tugs him closer. “Not happening.”

Eddie flushes bright red. “Okay. Take me home, then, big boy. I think you mentioned a shower?”

“Gonna make you more of a mess before that, baby.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #dom steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson

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capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 8: "The one with Dante and Beatrice" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Things are a little different in Frankie’s mind. Apparently, you’re in there more often than you think. WC: 12k

A/N: I hope you like this one <3 I want you to know that from Frankie's perspective, things have been getting complicated for quite some time. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

He wanted to give you space, time. He told himself that over and over again, like a mantra. And if there was one thing he'd been unwaveringly certain about, it was that all of this—this charade, this carefully constructed performance—would end the second you asked him to stop. It would keep going for as long as you wanted, for as long as you needed. Until you got tired of it. Until you got tired of him.

Frankie wasn’t sure what he expected when he got in his car that afternoon and drove to your place. He had no plan, no rehearsed words, no real sense of what he was walking into. All he knew was that the past few weeks had been unbearable, spent in a strange limbo of guilt and something else—something more insidious, more consuming, something he refused to name. And it was starting to drive him out of his mind.

That morning, he’d woken up groggy, his head pounding dully from the night before. He’d had a few drinks, nothing excessive, but enough to leave him sluggish. The guys had been at Will’s place, and they’d stayed late, shooting the shit, letting time pass the way they always did—until Santi asked how things were going. Casual, but not really. And Frankie didn’t lie. Why would he? Why should he? So he told him everything, laid it all out like an offering, and when it was over, he felt an immense weight lift from his chest.

He told Santi everything. Let it spill out like a confession, every detail that had been pressing on him, rattling around in his chest like loose change. And when he was finished, he felt lighter, relieved in a way that made him a little sick. Like he had unloaded something heavy onto someone else and could finally breathe again.

Santi listened, nodding, his expression unreadable. Then he said, flatly, “I get it. But she's my sister, and I love you both so just... Stop.”

Frankie nodded. He hesitated, then asked about you—had you said anything? Had you mentioned him? If you had, what had you told Santi?

But Santi was brief, uninterested in being the middleman. He shrugged, took a sip of his beer, and said, “I dunno know. Go ask her.” A casual pat on the back, like that was the end of the conversation. Like the solution was that simple.

Frankie thought about it all night.

Would you even answer the door? Or would you tell him to fuck off before he could get a word out?

The questions followed him into sleep, looping over and over in his mind. He passed out on top of his sheets, still in his jeans, the heat thick and suffocating, pressing down on his skin like a punishment. The next day, he woke up feeling like hell, his head pounding. Took a painkiller dry, then stood under the shower until the cold turned his skin raw.

And then he went to you.

And you opened the door. You let him in.

And for a brief moment, he thought that was it. That you’d sit down together, have a rational conversation, lay everything out cleanly, like two people sorting through a mess they’d both agreed to finally put to rest.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, you told him everything. You let it spill out, sharp and unfiltered, all the ways he had made you feel, how hard it had been, how unfair. But most of all, you told him that you had heard him. That years ago, you had overheard him talking to Will.

That was the part that stunned him, the part that felt like ice water down his back.

Because all these years, he had been confused about everything—about you, about why things between you had always felt sharp and unsolvable. He had never quite understood the root of it, never really asked himself why. And now, hearing it from you, it was so clear. It had been his fault. All along, it had been him.

He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell you why, to make you understand. But he wasn’t sure he could yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to open that door—to expose himself to a different kind of vulnerability, the kind he had been avoiding for years.

And from your perspective, it was all just confirmation. He was exactly who you had always thought he was. A smug, careless asshole who had pushed you too far, again and again, until you finally snapped.

That’s why he wasn’t surprised when you told him you were tired. Tired of this thing between you, whatever it was. Tired of the constant tension, the sharp edges, the way it never seemed to settle into anything that didn’t leave one of you bleeding.

“I want this to end,” you said, watching him carefully, like you were waiting for some kind of reaction. He felt a flicker of something beneath his ribs—sharp, immediate, gone too fast to name.

“What?”

“This,” you repeated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The fights. The confusion. I’ve had enough. I don’t want it anymore.”

For a moment, he just looked at you. Silent. The light filtering in through the window softened the lines of your face, turned your skin softer, almost glowing. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to reach out and trace his fingertips over your cheekbone.

He didn’t.

“Right,” he said instead. “I don’t want it either. And I get it. If you want me to stay away, I will. I’ll tell Santi. I’ll keep my distance if that’s—”

“No.”

You cut him off before he could finish, stepping just the slightest bit closer, and it sent a prickle of confusion up his spine.

“I don’t want that either,” you said.

Try again. Be normal. Be cordial. It made sense, didn’t it? Two people with history deciding to rewrite it, to turn it into something easier, something less jagged. Like normal adults who could be in the same room without pressing on old wounds.

And yet—he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Couldn’t understand why you wanted to try again. Why, after everything, you were even slightly interested in salvaging this.

But he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t say it out loud. Because some small, irrational part of him was afraid that if he did, you’d stop and really think about it. You’d realize that whatever you were doing was pointless, that he wasn’t worth the effort.

And then you’d look at him and say, Actually, Francisco, fuck you. I don’t want to see you ever again.

If you told him that—if you looked him in the eye and said you’d changed your mind, that this was pointless, that you didn’t want him in your life at all—he would understand. Of course he would. But for some reason, the thought of it settled uncomfortably in his chest, heavier than he expected.

So instead, he would help you with your list.

That, at least, made sense. He knew about those things, the ones you had written down. They were his kind of thing—outdoor activities, experiences that required skill, control, an understanding of risk. He had been trained for almost all of it. If you wanted to go climbing, he could take you. He’d make sure you placed your feet right, that your harness was secure, that you knew how to read the rock beneath your hands. If you wanted to go camping, he would set up your tent or help you do it yourself, show you how to choose the safest place to sleep, rattle off a list of survival tips without even thinking. And if you wanted to go skinny dipping—well. He knew where to take you for that too. Somewhere like Hippie Hollow Park if you were feeling bold. Somewhere more secluded if you weren’t.

And yet, somehow, the first thing you wanted to do was skydiving. That one actually surprised him.

Still, sure. He would do it with you. No hesitation. He had a guy in Lexington, an old friend who was an instructor. It took him all of ten minutes to send a message that same night. By the time he put his phone down, it was settled. All that was left was for you to pick the day and time.

But he didn’t text you. Not right away. He figured he’d bring it up sometime during the week. When? He didn’t know. And he didn’t have to think too much about it because by the time monday rolled around, Helena showed up at his door unexpectedly—just as he was getting home from the airport, exhausted from a twelve-hour day, six of which had been spent in the air.

He wasn’t complaining. He knew plenty of retired pilots who had taken up instructing in other places, and most of them were barely scraping by—too many hours, not enough pay, burning themselves out for companies that didn’t give a shit. Frankie, at least, had gotten lucky. The school that hired him paid well, better than most. Flight hours, ground hours—it was all compensated fairly, which wasn’t something a lot of guys could say.

Frankie felt he was luckier than he had any right to be, really. Because when he was discharged a couple of years ago, there had been nothing reassuring about his future. Nothing. He'd left his position before even turning thirty-five, his mental health hanging by a thread, his sense of purpose unraveling faster than he could stitch it back together. Everything felt like a sacrifice, and worse than that—he felt like a failure. All the time.

So, yeah. He was lucky.

Lucky to land a decent job—fifty five bucks an hour, flying from twenty to thirty-five hours a week, some days busy, others quieter. He preferred the time in the air. The ground felt too loud, too heavy. But up there, everything stilled. Up there, he could breathe. His body remembered what it was built for.

Lately, though, he was tired.

He’d spent the last few weeks pushing himself past ten-hour days, taking on extra students, filling his schedule until there was barely enough time to eat, let alone think. Because every time he came home, the silence felt suffocating. The walls pressing in, the weight of something unspoken settling on his chest.

And maybe—maybe—the fight with you had a little something to do with that.

But he wanted to give you time, didn’t he? That was the whole point. That was why, when he saw Helena standing outside his house that afternoon, arms crossed, wearing the easy kind of smile that meant she wasn’t actually mad at him—yet—he felt that strange pull in his stomach. Not quite guilt, not quite dread. Something heavier, more tangled.

Frankie smelled like the wind. His hair was tucked under a cap, still messy at the edges, and he was wearing dark sunglasses even though the sun had already started sinking behind the houses. His back ached in a way that made him feel older than he was, but Helena barely gave him a second to register any of it before she was stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him in a brief but warm hug.

“I’m just coming to check in,” she said lightly, stepping past him into the house. She scanned the living room, eyes sharp, like she was taking an inventory of every single thing that had changed since the last time she’d been here. The place was tidy. Suspiciously tidy. “You’ve barely answered your phone.”

Frankie sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” he said, already anticipating the direction this conversation was about to take. “I’ve just been busy. And when I get home, I... sleep.”

Helena hummed, like she didn’t totally believe him but was willing to let it slide for now.

“Just take care of yourself,” she said, and then, as if she’d only been waiting for a beat of silence to slip the question in naturally, “Have you seen her? How’s she doing?”

He smiled despite himself, because of course she would ask. He looked at his mother with something like amusement, something like fondness.

“She’s fine. And yes, I know what you’re going to ask.”

Helena raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Do you?”

“Yeah.”

That seemed to satisfy her, at least a little. She nodded, glancing around the room again before saying, like it had only just occurred to her, “Wednesday, seven o’clock.”

Frankie frowned. “You already picked a day?”

“Well, yes. But if that doesn’t work, Thursday. Or—” She waved a hand, brushing off her own urgency. “Just let me know when she can.”

“This week, you mean?”

“Yes, this week,” she said, like it was obvious. “I’m visiting aunt Eli this weekend.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re a busy woman, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, leveling him with a look. “And I answer my phone too.”

She poked him gently in the stomach, and he laughed, nudging her hand away.

Later that night, Frankie pulled out his phone and typed out a message. He was already bracing himself for you to say no, to suggest some vague future alternative that would never quite materialize.

Instead, your reply came quickly.

[🍓]: I like wednesday :) tell your mom we’ll be there

Frankie read the message again, then set his phone down on the nightstand. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends, and he was wearing what he usually wore to bed—that is, just his underwear. The air in his room was cool against his skin, but he didn’t bother pulling the covers over himself. Instead, he lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, then reached for his phone again.

He stared at the ceiling for maybe five seconds before picking his phone up again.

[F] Okay, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.

Your reply came almost instantly.

[🍓]: Okay. And what should I wear?

Frankie hesitated for a second, then typed:

[F]: Hopefully clothes

A beat. Then:

[🍓]: 🙄

[🍓]: I meant… what kind of clothes

[F]: Idk, something nice

[F]: Dress like you always do

[🍓]: Are you saying I dress cute?

He thought about playing dumb. But teasing you was starting to feel as easy as breathing.

[F]: Actually, yeah

The three little dots appeared immediately.

Then they disappeared.

Frankie grinned, waiting. A few seconds later, they reappeared—only to vanish again.

Okay. This was fun.

Finally, after a long pause, the dots came back, and this time, they stayed.

[🍓]: I’ll wear something nice then

And of course, you did.

When Frankie pulled up outside the bookstore on wednesday, you stepped out wearing a fitted white tee and a black mini skirt that just barely skimmed mid-thigh. There was something effortless about it, something that made the whole thing look even better—like you hadn’t tried too hard, but still, somehow, had nailed it. Your purse hung off one shoulder, and as you reached him, you did a slow turn, walking a few steps back and forth in front of him, hands wiggling at your sides.

“So?” you prompted, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

Frankie was leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes flicked over you, taking in every detail, and then, before he could stop it, a slow smile spread across his face.

He nodded, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “Yeah. Works for me.”

You stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of your perfume. Your arms crossed over your chest, and your eyes, darker in the dimming light, pinned him in place.

“That’s it?” you asked. “That’s all you have to say to me? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, you know.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as if giving your words some serious consideration. Then he nodded again.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “Even though there’s literally no one watching us right now, huh?”

“That’s not true,” you countered immediately, jerking your chin to the left. “See?”

Frankie followed your gaze. Down the block, an old woman was making her way in the opposite direction, moving at a glacial pace.

He snorted. “You think she’s our audience?”

“She could be.”

“She’s not even looking.”

“And you’re willing to take that risk?”

Frankie arched an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued by your persistence. Now that you’d decided to stop arguing with him at every possible opportunity, was this what was going to replace it? This playful, harmless kind of provocation? The teasing that didn't sting, the banter that made your eyes light up instead of narrow?

If so, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

Because as much as you liked pushing him, he liked pushing back. Seeing how far he could take it before you finally tripped over your own words. And if he had to admit something—it was that you were good at this. Always had a comeback, always knew exactly where to poke to throw him off balance. But he had his own strengths. And he could win, too.

The way you were looking at him now—he recognized it instantly. Slow, measured, a devilish little glint in your eyes. You were trying to fluster him, the same way you had that night at the hotel bar on Helena’s birthday, when you leaned in just a little too close, held eye contact just a little too long, waiting to see if he’d be the first to break.

“So?” you prompted, that knowing smile still curving your lips. You were in a good mood, clearly.

But Frankie knew how to play this game too.

Without a second thought, he reached for you, both hands slipping around your waist as he pulled you in—closer, closer, until your body was nearly flush against his. Your hands collided with his chest, and he felt your palms settle there, warm through the fabric of his T-shirt. Your smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. You held it, but he could see the effort.

Yeah. He had you now.

He leaned in, just enough to catch the faint, sugary scent of your lip gloss—cherry—and the way the light from the streetlamp above made your lips glisten. He watched, satisfied, as your smile twitched, threatened to waver.

“Sweetheart, you look breathtakingly beautiful,” he murmured, letting his voice drop lower. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky to be yours.”

Your cheeks darkened instantly.

And that—that—was his victory.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he straightened up, peeling himself off the hood of the car and pulling you with him, keeping a firm hand on your waist. He reached for the door handle, swinging it open smoothly.

“Now... baby?” he said, eyes flicking down to yours, “get in the damn car. We're late.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, face still suspiciously warm, and lifted a hand to give him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Thank you. Whatever.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You look good too.”

Frankie barely managed to hold back his laugh as he shut the door behind you.

On the way to Helena’s house, you were quieter than before. Not in an uncomfortable way, not the kind of silence that stretches awkwardly between two people who don’t know what to say. This was something else—an easy, unspoken quiet. Still, Frankie kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, subtle but frequent, like he was checking for something. You didn’t notice.

In his mind, a dozen thoughts churned. Had he overdone it? The whole performance, the teasing, the things he’d said—was it too much? He wasn’t sure. Maybe you were annoyed. Or maybe you weren’t thinking about it at all.

He drove through the streets downtown, passing familiar landmarks, getting closer to his mother’s neighborhood. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows over the pavement. The air in the car was warm, tinged with the scent of something faintly citrusy—your perfume, maybe.

“Everything okay?” he asked, curiosity outweighing restraint.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling softly, genuinely.

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, glancing at you before returning his eyes to the road.

“You’re quiet, that’s all.”

“Ah, I’m just a little tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No?” He flicked his eyes toward you again. “Why not?”

You hesitated. He felt it more than saw it. The way the air shifted slightly, how you didn’t answer right away. He tightened his jaw without meaning to. He could feel you looking at him now, studying his face like there was something there worth inspecting.

“What?” he asked, turning his head just enough to smirk at you.

“I dunno,” you said finally. “I had a weird dream, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. And then Mr. Darcy broke a glass in the kitchen, so I got up and just started my day.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“Did he hurt himself?”

“Nope.”

“So,” he said, dragging out the word, “what’d you dream about? A nightmare?”

“Nevermind,” you said, shifting to look out the window. “I can never make sense of my dreams, anyway.”

“Tell me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. It’s embarrassing.”

He frowned, exaggerated, amused.

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be? Did you pee yourself?”

You gasped, reaching out to swat his arm. He grinned but kept his eyes on the road.

“You totally did,” he said, nodding to himself. “I can hear it in your silence. You peed your pants.”

“I did not pee my pants!” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I’m not telling you what it was about, anyway. You’ll just have to wonder forever.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, shaking his head.

“No, don’t say that. Now I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll lie awake at night, tormented. Wondering—what could my fake girlfriend have possibly dreamed about?”

“And how’s your mom?” you asked, shifting the conversation onto safer ground.

Frankie’s response was brief, almost dismissive.

“She’s fine,” he said. “Waiting for you.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any additional details. Just left it at that.

Five minutes later, Helena greeted you at the door, pulling you into a warm hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you before she pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh, look at you,” she said, leaning back just enough to take you in, her hands still resting lightly on your arms. “You look absolutely stunning, darlin'. So beautiful.”

Your face grew warm almost instantly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice quiet, slightly embarrassed.

Frankie watched from the side, noting the way your shoulders tensed, the way your gaze dipped slightly. The flush on your cheeks made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“You look beautiful too,” you told her, voice sincere. “I love your dress.”

Helena cocked her head to the side, clearly pleased.

“Oh, really? Thank you, sweetheart. That’s so kind.” She stepped back, ushering you inside. “Come in, come in.”

Frankie, lingering behind, cleared his throat. “No hug for me?”

Helena rolled her eyes but turned to him anyway, pulling him into a firm, affectionate embrace before kissing his cheek.

“You look handsome too,” she said, pulling back slightly to study him. Her eyes narrowed. “But you look different. Did you do something to yourself? Get a haircut?”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

She nodded slowly, then reached up, brushing her fingers against the sharp line of his jaw.

“I know what it is,” she mused, her voice teasing. “You always get cuter when you’re in love.” She winked at him.

Behind them, you laughed softly, watching the interaction unfold with something close to fond amusement. Frankie turned his head just slightly, just enough to catch the expression on your face, before exhaling and stepping toward you. His hand found the small of your back as he guided you further inside.

Helena led the way into the living room.

“So, where’s Mai?” Frankie asked as they walked.

“She’s on her way,” Helena said. “She went to the movies with Pam.”

Frankie motioned toward the couch, silently telling you to sit. You did, and a moment later, he dropped down beside you, his body landing a little too close, his thigh just barely brushing against yours.

“Ah,” he said, for no apparent reason.

Helena took the armchair next to you, leaning in slightly, her gaze warm, affectionate.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, thank you,” you said, mirroring her smile. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful,” she sighed, settling back. “Even better now that I have the two of you here. For a second, I thought something had happened—you know how Frankie is. Not exactly the most attentive on the phone.”

You turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah. What are we gonna do?”

He was reclining against the couch now, one arm stretched across the backrest behind you. You glanced at him, at the way his shirt pulled slightly across his chest, at the way his fingers tapped absently against the cushion. For some reason, your gaze drifted downward before snapping back up. He shifted in his seat, like he’d noticed.

“Why don’t you just give me your number?” Helena suggested with a smile. “That way we—”

“Okay, c'mon,” Frankie interrupted suddenly, grabbing your hand before you could process it, pulling you up with him. “I’ll show you my old room. Until Mai gets here.”

“Francisco,” you muttered, glaring at him.

You turned to Helena instead. “Do you need help with anything?”

She stood too, shaking her head. “No, no, everything’s ready. You’re my special guest, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing. Go on, go.” She waved a hand, already half-smiling at the whole interaction.

Frankie, still holding your hand, tugged you gently toward the hallway. You sighed, letting him lead you.

“You didn’t have to cut her off like that,” you muttered under your breath, the words meant for him alone.

Frankie didn’t acknowledge the reproach, didn’t slow down or look back. He just kept walking, pulling you along with him like it was inevitable. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding, like he knew you wouldn’t follow if he let go too soon. The house felt quieter away from the living room.

Upstairs, he stopped in front of a door—varnished wood, gleaming under the dim light of the hallway. Without a word, he pushed it open and, in the same motion, released your wrist. He tipped his head toward the room, an unspoken instruction.

You stepped inside, arms crossed, your gaze adjusting to the dark. Behind you, Frankie shut the door and switched on a lamp perched on his bedside table. The room shifted under the glow, details surfacing in the soft light.

“Do you have any idea what would happen if my mom got your number?” he asked, leaning back against the desk by the window. His arms folded over his chest, and he watched you move through his space, the sight of you here—among his things—unsettling in a way he couldn’t name.

The room was warm, familiar in the way all well-lived-in spaces are. The walls, a deep kensington blue, were cluttered with posters—Pearl Jam, Wu-Tang Clan, Alice in Chains. You took them in, then drifted toward the bookshelf, running your fingers over the spines of neatly arranged books and notebooks. Star Wars figurines stood like sentinels between them and a couple of sports trophies sat beside them, dust catching in the light.

“Oh, I dunno,” you mused, tilting your head, “would she… talk to me?” You shot him a glance. “I didn’t know you were a Star Wars fan.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Exactly. She’d talk to you. She’d call you. And we don’t need that kind of closeness, given our situation.”

“Our situation,” you echoed, rolling the words around your mouth like they were foreign to you. Then you turned fully, closing the distance between you and him with a measured step. You tilted your head, studying him. “Well, you’re probably right. But you didn’t have to cut her off and haul me off the couch like that. That was rude.”

He shrugged, the motion effortless, indifferent. “It was the first thing that came to mind. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” you said, as you moved through the room, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

Near the desk, a basket ball rested against the leg of a folding chair, a black duffel bag slumped beside it, the fabric worn at the seams. The bed—narrow, neatly made—sat in the center of the room, facing the window. The dark gray comforter was pulled tight, a sharp contrast to the scattered items around it. On one bedside table, the lamp cast a soft glow, grounding the space in warmth. On the other, a picture frame leaned against a small stack of books, their spines creased from use.

Frankie stood a few steps away, arms still folded, head tilted down slightly, his gaze steady on you. There was something guarded in the way he watched, like he was waiting to see what you would find, what conclusions you might draw from the objects that had quietly accumulated over the years.

You wandered to the dresser, your attention caught by the corkboard mounted just above it. Photographs, ticket stubs, and scraps of old notes filled the space, overlapping in a way that suggested years of quiet additions rather than any real attempt at curation.

“No way,” you said suddenly, stepping closer, your fingers hovering just above a small, slightly faded photo. “This is you?”

Frankie moved beside you, following your gaze. The picture showed a little boy, no more than three years old, grinning at the camera, his face lit with pure, unfiltered joy. From the chest down, he was covered in mud, tiny fingers gripping a garden hose.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t me, don’t you think?” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, it would be pretty weird.”

Your eyes drifted upward, landing on another photograph—an even younger version of him, maybe two years old, perched on his father’s lap. He was mid-laugh, his smile so wide it turned his eyes into crescents. His dad, leaning in, was pointing at the camera, as if directing him where to look.

“Oh,” you murmured, something warm settling in your chest. “You were so cute.” You lifted your hand slightly, gesturing toward the photo with the tip of your finger.

Frankie stared at it, something shifting in his expression. The smile that surfaced was small, almost absentminded.

In that photo, Gabriel would have been close to the age Frankie was now. The thought struck him in a way he hadn’t expected, settling deep in his ribs.

He didn’t let himself think about him often—not for too long, not in any real way. The memories had sharp edges, capable of cutting through even the best intentions. He told himself he was lucky, that he’d had the kind of dad people spent lifetimes wishing for. But no matter how he framed it, the truth remained: he had lost him. And no matter how many times he tried to reach back through memory, to anchor himself in the past, he would never see him again in this life.

Most of the time, he was fine. He moved through his days with ease, followed the usual rhythms of his life without slipping too deep into the spaces where grief still lingered. He had learned how to exist in a version of reality where his dad was no longer a part of it. And most days, it was almost easy. Almost.

But then, without warning, something would pull him back. It could be anything—a smell, a sound, a fleeting glimpse of a stranger on the street with the same posture, the same salt-and-pepper hair. Sometimes it was the scent of coffee, and for a split second, he’d expect to hear his father humming under his breath, flipping through the newspaper at the kitchen table. Sometimes it was a phrase, a turn of speech, something small and unremarkable that sent his mind reeling backward.

Once, it was toast crumbs on the floor.

He had been walking through the kitchen, barefoot, when he felt them under his heel—tiny, uneven grains pressing into his skin. The sensation triggered something immediate and sharp. His mind conjured the memory before he had a chance to resist it: his mom, sighing in exasperation as she swept under the table, grumbling about how his dad never remembered to wipe away the mess after breakfast. And sure enough, every time you moved a chair, there they were—scattered remnants of toast from the morning, a predictable constant.

But now, the floor was always clean. There were no crumbs anymore.

No one forgot to sweep. No one was there to be scolded.

Frankie crouched down without thinking, pressing his fingertips to the specks of bread as if touching them would anchor him to something. He stayed like that for too long, staring at them, his chest tightening, his throat burning with something too large to swallow down. And then, before he could stop himself, he was crying—suddenly, violently, without preamble.

Because that was what grief was, mostly. A quiet, steady thing that made itself small enough to carry until, inevitably, it found a way to remind you of its weight.

“You look a lot like your dad,” you said suddenly, pulling him out of his own head.

Frankie exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking back to the photograph. “You think so?”

You nodded, studying the picture again. “Yeah. Same eyes, same smile. Same head full of hair.”

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. “That’s a great compliment. Thank you.”

“It is,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Your eyes met for a second too long, something unspoken stretching between you before you looked away. You spun on your heels, crossing the room to the bed and sitting down with an easy drop, the mattress shifting under your weight. You pressed your palms into the comforter at your sides, fingers splayed behind you, staring absently at your feet.

“It’s nice of your mom to keep your room the way it was,” you said, glancing around again. “Do you ever sleep in here?”

Frankie walked over and sat beside you, his posture relaxed, knee bumping lightly against yours.

“Not so much anymore,” he admitted. “But I stayed for a couple of weeks after I left the CAG.”

You turned your head toward him, brows pulling together like the question had come to you suddenly, urgently.

“And where do you live?”

“At my house.”

“And where is your house?”

“In my neighborhood.”

A sharp sigh escaped you, and you let yourself fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled out as you stared at the ceiling. Frankie laughed, watching you with something like amusement. You turned your head, meeting his gaze for a few beats longer than necessary before sitting up abruptly, as if realizing something all at once. Heat crept up your neck.

You cleared your throat, stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye.

The smile on Frankie’s face widened slightly. He shifted, propping himself up on his arm, leaning a little closer, just enough to make you notice.

“Old Enfield,” he finally said.

Your brows lifted. “That’s nice.”

“Hartford Road,” he added. “Two bedroom, one bathroom.”

“Are you trying to sell me your house?”

He smirked. “A couple of trees in the yard for Darcy to sharpen his claws on.”

“Oh,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I bought him some toys for that.”

Frankie tilted his head slightly. “I guarantee it doesn’t feel as good as a solid tree trunk.”

“No?”

“No.”

“How do you know? Is that how you handle stress? You come home all tense, and the first thing you do is scratch your tree?”

A slow, amused smile crept onto your lips, your eyes bright in the warm lamplight.

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah? Imagine how many trees I’ve torn up since I met you.”

Your mouth parted slightly in exaggerated offense, and you let out a sharp gasp. “Really? What does that even mean? You must think about me a lot.”

Frankie snorted. “How smug.”

A teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. “If it bothers you that much, it must be true.”

"Sure."

"I bet you think about me."

"I really wouldn't take it as a compliment."

"Why not? Isn't your mind a good place for me?"

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, something just shy of a scoff.

“I can think of plenty of places you’d rather be.”

"Oh I dunno," you said, glancing around as if considering your options. "Seems pretty comfortable in here."

"For you, maybe." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Imagine being me. Living with a restless woman pacing around up here all day."

"Oh, baby. I've been there. All. My. Life. You can keep her, if you want."

Frankie let out a sharp laugh. “What, and lose my mind in the process?”

"Wow, Francisco." You turned to him fully now, studying his face in the low light. "Does she really get to you that much?"

"Oh, I bet you'd love that."

"Look at us," voice light, teasing. "Getting to know each other."

Frankie exhaled sharply, tilting his head as he settled back against the mattress. His hand rested just behind yours, close enough that the heat from his skin registered against your own.

“You really woke up in a particular mood today, huh?” he murmured. “Not bad for someone who barely slept and, you know, wet the bed.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“I did not wet the bed,” you said, dragging out each word for emphasis. “Jesus, let it go.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you tipped your head back, closing your eyes.

Frankie smirked, but it faltered when his gaze drifted—unintentionally at first, and then not at all—to the exposed curve of your neck. The soft skin there, the way the dim light caught the angle of your jaw. His stomach tensed, a sharp, unwanted awareness settling into his chest. He looked away fast, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, fixing his eyes on the floor.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He wasn’t supposed to be looking at you like that. He wasn’t supposed to notice the slope of your shoulder or the way your breath moved through your ribs. His eyes weren’t supposed to track your every shift, like his body had decided on its own to be attuned to yours. But it was happening, whether he liked it or not.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Once, things were simpler—sharper, with cleaner edges. He hadn’t tolerated you, and you hadn’t tolerated him. That was the nature of things. You hardly spoke, and when you did, your conversations were clipped, necessary, transactional. Sure, he’d always known you were attractive—he wasn’t fucking blind—but it had never been something that lingered, something that rooted itself in his thoughts. The way you grated on him had left no space for anything else.

Yeah. That was the dynamic. A bad relationship, plain and simple. No subtext, no buried tension.

But something had shifted between the trip to Dallas and now. If Frankie had to pinpoint the exact moment, he’d place it right on Helena’s birthday. Because ever since that night, something had been moving inside him, spreading through his chest like a slow-burning fire, like an untamed creature waking up after years of stillness.

A different kind of curiosity.

The urge to understand what went on in your head, to know what you thought about when you were quiet, when your gaze lingered somewhere far away. A desire to pick apart the details of your life, the things you held close, the things you refused to share. And that morning, after the party, when he caught the shift in your expression—something breaking behind your eyes, something pulling you inward and shutting you off—he recognized it immediately. Because he had seen that same look staring back at him in the mirror more times than he could count.

And the second he recognized it, something unfamiliar and unsteady took root in him. A pull, an absurd, inexplicable need to get you out of that place—to drag you away from whatever was weighing you down, from whatever was making your world feel so suffocatingly blue.

After that, he started thinking about you more often. Too often. And it unsettled him, the way his thoughts drifted to you without permission, how your voice lingered in his mind long after a conversation ended. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

And then there was the argument in the car. That had been worse than he expected. Not just because he’d been careless—insensitive, pressing too hard on things that weren’t his to touch—but because your words had struck something raw in him, something buried deep. And instead of feeling angry at you for it, he only felt the sharp sting of truth. It hurt, yeah, but it wasn’t the kind of hurt that made him resent you. It was the kind that made him resent himself a little more.

The weeks that followed were filled with thoughts of you, tangled and persistent, full of doubt and questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

And then he went to see you.

And the moment he did, he knew—whatever had changed, whatever had started that night at Helena’s birthday, it wasn’t something he could ignore anymore. Because it was here now, settled into his ribs, pressing against his lungs every time he looked at you.

And there was something different about you too. Frankie couldn’t ignore it. The way you looked at him—out of the corner of your eye, like you were in on some secret he hadn’t been let in on. You’d done it in the car, then again downstairs, and now, here, in the dim glow of his bedroom. It was subtle but persistent, like you knew something he didn’t.

The strangest part was that it didn’t bother him. If anything, it only deepened his curiosity. This version of you—relaxed, playful, teasing—was unfamiliar but undeniably intriguing. It made him want to look closer, to figure out what had shifted between you.

He glanced at you again. And there you were, already looking back at him.

“What did you dream?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Your head tilted slightly. “Why do you care?”

“I didn’t, at first. But you’re being so secretive about it, and now I’m… curious.”

“Too curious for your own good, I assume. Like a cat.” You crossed one leg over the other, shifting your weight, angling your body toward him.

Frankie held your gaze, resisting the instinct to look anywhere else.

“That’s another thing I have in common with them,” he mused.

A small laugh escaped you. “Oh yeah? Sharpening your claws and letting curiosity win?”

“Aha.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Well,” you said, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “If I were you, I’d be careful. Last time Mr. Darcy let his curiosity get the better of him, he broke a glass.” You paused, watching him closely. “And you don’t want to break anything, do you?”

"I'm still deciding."

You studied him, head tilted slightly, lips pursed just enough to suggest amusement.

"I'll tell you, but only if you give me something in return. A fair trade, don’t you think?"

Frankie clicked his tongue, considering.

"Wel, it depends," he said, scratching his chin with the hand that had been resting in his lap. "What kind of information are we talking about?"

"Tell me what you were talking about with Will."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It's not that interesting."

"Come on, tell me." You leaned in, just a fraction, your gaze locked onto his. "I deserve to know, don’t I? It’s about me. Tell me, and I’ll tell you about my dream."

"I’ll tell you anything but that—for now."

"Why?"

Frankie exhaled, deep and measured.

"Alright. Don’t tell me your dream, then." He turned his head, fixing his eyes on the far wall, where an old, faded Soundgarden poster hung.

You stiffened beside him. He felt it. And even though he tried to resist, his gaze found its way back to you.

"I’ll tell you," he said, softer this time. "I promise."

"When?"

"I just need to be sure about something first."

"Sure about what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, studying your face as if searching for something. His eyes traced the slope of your cheek, the set of your mouth, the way your lashes flickered as you watched him. Then, as if deciding against saying more, he dropped his gaze to the floor and let out another sigh, this one heavier.

"We should head down," he murmured, shifting to stand.

You stayed where you were, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. He moved toward the door but didn’t open it right away. Instead, he turned, waiting for you. His hand rested on the handle, fingers tapping once.

"C'mon," he said.

Your body moved before your mind fully caught up. You stood abruptly, crossing the space between you in two quick strides. But instead of simply following him, you reached out, placing your hand firmly over his on the door handle. Then, without hesitation, you pushed it open yourself, forcing him to step back, now standing just beside you.

His brows knit together, lips curving into something both amused and perplexed.

You stopped, inches from him, the back of your shoulder nearly brushing his chest. Then, tilting your head slightly, you looked up at him, your voice lower now, almost conspiratorial.

"It was a wet dream."

Then you walked out, not waiting for his reaction, not sparing him even a glance.

Frankie stood frozen in place, mouth slightly open, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. His hand remained on the door handle, grip slack, his gaze fixed on the empty hallway where you’d just disappeared.

Had he imagined it, or had you actually just told him that—No. No, you were messing with him. That was all.

It was simple. You wanted to get under his skin, to push him just enough that he’d slip up. You wanted to know what he and Will had talked about, and this was your strategy. It made sense, really. A calculated move. If you could make him uneasy, stoke his curiosity, you might get him to spill something. Let something slip. But Frankie wasn’t an idiot—he wasn’t going to fall for it.

At least now he understood what you were doing. And honestly? He didn’t mind. If this was how you wanted to play it, he could match you, step for step.

After a long moment—he wasn’t sure how many seconds had passed—he finally moved, stepping out of the room and heading downstairs. He could hear Mai’s voice, light and animated, drifting in from the living room. She was talking to you.

When he walked in, his sister looked up, her face brightening. She stood from her spot beside you and crossed the room to meet him, wrapping her arms around his torso in a warm hug.

“How are you?” she asked, patting his back with quick, affectionate taps.

“Good, good,” he murmured, catching your gaze for half a second over Mai’s shoulder. Then he pulled back, looking down at his sister with a small, affectionate smile. “You look cute, huh?”

“Thanks, you too,” she said, pinching his cheek between her fingers before letting go. Then, with a sly grin, she jabbed him lightly in the stomach. “Now, tell me—what were you doing upstairs with your girl, huh? You know the door should always stay open.”

Frankie snorted, shaking his head. Before he could answer, Helena appeared in the doorway, a bottle of wine balanced against her shoulder.

“Come on, dinner’s ready,” she announced with a smile.

Thirty minutes later, you were all seated around the dining table, the conversation ebbing and flowing around books and different editions of classics. It wasn’t a surprise, really. Frankie’s mom was a literature professor, you owned a bookstore, and you’d studied literature. Naturally, the discussion revolved mostly around the two of you. Frankie sat back, watching, listening, while Mai occasionally glanced at him with raised eyebrows and an amused little smirk.

“I’ll come by as soon as I can,” Helena was saying, raising her wine glass to her lips. “Promise you’ll save me a copy?”

You nodded. You were seated next to Frankie, but you’d barely acknowledged him all evening.

“Of course,” you said easily. “It’s a promise.”

The book in question was a limited edition of Madame Bovary—one of the best, reliable translations and beautifully restored prints.

“Thank you, darlin',” Helena said. “Although I still believe nothing compares to reading in the original language, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, setting your wine glass down on the tablecloth. “That’s why I took Italian lessons. I wanted to read The Divine Comedy .” You laughed, a light, melodic sound. Frankie’s eyes flicked to you, drawn there without thinking, but your attention remained on his mother. “And when I finally did, it was incredible. The words sound different—almost like music. It’s not the same in English. So much gets lost in translation.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Helena nodded enthusiastically. “I read it in Italian too! Such a stunning piece of work. Dante was something else.”

“I love it,” you said. “And the story with Beatrice is just—well, it’s fascinating. Or, I suppose, their non-story.”

Helena smiled at that, something fond in her expression.

Mai, looking between the two of you, arched an eyebrow. “What happened with Dante and Beatrice?” she asked, half-laughing at the intensity of the discussion.

“Oh, it’s terribly romantic,” Helena sighed, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “They met as children—very young. And by all accounts, Dante fell in love with her at first sight. But they never really spoke. Almost never interacted at all. He only ever saw her, passing by on the street.”

Mai frowned slightly. “That’s kind of—”

“Then,” Helena continued, “Beatrice married someone else. And she died young, at twenty-five. But Dante never forgot her. He wrote about her, again and again. And in The Divine Comedy, she becomes this celestial figure. A messenger in Hell, guiding him through Purgatory. And when he finally sees her again, it’s as if he’s nine years old, looking at her for the first time. And in Paradise, she goes to heaven—because that’s where she belongs. Like an angel.”

Mai blinked. “That’s...depressing.”

Helena sighed, shaking her head as if she’d heard this take before. Frankie let out a quiet chuckle, the sound barely audible over the clinking of silverware. You, sitting beside him, smiled in amusement but said nothing.

“What?” Mai demanded, raising her eyebrows. “She died. And anyway, how did he even know it was real? She married someone else, didn’t she? For a reason.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Helena said, her tone affectionate but certain, “we’re talking about centuries ago. Marriages weren’t exactly love matches. Most were arranged. I think Dante himself was engaged as a child.”

“That’s true,” you chimed in, setting your wine glass down. “Beatrice was married off at fifteen, and Dante was engaged by the time he was twelve. They saw each other once when they were kids, and then years later, they passed each other in the street. She greeted him—just a simple hello—and that same night, he dreamt of La Vita Nuova.” You paused, pressing your lips together for a moment, as if carefully recalling the details. “I think they might have crossed paths twice more after that, but by then, I think she was already married. Dante could never have done more than dream about her.”

Helena exhaled softly, her expression wistful. “It was an impossible love.”

Mai looked vaguely amused. “Even if it was unrequited?”

Helena nodded. “Unrequited, unrealized—it doesn’t matter. He loved and idealized her in his own way. She became his muse.”

Mai nodded, unconvinced. “I get it. Still, he kinda sounds like a creep.”

Helena exhaled sharply, already losing patience. Frankie had seen this a hundred times—the exasperation, the incredulous little shake of her head, the way her lips pursed before she spoke. It was fun.

“He never even went near her, Maia,” she said, waving a hand for emphasis. “It’s not like Dante was some kind of obsessed pervert, lurking around corners. He respected her. He didn’t follow her, didn’t bother her.”

“And how do you know that?” Mai pressed, her tone deliberately provocative.

Helena let out a dramatic sigh and gave her daughter a light smack on the hand.

“You do this on purpose!” she accused, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Then, suddenly, you spoke. “And what do you think?”

Frankie looked at you, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yes. What do you think? About Dante and Beatrice.” You were looking at him, really looking at him, your gaze steady and expectant.

He blinked, the remnants of his earlier smile fading as he processed the question. From the other side of the table, Helena and Mai turned toward him, equally interested. It seemed they were curious too.

Frankie hesitated, eyes flickering from your face to some vague point behind your shoulder, as if the answer might be written there. Then, after a few seconds, he met your gaze again.

“I think…” He exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. “We’ve all been through it.”

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes stayed on yours, just a fraction too long.

Helena gasped, her expression scandalized. “Frankie!”

He turned toward her, confused. “What?”

“You can’t say that in front of your girlfriend!”

You and Mai burst into laughter at the same time.

Frankie frowned. “Say what?”

Helena gave him an exasperated look. “We’ve all been through it? Are you saying you have your own Beatrice out there somewhere?”

Frankie froze, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. For a second, he’d forgotten—forgotten that, in his mother’s mind, you were his girlfriend. Forgotten that he wasn’t just speaking to you, alone.

“Oh,” he said, almost under his breath. Then, clearing his throat, he added, “Right. She’s my Beatrice.”

Your eyes widened slightly, amusement flickering across your face as his gaze returned to you. A small, knowing smile started to unravel at the corners of your lips.

“But with a happy ending, right?” Frankie added, tilting his head ever so slightly, a smirk forming.

You lifted your chin, watching him with something that looked a lot like affection—but softer, more playful, something almost unspoken.

“Clever, huh?” You raised an eyebrow.

“That’s right, honey, don’t let him off the hook,” Mai teased, narrowing her eyes at her brother like she was onto something.

Frankie let out a dry laugh. “Shut up.”

Mai grinned, triumphant.

Then you tilted your head slightly, eyes flicking to Helena. “Now that I think about it… didn’t they say Dante might’ve had narcolepsy?”

Helena’s brows lifted in consideration.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she admitted, tapping a finger lightly against her wine glass. “But I think some people speculate that would explain his blackouts and visions.”

“It would make a lot of sense,” you said, thoughtful. “So much of what he wrote about involved sleep, passing out… hallucinations.”

Helena nodded, already intrigued.

“That’s true, that’s true.” Her eyes brightened. “Now you’ve got me curious—I’ll have to look into that.”

You smiled, lifting your glass to your lips, taking a small sip before setting it down. Then you exhaled, something soft and fascinated in your expression.

“It’s amazing,” you murmured. “Dreams, dreams and all that.”

Frankie was looking at you.

He wasn’t sure why, but the way you said it—like you were half here, half somewhere else entirely—made his stomach turn over. The side of his mouth twitched, something close to a smirk, but his gaze was steady, fixed. Unrelenting.

And yet, you didn’t even glance at him. Your eyes stayed on Helena and Mai, following their conversation, nodding along as they spoke. Whatever pull you had on him, it was effortless. Completely unintentional.

He dragged his attention back to the table just as Mai started complaining about a recent freelance project—a website for some clothing brand—that had turned into a disaster when her laptop decided to die mid-edit.

Dinner, all things considered, was a success.

After the plates were cleared, Helena announced it was time for dessert and returned moments later with a chocolate and strawberry cake that looked unfairly good. She uncorked a bottle of late-harvest wine, grinning as she held it up. “Sauvignon Blanc, to elevate the chocolate.”

Frankie poured himself a glass, just one. He still had to drive, even if, at this point, with the way you were acting, he could’ve easily finished the entire bottle.

By the time the evening wound down, the warmth of summer had settled thick and golden over the front porch. The air clung to bare legs, and a gentle breeze ghosted over your neck, light and fleeting.

Helena pulled Frankie into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her palm lingering against his face for a moment. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” she said softly. “And pick up the damn phone every once in a while.”

Mai hugged him next, squeezing him tight before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “And don’t be an idiot with avoidant attachment,” she added pointedly.

Frankie rolled his eyes, but there was affection in it.

With you, they were just as warm, maybe even more so. Helena hugged you like you were already part of the family, reminding you to come back soon. She patted your arm as she stepped back, eyes bright. “I’ll stop by the shop for my book, okay?,” she promised, “and I’ll buy you a coffee while I’m there.”

Frankie stood by, watching the exchange, resisting the sudden, inexplicable urge to cut in. To say you had to go. To say something.

But he didn’t.

Now, you were in the car.

As always, music poured from the speakers, filling the quiet space between you. It had a certain magic to it at this hour—the way the city lights blurred past the windows, the hush of the late-night streets, the familiar warmth of a song that somehow felt perfectly timed. Drive by The Cars.

Neither of you spoke as it played, the soft, melancholy synth weaving through the silence, until the lyrics seemed to catch both of your attention at once.

Who's gonna pay attention

to your dreams?

A small, knowing smile pulled at your lips. You turned your head, resting your chin against the palm of your hand, elbow propped on the door as you looked out at the city.

Beside you, Frankie let out a quiet huff of laughter, his gaze flicking toward you for a second too long. He could tell you thought it was funny too.

“C’mon.” His voice was low, edged with amusement. “Spit it out.”

You glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed ahead, steady on the road.

“What?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just nodded, as if confirming something to himself, then kept driving in silence until you rolled up to a red light.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said then, finally looking at you. This time, fully.

You blinked at him. “What am I trying to do?”

His gaze was unreadable, the dim light from the dashboard catching on the sharp angle of his jaw.

“It’s obvious.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A wet dream, you said?” His eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, then back to your face, his expression smug. “Wet. So you did wet the bed. I’ll take that as confirmation.”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him. Amused, despite yourself. Trying to appear unimpressed but failing.

“I won’t tell you anything about it without a fair exchange, Francisco.”

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Not interested.”

“You don’t look that way.”

He scoffed, lifting a shoulder. “What do you mean? Look at me. I don’t care.”

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Is that why you went quiet at the table?”

Something flashed in his eyes, something quick and unreadable, before he turned his head back toward the road.

“Apparently, you’re more interested in my interest than I am, baby,” he murmured. His voice dipped just enough to make your stomach pull tight. Then, a small smirk. “Why’s that?”

His head tilted slightly, gaze lowering, and your eyes instinctively followed the movement.

You said nothing. Just faced forward again, and he did the same.

When the light changed, Frankie pressed down on the gas, the car gliding forward into the quiet, empty streets. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the drive.

You probably hadn’t even dreamed anything. You were probably just making it up to get under his skin. And he didn’t care.

Right?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.

So he kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, and let the silence settle between you.

By the time he pulled up in front of your house, he just turned the car off without thinking, like some part of him knew he wasn’t leaving just yet.

Neither of you moved.

The car sat still, parked beneath the dull glow of the streetlamp, filling with the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but wasn’t tense either.

You sat with your hands in your lap, absently twisting your fingers together, and Frankie leaned against the driver’s side door, resting his head in his palm, his elbow propped up. His gaze flickered out the window, scanning the empty sidewalk, but every few seconds, his eyes found their way back to you.

Then, as if remembering something, he straightened.

“So,” he said, voice cutting through the quiet, and you turned toward him. “About skydiving—there’s a place about an hour from here that’s really good. An old friend of mine works there, said they’ve got some spots open this month.”

Your lips parted slightly, a quick inhale.

“Really?” A smile was already tugging at the corners of your mouth. “When?”

“As soon as you want, I hope.”

“This weekend?” you asked, eyes lighting up. “Do they work weekends?”

Frankie chuckled at your enthusiasm, shaking his head.

“Yeah, of course they do. You wanna go this weekend?”

“Are you kidding?” You turned in your seat fully now, excitement buzzing in your voice. “Of course!”

He laughed at that, his own grin slipping easily into place.

“Alright, done. I’ll book it early tomorrow.” He reached for his phone, unlocking it with one hand. “I can send you the website if you wanna check it out.”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah, definitely. God, that’s crazy.” You exhaled, leaning back into your seat, eyes still shining.

“I think you’re gonna love it.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure,” he said, glancing down at his screen as he tapped something in. A second later, your phone buzzed.

You picked it up, lips pressing together as you bit back a smile.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “So am I.”

Then your brow furrowed slightly. “How much is the jump?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Why?”

Frankie just waved a hand, already setting his phone back down.

“Hey, no,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sure it’s not cheap. Just tell me and—”

“No, no.” His voice was firm, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and steady. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your mouth opened slightly, but he cut you off before you could protest.

“Consider it my conciliation gift.”

You stared at him for a second, watching the way he sat there, relaxed, like it was settled. Like you couldn’t argue even if you wanted to.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head again, but softer this time. Less like you were disagreeing. More like you didn’t know what to do with him.

Frankie just smirked.

Silence settled again, but this time, it didn’t feel charged. Just easy.

Frankie could tell you were thinking about something. He recognized the way your gaze lingered outside the window, the way your fingers lightly traced over the hem of your skirt, absentminded, like whatever was on your mind had wrapped itself around you completely.

And you weren’t in a hurry to leave the car.

He hesitated, debating whether to ask. Then, before he could overthink it, he did.

“You okay?” His voice was quiet, careful. He reminded himself to tread lightly, to not push too much, to not ask something that might put you off. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

You didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled, slow and measured, before speaking.

“Harry’s wedding is on friday.”

Right. The wedding. He’d forgotten. But you hadn’t.

From the tone of your voice, it didn’t sound like it hurt the way it used to, like the wound had at least stopped bleeding. But you still cared.

“Oh,” he said, dragging a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure how to phrase his next words, wasn’t sure what was the right thing to ask. “And how do you feel about that?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, almost like you found his question funny, and turned to look at him with something warm in your eyes.

“Please don’t do that.”

Frankie frowned slightly. “Do what?”

“Tiptoe around me.” You tilted your head, giving him a look, affectionate but teasing. “I know our fight was... ugly. But you don’t have to treat me like I might break. I’m okay, really.”

He sighed through his nose, shifting in his seat. “I just don’t wanna sound nosy. Or ask something I shouldn’t.”

“I know.” You nodded, your voice softer now. “And I appreciate that. But I promise you can ask me about this.”

Frankie watched you for a second before nodding back.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, bracing himself before speaking again.

“Do you wanna go?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your fingers tapped lightly against your chin, your eyes unfocused, staring ahead like you were untangling something in your mind.

Then, finally, you let out a small breath.

“I feel a little silly,” you admitted. “But I think I do.”

Frankie leaned back against his seat, brow furrowing slightly.

“Why?”

“I know you’re right.”

Your voice was steady, but something in your expression wavered as you turned to look at him. The dim streetlight outside cast a soft glow across your face, catching the shine in your eyes, making them look almost luminous in the quiet darkness of the car.

“There’s no real reason to go,” you admitted. “No logical one, at least. It’d be... masochistic, probably. But at the same time, I feel like I need to bury all of this. Just see it. See it with my own eyes. Put a bow on it and give it away, let it go. You know?”

Frankie didn’t say anything, just listened, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel.

“I think I’m close to that,” you continued, more to yourself than to him. “I wasn’t before. I wasn’t that night, when we argued, but after that... I don’t know. I think fighting with you even forced me to face it.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, almost amused. “Because I realized I was still hurting over something that didn’t make sense. I mean, yeah, it was painful, but that’s it.”

Frankie shifted slightly, glancing at you. “Don’t take what I said that night too seriously. I was—” He paused, searching for the right word. “Rude.”

“Maybe,” you acknowledged. “But you weren’t wrong about some things.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant hum of passing cars. You exhaled, more certain now.

“I wanna go,” you said simply. “Put this behind me once and for all. See it with my own eyes.” You pressed your palms against your thighs, as if grounding yourself in the decision.

Frankie nodded, like it was that simple. “Okay. If you want to go, let’s go.”

You turned to him, frowning slightly. “You don’t have to come with me, though.”

“What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to?”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head quickly. “I just mean—I’m already dragging you into this skydiving thing, and everything else on my list. I don’t want to take up your whole weekend.”

“I don't mind.” The words came easy, deep and certain, like he didn’t even have to think about them.

You studied him for a beat, like you were searching for a lie, for some sign that he was just saying it to be nice.

Then, as if trying to call his bluff, you said, “Surely you have other things to do. Hasn’t Santi texted you? He bought a new grill. He sent me a pic.”

Frankie smothered a laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t mind going with you. I mean it.” His voice was even, assured, like there was no room for argument. “Besides, we made a deal, didn’t we? And if I remember correctly, I told you—I don’t break my promises.”

“Yes, you did.” Your voice was light, but there was something behind it, something teasing. The kind of softness that made him want to keep talking just to hear it again. Your eyes lingered on his face, studying him like you were trying to memorize something.

Frankie shifted slightly, leaning in just a little.

“And anyway,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, “I know you’re going to look incredible in whatever dress you wear. I’d be an idiot to miss that.”

Your lips curved, the smile slow and knowing, your eyes locked on his. Neither of you moved, caught in something suspended.

Frankie could feel the weight of it settle between you, something warm, something he shouldn’t want but did anyway. He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

“What time?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“The wedding starts at five. At the Marriott.”

“I’ll pick you up at four-thirty.”

“Okay.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I know.”

You held his gaze, the air between you thick and charged, like the last moment before a storm breaks. Then, just as he thought you might say something else, you reached for your seatbelt, unfastening it with an easy click. But instead of moving away, you leaned in first, just enough for him to catch the faintest hint of your perfume, just enough for his breath to catch.

And then your lips were on his cheek, warm and soft, gone too soon.

Frankie exhaled, gripping the steering wheel like it might keep him grounded.

You pulled back without hesitation, opening the door and stepping out. The night swallowed you in one smooth movement, but before you turned to leave, you dipped down, peeking through the open window.

“Goodnight, Dante.” Your head tilted, the corners of your lips still curved, your eyes bright beneath the streetlights.

Frankie let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Beatrice.”

You didn’t linger. Just turned and walked toward your door, your steps unhurried, your silhouette framed by the dim porch light.

Frankie watched you the entire time.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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