#but i needed to put all of my thoughts somewhere

[bluetimeombre]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

[pillow-coded]

Five Hours

Summary: After weeks of pleading, Y/N is granted five rare hours alone with her husband, Spencer, inside prison for a conjugal visit. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!! Content Warning: Angsttttt but also kinda fluff and then angst again, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, prison!reid, crying during sex, aftercare. A/N: loosely based on CM S12, prison Reid arc. Word Count: 7.8K

According to the Oxford Dictionary, a conjugal visit is a visit to a prisoner, by the spouse of the prisoner, especially for sexual relations.

However, Definitions are cold and stripped of nuisance.

They don’t tell you about the ache in your chest that doesn’t fade with time, or the way silence settles into your bed when the person you love isn’t in it.

They don’t tell you how it feels to wash your hair and suddenly remember the way his fingers used to rinse the shampoo out for you, gentle like he was afraid you’d break.

So no. Sexual relations is definitely not why I spent two weeks calling people, filing paperwork, arguing with strangers in suits and uniforms.

It wasn’t for sex. Even if it happens, even if we need it like oxygen—that’s not why I did it.

I did it because Spencer’s been in prison for a month, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without holding him.

All I want is to hold him in my arms. To kiss the corner of his mouth. To brush those soft curls away from his forehead and whisper that he’s going to be okay—that no matter what this place is doing to him, he’s still himself.

But I’ve seen it happening. His eyes have been growing dimmer with every non-contact visit. That’s all they’ve allowed me—cold chairs, thick glass, a phone pressed to my ear while I watched him shrink in real time. The only people granted private visits until now were Emily, and Fiona.

And now, finally… me.

I pushed, pleaded, filed the paperwork, followed up, waited. Jumped through every hoop they put in front of me. Some of the guards smirked when they handed me the forms—like they thought I was here for something cheap, something selfish.

But I would’ve done anything to get this time. I did do everything for these five hours they gave us.

And now I’m being escorted down a long corridor toward the conjugal suite—a room designed to look almost like a motel bedroom. Almost normal. Cream-colored sheets, a nightstand, dim overhead lighting. A sad little lamp that tries too hard to feel homey. There’s even a fake window with a painted blue sky outside of it. Like that could fool someone who hasn’t seen the real one in thirty days.

My palms are sweating. My heart won’t stop pounding.

In just a few minutes, I’ll get to touch him. I’ll get to kiss him.

I’ll get to breathe him in, memorize the sound of his voice without static in the way. I’ll get to be his again, not through glass, not with guards watching, but here—in this tiny, borrowed pocket of time where the world outside doesn’t exist.

I didn’t tell him about the conjugal visit.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted to see his face soften the moment he sees me sitting on the bed. I wanted to watch the disbelief bloom in his eyes, see the guardedness fall away. Just for a second. Just long enough to let him remember he’s loved.

Just long enough to let him feel free—even if it’s only for five hours.

“The prisoner will be here in a few minutes,” The guard says, voice clipped, bored, like this is just another Tuesday. “We’ll call eventually, when your time has run out. If you do not answer this call, we will be coming in regardless of what you two are doing. Got that?”

I nod, throat tight.

She gives me a look—somewhere between warning and pity—then shuts the door behind her.

And just like that, I’m alone again.

In a room pretending to be a bedroom. Waiting for my husband like I’m not half shaking.

I glance at the mirror in the corner, force myself to sit on the bed—knees together, hands folded in my lap. I don’t want him to see the nerves first. I want him to see me. The real me. The one that still believes he’s coming home.

I smooth down my clothes and stare at the door like it might open by magic.

Any second now.

My fingers twist together in my lap. I force them to still. The bed creaks under me when I shift, and I flinch like I’ve broken something sacred. Everything feels too loud. Too sharp. Like the silence in here is made of glass and I might shatter it just by breathing.

Then—The sound of keys, a bolt turning, footsteps. My heart stumbles in my chest, the door opens.

And there he is.

He steps inside slow, cautious, eyes adjusting to the low light. For a second, he doesn’t see me. He’s still in that survival state—shoulders tense, gaze scanning for threats before comfort. His hair is longer, curls hanging low over his forehead. His jaw looks sharper, like he’s lost weight again. His posture is too straight, too stiff. His body has learned prison, and it shows.

And then he sees me—Really sees me.

His breath catches.

That’s when everything changes.

His eyes widen like he can’t believe I’m real, like maybe the prison food’s finally driven him to hallucinations. His whole face crumples—relief first, then disbelief, then something wordless and raw that makes my chest ache. He takes one shaky step forward.

“Y/N?” he breathes.

I nod, standing up slowly, cautiously, as if I might spook him.

“Surprise,” I whisper, smiling through the lump in my throat. “You didn’t think I’d let them keep me away forever, did you?”

He’s already moving.

Crossing the room in a few long, clumsy strides until his arms are around me—tight, desperate, anchoring. I don’t even remember closing the distance. We just fold into each other like we never learned how to be apart.

He buries his face in my neck. I feel him inhale deep, like he’s starving for something only I can give. His whole body trembles against mine.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. “They didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want them to,” I say softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. “I wanted it to be a surprise”

He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his hands coming up to cup my cheeks like he needs to memorize every inch. There’s so much love in his eyes, but it’s cracked around the edges. Worn thin.

“You’re here,” he says, as if still not believing it. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here, baby,” I nod. “For five hours… I’m yours.”

His voice breaks on a sound that might be a laugh. Or a sob. I can't tell. I don’t think he can either.

Then he kisses me—soft at first, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast. I kiss him back like I’ve been waiting for this every second of the last month. Because I have.

Because I’d wait forever just to feel this again.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against the crook of my neck. He clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear—arms tightening around my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. “I missed you so much.”

“So did I,” I whisper back, barely holding it together. I run my hands over his back, exploring every new ridge, every place this month has hollowed out. “So, so much.”

We’re still wrapped around each other when the door clicks again—followed by a voice that slices straight through the moment.

“Your wife’s already been informed,” the guard says dryly, arms crossed over his chest like he’s seen this scene too many times to care. “But I’ve gotta say it for the record: we’ll call in when your time is up. If you don’t answer the phone, we’re coming in. It’s protocol.”

He pauses for effect, then adds with an unimpressed glance toward the bed, “So please answer the call. We don’t want to walk in to see… well. You know.”

Spencer flinches, just slightly. Not out of embarrassment—out of habit. Like he’s bracing for punishment, even here, even now.

I feel his breath hitch against my skin. His fingers twitch where they hold me.

“We’ll answer,” I say flatly, shooting the guard a look that makes him shrug and back out without another word.

The door shuts again, but the spell is already bruised.

Spencer doesn’t pull away from me. If anything, he holds me tighter. I press a soft kiss to his temple, breathing him in.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking us slightly like I’m trying to soothe both of us at once. “They’re not here now. It’s just you and me.”

“Just you and me…” he repeats, but it sounds more like a question. Like he’s trying the words on his tongue, testing if they’re real. If this is real. His voice is thick with disbelief, the kind that comes from a month of fluorescent lights, shouted orders, and not a single safe place to land.

I pull back slowly and meet his eyes. They’re wet—but not broken. Not yet. There's still a little spark behind them, flickering like a candle in wind.

I reach for his hand—cool and calloused from rough sheets and cold routines—and he lets me take it without hesitation. His fingers thread through mine like muscle memory.

“Come here,” I murmur.

And I lead him toward the bed.

It creaks when we sit, but we don’t notice. We’re too busy drinking each other in like we’ve been wandering through deserts and finally found water.

He looks around the room, almost bashful now. “This feels… surreal,” he says. “Like I’m not allowed to have this.”

I bump his knee with mine, gentle. “Well, you better enjoy it,” I say with a teasing smile, though my throat is tight. “I busted my ass trying to get this visit. Took a whole week of phone calls and paperwork and playing nice with people who looked at me like I was asking for too much.”

His eyes snap back to mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be.” I squeeze his hand. “It was worth it the second I saw your face.”

He swallows hard, blinking faster now. I can tell he’s trying to stay in control—but emotion’s already slipping through the cracks.

“I’m sure I can get another visit,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against his. “But it might take a while. So for now… just let yourself have this. Please.”

He nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s promising me something sacred.

And then he leans in—forehead to mine, breath to breath—and for the first time in thirty days, we let the world fall away.

“How’d you manage to arrange this? A conjugal visit is rare in most of America.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, barely there. His eyes are on my lips like he’s forgotten how kissing works but remembers that it mattered once.

I smile, just a little smug. “I know.”

“Seriously,” he says, brows knitting. “You must’ve pulled some impossible strings.”

“I did,” I admit. “There were forms. So many forms. And begging. And calling. And smiling at people I didn’t want to smile at.”

He huffs a laugh, the sound small but real. “You charmed the system?”

“I bullied the system,” I correct, grinning now. “Emily helped push it through once I got it on paper. Fiona found a loophole in the visitation code, and I… well, I gave one hell of a speech to the warden’s assistant.”

His mouth tilts up at the corners. “What kind of speech?”

“The kind that makes people uncomfortable if they say no,” I say, lifting a brow. “A little desperate. A little dramatic. Very persuasive.”

He laughs again—really laughs—and I swear I feel his body melt just a little more beside mine. Like the weight is starting to come off, molecule by molecule.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs.

“No,” I say, reaching up to trace the outline of his face. “I’m your wife… and your wife has been desperate to hold you again,”

And then, like gravity shifts between us—he kisses me.

Slow. Intentional. Like he’s trying to relearn me by feel alone.

He pulls back just slightly, his breath shaky against my lips. His forehead rests against mine again, eyes still closed like he’s afraid they’ll betray how close he is to breaking.

“I was terrified that you would forget about me,” he says, voice cracking on the edges.

My heart squeezes. I cup his face in both hands, forcing him to look at me. “Spence… how could you ever think that?”

“I don’t know…” He swallows hard, like the words are knives on the way out. “This place… it’s dark. It changes you. You start to doubt everything.”

His eyes shine wet. He doesn’t blink.

“My mind keeps going to places I’ve never dared to think of. I imagine you moving on. Laughing without me. Falling asleep next to someone who isn't waiting for a phone call to say goodnight.”

I shake my head fiercely. “No. That’s not real.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. But in here, knowing isn’t enough. The silence gets inside your head. It starts sounding like truth.”

I press my forehead to his, trying to pour every ounce of love I have back into him. “You haven’t lost me. You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to forget who I am,” he confesses, voice barely there. “And I’m scared I already am.”

“You’re Spencer,” I breathe. “You’re brilliant. And soft. And good. You’re mine. And no steel bars or sleepless nights or whispering doubts will ever take that from me.”

He closes his eyes. A single tear slides down his cheek, and I catch it with my thumb before it can fall too far. He’s holding back. Like he didn’t want to ruin the little time we had by breaking down.

“You’re still you,” I whisper again, like a prayer I refuse to stop saying. “Even here you’re you.”

And then I kiss him—deeper this time, slower—both hands buried in his hair like I’m trying to hold all the broken pieces together before they slip through my fingers.

When I pull back, he’s staring at me like I’ve just given him air.

“I think about you all the time,” I say softly, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone.

A real smile—small but real—tugs at his lips.

“I think about you too,” he murmurs, his voice steadier now. “All the time. Every second I can spare.”

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to let go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

Then he looks at me with that kind of aching desperation only someone truly starved can have.

“Tell me…” he says. “Tell me something about the outside. Anything. I just want to hear your voice talk about something normal. Something real.”

I smile, blinking back tears, and thread our fingers together.

“Well…” I begin, letting my voice soften like we’re already under blankets at home, “Henry won the spelling bee.”

Spencer lets out a small, breathy laugh—surprised and tender. “He did? What was the word?”

“‘Ephemeral,’” I say, and that makes him laugh again, fuller this time, like it physically lifts something from his chest.

“Of course it was,” he murmurs, pride shining through the exhaustion in his eyes.

“And…” I glance at him playfully, “Penelope and Luke seem to have something going on.”

His eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Really,” I nod, grinning now. “They think they’re subtle. They are not.”

He chuckles and shakes his head like he can’t believe he missed that part of the story—like he’s trying to stitch himself back into a life that still exists without him.

“And I…” I pause, brushing his knuckles with my thumb. “I learned a new recipe. A fancy pasta dish with fresh herbs and this creamy lemon sauce. I think you’d love it.”

He closes his eyes and hums, like he’s trying to taste it in his mind.

“I can’t wait to make it for you,” I add, quiet now. “When you come home.”

That makes him open his eyes again. They're glassy, full of something that isn't quite sadness—but close. Hope, maybe. Or the kind of grief that comes from knowing hope is still possible.

He blinks once, then cracks a crooked smile.

“I can’t believe you managed to make a meal without burning the kitchen.”

I scoff, nudging his knee with mine. “Oh, like you’re any better. The only thing you’ve successfully cooked is cup noodles.”

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended. “I’ve made grilled cheese. Twice.”

“Spencer, you set the second one on fire.”

“That was a structural issue with the toaster oven.”

“You tried to grill it in the toaster oven.”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Details.”

I laugh, and it feels like something sacred. It’s small, but it fills the space between us like warmth in winter. For a second, we’re not in a prison conjugal suite. We’re just… us.

He watches me like he’s memorizing the way I laugh. Like he doesn’t know when he’ll get to hear it again.

And then, softer—barely above a whisper—“God, I missed this. You. Us.”

My smile fades into something quieter, deeper. “You missed us?” I murmur, a hint of competition laced in my voice. “Spence… I can’t stop thinking about you. Twenty-four seven. You’re all I think about.”

Spencer’s heart swells at the words, something warm blooming in the hollowed-out space inside his chest. He knows this is hard on me—knows I’m carrying the weight of both of us on the outside—but still, hearing it… hearing that I ache for him just as much—it’s almost too much.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” he says, and it comes out like a confession. “All the time. I just… I wish I could hold you, kiss you, touch you. I miss everything about you.”

My hand reaches for his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “Honey… don’t cry.”

He blinks. His brows pull together slightly, like the realization only just hit. He hadn’t even noticed the tears until my touch caught them.

He wipes at his face with a shaky hand, a flush of embarrassment rising. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “I just… I can’t believe this is happening. That I’m stuck in here. That you’re out there, living our life without me. And I can’t be with you.”

My fingers curl gently under his chin, coaxing him to meet my gaze.

“You are with me,” I whisper. “Right now. I’m here. You’re not alone, Spencer. Not even for a second.”

He leans into my palm like it’s the only steady thing in the world.

“I’m here now,” I say again, firmer. “And for the next five hours, I’m not going anywhere.”

I lean in and press soft kisses to his cheeks, one after the other, catching the tears as they fall. Salt and skin. Love and ache. I kiss each one like I can take it away—like I can undo the weight this place has put on him, one touch at a time.

He lets out a breath of a laugh—a soft, bittersweet chuckle that trembles in the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time, like he knows it’s unnecessary but still feels the need to say it.

“Don’t be,” I whisper, brushing my nose against his.

He tightened his hold on me, his fingers trailing slowly up and down my back—gentle, reverent, like he was trying to memorize me. Every curve, every freckle, every breath I took beneath his touch.

Then he lifted his head, propping himself up on one elbow to study my face. His eyes softened as he traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips, feather-light and full of quiet awe.

His gaze drifted downward, lingering at my neck. He leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to the pulse point just above my collarbone. It was slow. Intentional. Like he was grounding himself in the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“You know,” he murmured against my skin, “I dream of you every night.”

He kissed me again, lower this time. Another soft press to the side of my throat, then another—each one careful, reverent. Like prayer.

I shivered beneath him as his hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers skating across my skin. His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, as if I might break under it. He brushed the curve of my hip, pausing when he felt me tremble.

“You do?” I whispered.

“I do,” he breathed. “It’s been hell in here. A constant loop of missing you. Of dreaming about you. Wishing I could hold you, touch you, just… be with you.”

His hand moved to the front of my shirt now, fingers brushing each button with aching slowness. He began to undo them, one by one, savoring every inch of exposed skin like it was a miracle.

“Spence…”

“Shhh,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss me—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. “Just let me look at you.”

His hands moved reverently across my body, rediscovering me inch by inch. His mouth followed—kissing along my shoulders, the hollow of my collarbone, the gentle rise of my chest. Each touch was a vow. Each kiss, a homecoming.

I let out a breathless laugh, unable to help it. “This isn’t looking,” I teased.

He smiled against my skin, warm and unhurried. “Then let me look with my hands.”

He hummed, his fingers undoing the last of the buttons before slipping it off my shoulders. He paused then—really paused—his gaze sweeping over my bare torso like it was something sacred. Like I was something sacred.

No hunger. Just awe.

He leaned down, lips brushing softly against the skin just above my navel. Then he kissed lower—slow, tender kisses that trailed along my stomach, his tongue flicking out now and then to taste my skin. He moved upward again, mouth worshipping a path back to my chest, my throat, until he hovered above me—eyes burning, but gentle.

“Honey…” I whispered, voice breathy and reverent. Like the word itself was a prayer.

Spencer gazed at me adoringly, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the small window of the visitation room. In a voice low and thick with emotion, he murmured.

"Beautiful... You're so beautiful, Y/N."

His fingertips traced the delicate curve of my cheek, slow and deliberate, like he was carving the shape of me into his memory. He leaned in closer, nose brushing mine, breath mingling with my own.

"I want to remember every detail of you," he whispered. "The softness of your skin. The rise and fall of your chest when you breathe. I’m terrified of forgetting… of losing this. Of losing you."

Coming from Spencer—someone with an eidetic memory—those words shattered something in me. He could recall entire textbooks word for word, yet here he was, terrified that even his perfect mind wouldn’t be strong enough to hold on to us.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a single tear slipped free, trailing down the sharp line of his cheek. But still, he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its journey, kissing down my neck with a reverence that made me ache—each kiss warm, wet, and trembling. Each one a vow.

His hands drifted lower, abandoning the bare skin of my torso to fumble at the waistband of my pants. I didn’t hesitate. My hands moved to meet his, tugging gently at the fabric of his prison uniform, desperate to strip away everything that stood between us—between now and before.

“You’ll never lose me,” I murmured, voice firm even as emotion caught in my throat. “We’re gonna get you out. I promise.”

“Promise?” he asked, forehead pressing to mine, like he needed the contact to believe it was real. Like he was anchoring himself to my warmth.

“Yes,” I whispered, resting my palm over his heart. “Promise.”

Something in him broke then—not in a destructive way, but in a release. Like hearing those words gave him permission to let go. To feel. To want. To have me, even just for tonight.

He kissed me again, slow and deep. Not hungry. Not rushed. Like a memory being rewritten—carefully, reverently. His hands moved over my body like he was afraid he’d miss something if he moved too fast.

I peeled off the top half of his uniform, it was easier than I expected—like the fabric was eager to fall away. I wanted to touch him. To feel all of him again. But then I saw them.

The bruises.

They weren’t clustered, but they were everywhere. Spaced out and blooming beneath his skin—angry shades of violet and blue, like ugly secrets painted across his ribs and hips.

“Spencer—” I breathed, my voice catching with horror. My hand reached instinctively for his torso, but he stopped me.

His fingers closed gently, but firmly, around my wrist.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, voice raw with shame. “Please just… let’s not talk about it. Not right now. Just... let me have you. Please, Y/N.”

His eyes found mine—desperate and pleading—not for pity, not even for comfort, but for escape. For something pure. Something real. Something to remind him that he hadn’t been ruined completely. That there was still softness in the world, and it lived here, in this room, in me.

So I leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. Then each of his cheeks—tender, deliberate—until I had touched every part of him that looked like it might be hurting.

When I pulled back, I met his eyes again and gave the smallest nod. No words. Just yes. Just I'm yours.

Then I kissed him.

He cupped my face the moment our lips met, like he needed the contact to tether himself. And he kissed me back like he needed it—like this was his last breath and he chose to spend it here, on my lips. There was nothing hurried about it. No urgency. Just heat and devotion, building slow and deep beneath the surface.

His hands slipped down to my hips, guiding me gently onto my back. He followed, hovering just above, not rushing—just looking. His gaze roamed my face like it was the first time he’d seen it. Or maybe the first time he was allowing himself to believe it was really here. That I was really here.

“I love you,” he whispered again, as if repetition might stitch the moment into reality. “So much.”

“I love you more,” I whispered back.

His hand slid down the soft curve of my side—the one he knew by heart, yet had missed so deeply during his exile. He touched me like he was trying to memorize me all over again, as if he didn’t quite believe I was real. As if this was the dream.

His forehead pressed gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. I felt the brush of his eyelashes against my cheek, and then his voice—ragged, trembling—barely a whisper in my ear.

“Stay with me,” he breathed, half plea, half prayer. “Stay with me, Y/N.”

My heart clenched at the sound of my name. Stay with him... God, I wished more than anything in the world that I could. But our clock was ticking—fast. Too fast. That’s how time worked in here. Warped. Cruel. We had a couple hours left, and it already felt like sand slipping through our fingers.

“I’ll stay with you,” I whispered, breathless, trying to hold on to the fantasy that we could keep this—this closeness, this moment. “I’ll stay with you forever.”

And with our bodies entwined, he entered me. Gently. Slowly. Like it had been years. Like it hurt to be apart, and this—this was how we stitched ourselves back together.

My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and slightly damp with sweat, and his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer—like he was trying to erase every inch of space between us. Seal me to him completely.

The world outside vanished. No guards. No concrete walls. No ticking clock.

Just us.

Just breath.

Just the steady rhythm of our hearts beating in sync, echoing through the small, borrowed room.

“Do you remember…” I whispered against his lips, the words tumbling out in broken pants, my body trembling beneath his. The feeling of him inside me—of us—was almost too much. “Our first time?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locking onto mine with a kind of reverence that stole the breath from my lungs.

“Every second,” he said, his voice thick, trembling. “Etched in my mind. In my soul.”

I chuckled, but my voice cracked right in the middle of it. “You head-butted me when you came.”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, forehead dropping to rest against mine. “I was nervous,” he whispered, smiling despite the tears still threatening at the corners of his eyes.

“You were flustered,” I corrected, running my fingers through his hair. “And apologizing for like ten minutes while I couldn’t stop laughing.”

He shook his head, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “I still think about that. How embarrassed I was. And how beautiful you looked… even when you were laughing at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said softly, smiling into the memory. “I was laughing because you were embarrassed over an accident. It was sweet.”

His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer—like he didn’t want to miss even a second of this. His movements grew slower, more deliberate. We hovered at the edge of everything—not just release, but the kind of closeness that makes the world go quiet.

“I think…” I whispered, voice catching as I pressed a kiss to his temple, “I think that’s when I realized I was in love with you.”

Spencer stilled, just for a moment—his breath faltering against my skin. Then he looked up at me, eyes wide, glassy with unshed emotion.

“You did?” he asked, barely audible.

I nodded, holding him close. “You were so sweet. So nervous. You cared so much about how I felt—how I was. It was messy and imperfect and real. And I just... I knew.”

He kissed the side of my neck, a soft, trembling press of lips.

Spencer lost himself in the sensations—in the feel of me beneath him, around him, enveloping him. Every curve, every dip, every soft swell of my body pressed against his skin, and it was almost too much to bear. It was perfect. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever dreamed of.

His movements grew more urgent, more deliberate—driven not by lust, but by a desperate instinct to make sure I knew. That I felt it. All of it.

“I love you,” he gasped, the words torn from his throat—raw, broken, honest. He needed me to know. To understand. To feel it in the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, the way he breathed me in like he couldn’t get enough.

His control was slipping fast, the edges of the world blurring until there was nothing left but this. Me. This moment. This love, in its purest, most desperate form.

I didn’t want it to end.

But it was building—rising, unstoppable.

I could feel him unraveling in my arms, every breath he took getting shakier, every movement deeper—more desperate. Like he was pouring everything he had into me. Every ache. Every prayer. Every silent scream he’d swallowed behind prison walls.

“I love you,” he said again, and it was almost a cry this time—like the words had clawed their way out of him, like they couldn’t stay buried a second longer.

“I love you too,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His forehead pressed against mine, and for a moment, he stilled—our hearts racing together, bodies trembling as if trying to memorize the exact shape of each other. Then I felt it—that last, broken wave washing over him. The way he buried his face into my neck, his fingers digging into my hips, his whole body surrendering to the feeling as he finally let go.

I held him through it. Anchored him. Whispered his name like a balm.

He collapsed onto me, not heavy, just present. Just Spencer. His breath was warm against my collarbone, soft and uneven. His arms never loosened, like if he let go, I might slip through his fingers again.

I cradled the back of his head with one hand and traced lazy shapes across his back with the other. Stars. Spirals. Infinity signs.

He didn’t speak, not at first. Just breathed. Listened to my heartbeat. Grounded himself in the soft rhythm of the only thing that hadn’t left him.

Then he whispered, “Please don’t let this be a dream.”

His voice was so quiet, I barely caught it—just a fragile breath against my skin.

I tightened my arms around him, kissed the crown of his head. “It’s not a dream,” I murmured. “I’m here. We’re here.”

His breath stuttered, and I felt the tremble in his shoulders before he pulled in a deep, shaky inhale.

We lay like that for a while. Twined together. Skin on skin. Nothing but our bodies and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It wasn’t a hotel room, or a bed at home. But right now, it was the safest place in the world. Because he was in my arms. Because he still felt like Spencer.

I ran my fingers through his hair, curling soft strands behind his ear. “You’re okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay now.”

His body trembled against mine—not from what we’d just done, but from the release of something heavier. Like tension stored in his muscles had finally found an exit.

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, barely above a whisper: “You know I have an eidetic memory. I can remember what you wore the first time we met, what song was playing the first time we kissed…”

He swallowed, voice catching.

“But lately, I… I’ll be lying in bed and I can’t recall the exact sound of your laugh. Or how your hair smelled that morning you fell asleep on the couch. I know it’s in there, but it’s like I have to dig for it, like it’s fading behind noise.”

I felt him tense again, like he was waiting for me to flinch. I didn’t.

I pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It’s not fading. You’re just exhausted. You don’t have to hold on so tight, Spence. I’m here. I’ll remind you of everything.”

He nodded against my forehead, the motion subtle, like it took effort just to believe me.

We shifted slowly until we lay side by side, still tangled under the thin blanket. His body curled slightly toward mine—unconscious, like instinct. Like a plant bending toward light.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It was slower now. Grounded.

But I could still feel it—the tension he hadn’t released. The thoughts that hadn’t been said.

For a long moment, we just lay there in the hush, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. His fingers brushed absentmindedly against my arm, over and over, like a reflex. Like he was still making sure I was real.

Then his voice, low and raw, cut through the quiet.

“I don’t even know if I did it.”

I stilled.

His breath hitched, just slightly. “The murder. The setup. Whatever this is. There are hours of that night that I… I don’t remember. And that terrifies me.”

He swallowed hard, like the words had burned on their way out.

“I keep thinking—what if the reason I don’t remember isn’t because someone drugged me, or manipulated me, or because I was targeted—what if it’s because I did it? What if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be?”

He laughed then—quiet and bitter. A single breath through his nose that didn’t even try to disguise the self-loathing underneath.

“I mean, isn’t that the irony? The guy with the perfect memory, the one who can’t forget anything… can’t remember the one thing that could save him.”

My hand found his, instinctively, lacing our fingers together.

“Spencer—” I whispered.

But he shook his head, eyes glued to the ceiling. “I’ve been going over it again and again. I’ve reconstructed the timeline. I’ve looked at it like I would any other case. But when it’s me... everything blurs. I can't trust my own mind. And if I can’t trust that, then what do I have left?”

He turned to look at me then—finally—and it gutted me.

Not because of the tears in his eyes. But because he wasn’t fighting them anymore.

“You didn’t do it,” I said, firm despite the lump in my throat.

His brow furrowed, bitter and disbelieving. “How can you be so sure of that? I mean—I went to Mexico without telling you. I’ve been lying. Hiding things. Being secretive about this whole mess since the beginning.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s not exactly the behavior of an innocent man.”

I reached for his hand again, squeezing it tightly. “Honey, I know you didn’t do it,” I said softly. “Because I know you. As cliché as that might sound.”

He turned his face slightly toward the wall, like he couldn’t bear to look at me while I said it.

“I know the way your voice goes quiet when you’re scared,” I continued. “I know the way your hands shake when something feels out of your control. I know how hard you try to do the right thing even when it hurts you. I know how much you love. How deeply. How fiercely. And I know you would never—never—hurt someone like that.”

I swallowed hard, pressing my forehead to the side of his.

“You're not perfect. You mess up. You shut people out. But Spencer... you are not a killer.”

His jaw clenched, a tear slipping down the side of his face and into the pillow.

“But what if I’m broken?” he asked, and it came out so small, it didn’t sound like him at all. “What if prison is breaking me, and I don’t even realize how far it’s gone?”

“Then we’ll get through it together.” I whispered. “I’m not saying I can put you back together, because I cant… but I sure as hell will try to help you through this.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a sob, half a sigh—and pulled me into him like I was the only thing tethering him to the world.

We stayed like that for a while, curled into each other. No sound but the ticking clock we were both trying to ignore.

But I felt the shift in him—the way his grip loosened, the way his breath hitched again. He was spiraling. Quietly, but fully.

I reached up and cupped his face in my hands.

“Spence, look at me.”

He hesitated, then let his eyes find mine. They were glassy, full of fear. Shame. Exhaustion.

“You're still in there,” I whispered. “Even when you feel lost. Even when your mind starts telling you lies. You're still in here.”

I took his hand gently and guided it to the center of my chest.

“Feel that?”

He nodded, lips trembling.

“That’s yours,” I whispered. “You’re still in here with me.”

His face crumpled then, and I wiped the tears that spilled over before they could fall too far. My thumbs brushed his cheekbones, my forehead resting lightly against his.

“You’re not alone,” I breathed. “You never were.”

We held each other like that as the minutes slipped away from us. Soon enough the minutes turned to hours, all spent with us talking and holding each-other.

I didn’t want to remind him of the time, but it reminded us anyway.

The sharp ring of the phone on the nightstand cut through the silence.

I flinched.

Spencer didn’t move at first. Just stared at it. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled like the air had been knocked out of him.

I reached for it, hand trembling.

“Time’s up,” the voice on the other end said. No warmth. No pause. “You have five minutes to dress and prepare the inmate for escort.”

I didn’t respond. Just hung up.

Spencer sat up slowly, moving like his bones didn’t want to cooperate. Like gravity had gotten meaner in the last hour.

I helped him dress, my hands moving on autopilot—straightening seams, buttoning cuffs, smoothing down the stiff collar of his prison uniform even though it didn’t matter. It was a pointless gesture, but I needed the contact. I needed something to do. Something to get my mind off this awful feeling of leaving him.

My fingers trembled, clumsy and obvious, and I hated that I couldn’t stop it. That I couldn’t hold it together for him, even now.

He watched me the entire time. Quiet. Still. His hands stayed at his sides, balled gently into fists like he was physically holding himself back from touching me. His jaw was tight, lips parted slightly like there was something he wanted to say—but couldn’t.

Then he stood.

And I stood.

And something in the room shifted. Broke.

I stepped into him without thinking—without breathing—and he caught me like he’d been waiting for it. My arms wrapped around his torso, and his came around me just as fast, one hand splayed across the back of my head, the other curling around my spine like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I pressed my face into his chest and let myself fall apart. The sob started in my throat and cracked its way out, ugly and trembling and loud. I didn’t try to muffle it. Not anymore. My whole body shook with it, and he just held me tighter, swaying us gently like he could rock us back in time.

“I don’t want you to go,” I choked out, the words barely making it past my grief. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice sounded scraped raw, like he’d been crying on the inside for weeks. Maybe he had.

He kissed the top of my head, soft and lingering. Then my temple. Then my lips—a kiss with no pressure, no heat. Just ache. Just love. His eyes were wide open the whole time, like he didn’t want to blink. Like he didn’t want to miss me for even a second.

Then the knock came.

Two sharp taps against the door. Not rude, but not kind either. It was the sound of routine. The sound of time’s up.

Spencer stilled. I felt the breath leave his lungs like he’d been punched. His arms didn’t drop right away. He lingered, like his body hadn’t caught up with what had to happen next.

Then, slowly, he stepped back. Not because he wanted to.

Because he had to.

His eyes darted over me like he was taking inventory—my face, my hands, my mouth. He was memorizing again. Storing me somewhere safe.

And then he turned toward the door.

But just before it opened, he paused.

He turned back, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.

I was standing there, my hands on the hem of my shirt, clutching it like it could keep me together. My tears had blurred everything, but not enough to lose him. Never enough to lose him.

His face was unreadable—but not empty. It was full. Of everything he couldn’t say. Of every goodbye he couldn’t bear to speak aloud.

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for me again.

But he didn’t.

And then the door opened.

He looked at me one last time.

And then he was gone.

[er1nne]

hi! i’m the anon who requested a new part for “the interview with drew goes viral”. you actually posted it on my birthday, so i’m sending you a huge thanks, really.

i absolutely loved it and i also wouldn’t mind if you wanted to turn this into a series too hahah.

the two of them 🥺🥺🥺 i love that drew is going to the coffee shop after her, would love to see how their relationship grows! i’m in love with them and with the you you write. thanks again!!!

hope you’re doing well, have a nice weekend xxx

another run in with drew ♡

part one, part two, part three

author's note: love how this had become a series lol, also series masterlist coming soon. give me ideas on what you want to see, your wishes are my command

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

You haven’t seen Drew since the coffee shop. No texts. No calls. No accidental likes on Instagram stories. Just that strange little moment—quiet, simple, unexpected—followed by nothing but silence. A silence you didn’t have time to question, at least not out loud.

Work swept you under fast. One interview turned into five, turned into twelve. There were red eyes and red carpets, layovers that bled into morning glam, emails marked urgent that weren’t, and endless voice notes from your assistant reminding you to drink water or, God forbid, actually sit down and eat. You’ve been floating from event to event, mic in hand, pretending the whirlwind is normal.

And maybe it is. Maybe this is just what success feels like when it comes all at once.

But somewhere in the back of your mind—between camera flashes and client lists—you still think about that coffee. The way his hand brushed yours when he reached for the lid. The way he looked at you like you were someone worth pausing for. Not performing for. Just… seeing.

You never followed up. Neither did he. So maybe that’s where it ends.

Until now.

You’re back on the red carpet, badge clipped, mic wired, heels biting into the carpet just enough to remind you to stand tall. Another night. Another venue. Another lineup of stars and stylists and agents crowding every inch of the step-and-repeat. Ironically enough, for a Drew Starkey interview. Even when you can't make time to see him personally the universe has a funny way of putting you two together. Meant to be? who knows.

You try not to think too hard about it—don’t give it weight. You’re here to work. You’re here to do your job. Not to chase the what-ifs of a man who left your texts untyped and your mind way too occupied on nights when you should’ve been sleeping.

Still, your fingers tighten around the mic just slightly as you read down the list of arrivals. Tom Blyth is slotted ahead of Drew. You know Tom. He’s warm, low-maintenance, the kind of actor who gives thoughtful answers and makes your job easy. You ground yourself in that—small wins. Familiar rhythms.

Your team gives you the signal, and you step forward into the chaos of flashbulbs and pre-show nerves. The cameras sweep toward you and Tom as he arrives, his publicist giving you a nod. You settle into the interview, asking your usual questions—questions you could probably recite in your sleep by now. He smiles, laughs, says something about the director’s process. You nod, respond, push the conversation where it needs to go. It’s smooth. Effortless. Just how it’s supposed to be.

Your heels click into place on the press line, the carpet beneath you plush but just unstable enough to remind you you’re balancing on borrowed time—and four inches of designer expectation. The noise is a hum—paparazzi flashes, producers shouting cues, the murmur of industry air kisses and small talk no one really means.

Then you see him.

Tom Blyth moves through the crowd like it’s parting for him on instinct. All charm and movie-star ease, dressed in something sharp and tailored, the kind of suit that looks effortless but costs more than your entire monthly invoice report. The lapels lie just right, the fabric catching the camera flashes like it knows it’s being watched. He carries himself like someone who’s used to being looked at—and knows exactly what to do with that attention.

When he stops in front of you, the grin he offers is the kind you feel—not just see. It’s practiced, yes, but not fake. It lands with just enough weight to leave a mark.

You hold your mic steady and smile back, but the energy shifts the second he opens his mouth.

“Well, well,” he says as he stops in front of you, eyeing your mic, then your face, “didn’t expect to see the best-dressed person here holding the microphone. Shouldn’t you be on this side with the rest of us?”

You smile, professional but just shy of bashful. “Careful, Tom. Keep sweet-talking me like that and I might start charging for compliments.”

“Go ahead,” he says, laughing. “As long as you let me expense it under ‘networking.’”

He winks, and you try not to let your shoulders tense under the cameras. “Let’s talk about the film, yeah? You’ve worked with some heavy hitters this year. What drew you to this script?”

He leans in slightly, enough for you to catch a trace of his cologne—something warm, amber, expensive. “Besides the fact that it gave me a reason to show up and see you again?” He pauses, grin widening. “I liked how human it felt. Honest. Flawed. I’ve been chasing those kinds of roles lately. But this one hit different.”

You nod, genuinely engaged, your mic lifting instinctively. “Do you think audiences are ready to see you in something that vulnerable? Or do you still like being everyone’s golden boy?”

“Depends,” he says. “Would you still like me if I wasn’t?”

Before you can even come up with a reply—witty or otherwise—a voice cuts through the noise, low and unmistakably familiar.

“Now he’s trying to steal my favorite interviewer.”

You turn.

Drew stands just behind Tom, casual but calculated, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on you like he’s trying to read the punchline before you’ve even delivered it.

Tom steps back half an inch, amusement flashing across his face. “Well, didn’t know I was stepping on any toes.”

“Not toes. Just territory.” Drew’s tone is light, but the message is there, coded in the way his eyes flick to you, then back to Tom like a reflex.

Tom glances between the two of you, catching it. “Didn’t mean to step on anything,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “Or anyone.”

You force a smile—tight, professional—and tilt the mic toward Drew without looking directly at him. “We’re all friends here. Right?”

“Sure we are,” Drew murmurs, eyes still on you. He doesn’t blink when you finally meet his gaze. He just lifts one brow slightly, like he knows something you don’t want to admit out loud.

Tom excuses himself down the line, sensing the shift, and you don’t blame him. The moment he walks away, the noise around you fades into a blur. Your crew’s still watching. Cameras still pointed. But all you feel is him.

Then he leans in closer—like he’s adjusting something on his suit, like he’s letting you fix his mic—but his mouth is right by your ear.

“Long week?” he asks, voice low.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. You don’t turn to face him, just nod slightly, lips pressed together. “Busy.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Too busy for coffee, huh? Maybe dinner works better instead.”

You slightly hold your mouth agape with a surprised smile decorates your face. You swallow hard. He’s not wrong.

“Sure, it that will make it up to you.”

"How about tonight? If you’re not busy after the premiere.”

You pause. Then add— Then: “There's not a such thing as 'too busy'. It’s a date, then.”

The words fall out softer than you expect, almost natural, and the moment they land, both of you flinch—just a little.

“Promise.”

That gets him.

He doesn’t smile—but something in his expression shifts. Softens. You feel the shift in his body before you see it—his shoulders ease, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s forcing stillness. He doesn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his face unlocks. Like your words knocked the wind out of him for half a second.

And then—

You turn your head. Just slightly. Just enough for your mouth to hover where his had been.

“Tell me something,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin. “Are you the jealous type?”

He goes still. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just still.

One beat. Two.

And suddenly it’s like everyone around you vanishes. The press. The handlers. Even the cameras seem quieter. Because anyone watching now sees it—the way his hand flexes at his side. The way your smile lifts just barely, slow and knowing. The air between you buzzes, hot and thick and impossible to ignore.

Then you smile for the camera—tight, sweet, unreadable. “We’re rolling, Starkey. You ready?”

He pulls back, expression unreadable. “Always.”

You lift the mic, voice smooth. “Drew Starkey, star of tonight’s premiere, joining us now…”

And just like that, you fall back into the rhythm. But your pulse is nowhere near calm. And neither is he.

And just like that, you’re back on script—two professionals, poised and polished.

But your pulse is nowhere near calm.

And his? His jaw ticks once. His eyes don’t leave you.

But this is anything but far from over.

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (5)

summary: a break away from reality is healing - for all of you. but when you return to Seoul, the storm waiting for you is far from over.

You were tired of feeling hunted.

Every person who walked up to the counter at work, every too-long stare, every offhand comment - it left a coil of anxiety in your chest.

But when your coworker popped her head around the corner and sung with a smirk, “Lover boy’s here,” your body finally exhaled.

Daesung was standing by the door of the café, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smile soft. Even just his presence steadied you.

You took your break early.

Outside, under the cool air of the afternoon, he slid a small box across the table. AirPods.

“You said you were anxious on the phone the other day,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “And music always helps me.”

You stared at them, touched. “Dae...”

“I also made you a playlist,” he added, almost sheepish. “You might hate it. It’s a mix of stuff I like... there's one in there that made me think of you, actually.”

You laughed softly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not. You deserve nice.”

You hadn't told him about the case. Not yet.

Not about the file you’d been shown. How your safety was now a question mark, how the little life you’d been building was beginning to feel like a tower of cards in the wind.

But in this moment - with his leg resting against yours under the table, the rhythmic bounce of his foot keeping your spiralling thoughts tethered - was peace.

Fragile peace you didn't dare taint.

“So,” he said, stirring his drink, “I’m going to Japan for a few days.”

Your heart dipped, just a little. “Oh.”

“You should come,” he said quickly. “With me.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working nonstop. You need a break. We can eat everything, shop, walk around all day. I’ll take care of the planning.”

“I don't know if I can get the time off yet,” you said, hesitating. “And... would it be a group thing?”

You were familiar with them. You'd been on your fare share over the years, with the boys always travelling for shows. And you presumed this was no exception.

Daesung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of. But Jiyong’s not coming if that's what you're worried about,” he added quickly. “He’s staying here. Said he has to sort some stuff out.”

That gave you pause.

It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did.

You looked down at your lap, contemplating before you felt a small smile tug at your lips. It would be nice to have a break. With him. “I’ll ask my manager.”

He grinned in relief. “That’s all I ask.”

You checked the time and sighed. “My break ended ten minutes ago.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” Daesung said, standing up and leaning over you, delicately dropping his lips to your head. "I'll speak to you later, yeah?"

You smiled up at him, watching as his figure slowly walk off. He waited at the end of the street, waving to you, then soon disappearing around the corner.

You stayed put, letting the street noise fill in the silence.

For a moment, it was just the sound of car engines, the murmur of conversation, a child crying somewhere in the distance.

You stared out at the busy street.

Someone was standing across the road, looking down at their phone.

You couldn’t make out their face. They could’ve been anyone. They could’ve been no one.

And yet.

The chill in your spine returned.

The peace was gone again

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were drying mugs when your colleague came up behind you, voice low but annoyed on your behalf.

“I still can’t believe she said no,” she muttered. “If she knew who BigBang were, she’d realise what a crime she’s committing.”

You laughed a little under your breath.

It helped - her dramatic outrage.

She’d fawned over Daesung every single time he’d dropped by the café to visit.

Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

She thought he was just a flirty friend you were blessed enough to stumble across. You hadn’t told her you had dated one of Daesung’s bandmates - one of the biggest names in K-pop.

And you never would.

It had been private. Carefully curated. With only your old media name tied to him.

Jiyong had of course posted photos of you together over the years - just glimpses, but it wasn't enough to draw connections. Besides, he was frequently linked to someone new, a model or some actress. It was easy to conceal your identity.

You’d always asked him to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you were grateful.

Your colleague moved away to serve someone whilst you stayed beside her, focusing on the porcelain in your hands.

Until the customer didn’t leave.

She hovered at the counter, staring.

You glanced up, uncomfortable. She was young. Pretty. Dressed like she’d stepped off a fashion blog.

And her eyes were locked on you.

“…Can I help you?” you asked cautiously.

Her voice was sharp. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“You’re the one who leaked the footage of GDragon. You’re that shitty ex.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your colleague did a double take, glancing between you and the girl.

“What the hell?” she said, trying to intervene. “She’s Daesung’s girlfriend actually - ”

Even though you weren't.

The girl didn’t care. She was seething now, hand tightening around her plastic cup.

“I'd recognise you anywhere. I've seen that tattoo before."

Oh god. So she was an obsessed fan, one of the many trying to witch hunt you.

"You tried to ruin him,” she spat. “You fucking snake.”

You barely had time to move.

The iced coffee hit your chest, shattering against your apron, soaking through your shirt. You gasped at the cold. Ice cubes skittered across the floor. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

But you did respond.

Physically.

Your hand grabbed the nearest thing - a fistful of sugar sachets - and launched them at her face. Hard.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Your manager shot up from her seat near the window, abandoning her laptop. “Out. Now.”

You turned and walked to the back room, heart thundering, coffee dripping down your front. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just wiped your face and tried to breathe.

The door opened.

Your manager stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. "Now I know the customer started it. But - "

“I get it,” you said flatly. “I’m fired.”

She didn’t argue.

You ripped off your apron, tossed it aside, and left without another word.

Outside, you shoved in your AirPods. Music roared in your ears.

You were halfway down the block when you collided with someone. You stumbled back, muttering a distracted “sorry.”

They kept walking.

You didn’t even look up.

Back at your apartment, you slammed the door shut, threw your keys blindly toward the counter - and knocked over the vase of tulips you had bought days ago. Water spilled across the table and ran off the edge. The flowers drooped against the marble.

You didn’t bother to fix them.

You just moved to stare out the window.

The street below was empty.

But your mind continued to tell you that something was there, even if you couldn't seem anything.

Coffee was soaking into the rug beneath your shoes, and you didn’t even care.

Your fingers found your phone.

And you called him.

“Is your offer still available?” you asked, voice hollow.

Daesung sounded surprised. “Wait - I thought you didn’t get the time off?”

“My manager changed her mind.”

There was a pause. “Well,” he said brightly, trying to lift the mood, “good thing I didn’t cancel anything yet. You’re gonna love Japan - the neon lights, the markets, the food - ”

You barely listened.

You stood there, phone to your ear, as his voice babbled on.

And continued to stare down at the desolate street below. It felt like you were waiting for a shadow to appear. The same one that was casting a dark spell over your sanity.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The airport was brimming with life - even at the ungodly hour. Families reuniting, wheels clacking against the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

You and Daesung were moving through it all, heads down, casual but efficient.

He was practically glowing beside you, clutching your luggage with one hand and swinging his other arm as he walked. There was a bounce in his step.

“I booked a spa place for us - one with warm stone rooms,” Daesung beamed. “And there’s this tiny local spot that does handmade soba. I thought we could go there tomorrow night.”

You nodded, warmed by his thoughtfulness, until you both slowed at the sight of the chaos ahead. A wall of fans and cameras gathered by one of the VIP exits.

Security blocked the crowd, holding firm lines.

You nudged Daesung with your elbow. “I almost forgot about this part.”

He craned his neck. “Well... at least we're prepared.”

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hood up and tugged your face mask into place. Daesung did the same, and together, you slipped around the edge of the chaos and into the quieter corridor leading to the VIP lounge.

But then you heard it. The shift in crowd noise. The camera shutters picking up speed.

You turned your head over your shoulder.

A trolley stacked with Rimowa suitcases was heading straight towards you.

And they were still covered in those ridiculous stickers. The ones you’d plastered all over them. Memories from each city you had visited together.

Jiyong was here.

He was striding forward with his security parting the crowd. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, cap low, but unmistakably him.

You grabbed Daesung’s arm, voice low. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

Daesung blinked at you, surprised. “He said he wasn’t.”

You didn’t have time to process it. Jiyong spotted you through the glass of the lounge and made a beeline for the door.

He entered with a sigh, tugging his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair like he’d been running the whole way.

“You’re early,” he said with a soft smile, stopping a few feet away. “I thought you’d be.”

You glared at him, eyes narrowed to bitter resentment.

Daesung broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What happened to taking care of things in Seoul?”

Jiyong didn’t take his eyes off you. “My responsibilities are here now.”

You rolled your eyes and Daesung felt it. He gave a half-laugh, feeling awkward. “Right. I’m, uh, gonna grab some food.” He glanced at you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, stepping to follow.

“What are we eating?” Jiyong asked, stepping after you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned sharply, hand up. “No.” The word was firm. A single finger raised in warning. “No.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled your carry-on from Daesung and shoved it into Jiyong’s chest, causing him to stumble slightly as he caught it.

“I need you to stay here and look after this for me.”

He blinked, expression flickering. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” you said again, turning on your heel. “You’ll be fine. Stay.”

You walked away with Daesung, not looking back. You almost felt bad speaking to him that way, until you remembered why you were mad at him.

Daesung kept pace beside you, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. "I swear, he said - "

You shook your head before he could say anymore. “It’s fine."

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe it’s good for him to see me. Like this. Moving on.”

Daesung hesitated. But he didn’t argue.

He simply placed a steady hand on your back and guided you toward one of the food stalls.

Far behind you now, Jiyong stood in the lounge, your carry-on in hand, staring after you with something unreadable in his eyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had thought things would be awkward at first, since Hyo Rin and Youngbae sided with Jiyong during the fallout.

But they surprised you.

They apologised, and it was sincere.

They even shared their snacks with you on the flight like nothing had happened. And Seunghyun wasn't in attendance - he was off preparing for enlistment.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of the group.

And when the private car finally pulled up to the hotel, you all went your separate ways.

Same floor, different rooms.

Your room was cozy, exactly what you needed after the long flight. You started unpacking, trying to shake off the tension still clinging to you, but when you went to grab your AirPods, you noticed one was missing.

You sighed.

You had a bad habit of losing things, but this one?

This one was especially annoying.

You plopped down on the bed and glanced around the room, half-expecting the missing AirPod to magically appear before you.

It didn’t.

Your mind drifted, as it often did, back to a memory with Jiyong.

It was your first anniversary, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the diamond earrings Jiyong had gotten you.

He was standing behind you, his arms casually slung around your waist, watching you with that soft, affectionate smile that only he could pull off.

“You almost ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “Just about. I’ll be done in a second.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, swaying slightly, his hands brushing over your dress - not to help, but to distract. He tugged at the little zipper.

“Jiyong,” you laughed, “come on, I’m trying to get ready here. You know I like to be early.”

"You look so beautiful.”

His hands traced the line of your dress, pushing the strap off your shoulder just enough so he could kiss the exposed skin.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered, but it was difficult to stay serious when he was being like this.

His lips brushed your neck, then your earlobe, before he playfully bit down. "You're making me hard,"

“Oh my god,” You breathed out, a laugh escaping as he pulled you backwards, towards the bed.

You never made it to the dinner.

But that hadn't been what the evening was supposed to be about anyway.

It was about you and him.

A day remembering the beginning of your relationship, which had bloomed from something so unexpected.

And as long as you were with him, you didn't care how you celebrated it.

Although, breathlessly tangled in bedsheets with Jiyong was a rather faultless way of honouring your love.

Your eyes felt heavy as you lay there, lying against his bare chest and staring at the TV on the wall - playing a show neither of you were really watching.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was tugging at your earlobe absentmindedly, his hair slightly damp and askew after you had spent hours tugging on it.

“You know, I think you lost one of your earrings,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You tensed, your hand flying up to check your ear. “What?” You felt around the bed, panic rising as you realised it was true. “No, no, I can’t find it!”

“Don’t worry,” he teased, his voice low, amused. “It’s probably just fallen somewhere. I can't believe you’ve lost it already, Jagi.”

You scrambled to search the floor, uncaring for your naked state, desperately looking for the missing earring. “What do you mean I’ve lost it?!”

He chuckled, stretching across the bed as you yanked the covers from his bare body, tossing them across the room to double-check the mattress. Jiyong lay there, smiling, thumb pulling at his lip as he watched you.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, sounding too relaxed about it. “Maybe a few more, so I can keep biting your ears and make sure you keep losing them.”

You glared at him, even though it had no malice behind it. “You're right. This is your fault.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out to tug you closer until you were standing against the edge of the bed.

He stared up at you, eyes warm and full of admiration. “I won’t stop,” he promised, his hands brushing against the curve of your backside. “When it comes to you, I have no control.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, even as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though you loved him for it.

And when he went to bite the curve of your thigh, you shrieked with laughter, the sound filling the room, the moment a perfect bubble of happiness.

He tugged you hard, your body collapsing onto his - onto the bed, the world outside slipping away.

The knock at your hotel door pulled you sharply back to the present. Your heart raced as you stared at the door for a moment, your hand still clutching the missing AirPod.

The memory of Jiyong, of how things used to be, clung to you like a scent that couldn't be washed away.

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hands on your pants. The knock came again, louder this time.

With one last glance at the missing AirPod, you forced yourself to stand. You walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

Daesung was standing there, grinning with that familiar warmth.

“You ready for an adventure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and into the elevator.

Next thing you knew, you were being whisked away to the Mario Kart go-kart experience in the streets of Tokyo.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and that was what made it so perfect.

You both suited up in bright, oversized outfits, giggling at each other from your respective go-karts, racing through the bustling streets of the city.

The rush of speed, the adrenaline coursing through you as you zipped past buildings and tourists, was invigorating.

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as Daesung swerved a pothole and nearly crashed into a traffic cone. He stayed just slightly behind you, letting you take the glory, and preventing the people from behind from overtaking you.

It was liberating. To forget.

You didn’t even think about the mess you’d left behind.

The whispers. The stalker. Your job. Jiyong.

But eventually, the karts came to a stop, and you were back in the quiet of the Tokyo streets, the air cool against your skin.

You both strolled around, taking in the sights together. He was leading you towards a restaurant, talking animatedly about the noodles you just had try.

You hadn't even noticed you were holding hands until he tugged you back from stepping onto the crossing as a cyclist whizzed past. You smiled at him in gratitude.

Your adrenaline was still pumping from the racing. Your head rushed. It was addicting.

And then, of course, Daesung had to ruin it by bringing up Jiyong.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Daesung began, his voice casual but tinged with something softer. “How are you really doing with everything? With him.”

You sighed, removing your linked hands to rake it through your hair.

Of course, it had to come up. It always did.

It felt like no matter where you went, or what you tried to do to move forward, the past kept following you like an inevitable shadow.

“I don’t know, Dae,” you admitted, “I just… I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep going back to that. I just want to move forward, you know? We’re in Tokyo. I want to enjoy the trip. I want to enjoy this.”

Daesung didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his expression serious. After a beat, he sighed.

“You can’t move forward until you make peace with the past, though,” he said quietly, his words hitting harder than you expected.

You stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not clueless, Y/n,” he continued, his tone a little more pointed. “I know why Jiyong’s here. He’s here because you’re here. And he’s probably wondering where you are right now. Why you’re with me.”

You felt your chest tighten. His words landed like a punch, but there was no anger in them, only truth.

You looked away, avoiding his gaze as the words he spoke lingered in the air.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you muttered, but your voice sounded small, even to you.

Daesung’s voice softened. “Sorry, I just feel...”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the cool surface of a nearby shop window as you gathered your thoughts. You knew what he was going to say.

Guilty.

You hadn't felt that way at first. Maybe only a fleeting pinch. But leaving things unresolved with Jiyong meant your time with Daesung felt... borrowed.

Like you weren't allowed to progress until you had closed that chapter for good.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ve been avoiding him. But I can't stomach the thought of a conversation with him. He really hurt me."

Your words didn't even begin to cover the damage Jiyong had inflicted. Even if it had been from misplaced anger and judgement.

Daesung nodded, his hand falling gently on your shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I understand. I'd never push you into something you're not ready for."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he smiled, a soft, understanding smile.

It almost felt like his words had another meaning to them - like you weren't just ready for a conversation with Jiyong, but ready to move on.

Sometimes you wondered that if you sealed things off from Jiyong, then maybe your path with Daesung would suddenly appear.

Right now, it felt blurred and unsure.

It also felt exciting and hopeful.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words.

“Fine I promise that I'll be better,” you said softly, “I'll... try to keep the peace. But - he has to respect my boundaries too. I'm tired of people pushing me to my limits."

"I'll speak to him." He assured you with a nod. Then Daesung smiled again, his face lighting up. “I want you to have a good time. And we’ll be here, together. No more worries.”

You both stood there for a moment, the city moving around you, the night air cool against your skin. You stared up at him and then reached on your tip-toes, holding his broad shoulders for support as you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Daesung squeezed your waist as your feet flattened again, then he took your hand - fingers interlocked, continuing your journey through the city together.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The spa was meant to be a reprieve. A calming pause before the boy's performance later that night.

You and Daesung were wrapped in white robes, wandering through the corridors of still water and soft music. It was almost easy to pretend everything was simple again.

Almost.

Your eyes burned into the ink scrawled across his back.

Jiyong walked a few paces ahead, shuffling towards the indoor pool.

He had invited himself along, and Daesung had only offered an apologetic shrug when you looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.

You hadn’t said anything. There was no point.

You paused your steps, letting Jiyong go his own way. You just needed to keep your distance, stay in control.

But control slipped a little the moment Daesung loosened the tie on his robe.

He shrugged it off with the ease of someone used to being shirtless around others, and your gaze, unprepared, was caught.

The cut of his muscles. The curve of his biceps. The way his shorts hung low on his hips.

His body was all hard lines and effortless strength, and you knew he worked out, but you hadn’t seen it like this. Not so close. Not so bare.

You blinked and turned your head quickly, heart fluttering in your chest. The thought of sitting beside him in the sauna - watching sweat trace down the thick column of his neck, pooling in the crevice of his chest - was suddenly too much.

“I think I’ll go for the steam room,” you said lightly, masking the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked over at you and smiled, towel in hand. “Alright. Let’s do that instead.”

The steam curled thick around you both as you stepped into the room. It was quiet, private, the hiss of heat enveloping your skin in seconds.

You sat side by side on the tiled bench, your knees almost brushing.

The air was hot and wet, making the silence between words stretch longer than it should have - but Daesung, ever gentle, filled it with low laughter and small stories. Something about the last time they were in Japan. A fan encounter. A near-disastrous ramen challenge.

You laughed softly, grateful for the lightness.

But after a while, he leaned back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"I might have to step out for a bit,” he murmured. “I'm getting a little lightheaded in here.”

You shifted upright. “I’ll come with - ”

“No, no. Stay,” he said quickly, hand brushing yours to stop you. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the thick fog. You exhaled and let your head fall back, trying to melt into the heat.

That’s when the door opened again.

You didn’t look. “That was quick - ”

“Y/n.”

You sat up fast.

Jiyong stood there, steam already beginning to curl around his body, his dark hair damp from the humidity. He wore nothing but tight black trunks, clinging to his thighs.

You stiffend, instantly on guard.

“No,” you snapped. “Get out.”

He stepped in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you. Even if I have to beg.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

He took a step forward. “Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

You stayed silent.

Tension hung between you, thick as the steam in the air. Old feelings clawing their way back to the surface. You hated how he could still pull them from you so easily.

He looked at you for a beat, eyes unwavering. “Well?” he prompted. “Do you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “Go on then. Beg.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do it.

But then - he dropped. Right onto the steaming tile floor, knees hitting hard, ignoring the sharp heat searing against his skin. His hands came together in front of him, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, words low and sincere. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since trying to be better. Trying to prove it. And I’ll keep doing it, Y/n. I’ll keep proving it. Just… please.”

The steam blurred the edges of him, but the emotion in his voice cut through like glass.

“One more chance,” he said, voice thick now. Raw.

He didn’t look away. And despite everything, it was hard to keep your heart guarded when he looked at you like that.

You exhaled slowly, heart tight in your chest.

“I'm tired, Jiyong,” you said finally. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s not fair to the others. I want this trip to be good. For all of us.”

His head dropped for a moment, as if something in him had finally unclenched.

You let out a breath. “You can get up now. Before someone thinks we’re doing something else in here.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rose. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

He sat beside you, trunks sitting low on his waist, traces of his thigh tattoos peaking out. You stared ahead, trying not to glance at him, at the water glistening on his chest, the way his hair curled slightly with the heat.

The air was thick now, not just with steam but something unspoken.

History. Hunger. Longing.

Even just his presence beside you made your skin feel too tight. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel him, the weight of what you used to be, of what you almost still were.

“Are you coming to the show later?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

He smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”

And in that small pocket of heat and silence, the ache between you stirred again - unresolved, undeniable.

But for now, you leaned back, closed your eyes, and tried to let the steam carry it all away.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You and Hyorin had screamed yourselves hoarse from the barricade, limbs tangled in the wild energy of the fans.

It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Even if you hadn’t planned to cheer. Even if you told yourself you’d stay cool. Composed.

That hadn't been possible when Youngbae had stripped his shirt off and thrown it at the crowd - Hyorin fighting with a screaming girl to claim it. Or when Daesung poured his bottled water over his body, flicking the rest in your direction with a wink.

And especially not when Jiyong had collapsed to his knees in the middle of his performance of 'If You'. His eyes never leaving yours.

Unrelenting. Pleading.

Now, long after the final encore, the energy hadn’t quite faded.

You were all crammed into a hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, the kind of place that smelled like grease and burning. Noodles and soju littered the table, laughter spilling from every corner.

Youngbae had long since surrendered holding his head up, resting it flat on the tabletop, dead to the world.

Hyorin giggled uncontrollably as she slowly, dramatically piled noodles on top of his bleached hair, strand by strand.

“You’re going to give him a noodle crown,” you wheezed, covering your mouth with your hand.

She shushed you with mock seriousness. “Don’t wake him up!”

Even Jiyong had his head tipped back in laughter, cheeks pink from soju and residual adrenaline.

It felt like before. Before the fights. Before the silence. Before everything cracked.

Eventually, the energy began to fade, and someone mumbled something about sleep. Everyone agreed in a chorus of groans.

You stood, wincing immediately as the ache in your feet made itself known.

“God, I shouldn't have worn these shoes,” you muttered.

“Come on,” Daesung said, crouching down before you. “Hop on.”

“What? No, you just danced for like three hours, you must be - ”

He turned his head and gave you a look. “I said, hop on.”

You hesitated, then gave in with a laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders and jumping onto his back. He hoisted you easily, gripping your thighs with a tight squeeze.

“Dae!” you squealed when he immediately took off into a sprint, making your stomach lurch with each bounce.

“You said your feet hurt!” he called back, breathless and grinning.

Behind you, you could hear Hyorin’s laughter, and Jiyong’s complaining as they were left to drag Youngbae’s half-sleeping form toward the hotel.

By the time you got back to the room, your whole body ached with exhaustion. You fell onto the bed face first with a groan.

“Dead,” you mumbled into the pillow.

Daesung leaned down, gently slipping your shoes off. “Still very beautiful though,”

“Mm,” you grunted, eyes fluttering closed as you rolled onto your side.

He tucked the blanket around you carefully, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned in. Your breath caught. For a second, you thought - maybe -

But his lips just brushed the corner of your mouth. A near-kiss. Warm and fleeting.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

You were drifting when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You groaned and reached for it blindly.

“What,” you muttered, not even checking the screen.

“Hi.”

You frowned. That voice. Low and hesitant.

Jiyong.

“What do you want now?” you asked, more tired than annoyed.

“Did you get back okay?” His voice was quiet. Softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Daesung walked me to my room.”

You didn’t tell him about the blanket. Or the almost kiss.

“Good,” Jiyong said. “I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

You said nothing, eyes closing again.

“You two have gotten close.”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause. “I’m glad Daesung was there when I wasn’t. He’s a good friend. For looking after you… for me.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed, but continued despite your silence. “I’m glad I can talk to you again,” he said. “We used to call after my shows, remember? When you couldn’t come, I’d call you the second I got offstage. Couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”

You nodded, but your mind was too foggy with sleep to respond.

“I haven’t really slept since we ended,” he added. “Not properly.”

You breathed out, slow and heavy. Already gone from the moment.

“I love you.”

But you didn’t hear him.

The phone slipped from your hand as you fell into sleep, the line still open.

When your alarm blared early the next morning, you jolted upright, groggy and sore. You reached for your phone to silence it - and that’s when you saw it.

The call was still ongoing.

You hesitantly brought the phone to your ear and waited. You could hear soft breathing. The gentle rhythm of Jiyong’s sleep, steady and low.

He hadn’t hung up.

You stared at the call log.

He’d stayed on the phone all night.

Your finger hovered above the red button. Just for a second.

Then you sighed and ended the call.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the trip had ended on a high, normality was calling you to return.

But that didn't mean Japan hadn't left its mark.

You'd have to find a new job once you returned. And the break from Seoul had sown a seed of hope.

Maybe you could return to your passion of producing again. Maybe it was time to move forward, instead of letting the world moving around you.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The familiar scent of your linen spray still lingered faintly in the air, a gentle, deceptive kind of welcome.

Home.

But something felt off.

And then you saw them.

The tulips.

They sat back in their vase on the counter. The very same vase you’d left knocked over. The flowers had begun to wilt, petals sagging from their stems. You had left them lying on the marble.

You knew you had.

The bag in your hands fell to the floor, your grip weak.

A wave of dread slammed into you. It was too much. After everything - your job, your breakup, the long, slow crawl of putting yourself back together - this, this, was the thing that made the cracks split open.

You cried.

Loud, ugly sobs that ripped through your chest.

Someone had been here.

Someone had invaded your only safe space.

The police came quickly. Professional, composed, too calm for the way your voice shook as you explained everything.

They swept the apartment, asked questions, took photos.

They didn’t find anyone.

But they did find what you feared most.

Your bedroom window - shattered from the outside.

Glass on the floor.

And clear signs that someone had entered.

One of the officers pulled his notebook out and gave you a grave look. “It’s clear someone broke in through the window. We’re escalating the case from a report of harassment to a formal investigation for unlawful entry. You did the right thing calling it in.”

You were shaking.

Your fingers trembled, clenched around the sleeves of your hoodie like you were trying to ground yourself. Willing your body to stay standing. And you wouldn't have been able to -

Had it not been for Jiyong’s arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Pressing you against his familiar embrace.

The officer glanced between the two of you. “Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. “With me.” he held you closer. "She's coming home with me."

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body soak into your bones.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

But maybe it could be a person.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

dae: i'll speak to him about boundaries

cut to jiyong the next day on his knees, in a steam room, begging you for attention

this damn drama queen

a/n: my big bang girls gave me keywords for this fic: sauna, begging, pathetic man, and dog collar - i hope i lived up to most of them

sorry if this wasn't my best work - i'm still grinding at uni butttt only 2 assignments left 🥳🥳🥳🥳 yipeeee

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

[vanderdyks]

So here's my thing

I think Andor is practically perfect. I think it is one of the best things on television and it NEEDED to be told. People needed this side of star wars. However... Im struggling with the very fact that K2SO was barely in it.

Listen... I love this droid. And I dont think storytelling should necessary be sacrificed just so I can have more of him. HOWEVER, I was PROMISED him back in 2019. I was promised the K2 and Cassian story. We all waited SO PATIENTLY for his return. Especially after learning right before season 1 came out that we wouldn't have him until season 2.

I was expecting bonding. I wanted to see the moment this droid went from something cassian was wary about to someone he trusted with his life. I wanted to see him be K2's biggest defender. I mean K2 LIVES WITH HIM. And we know that didn't just start the moment K2 got reprogrammed... I wanted to see this droid become his best friend. I yearned so badly for all of that, expected all of that. And I didn't get any of it. And it hurts to know that twenty four episodes exist but K2 only takes up space in about a total of two of them.

I loved episode ten. And Kleya has become one of my new favorite star wars characters because of it. But at the same time, when tony gilroy said when they bring in k2, then he's THERE for the rest of the time, I didn't expect an entire episode without him (or cassian for that matter). Again, I LOVE the episode. But it's the way I was really excited (and had to comfort myself) with the idea that at least I was getting three whole episodes of K2. After learning his solo story was cut. It was only going to be three eps, BUT AT LEAST it was three... it was going to be like another film with him. Only it wasn't. We didn't even get three.

I wanted stories of K2 infiltrating an imperial base and reporting back to cassian. I wanted a story where he saves Cassians life. I wanted the rebellion to be wary of K2 still as Cassian rejected any change to K2 programming/refused to let them power him down or restrict K2 in anyway.

And we didn't get that. Even the episodes he was in, there were long gaps where he wasnt. And you felt that absence. And we can argue the linguistics of storytelling with K2 all day long but the truth is there are WAYS to get around that that STILL include him.

I'm just extremely frustrated. Because on one hand, I love Andor and wouldn't change a single thing about it and on the other... I would have done anything to see that story told. To see their friendship evolved. And maybe it's just me. And I know there's no easy answer to this, I'm not expecting one. But the idea that this is what I have of my favorite droid ever and this is probably ALL ill get after waiting SO LONG for his return... i dont know, it just hurts.

[harkness-pet]

mine

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: sub!agatha, possessiveness, dom!reader, magic!penis, dirty talk, degradation

Plot: agatha betrays you, she kisses someone else, you cannot even look at her. but agatha? agatha cannot lose you and she’ll do anything to make you forgive her. 

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

You stare at the candle, in its flickering light you see a woman, no, a girl, pressed up against a tree whimpering and moaning as your wife senselessly kisses her. 

You are not a particularly possessive witch, you know your wife and you trust her. You know she sometimes does unconventional things to get what she wants. A spell here and there, a small sigil, a few drops of forbidden herbs sprinkled into someone’s cup of tea… 

The end justifies the means. Machiavelli is said to be the author of that quote, but you’re pretty sure it was Agatha who whispered it into his ear all those centuries ago.

You blink and the image before you dissolves. You furiously wipe away tears that start falling as you feel a tremor in your hands. Your anger fuels your magic. 

You know Agatha is looking for a powerful spell, a spell to uncover an ancient type of magic. The magic can be used for good things, getting back things you’ve lost without having to sacrifice your soul. The girl must be just another piece of the puzzle. You know that. But surely there are different ways to get her to speak. 

And Agatha always getting what she wants no matter who she hurts? It’s just become too much. 

You stand abruptly and go pack your bag. You need to be away from her for some time. 

You are in middle of packing when your wife comes home, you can see the light blush on her cheeks and you wonder how far she’s gone. Did you stop looking too soon? 

“My love,” she says and comes closer to hug you, but you step away. She frowns and looks around. “Are we going somewhere?” 

You chuckle mirthlessly. “I am.” 

She has the audacity to look hurt. “What’s happened?”

You throw the bag on the floor furiously and cross your arms. “I saw you, Agatha.” Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. “I saw you kiss that girl and who knows what else. What the fuck? Couldn’t you have used a potion or something?”

“Baby,” she begs and steps closer again, but the tremor that’s back in your hands stops her. “I didn’t mean to… She was an easy target. I saw how she looked at me and thought it’d be easier to-“

“Easier for who?” you raise your voice. “Fuck, Agatha, I’m done. This is too much. I don’t care what means you use usually, but you hurt me this time! I’m done.” You lean down to grab your bag, but she’s faster and makes it disappear. 

Suddenly she’s in front of you, clasping your hands, not caring how freaking angry you are, how much you could hurt her back. “Please, please,” she whispers, brings your hands to her mouth and kisses them softly. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

You free your hands and step back again. “No, it’s too late. I need some space.”

There are tears in Agatha’s eyes now, she looks genuinely scared. “No, Y/N, let me make it better.” 

You start shaking more violently now, the anger and hurt too much, you need an outlet. “Agatha, I need to go away, I can feel the anger… I’ll hurt you.” 

The shaking stops the moment Agatha moves. Because her next move is something that takes your breath away. Agatha Harkness steps closer and gets on her knees right in front of you. You swallow loudly at seeing your wife in that state. Your wife, the almighty Agatha Harkness, getting on her knees. 

“Y/N,” she whispers and takes your palm in her hands, drawing a small sigil with her finger. A sigil that binds her to you. A different kind than the one you did during your marriage ceremony. A sigil that binds her body to you for some time. She cannot do anything without your knowing, without you allowing it.

“Agatha, fuck,” you gasp. “What are you doing?”

She drops your hands and puts her palms behind her back. “I’ll do anything to make you stay. However much I’ve hurt you, hurt me back. I’m yours, Y/N Harkness.” 

You shake your head furiously and also get on your knees to be on her level. You grab her face gently between your hands, your heart overwhelmed by her display of trust. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiles sadly and moves her head to the side to plant a kiss on the sigil on your palm. “Yes, you do. And I accept it. I promise I’ll be good, just please… stay.” Tears fall down her eyes and you lean closer to catch them with your kisses. 

You want to refuse, you want to go away for some time, but the image of the girl in the forest appears in your mind again and your hands start shaking once more. 

“I want you to have a safe word,” you request.

Agatha nods slowly. “Broom.”

You chuckle and kiss her softly on the lips before standing up. 

Agatha is still kneeling, looking up at you with utter devotion, and you trace her face with your finger, slowly, humming, building the anticipation because Agatha is giving herself to you and for someone like Agatha that is the biggest proof of love. 

The image is back in your mind and you growl at that and at the same time you run your fingers through Agatha’s wild hair, catching them, grabbing them, making her gasp in pain. 

“I cannot stop seeing you two,” you snarl in her face. “You pressing her up against the tree, kissing her, making her moan.”

Another tear starts falling down her cheek and you lean down to lick it. You see tiny sparkles of blue, your magic, around your arm, seeping into Agatha’s skin where you’re holding her, knowing she can now feel your pain. 

“Tell me,” you whisper into her face and catch the strap of her dress with the other hand, dangerously slowly pulling it down. “How was she?” 

Agatha opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. 

“How was she?” you growl again and as you pull the strap down her breast falls out of her dress. You immediately grab it, twisting her nipple. 

She cries out in pain. “She was nothing! I swear, she was just a pawn!”

You smile predatorily and caress the abused breast before slapping it. “And yet, she was worth risking our marriage.” 

“Y/N, I swear-“

“Shut up,” you let out. Your hand leaves her hair and you grab her cheeks, pushing them together. “You’re my toy now. Mine to use, mine to abuse…” You hum as you magic away her dress altogether and hungrily eye her exposed breasts. “That’s what you wanted, no? By drawing that sigil.”

You grab her cheeks more firmly and make her stand up, walking her backwards to the bed where you drop her and she falls on her back. “Does the great Agatha Harkness need to be put in place?” you ask mockingly. 

You get on the bed between her spread legs and drag your fingers over her thighs, leaving angry red marks from your nails. “There’s nothing you’ll deny me right now, huh?” 

Agatha shakes her head. “I told you already, I’d do anything to make you stay. I love you.”

You tilt your head curiously. “So if I were to put you naked on a leash and take you on a walk through the village…?” 

Agatha’s face drops, eyes wide, and she whispers: “i’d do it.” You’re breathless and aching at Agatha’s sudden display of submissiveness. 

Your finger curiously moves across her panties, the only piece of clothes she’s wearing since you made her dress disappear. Agatha shivers. You’re shocked to see how wet she is. Is she truly enjoying being degraded? 

“Hmm,” you murmur. “Good to know. Don’t worry, though, this body is for my eyes only. And maybe other whores you use to get what you want.” 

You lean over her, pinning her more roughly to the bed, grounding into her center. She bucks her hips in response, eyes fluttering shut as you kiss her violently. Agatha’s legs raise up to come around your hips, planting her ankles on your lower back to push you closer. 

You grab your wife’s wrists, dragging her arms above her head and the wild waves that make you want to hide in them. Your hand moves down to cup Agatha’s breast. You pinch the nipple, twist it, before palming it and gently massaging it. Agatha squirms. “Fuck, Y/N.” 

You reclaim her lips and this time your hand reaches up to settle around your wife’s throat. It’s firm, but not too much. Just enough to remind her that you’re the one with control. You lean down to suck on her collarbone, under her jaw, on her pulse, leaving big purple marks behind you, so that everyone knows Agatha Harkness belongs to somebody. 

Agatha keeps grinding her hips against you and you suddenly have an idea. You stop kissing her and murmur a quick spell against her lips. She gasps as she realises what you’ve done, as she feels something growing underneath your pants. 

You smile wickedly as you make your clothes disappear, as your hands dig into Agatha’s underwear, tearing it away. Now you’re both naked and she can feel you and your new member against her soaked folds. 

“Oh Goddess,” she whimpers and her back arches as you slowly roll your hips, teasing her, but not really giving her what she needs. In the end, it’s going to be your call - thanks to the sigil. 

Agatha’s pupils are blown out as you suddenly sit up and stand up next to the bed. She’s panting, her lips bruised from the kisses, her hair oh so wild. She looks at you like she wants you to break her, to claim her. And you want to do all that. She looks like a goddess and she’s yours and you’ll spend forever reminding her. 

“Come closer and show me how much you love me,” you order. Agatha moves slowly, she gets on her knees and crawls to you. Her eyes never leave yours as she lowers her head and grabs your magical penis between her lips. 

You moan as she sucks, her tongue swirling, teeth softly grazing. You grab her hair and push her head. She’s still looking up at you and you see the tears in her eyes. You cannot tear your eyes from her face. You never wanted to dominate her, you were both very much equal, enjoying the occasional power battle in sex, but this… “You look so pretty like this,” you whisper. “Mouth full of my cock, the best way to shut you up, isn’t it?” 

She sucks a little bit more but you don’t want to come like this. You push her away, reaching for her, kissing her deeply. “Fuck, I love you so much.” You can taste yourself on her tongue and once you lean back, you put two fingers on her lips. She immediately parts them and you put the fingers inside, gathering the saliva in her mouth, smearing it across her cheeks. “Such a good girl for your wife, aren’t you?” You dig your nails into her jaw. “Good obedient pet. Who would have thought?”

“Y/N,” she whimpers and leans to kiss you again, but you push her away by the shoulders. 

“Grab the headboard,” you order, motioning to the bars of the bed frame. 

Agatha turns around and dugs her fingers into the wood. She looks back at you, her face flushed, the usually bright blue eyes darkened, her lips swollen, her back arched. 

You can feel the fake cock twitch at the sight, your wife obediently waiting for further instructions. You position yourself behind her and drag the tip of your cock through her folds, making her gasp in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Agatha breathes out and her eyes flutter shut. 

“You like this?” you whisper, reaching with your hand for her breast, massaging it. You use your other hand to gently press the cock into her. You move slowly, painfully slowly pushing it inside of her. 

Agatha tenses and you caress her back. “You okay?” 

She breathes in and out and nods. “Yes, I’m okay.” 

You grab her hips and almost pull out before slamming back into her. “You feel so good, Agatha,” you moan as you fuck her. She rolls her hips to meet your thrusts and an primal need to fuck any thought out of her head overtakes you and you lose yourself in the sensation of a part of you buried deep inside Agatha’s warmth. “You will never do anything like this ever again.”

Agatha groans as you slam into her especially hard. “No, I promise.”

“You are my wife.”

“Yess, I am yours,” she cries out. You grab her hair in one hand making her lean back, her back arching even more, your other hand steadies her by holding her waist as you keep thrusting into her. 

Soon you are both a quivering panting mess and she comes only a second after you because in your mind you allowed her to. 

You collapse on top of her and once you gather yourself, you magic the cock away. Agatha whimpers at the sudden loss, but then sighs contently. 

“Do you want to taste me?” You plop down next to her and spread your legs. She peers over her shoulder and then hungrily moves to lay down between your thighs. She looks up at you and you realise she’s waiting for a fucking approval. “Go ahead, pet.” 

Agatha’s nostrils flare up at the nickname, you using her own favorite power play against her, her defiance doesn’t last long and she dips her head and licks a long stripe across your cunt. 

“Hmm, so good,” you coo, never moving your eyes away from her. “Such a good puppy, aren’t you?” 

Again with the expression. You can tell she hates it, but she’s not safe wording, so it cannot be that bad for her. You lift up her face by pulling her hair. Her chin is all wet from your pussy. “What, pet? Do you not like it when I call you that?” 

“I don’t, but you can call me whatever you want,” she replies. 

“You bet I do,” you say pushing her face back to your center. “Now continue.” 

She gets back to licking, devouring and you clasp your thighs around her head when she makes you come. 

Agatha leans back against your inner thigh, looking up at you with so much love in her eyes that you know it’s enough. You brush your fingers against her cheek, lovingly. You wanted to humiliate her like she humiliated you by kissing someone else and seeing her so thoroughly ruined and marked and spent, you don’t feel anger anymore, your magic is still right under the surface, but now it’s calling for your wife - to have her, to care for her, to love her. 

She’s usually the big spoon, but this time you know she needs the aftercare, so you gently gather her in your arms and lift her up to hide her in your embrace, spooning her from behind. 

She grabs your hands and clasps them in front of her chest, softly kissing them. “I love you, I love you.”

You push your nose into her hair and breathe in deeply. “You’re a menace, Agatha, but you’re mine.” You plant a kiss on the side of her neck. “I love you so much, you crazy witch.”

[demonicelovator]

Okay so this is a bit dark, and I’m kinda hesitant to post it, but when the finale episodes were first coming out me and me friend talked about what would happen if Chase and everyone except for Buddy died and I came up with a sort of Ghost Chase au. I don’t have the motivation to do anything else with this idea but heres a drawing and little story based around it.

The story’s below the cut

....

He's dead.

Theyre all dead. Theyre dead and noone else cares except for me.

Its their own fauly. Chase shouldve just handed over his key when he could, if he had he could be living a normal life.

…

If he did buddy wouldnt have gotten attached. So attached that hes sat in his poor excuse for a room, desperatly trying to keep himself from crying so loud that he alerts the members of ex libris that hes back, getting comfort from his key of all things, and mourning the loss of the boy who onve inhabited the corpse currently slumped against him.

Buddy was pathetic, he shouldn’t have let it get to this point. He should have just gotten the heroine key and done his job before chase could find new keys, before Deacon and Prunella could start completing stories as well, before Buddy got close enough to Chase for him to feel a need to apologize to buddy, before they got trapped in a book that was being ruined somewhere in the real world, before Prunella and Deacon died, before Chase died, before-

“Hey!” Shouted violet, shaking him from his spiral of thoughts “Are you even listening to me? You need to pay better attention when people speak to you ***** the members won’t be happy with you if you space out like this in conversation!”

“R-right sorry..” it was hard to not sink into his own mind right now.

Violet huffed, changing to look a bit more sympathetic. “I understand that this is a lot for you, and that you want to greive the loss of this… boy.. but you need to at least pretend to act the same as usual! If they catch onto you…”

“I won’t let that happen”buddy whispered

“Good. Now you need to wipe those tears and make yourself presentable alright?” Violet put her hands on her hips, looking very stern. “You are going to go to ex libris, and say that the keyholders got trapped in a damaged book, rendering their keys useless, and you will turn me in to them. Under no circumstances will you mention the corpse in your room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, i understand. Can i just- can i have a moment first?”

“You’ve already had a moment *****!”

“Buddy.”

“What?l

“Call me Buddy.”

“Goodness, fine, just don’t ask the members to call you tha-“ Violet paused as Buddy pushed the miniature letter Chase gave him towards her. “What? What is this?”

“It’s a letter, for you.. Chase gave it to me, said it was from silver.”

“Oh.. Thank you.. Buddy.”

“You’re welcome, take your time.” Buddy began to lean against the bed frame, hands falling onto his lap. “Once your done I’ll get ready”

“Alright..” whispered violet, she seemed lost in her own world, absorbed by the small envelope she’d been given.

Buddy tilted his head back, resting it on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He felt numb.

As Buddy was beginning to space out, he heard a voice whispering to him. Turning his head to try to find the source of the voice, he noticed a familiar face. Buddy jumped forward spinning around to look at the face.

“W- what the hell…” buddy whispered

“Wait! Hang on you can actually see me?” Chase said as he floated out from behind the bed, moving to float just over the edge. “Woah, thats awesome Buddy!”

“You- You’re supposed to be dead!”

“I am dead, thats literally my corpse right there dude.” He pointed as he began to sit.

“But- Chase, how can you be-“

“Ever heard of ghosts?”

“Buddy!” Violet interrupted “who are you talking to!?”

“Wh- you cant see him?”

“See who? Whatever, I’ve finished reading my letter, thank you for delivering it by the way, you need to get ready to meet with ex libris.”

“Yeah Buddy! Quit procrastinating and do your job!” Teased the ghost

“Leave me alone, you didn’t just cry for almost half an hour” Buddy mumbled as he walked towards the bathroom.

“Fair enough”

Buddy couldn’t understand how he could be so calm about this.

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 9

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: you are reminded that death will come for you one way or another. luckily for you, there is one person that can wash the fear away. liam's smile is all the reason you need because you die for him. for your brother to keep living.

this is your way of repaying back the mairi's for taking you in

ιηѕρσ ѕσηgѕ:

cold - aqualung, Lucy Schwartz

rosyln - bon iver, st. vincent

follow you into the dark - alan wake, rakel

the demand of man - secession studios

Writing letters wasn’t always your forte. Granted you really only wrote letters to Sloane, and kept them in your drawer for the first year. Now you’re able to send them out to her. She read all about your first year; the struggles of bullies, the fascination of bonding to Lenin, the love you had for Xaden. She knows everything from your first year and now she will know about this year. 

A more dramatic year than the previous one. And it had to be your last year at Basgaith.

You told her about everything from the beginning. The way you were forgotten so easily by your found family. You wrote about Violet and her unfortunate bonding to Tairn. Told her how that bonding affected your relationship with Xaden. 

Oh it broke your heart to write the details of them; together. But for Sloane, it should show her the love you painfully still have for Xaden. Your loyalty to him never wavered despite the way you were treated this year. Your heart belonged to him and he…he left it somewhere unretrievable.  You know how important it is to keep Violet alive, to keep him alive by protecting her. 

So you told Sloane that you being left behind had to happen. 

Then you wrote about yourself and your true family. How you’re not actually her sister. To know about the change in your signet and how you’re not who you say you are. Your name is not [Name] Mairi. You’re just [Name], the Maiden of the Moon. A witch. A woman a part of a covenant. 

You held your tears back, the ache in your hand asking you to stop for a minute. You had no time to spare, it was running out for you. It didn’t help that you spent months in a slumber either. Your hands couldn’t write all that you wanted to put on the piece of paper. Scattered thoughts mingled with reasoning and empathy had not allowed you to be sincere. But here you sat at your desk writing a letter to Sloane. 

Your poor sister. 

Your hand moved with rushed thoughts, but rational enough to tell her the truth. You wanted to be soft with your words, comfort her through the letters. But Sloane wasn’t like that. Screw the idea of empathy because Sloane wouldn’t understand why you died. She would want you to be harsh with your words, to tell her everything. For you, what needs to be done always outweighs what should happen. Or what people want to happen. 

Sloane would want you to live and to teach her what you know about fighting. You promised her that you would. Yet there is no chance for that after your death. At least, you don’t think that coming back from the dead will allow you to come back to Basgaith.

If that is Xaden’s plan, to remain a faithful wingleader. A leader of the rebellion more like. To finish his time at Basgaith and get deployed out to some outpost with high activity so be it. 

Your plan will be to find your sisters and save them before they die. Drained. Exposed. Drifting in your dreams and teaching you how to harness your power. 

Well someone will be able to teach Sloane your kicks. You scribbled onto the parchment with loathing, nonetheless you weren’t going to deprive Sloane from a fighting technique. Violet will be all she has in order to learn your kicking style. 

.   .   .

Violet will be able to teach you my technique. It’s not perfect, but she mastered it. All I ask is that you do not let your stubborn nature push Violet away. You always said you wanted to learn from me, but I won’t be there for you. At least, not in the way you want me to. 

So suck in your pride, bite down on your tongue and learn from her. Don’t forget that I trained her for months. She knows how to attack, how to react and I know that she will want to help you. It’s the least she can do for me. 

.   .   .

Then you paused your writing with another thought in your head derailing you from your original one. Sera never told you outright what happens after your awakening of your true power. But she said that you would make a pact with Xaden, the same one she committed to with Fen Riorson. 

Her ghostly words repeated in your mind like the fog in your Threshing: 

“A Union between Riders, Fliers and Witches. A combination of daring and glorious fighters that will rule the earth and the sky. To allow Witches to have a stable connection with dragons and gryphons.” 

Sloane wouldn’t understand this. Not yet. 

Living through this battle isn’t going the right way for balance. No matter what anyone says or tries to do. It won’t affect you, the way they want it to. Although it will change your death outcome. 

You’ve seen it all. Every potential death. Every possibility. By far, the worst one is drowning.

The crashing waves of Lenin fighting off two wyvern in a massive lake did not help you. Swimming in the dark, having no direction of which way is up, terrified you. Having three creatures fighting in the water only slapped your body around in dizzy whirlpools. 

Knock knock……knock.

You snapped your eyes away from your piece of paper and towards your door. You blinked once then saw a figure outside your door waiting patiently for you to greet them. The way he fumbled with a wooden figurine made you weakly smile at his presence. 

You stashed your letters away including the new one and walked over to the door. Opening it slowly, you looked up at your brother who smiled at you. 

“Surprise,” He said, showing off the new figurine of Lenin to you. 

All the fear you felt washed away at his smile. You were dying for him, for Liam to keep smiling and to keep carving these little dragons. 

You sacrifice yourself for him. 

“Liam,” You breathed and warmly welcomed him in, your hand finding purchase on his wrist that held the statue. Pulling him through the barricade that you made stronger with your magic, he shivered involuntarily. 

“Usually it’s a lot easier getting in,” He says with another shiver. 

You closed the door behind him and lied with ease, “Maybe it’s been awhile since you visited. After all, I’ve slept for a long time!” He chuckled and sat at your desk setting the figurine down. 

“So, are you going to give me something for my first year? I know you plan on giving Sloane a kunai.” Liam says this with a teasing tone and you leaned over him, grabbing the pink kunai. This one belongs to Alani, your caring sister-witch. 

You twirled the pink dagger in your hand as you pressed your lips together in thought. In a joking tone, you gestured to Sera’s green dagger with your free hand, “You can have that if you want. I’m just afraid you’re going to poke your eye out.”

Liam grabbed the knife and twirled it with relative ease, just spinning it with one slender finger. “These knives are a little too…girly for me. Like they were made for women.” He wasn’t wrong. These knives belonged to witches, women of great power. 

Nonetheless you huffed out in offense and Liam shook his head, “You know what I mean! Come on!”

“If you look closely, Liam,” You stopped fidgeting with the pink kunai, “All of these daggers have specific runes etched into the blade. The user just needs to know how to power them.” You leaned over him, your chin resting on the crown of his head as you showed Alani’s dagger off. 

“Oh, my dagger is named Truth Speaker! The runes on it will make anyone speak the truth if we’re making contact with them! It’s a little more discreet than Rema’s and Sera’s runes. So it comes in handy!” 

You dragged a tip of your finger on the runes Alani etched into the blade herself. Her care and kindness could be felt in the metal. 

“I’ve seen these symbols before,” Liam whispered and you hummed in response. 

“Where from?”

“In your room, sometimes the clothing you wore had them sewed in like they were a part of a design. You even had books written in a different language with these runes. I always asked our parents why you wore robes that seemed bigger than you. They said it made you feel like you were home. But it never made sense because you never left home.” 

Truth Speaker made Liam speak freely, his words striking a cord inside you. Robes. Yes, you remember the robes. The dark purple one belongs to Rema, the pink one to Alani and the light green belongs to Sera. Colors that represented them as a person. 

Purple fit Rema because of her ambition. 

Pink fit Alani because of her innocence. 

Light green fit Sera because of her optimism. 

“Don’t worry, little one,” Sera brushed her hand onto your cheek, “Your color will come to you after you awaken. And your kunai will change and you will make a cloak matching your persona. We all decorated our clothing to fit us.” 

“What if I give you my life, Liam?” You ask, pressing your cheek onto the crown of his head. He watched your dagger float effortlessly between your hands. 

“I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” He answered. 

“Live,” I responded back, “You live your life to the fullest.”

“As if I can do that,” Liam shifted in his seat and moved his head up and you removed yourself from him. Not daring to look into his eyes. You’d break. And you’ve done enough of that lately. 

“Anyways what kind of situation would I be in to give your life up for me?” He laughed and you looked at your new mural, sketches and sketches on Lenin littered the wall. Liam is always so positive. 

“I heard you fell off of Deigh,” You say with a painful smile, “If I was there, I would burnout using my other signet to save you. I haven’t mastered levitating, but for you I’d gladly force it.” 

“Well luckily for us both, Violet was there. She saved me.” 

You didn’t miss the way he said her name. Repulsed. Betrayed. Without much thought you invaded his mind, watching the flashes of his memory flicker by. You aren’t particularly good at this part. Listening to thoughts is a lot easier, and watching memories of the past is a lot harder. 

It will take more practice to do this with ease. Yet you saw what he witnessed. Xaden, Violet and yourself standing outside of Xaden’s room. The distorted images gave you enough of an idea. Liam saw everything. 

“You missed a spot by the way,” You snatched a piece of parchment off of your wall. The new form of Lenin on this piece. You walked over to your brother and pointed at Lenin’s right wing. 

“Not everyone knows this, but Lenin has this spot on the top of his wing that’s shaped like a waning crescent moon.”

Liam gently took the piece of parchment with care and analyzed the detailed sketches of Lenin. “Wow, is the spot actually shaped like this?” 

“Yes and if that impresses you, you should see the underside of his tail. It’s dotted with crescent moons. He’s astoundingly beautiful.” You breathed with pride. Then your eyes drifted to your desk drawer, the one filled with letters for Sloane. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened it up, showing it to Liam with nervousness for his upcoming questions. “I need you to stash these letters in your room, Liam. They’re for Sloane.” 

He took a peek inside the drawer and chuckled, “That’s a lot of letters, you think our little sister is able to read all of them?” He drew his eyes up to yours and they dazzled like diamonds. They were so damn pretty. 

.    .   .

“Your hair is natural, but I changed your eyes,” Sera hummed, “To make you look more like the Mairi’s. Your natural eye color is lilac, a color that belonged to your real mother.”

.   .   .

“She read all the ones I sent her for my first year…I hope,” You laughed with him and he took the sealed letters into his hands. Turning them over he says with his smile disappearing being replaced with a frown, “I’m sure you wrote about my ignorance, huh? About how I spent more time with the child of General Sorrengail than you, our sister. I dropped everything for Violet, only to be- Whatever, doesn’t matter now. I’m sorry for not being there for you, [Name]. She came in like..like-”

He struggled with his comparison, but you knew what he meant. 

“She came in like a violent storm,” You whispered and placed a hand on his shoulder, “just make sure Sloane gets these. With Dain knowing my signet’s capabilities, it won’t take long for my room to be searched.”

Liam set the letters in his lap, his hand holding them tightly and he sighed. Yeah, something is bothering him. And you know it’s because of the weight today brings. You can hear the whole college getting ready for tonight. 

Reunification Day. 

“Would you like to get some fresh air before the sun disappears?” You ask with kindness, knowing all the weight on his shoulders. 

“I have to get ready,” He says. 

Then it snaps for you. He was attending the party with Violet. Xaden is a real piece of work for making Liam do this. You won’t stand for it. Your brother has a choice. 

“Don’t go,” You tell him, “Why would you subject yourself to that kind of torture? No one else is going. Not Xaden. Not Garrick. Not Bodhi or Imogen. I’m not going.” 

“Which is why I have to,” Liam counters and stands up from the chair. He towers over you and says, “Whether I like it or not, Violet needs someone with her. Who better to go than her personal bodyguard.” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Fine, I’ll go.”

“You just said you’re not going,” Liam huffs, “and I’m not going to let you hang out with the woman who tried to fuck your boyfriend. That’ll be super insensitive of me and I’m afraid you’d tell Sloane about it. Can’t have you painting me like some villain.” He joked at the end, but all you could focus on was one word. 

Tried. 

“What do you mean by tried? I’m sure Xaden and Violet did more than try,” You scoffed, your fingernails digging into the skin of your arms. But the furrow of your eyebrows showed Liam that you didn’t really know anything. What was really going on between Xaden and Violet. 

“Xaden never tried anything with her,” Liam stated and the way your eyes begged for more, told him you needed this. Needed the explanation of why your boyfriend seemed to be covered in love marks. “I was there, watching the three of you outside his room. I saw everything.”

Yeah, you knew that. 

“When you left him, Xaden lost his shit with Violet and I watched her leave. Then he saw me and I wanted the damn explanation. Wanted to know how he could do that to you. You were right, indulging in a mating bond that isn’t his was wrong on many levels. I wanted to punch him so badly in the face I guess he knew because he told me to go for it.” 

Liam sat back down in the chair and shook his head, “Xaden waited for it, but I couldn’t. So someone else did.” 

“What?” More confusion clouded your mind and Liam grinned. 

“Yeah, Imogen rocked his shit. Her punch sent him flying into his door. She would have given him more, but Bodhi pulled her back.” Liam shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, “She spat every insult at him while he was down.” 

As Liam told the story, you closed your eyes and focused on his thoughts. Pursued his memories for the sake of following his words. 

.   .   .   .   .

“You fucker! You broke her damn heart and let her walk away! How stupid can you be!” Imogen shouted, Bodhi’s arms tightened around her waist as he gave his cousin a side glare. Even Bodhi couldn’t understand what Xaden was doing. Playing you is so damn infuriating to him. 

“Are you done?” Xaden asked, wiping the drop of blood from the corner of his lips. Imogen split them with one punch and Liam silently thanked her. When Imogen kept her mouth shut, Xaden pushed himself away from his door and opened it up, gesturing for the three of them to walk in. 

“Then let’s talk.”

When the four of them walked into his room, Xaden closed the door behind him and said, “I didn’t do anything with Violet.” 

“The marks on your neck says otherwise,” Bodhi sneered, pointing at his own neck to get the point across to his cousin. 

“Again, I didn’t do anything with Violet. The mating bond between Sgaeyl and her mate is strong, their feelings come in strong. Violet doesn’t know how to shield herself, so she becomes a mess. You know how it’s like Imogen, let’s not play dumb.” 

Liam looked at Imogen and the pink haired female crossed her arms over her chest, arguing against him,  “We were first years. We have an excuse, Violet has an excuse. But you’re a fucking third year. I don’t get you.”

She snaps and begins to go off, “Ever since Violet arrived here, you’ve been different. You’re all about the girl whose mom killed our parents or did you forget that too? Then you have [Name] forgive you and when you guys start going on the right path, you fucking take a walk with Violet Sorrengail. At this point, Bodhi should have been the one to confess his feelings to [Name], not you. He would be loyal to her and-” 

“Imogen,” Bodhi shook his head and moved his eyes over to his cousin who listened to Imogen. Liam is not surprised by the fire in Xaden’s eyes. He knew the jealousy problem Xaden had. Everyone did. Xaden did his damn best driving away any guy who showed interest in you. He even kept his cousin at bay. 

“I never kissed Violet. I never initiated anything intimate with her. If anything, she’s a nuisance to my relationship with [Name]. You think I want to leave the woman I’m in love with for a Sorrengail? I was happy with [Name] before Violet came in. And I fucking crave that feeling of happiness with her now.”

“What is going on then?” Liam questioned. 

“Like I said, it’s the mating bond. Lenin is back to normal with a few changes to his appearance. Now that their son is back, Sgaeyl and her mate are going damn crazy for each other. This session between them is nothing like I ever felt before. It affected Violet more than it did me. I pushed Violet away before anything more happened.” 

Then Xaden uncrossed his arms, “I know I screwed up and I don’t know what to do.” His eyes softened up in a pained way of expressing his own heartbreak, “You’re right, Imogen. I lost her and it’s all because I couldn’t communicate effectively with her. This is something I will have to fix, but I don’t think I have enough time.” 

“Time?” Liam mockingly laughed and countered back. He knew it was wrong for them to take their anger out on Xaden because they all ignored you. In their own ways that was less than heartbreak and borderline cheating. But it still hurts you. So his words now were meant for each of them, yet directed at their leader.  “You have time, Xaden. You always did. You talked to her when we forced ourselves into her room. You talked to her when you asked her to train Violet. You talked to her when you accused her of letting the unbonded into Violet’s room. You know there is always time to have a conversation with her! It’s just never the right topic. Talk to her about you guys. About your future. Anything that doesn’t involve Violet. That’s all she wants, isn’t it? Time with you?” 

Everyone looked at the Mairi and kept their mouths closed, but Xaden did speak up. 

“I won’t let her suffer anymore than she already has. Believe me, I want her. I need her, but to come crawling back to her begging for forgiveness will make it seem like I did cheat on her. She…doesn’t need me. She needs one of you guys to talk to her instead. Maybe you can change her mind.” 

“Change her mind about you?” Imogen asked, her anger still apparent. 

“About something else,” He adds with little to no explanation. 

.   .   .   .   .

That was enough searching through your brother’s mind. 

“Then he suggested that one of us could change your mind,” Liam slowly spoke and looked into your diamond eyes, “Not that I’m here because of what he said. I’m here to check on my sister and make sure she’s okay. After all, we lost people on this day.”

“So he never did anything with Violet?” 

“Not with intention or otherwise. She was the one that pushed.” 

Was it relief that filled your chest? Was it relief that revived the butterflies in your stomach allowing them to flutter about with happiness?

You shook your head and said, “Well then I guess I should talk to him. Especially if he won’t make the first move.” You grabbed Liam’s arm and held it with gentle care, “You don’t have to go, Liam. Violet is going with her other friends isn’t she? It’s not a setting any of the Marked Ones want to attend. She can understand that.”

Liam placed a hand on yours and chuckled, “Oh, come on. I can handle myself. Just speak to Xaden and have a moment under the stars. You two looked good last year and we all want to see you guys back together.” 

You knew what he was talking about. Last year, Xaden took you out to the parapet, his hand holding gently onto yours. He talked and talked like it would be the last chance to do so. In hindsight, maybe he knew all of this would happen. 

Then you two swirled and twirled with precise steps leading each other in a graceful, yet dangerous dance on the parapet. Lenin and Sgaeyl watched with careful eyes, their constant humming allowing you to create a song in your head for you and Xaden. 

The dance was amazing, you would never forget the charming smile on his face or the way he held you so close to his body. After some time, he stopped twirling you and pressed his forehead on yours. His nose tickling yours and his minty breath falling onto your face as he promised you, 

“I will never leave you behind.” 

He sealed it with a kiss so passionate all you could think about was him. Xaden Riorson, your future King. Once everything is reestablished, you all can go back home and rebuild it. His promise to you meant everything. 

Oh, how you let it fool you. 

...

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬: @luvly-writer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs @galaxystern08 @bwormie @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @steph-fowlie @casiiopea2 @nisarelle @matrixmoxi @eepyfaerie @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves

hope y'all listened to the music, was hella inspired by it

[wildshona]

All Change

Ok so family conference. There was me, Amelia and Chris as expected and Toni too which wasn't as she would normally be at work.

So - first piece of news -Amelia has MISSED HER PERIOD. Well what a surprise. Chris had been fucking Amelia every chance he can get since Eostre - in fact there is a good chance that was when she got caught. Shit. Anyway - change in dynamics - Amelia the girl who is not off fucking everybody in sight and is nice and compliant, already has a kid and wants nothing more than to be the good woman.

So - second piece of news - they would quite like to get married. Only problem is that Chris is already married to me. I get it though honestly before you all scream in outrage. I was shocked when he married damaged old me in the first place and he has put up with me fucking well actually. Anyway, I am open to the possibility - after all what I mainly want is security and comfort and if we can work that out.

So - third piece of news. There is a conference event at the end of May and obviously Chris wants e to do the front of house/hostessing. Am I still up for that? Well, of course. I mean apart from stripping every so often that is my main job and if we do divorce then my income needs to be properly sourced cos at the moment Chris pretty much pays for everything about me. So Chris says I ought to have a proper contract with him which is fine and Richard will aalso pay for the stuff I do with him so that is good. And there is always stripping and massage. So..

Finally - in the air. Where will I live given the aprtment will get crowded if there are two kids (and, to be honest I am cramped in my lifestyle with one around). That was why Toni was there - I can live at hers. I already have my own suite there and I got to admit a pool and servants is pretty good. But the place is all girl so how do I think about that. Chris is up for buying me somewhere if I want my own place but I am not sure I am stable enough for that.

So, like I say, all change.

Now I am not going to get into long discussions on this with all my followers. I have been incredibly lucky that Chris took me in when I arrived on his doorstep beaten up and raped back in the day and he has beeen good for me. And, tbh, I never thought it would last forever. I am quite pleased that it sorts Amelia out. She is far less likely to cope in the world than I am. After all, look what I have been through already.

[janiehellion]

Not to be dramatic, but this comment on AO3 actually made me tear up in the best way possible. I did respond to it already, but I still feel like nothing I say could do justice to how much it really means to me. (Keeping their username hidden due to privacy and out of respect.)

And I know... I don't usually post randomly like this, but writing fanfiction—especially in a fandom like The Walking Dead, where so many writers are ridiculously talented, writers like Krys, Murda, Taylor, and so many more, but especially those that I follow and got the incredible chance to interact with so far.

Yes, there are writers who put out works way faster than I ever could and ever did in years—it can be really isolating. (If this is the right word... I don't know how to explain it better.) Especially when you write slowly, when you're anxious as shit, or when your fics simply don't get much reach or interaction because they're just... too damn long.

(My current draft for a requested one-shot is over 30K, and I'm trying to shorten it simply because I know that most don't wanna read that many words regarding a Daryl Dixon x Reader fic. My drafts just keep getting longer, so no wonder I barely even post, and I do wanna apologize for that.)

Anyway, I'm one of those writers who rereads their own fanfics over and over again, and constantly hearing that little voice telling me, "This isn't good enough. It's just bad. Delete it." Like, all the time. I overthink every line and every word. So I end up trying everything to make a fic at least okay to read… and then doubting whether the plot even makes sense or if it sounds the way I want it to. Especially when writing for characters like Daryl, Rick, Negan, or Shane—these kinda characters that have been written so incredibly well by so many others, those who are able to put it all in fewer words than I do.

But then someone, a stranger, leaves a comment like this.

They didn't just say "Great fic!" (which I also appreciate so deeply, don't get me wrong,) but they saw the exact things I try so hard to do: tone, emotion, clarity, and consistency. They said my writing was inspirational. They literally bookmarked it as a reference for what they want to achieve. As someone with English as their first language, no less. And, as you can see, they said I should be less hard on myself.

Do you understand how healing that is to read?

I still can't believe it's real. This is just insane to me. It makes all the hours of obsessing over every damn draft feel seen and heard.

To the person who wrote this: thank you. You are one of the few humans that encourage me to keep writing. Same with the other authors I got to know through Tumblr, AO3, and Wattpad so far.

I just never would've thought that sometimes, a stranger somewhere on this planet, this world, would remind me of how much I love writing at exactly the right time. You never know what someone might go through offline, and I absolutely needed this. This is why feedback matters.

[hoemainexpansion]

Chapter Five: Could You Put it in For Me? I'm All Wet: You and Utahime celebrate your birthdays together and it allows the rest of the people in your life to finally meet your demonic companion. However, things completely go to shit and send Suguru into a panic as he worries for your safety.

Also on AO3: HomainExpansion

⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

“Happy birthday!”

Everyone shouts as you and Utahime enter the living room to see all of your friends and family gathered around waiting to shower you both in attention. 

Every year the two of you celebrate your birthday on the twentieth of February since it’s in between the both of yours and that time has finally come. 

You’d planned on ignoring your birthday this year since everything going on has been sucking the fucking life out of you. But according to your best friend, that was the exact reason that you couldn’t skip it this year.

She even went on a long rant about how she was afraid that you were going to fall into a hole too deep and dark to get out of if you continued to do nothing except sit around and read news articles about tragic events. So, you took her advice and agreed to continue on with the tradition, as long as it was something a little bit more intimate than usual.

Manami suggested hosting a small party at the family home so that everybody could be somewhere that felt familiar and comfortable so you decided to take her up on that offer. You have a feeling that the reason that Suguru wasn’t opposed to a group of strangers being in his house was because it gave him the perfect opportunity to interrogate them. 

So far the only hiccup has been Gojo throwing a fit that you were going to be apart for a couple hours.

“But I’m supposed to protect you!”

“It’s only for a couple of hours so that Utahime and I can get ready together and then we’re going straight there, no detours.”

“But anything can happen in those couple of hours. What if someone attacks you and I’m not there?” Good lord he’s so fucking whiny.

“Can’t you teleport?”

“Yes. But as I mentioned before, I’m weaker the further apart we are. And the longer we’re apart, the weaker I get. Why do you think I’m always so close to you?”

“My dazzling personality?” He doesn’t say anything, just scowls. “Can’t you also feel when I’m in danger? You’ll know if I’m safe or not.”

“Those feelings are also weakened unless you’re in a life or death situation.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I decided to get you this!” You pull out a white box and hand it to him.

“A phone?”

“Yes. If I start to feel like shits getting weird, I’ll call you. I already have everybody who matters numbers saved in there for you. But besides that, you can customize it however you want.”

“You’re the only person I talk to. Who else do I need to call?”

“In case we ever get separated again for whatever reason, you’ll know I’m calling from someone else’s phone. Or who knows? The world is crazy. This way we have a backup to circumvent your power drawbacks.”

“Thanks,” you thought this would water down his fears a little bit but it’s clear that it hasn’t.

“Then why do you look like someone just kicked you in the balls?”

“We’re gonna be apart.” Oh. That’s what this is about. Clingy fucker.

“It’s only gonna be for a couple of hours. I’ll make sure we get ready super quick and we can keep in contact when you’re gone. But we have to do this. If Suguru sees that we won’t separate for even a few hours so that you can help set up the surprise party that Utahime and I already know is happening, he’ll think you’ve trapped me in an abusive relationship and won’t let me out of your sight.” He looks in shock then. You’d hate for him to feel that way but you have to be honest about how this will look if he’s around all the time and you never have any alone time with your friends.

“No detours?”

“No detours.”

“And we can still keep in contact?”

“Yes.” Clingy fucker.

“Fine. Only a couple of hours though.” You’ll take it.

“By the way, don’t go through your photos when you’re around other people,” you say with a smirk. 

“Why? What’s in there?”

“You’ll see,” and then you walk away.

After a few moments, you hear a whistle from the living room as you’re trying to get ready for bed. 

“I don’t remember seeing these ones on your phone!”

“They’re new!” You shout back. You never in your life imagined that you’d be taking risque photos for your clingy demon but here you are.

And that’s how you spent the evening before your shared birthday party. Even though he agreed the night before, he was still a little whiny when it came time to actually leave. Kento showed up and agreed to give him a ride since your apartment was on the way and Gojo was practically attached to you at the hip when he showed up. 

Yeah.

It’s a good thing that you’re going to take a few hours apart or this would look like a horrible relationship.

Well, fake relationship.

But aside from that, today has actually been pretty great. 

You got to have some girl time with your friend, she seemed to like your ‘hot dilf neighbor’ and this party has been going pretty smoothly.

So far, your favorite part has been watching Suguru question all of the guests. He’s already done Gojo so he started with Utahime’s new boyfriend who actually held up pretty well under pressure. And yeah, they’re officially boyfriend - girlfriend now, good for them. 

Kento was up next and you swear that they both just became good friends. What is it with dads being obsessed with history and loving to talk about it? Who knows, but they’re getting along because of it.

You even managed to convince Sukuna to come along since he’s basically been a protector and a friend throughout the past few years aside from just being someone who you work for. But you know that Suguru was really pushing to have him on the guest list so that he could question him about if any weirdos have been harassing you at the club. It’s through their conversation that you learn that the loser who grabbed you is Naoya Zenin, some rich prick with a spiteful personality. Your family wasn’t particularly happy about you withholding that information, but you just didn’t want to worry everyone. Luckily, they don’t seem too upset. Just more worried that he might hold a grudge. 

But thank goodness you invited Yuji because he was able to lighten the mood and that’s exactly what you were hoping for. You see him pretty often and you thought he’d be a nice person to have around and you were right. It’s been extra fun watching him interact with Sukuna as Sukuna continues to argue that he’s an only child and that he ‘doesn’t know this kid.’

Along with Utahime’s parents and a few other friends from high school, it still manages to feel like a pretty intimate gathering. 

Even with Gojo clinging to you every time a man looks at you, you don’t feel as overwhelmed as you thought that you would. 

Instead of doing a massive amount of cooking, Manami and Utahime’s mom got together to work on catering and they chose the restaurant that you two had your first joint birthday at together. It’s moments like these that make you realize just how much care they put into everything and it makes you smile.

But it also makes you feel a little guilty because if you’re being honest, you still pull away a lot and you’ve got to start working on that. 

“How are you doing, dear?”

A voice rips you out of your thoughts and you look up to see your best friend’s mom standing there.

“Hi Mrs. Iori.”

“Oh please, drop the formalities. We’ve known each other for so long,” she says with a flick of her wrist and you giggle. “I haven’t seen you in awhile. I tell my daughter to make sure you come over for dinner, but it appears that she’s been unsuccessful.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I finally got my own place and have been enjoying the isolation. And then with everything going on in the news, I’ve been enjoying it even more.”

“I can’t blame you for that. But sometimes it is good to be around other people.”

Like mother, like daughter.

“Utahime said the same thing.”

“That’s because she gets her smarts from me and not her father.” The two of you share a laugh and it makes you realize just how much you’ve missed them too.

“I’ll make the time, I promise.” She seems pleased with your answer and nods.

“Who’s the boy who’s been making heart eyes at you all night?”

“Heart eyes?!” She laughs at your reaction. 

“It’s obvious that he’s madly in love with you,” she says before Utahime calls her from across the room. “Excuse me, I must attend to my dramatic daughter.” She gives you a hug before walking away.

In love with you?

It must just be that he’s starving and desperate for this to be over with so that he can eat your soul. Even still, you take a look in the direction that you last saw him in and see him sitting with Yuji who seems to be excitedly raving about something but Gojo is still staring at you.

Maybe she’s right.

No. He’s a demon. That’s absurd.

Could he?

Do they feel emotions?

Fuck it.

That’s a problem for another day.

It starts getting late and guests are finally starting to depart which is nice because even though you’re grateful for them, your social battery is drained and you want to go to sleep. 

“Need me to give him a ride back home?” Kento asks you.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Thank you. But he’s going to come home with me.”

“Oooooohhhhhh!!!!” You hear your sisters shout from the other side of the room, hyping up the situation like they’re Flavor Flav. 

“Not like that! Nothing is going to happen!” You start waving your arms around as if that’s what’s going to diffuse the situation, but you already know that it’s hopeless. You just don’t want your family to think you’re taking a guy home just so that he can fuck you through the mattress.

Everyone in the room starts laughing and you do too in an attempt to play along. 

Gojo throws his arm around Kento and you can already feel his irritation starting to rise but you can’t help but watch this car crash. 

“Thank you for offering to take me home Nanamiiiinn,” your friend scowls now and you do your best to hide your laugh. “I guess since we’re friends now, that kind of makes us boyfriends.” He shakes off Gojo’s arm and starts to walk away. “Whaaaatt? Girls call each other ‘girlfriends,’ why can’t I call you my boyfriend?” Everyone else starts to laugh at your fake boyfriend's shenanigans and you have a feeling that you won’t be seeing Kento for quite some time. 

Everyone starts making their rounds to say goodbye and one by one people start to leave signaling that it’s probably also your time to start heading out. You go to grab your purse before saying goodbye to your family when Manami approaches you and you already know what’s coming.

“Oh dear, it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?” You’re about to open your mouth to refuse when she interrupts you first, “your friend can even spend the night.”

Your eyes widen in shock because what? “Suguru would hate that.”

“I’ll handle Suguru. Your friend can stay as long as you sleep in separate bedrooms and if you are in one room together, you must keep the door open. But besides that, I don’t see an issue.” Good thing the two of you aren’t having sex or this would be disappointing.

“Okay, we’ll stay.”

She looks completely blown away by your acceptance. You usually don’t agree to spur of the moment things like this but you just promised yourself you’d spend more time with them, so you’re going to follow up on that. 

“I’ll make some tea and speak with Suguru so that you can show him around.”

You walk over to Gojo who’s engrossed in games on his new phone and tap him on the shoulder. His bright blue eyes look up at you and it’s in that moment that you think that he’s really growing on you. It’s not like you haven’t been getting along before this or anything. Maybe it’s just everyone else convincing you that there’s something more even though you didn’t think there was. 

“We’re spending the night.”

“We? I don’t think your dad is going to like a boy sleeping with his daughter.”

“Manami said that we have to sleep in separate rooms otherwise it’s fine.”

He pulls you to the side so that Nanako and Mimiko can’t hear you. “I just spent the entire day without you and now we can’t sleep together?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that’s pure pain in his voice.

“We didn’t spend the entire day apart.”

“But I had to share you. With everyone!” He whisper yells.

“It’s only for tonight. We can hang out in my room as long as the door’s open and you’ll sleep in the room down the hall. We can leave in the morning.”

He looks completely defeated but he accepts. If you’re being honest, you do feel a little bad but you spend literally twenty four - seven with him. He’ll be okay being in your family home for one night.

Just then Suguru comes over with that smile that most people would think is sweet but you can tell that someone is about to get a lecture.

“I’m sorry, but may I borrow Mr. Gojo here for a moment?” Oh shit.

You nod in agreement and take a seat on the couch trying your best to eavesdrop but they’re too far away. You hear a door close and assume that they’re in his office so you just make a note to ask your companion about it later.

“My wife just told me that you’ll be spending the night in our home,” he says but Gojo knows that it’s not really a question.

“I just found out myself… sir.”

“Have you been told that you’ll be sleeping in another bedroom?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Good. I just wanted you to know that if I find out that you spent the entire night in my daughter’s room with her door closed, that’ll be the last time that you ever do that,” he gets more serious and even Gojo is intimidated.

“I promise that I won’t be doing anything inappropriate with your daughter, especially not in your home.”

“I would hope not. I used to also be a twenty something young man and I understand… temptation.”

“I’m good at resisting temptation.” 

“I hope for your sake that you are. Otherwise, that’ll be the last time you ever have to worry about succumbing to it.” Gojo’s eyes widen and Suguru continues, “and before you ask, yes, that was a threat.”

“I promise that you have nothing to worry about. I’ll follow your rules.”

“Good!” Suguru says before leading him out of the room, “then I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

They both return to the room and you can see what looks like a bit of fear written on Gojo’s face. What the fuck did Suguru say to him that scared a demon?

“Is everything okay?” You ask but you’re kind of scared of the answer.

“Everything is fine,” Suguru responds. “I know today has been a long day for you, so you may retire upstairs if you like.” He gives you a kiss on the forehead and goes to join his wife in the kitchen.

You grab Gojo by the arm and start dragging him up the staircase.

“What the hell was that?”

“Your dad is fucking terrifying!” Gojo says and you laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You pull him close and whisper in his ear, “you’re a demon. Why are you scared of a detective?”

“He has an intimidating aura. If I still had bodily functions, I would have shit myself.” You know that he’s serious but you can’t stop laughing. “Seriously! He threatened to kill me.”

“He did?!”

“Not in so many words, but yes. Or threatened to cut my dick off which is also terrible.”

“Can either of those things happen?”

“I can heal myself so nothing is really a death sentence.”

“Then why do you seem so scared?”

“Your dad has to like me!”

He’s taking this role so seriously and you kind of love it. You finally make it to your bedroom and he’s in awe the second he steps inside and starts looking around. You don’t have a lot of posters on the wall or anything, but you can still feel how this is your room.

You have a computer desk set up with one of those expensive ass chairs with a print on it from your favorite anime that was a birthday gift one year. The desk itself is covered in notebooks and gel pens showing just how much time you spend there whenever you come over. There’s a wax warmer in the corner of the room with a jar overflowing with wax so thank goodness Manami had you put it on a plate, but it does look pretty cool. There’s a bookshelf with Junji Ito and horror novels all over it and mixed in there’s some Funko’s and figurines of your favorite characters. You have a separate table set up with all your makeup that you keep here so that you don’t have to travel with it back and forth. It’s actually funny how even though it seemed like everything was packed up for the move, there’s still a touch of you here and it makes you feel at home.

You always see in movies and shows how when a child moves out, the parents immediately turn that room into a gym but that’s not the case here. You can tell that Manami comes in to dust just to make sure it stays clean. But besides that, they gave you this room and they continue to leave it for you and it’s sweet.

“You usually dress up pretty goth, I have to say that I’m surprised by the bedding.” A while back you came across a light pink and white bed set from Betsey Johnson and you just had to have it. It’s floral and when you saw the word ‘reversible,’ you couldn’t hold back on getting it. 

You read somewhere awhile back that if there’s one room that you’re supposed to splurge on, it’s your bedroom since that’s your most personal space that you should feel the most comfortable in. You’ve since taken that to heart and can honestly say it’s one of the things that’s kept you sane throughout the years. That’s another reason why you haven’t been engaging in your ‘hoe years’ as your friends call it, you can’t let just anyone in your space. 

“I’ve started wearing more color throughout the years but there was a time when that was abnormal.” You take a seat on the bed and just watch him as he looks around.

“So…” he pauses and you have a feeling that this conversation is going to be a shit sandwich. “How many other guys have seen this room?”

For fuck’s sake.

“One.”

“Just one?” He asks while taking a seat next to you on the bed.

“Just one. I’ve only had one boyfriend. Did you think my bedroom was a revolving door of random dicks for years or something?”

“Just curious,” he acts like it’s no big deal but you can tell that even that one is killing him.

“How many women have seen your bedroom?”

“Six,” he replies with no hesitation.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you were going to answer that.”

“Who not? Expecting less?”

“More. A lot more.”

“What? Nine?” He’s so cute.

“I didn’t think it was going to be less than thirty,” he grimaces like you just said the most absurd thing.

“Why do you look so horrified? You’re a cute boy, that being someone’s guess can’t surprise you.”

“You think I’m cute?” He asks with a smirk.

“Gojo–”

“Satoru.”

“What?”

“You always call me Gojo but call everyone else by their first names. Do you not like me? Are we not friends?” Oh my god.

“Of course we are.”

“Hmmm. Anyway, I told you a bit about when I was a human. I worked too much to really partake in any activities so having an active sex life was towards the bottom of the list. Most of my partners are from after I turned.”

“Did anyone ever command you to have sex with them?”

“Yeah.” He looks a little sad after admitting that.

“Were you okay with that?” Once those words fall from your lips, you immediately want to take them back. It feels too personal to be phrased as casual as you just said it.

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. None of my masters have really asked about my well being or worried about how I felt except for you.” That’s a fucking bummer, no wonder he doesn’t just volunteer that information. “You took me to a bakery because I like sweets and got me a phone so that we can stay in contact even though we’re in the same room all day. Nobody else I’ve served would have done any of those things. They find out that they can order me around and they take advantage because they want to get their ‘souls worth.’”

Hearing him say all of that puts literally everything into perspective. You’ve been bitching and moaning about how crazy it is that he’s super clingy and possessive but now it all makes sense. 

In your eyes, you haven’t gone above and beyond for him. 

But in his eyes, you have.

Where you look at the things you’ve done as small things you’d do for a friend, he views them as grand gestures of kindness and while you appreciate his being grateful, it does make you a little sad that he considers them such a big deal. But that’s not going to change anything. You’re going to continue to do things for him and show him around because him being so excited about everything makes you happy as well. That’s how you’ll get your ‘souls worth.’ He is protecting you around the clock, the least you can do is entertain him as well.

“I like this thing that you do with your socks. Back in my day, a woman would’ve been flogged for wearing something like this.” He tugs on one of your thigh highs and starts to laugh.

“Back in ‘your day,’ didn’t women wear corsets and have their tits practically pushed up and out of their gowns?”

“I didn’t say it made any sense.”

You giggle and hand him the remote. “Put something on the tv so that they don’t think we’re in here flirting all night.” The next part you make sure to raise your voice for, “and something to drown out our voices so that the twins in the hallway who like to eavesdrop can’t hear.”

They start to giggle and you hear footsteps receding and that’s how you know you were right.

“Shit, do you think they heard everything?”

“I heard them start coming close around the socks. We’ll be fine.”

You turn to lay on your side, facing him, and listen out for what he puts on.

“Wife Swap?!” You immediately laugh because it’s been some time since you’ve seen that.

“I’ve had a lot of time to watch tv since I’ve been with you, this show is surprisingly hilarious. Back in my day, if a woman swapped husbands, she’d probably be executed.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s also crazy seeing people who are so cheap they volunteer to not bathe at all and when they do it’s a bucket bath. Why are your people so obsessed with regressing? That shit sucked. I love showers.”

“It’s funny because every history teacher I’ve ever had always said, ‘it’s important to know your history so that we don’t repeat it,’ and then you see a bunch of people wanting to undo progress.”

“Looks like they didn’t get the messenger pigeon.” He’s so cute.

Before you know it, you start drifting off to the sound of his soft laughs.

When you wake up in the morning, you find yourself alone in bed and have to admit that you’re a little surprised. You definitely thought that you’d wake up to Gojo and just have to apologize to Suguru and Manami in the morning, but apparently not. 

You stretch a little before getting out of bed and doing as much of your morning routine as you can with what remains in your room. After freshening up and changing your clothes, you make your way down the hallway to the guest bedroom Satoru is supposed to be in, but you find it empty.

As you descend the stairs, you hear laughter coming from the kitchen and it stuns you.

Is that Satoru and Suguru?

Laughing in the kitchen?

Like friends from high school?

Now you’ve seen it all.

You rush over to the kitchen to find them sitting across from each other, at the kitchen table, Suguru with a mug of coffee in one hand, and Satoru with a glass of orange juice in his. And they’re just having a grand old time like Suguru didn’t put the fear of god into him last night.

It’s Suguru who notices you first and waves you into the kitchen, “good morning dear, come join us. How’d you sleep?”

“Uhhhh, fine. How are you? Both of you?”

“Turns out that your dad is pretty cool.”

How the hell did this happen?

“I must say, this young man is not as bad as I thought he was.” He turns to Satoru then. “I do apologize for last night, but you must understand that my only intent is to protect my daughter.”

They start chatting like they’ve been best friends for years and you decide to just take a seat and let them do their thing. After a few minutes, Suguru asks if you’ll stay for breakfast but you decline with an excuse about needing to run a few errands before your next day at work and you don’t want to push it off until the last minute. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t look disappointed by your refusal and that’s all you needed to know that you’ll take him up on more of his offers in the future. You run back upstairs to grab your bag before he walks you both out to your car.

“Keep in touch,” he says while pulling you into a hug. “You too, Satoru.”

“Will do, sir.”

After you get in the car and drive a few blocks away, you ask Satoru what happened. “How did you go from being terrified of him last night to being best friends this morning?”

“I’m not sure. He just started laughing at my jokes and said that he’s really happy that we followed his rules.”

Was that all just a test?

“Well, that’s good then. When did you leave?”

“About an hour after you fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake you up by getting out of bed right away.”

“And you were okay? In the guest room?”

“Yeah. Lucky for me, my master loaded up this phone with beautiful photos she took so they kept me company last night,” he says with a smile.

“Satoru!” He laughs and you just enjoy the music for the rest of the ride home.

When you arrive at your floor, you’re a little taken aback by the fact that there’s a box on the floor in front of your door. At first you think nothing of it since your birthday is in two days. But then you remember that you and Utahime just had your joint birthday party and if anyone was going to give you a gift, they always do it then. 

You unlock your door and then bring the box inside, setting it down on the kitchen counter. 

It’s a red box wrapped in white ribbon with a gift tag attached. You untie the ribbon to remove the tie and read what’s inside. It’s pretty vague and there’s nothing written down that indicates who it’s from. All it says is, ‘Happy Birthday.’

Fuck it.

You pull off the rest of the ribbon and open the box to see that there’s nothing inside except for a white envelope. It’s not a huge box, but pretty big for an envelope to be the only thing that’s inside. The box itself is big enough to fit a cute boombox from the early 2000’s so that throws you off. But maybe the person who left it behind didn’t want to run the risk of someone stealing just an envelope because of the thought that there’s money inside or something.

“Who’s it from?” Satoru asks from over your shoulder.

“I don’t know. There’s no name left behind.”

You finally pull out the envelope to find it sealed shut which is a choice considering they put it in a box. Good thing Manami got you a letter opener a few years ago and you retrieve it from your bedroom before returning to the box. 

You grab the envelope again and maneuver the letter opener into a small opening and tear the top open.

“I have to say, I assumed that letter openers would be one of those things people retired by now.”

“Most people do since everything is done by phone or computer. But I really like stationary stuff so Mananmi got me this for Christmas a few years ago.”

When you first start to pull what’s inside out, it feels like a photograph. It’s completely white but the underside is sticky which means you probably pulled it out upside down. Once you see it, you gasp.

It’s just a photo of a fingerprint.

‎⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

There’s no way for you to feel other than being completely tired of this shit. 

You’ve been sitting in this goddam police station for what feels like fucking days but it’s only been six hours. But cops making you retell the same story over and over again makes it feel like time is moving in slow motion and you fucking hate it.

You’ve been sitting in this interview room alone for the past ten minutes just browsing on your phone, luckily they let you keep that, in an attempt to keep yourself busy. 

You know the cop routine of stepping out of the room and talking about whoever they’re observing through the two way mirror so you just wanna sit here and give them no reason to suspect that you set them up on this goose chase.

You also don’t want to go viral like that fucking lunatic who was doing handstands and shit in between interrogations.

Due to his being close to you, they immediately took Suguru off this case which means that you’re getting the full officer effect today.

Fuck.

They said that if there're more incidents, they’ll consider letting him have a part in it due to being on the case the longest, but until then, he’s been sidelined. That means that there’s no one to sit with you while you get questioned like you’re a suspect.

You’ve also been separated from Satoru who’s apparently been in another room getting questioned the entire time as well.

He must be hating this.

You’ve gone over your story at least five times with Detective Kong, the only other person you’ve known in this station as long as Suguru due to the fact that they used to be partners, before he got transferred. He was only recently moved back within the past six months so they don’t consider him ‘too close to home’ or something.

Just then, you hear the door open and see him standing before you with his notebook in hand, “I just want to go over your story one more time and then we can get you out of here, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

He closes the door behind him and takes a seat at the table, right next to you.

“One more time, a quick run down please. When did you leave? Get home? Open the package? All that stuff?”

“Satoru and I left home in the morning not too long after I woke up. We drove straight back to my apartment and discovered the box when walking down the hallway and approaching my door. I opened the door, grabbed the box, put it on the kitchen counter, and then opened it up right away. As soon as I saw what was inside, I called Suguru.”

“Why did you call Suguru instead of just 911?” Really?

“I didn’t consider a box left outside my front door something that required immediate response from emergency services. Also, if it turned out to be a prank, it would have been a waste of time. Plus, the operator probably would have thought I was just fucking around. So, I called Suguru knowing that he’d know what to do next.”

“You were with this… Satoru… the entire night?”

You’ve got to be kidding. That’s new.

“Yes. We spent the night at Suguru and Manami’s house yesterday.”

“Are you sure he was there the entire night?”

“What are you getting at, Detective Kong?”

“I’m just trying to account for everyone’s whereabouts. This is a print left behind by an unknown serial killer, we just want to make sure we find the right person.”

“Satoru was there the entire night.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I feel sure.”

“‘Feel sure?’ What does that mean?”

“I fell asleep with him next to me in bed and woke up to find him in the kitchen with Suguru.”

“So you don’t actually know if he was there the entire night? Due to you falling asleep? How do you know that he didn’t take your car and then come back?”

“He can’t drive.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“Who can’t drive.”

“Why not?” Ugh.

“He grew up in a sheltered religious upbringing and that wasn’t something on his parents to-do lists. And walking would have taken forever. And even if he did, I’m sure a six foot three man with white hair would stand out on cctv footage. Plus, my building has surveillance cameras everywhere and he’d definitely be recognized on camera seeing as he’s spent so much time there.”

“Uber? Lyft?” Now you’re starting to get pissed off.

“That can be tracked. But if you made it all the way to detective, then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

He chuckles in response. 

You’re glad he finds this so fucking funny because you’re about a millisecond away from lawyering up and telling him to go fuck himself. You want answers, but you also don’t want to be accused of something that can so easily be disproven, Satoru either.

“That is true,” he starts, “your boyfriend willingly handed over his phone and there’s no records of those apps ever being on his phone so I guess that is ruled out.” Then why the fucking questions? “Speaking of surveillance footage from your building, we’re retrieving and reviewing it now so I suppose you’re correct that he would be seen.” Obviously. 

You lean back in your seat and cross your arms, clearly over his mood. You understand that he’s just trying to do his job but you’re over this.

“Just another few questions.” You audibly sigh and catch his irritated expression when you do. 

But like being saved by the bell, someone knocks on the door and stops him before he can even get going.

The door opens and an officer that you don’t know steps inside, “Detective Kong, there’s a man here to see her,” they point at you. 

In walks a tall, tired eyed man in a sharp black suit carrying a briefcase. 

“Who are you?” He asks the man.

“I’m her lawyer Hiromi Higuruma and if she’s not under arrest, this questioning is concluded.”

You don’t have a lawyer but thank fucking goodness someone thinks you do.

“I just have a few more questions for her.”

“Is she under arrest?”

“No.”

“Then she’ll be leaving with me. The gentleman too.”

You smile and shoot up and out of your chair to follow him out of the room. You just know that anytime a cop says they only have a few questions, you’ll be there another two hours and you just want to go home.

After exiting the room, you see Suguru standing in the hallway and run over to him immediately.

“Suguru, you know better than to interrupt an investigation,” his former partner says.

“I’m not interrupting an investigation. I’m protecting my daughter. Those questions were getting a little too pointed for my liking and I can safely say that she and her boyfriend were at my home the entire night.”

“You’ll sign a sworn affidavit?”

“Yes. I can even provide the security footage from my home that proves that neither of them even stepped out on the porch last night, let alone my property in the middle of it.”

You can’t see Kong’s reaction since you’ve decided to bury your face in Suguru’s chest, but you can just feel that he’s not happy about this.

“You can’t blame my questioning seeing as most of the time, it is the romantic partner.”

“That’s true. But they’ve only gotten together as of late, it’s highly unlikely that he’s an accomplice or decided to track her down seven years after that fact. Plus, a basic search would have answered all of your questions instead of keeping them here all day. With that, we’ll be taking our leave.”

Suguru puts his hand on your back and starts to lead you out of the station with Higuruma trailing close behind. When you reach the reception area, you see Satoru sitting in the waiting area waiting for you, impatiently tapping his foot. When he sees you, he runs over and pulls you into a tight hug, holding you for a minute.

Eventually you make your way outside and consider it finally a safe time to ask, “a lawyer? Really? Do you think I’m in trouble?”

“No. I’m sure you’ll be fine considering there’s evidence to corroborate everything that you said, it’s just a precaution,” Suguru responds. 

“Now what?”

“I’ll give you Higuruma’s number in case anyone tries to contact you again. Just make it clear that you don’t want to speak to anyone without him being present and you should be fine. And that goes for both of you.”

You and Satoru both nod in agreement and Suguru puts his hands on your shoulders, so you know what’s coming.

“Sweetheart,” oh dear, “you should come home for the time being. Just until we find out what’s going on.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” you say with a laugh.

“I must be getting predictable in my old age.” Getting? “It’s just a precaution.”

“I know but… I’m gonna go home for now. Did they search my apartment?”

“No, they didn’t have a search warrant.”

“Would it make you feel better if you searched it before I went back?”

“Yes,” he says after thinking about it for a minute. 

You thank Higuruma for getting you out of there and take his card before getting in the car with Suguru and going back to your building. 

“Did you watch the interview?” You ask Suguru once you’re back in his car.

“I did. You did well.”

“Was I bitchy?” He raises a brow at you. “At one point, Shiu looked kind of irritated.”

“You were asked the same questions for six hours before new ones came out of nowhere. If it were me, I feel I would have been a lot more curt than you were.” That makes you feel better. 

When you get to your apartment, Suguru does his detective thing and searches the entire apartment from top to bottom. He moves stuff out of the way to make sure there’s no hidden cameras, checks behind every door and under every piece of furniture. He looks around for about an hour before he deems it safe but that doesn’t stop him from trying to convince you to go back home with him. He even offers to let Satoru come back since he, according to him, ‘can see how attached you are to each other,’ but you politely turn down his offer. 

“I just don’t like you being so far away,” he says.

“I’m not. And either way, I have Satoru here and I can use him as a human shield,” you respond while laughing.

“I’m serious, I just want to make sure that you’re safe.”

“So am I. I know that you mean well. But I called you immediately after I got the box, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, can you trust that I’ll call you if I feel like something else is off? I promise I won’t wait.”

He sighs before finally agreeing. “Please don’t take risks just because you have someone else here.”

“I won’t.” 

He pulls you into a hug before turning to Satoru and telling him to keep in contact, especially if something feels off. You’re really surprised how much their relationship has improved in like, a day, but you appreciate it. Eventually your protective adoptive father leaves and it’s just you and Satoru alone in what feels like days.

Satoru rushes over to you and pulls you into a kiss, completely catching you off guard.

“Sorry about that. I should have asked first. But it feels like I haven’t had any time with you in years.”

“Oh, it’s o-okay,” you start to stutter. It’s been literally years since you’ve kissed anyone and you weren’t expecting it today.

“Now what?”

“I’m gonna take a bath.”

It’s been years since you’ve taken an actual bath since you’re so accustomed to showers, but you’re definitely going to do it today, you’ve earned it. You haven’t used the claw foot tub you wanted so much because it’s felt like time never slows down enough for you to do so, but you’re making that time now.

You go through the closet that you keep the towels and other bathroom essentials in and pull out a pink box with a strong perfume smell.

“Good thing I got these in advance,” you mutter to yourself.

Inside of the box is about twenty bath bombs. You loved when those videos went viral of people recording them dissolving and changing the color of the water and whatever else, so you got a bunch for yourself. You pull out one that’s pink and blue with specks of gold in there and take it to the bathroom to sit on the sink before filling up the tub.

“What’s that?”

“A bath bomb.”

“You’re gonna blow up your tub?” Satoru asks that so seriously and you can’t help but giggle.

“It’s kind of like a colorful perfume ball. It’s going to dissolve and color the water and stuff, they’re pretty cool.”

“Is there anything this time doesn’t have?”

“World peace?”

“Oh baby, the world will never have that.” Damn dude. Dark.

You go into the bathroom to get undressed once you hear that the tub is full enough and you do the exact thing that you’d been telling yourself not to forget. 

You left the fucking bath bomb on the counter.

The far side too.

Far enough that if you step out of the tub, you’re going to soak the floor.

Thank goodness you have someone sitting around your apartment practically waiting for orders and that they’ve already seen you undressed so this isn’t as awkward as it could be.

“Satoruuuuuu!” You yell from the tub. He comes into the bathroom and immediately averts his gaze once he sees you in the tub, but you can still see the pink on his cheeks. His reaction really shocks you this time seeing as he typically is doing anything he can to get even the slightest peek of anything. “I forgot the bath bomb, would you get it for me?”

He grabs it from the sink and starts to walk over to you, staring down at the floor the entire time. 

“Could you put it in for me? I’m all wet.” His eyes shoot open and you regret your phrasing. “My hands, I mean.”

The both of you laugh it off and he gently places it in the tub. It immediately starts to dissolve and he looks like he’s in awe. The bomb starts to spin around as different colors start to cover the water along with what looks like gold glitter. 

“It smells like blueberries.”

“Yeah, I like the fruity scents.”

He sits on the floor next to the tub and just watches it dissolve and it makes you think of the time your friend’s puppy did the same thing.

He’s so cute.

“You’re going to be okay, you know? I’ll protect you.”

“I know. But I do have to keep Suguru in the loop more, I think he feels left out.”

“He wants to protect you and he’s afraid you’re going to put yourself in danger.” So that’s what they were talking about?

“I won’t. At least, I wouldn’t have before. I might be more willing to be proactive now instead of reactive later.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so tired of not having answers for this shit. I kinda wanna go out and do my own investigation and hopefully figure something out to help solve the case.”

“You know, you are allowed to take a break and enjoy your life,” he says and that shocks you.

“But, don’t you wanna eat my soul?”

“It can wait,” he looks so sweet as he says that. “I’m on level forty seven of Peggle Blast.” There it is. “These gnomes fucking suck.”

The both of you laugh and just sit there enjoying the silence together for the rest of the time that you’re in the tub.

 As peaceful as this moment feels, you can’t completely shut your mind off.

You just have so many unanswered questions that are driving you fucking crazy. How did this person who did what they did to your parents know where you live? That means that it’s not a coincidence and you didn’t realize that you’ve been in proximity to them, or it means that they’ve been watching you.

For seven years.

But why?

You’re not going to lie to yourself, you absolutely understand Suguru’s paranoia. You’ve already decided that if one more thing happens, you will go back home to stay with them if he insists, you’d just hate to put other people at risk by doing so. 

You love them. You love all of them and now that you know that monster is getting closer, it just concerns you to be around anyone that you care about.

What a conundrum.

“Turn your brain off,” Satoru says out of nowhere.

“Huh?”

“You’re stressing yourself out. Turn your brain off. I’m here to protect you and as long as we’re around your family and friends, I’ll watch over them too.” He’s so sweet.

“I’m sorry, I’m just overthinking.”

“Well… stop. Need a distraction?”

“Like what?”

“Wanna have sex?”

“Huuuuhhhhhh?! How’d you come up with that as a distraction?”

“Oh please, like you haven’t been trying to seduce me since we got home.”

“Seduce you?! I’m a virgin! I don’t know how to seduce anyone.”

“Oh Satoru, will you put it in for me? I’m all wet,” he says while impersonating your voice and you bust out in laughter that has tears rolling down your face. You didn’t realize that’s how it came off and you think that he actually has a point.

“Okay… fair. But I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s next? Gonna ask me to get your towels for you?” They are kinda far away but you’re not going to ask him now. “You were gonna ask me huh?”

“Pshh, no.” You couldn’t even make that sound convincing based on the look on his face.

“Okay. Then I’m just going to retire to the bedroom where you let me sleep next to you every night while I eagerly await your legs on either side of my face.”

“Satoru!”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just laughs and walks out the door, closing it behind him.

If you’re being honest, his technique of breaking your walls down is working. 

It’s in that moment that you realize just how horny you are. It’s been weeks since you’ve used any of your vibrators because moving took a lot out of you and then you’ve had Satoru basically glued to your side which leaves you little to no privacy. You can’t exactly ask him to sit in the other room while you do anything because he’ll probably just have his ear glued to the door, listening out for any sound you make.

Unfortunately, all you can hear in your head now is Cardi B saying, “beat this shit like a drum.”

Ugh.

Maybe if you’re completely quiet, you can touch yourself just a little bit before climbing out of the bath. You slowly move your hand down doing your best to prevent any excess movement in the water that would cause any noise. But once you get your hands between your legs, your hopes are dashed.

“I can feel that!” You hear Satoru shout from your bedroom.

“Fuck you! You feel that too?”

“Afraid so babe!”

You just groan before pulling the plug on the tub and making your way over to the shower to rinse off and wash your hair. But now that your sexual frustration has been brought to the forefront of your mind, it’s all you can think about and it’s driving you crazy. 

You force yourself to think of literally anything else as you wash your hair and ignore the hot spawn from hell waiting to drag you down into sin and debauchery with him. 

Unfortunately, your shower has to come to an end at some point and you turn off the water, step out, and turn your bathroom floor into a fucking pool due to you forgetting the towels on the other side of the bathroom. Oh well. Can’t be helped.

You wrap up your hair first and then tie the towel around your body before stepping out and seeing Satoru laying on your bed. 

“Hey babe, how do you feel?” He asks with a smirk.

“Eat me!”

“I’d love to!” He starts to get up but then you stop him.

“That’s just a figure of speech.”

“That’s a figure of speech?”

“Yes. It’s like when guys get mad and they tell someone to suck their dick.”

“People say that too?” He looks completely dumbfounded. “How is that an insult?”

“Because people don’t want to perform oral sex on people they’re fighting with.”

“That’s one of the best times!” What?

If you’re being honest with yourself, you kind of want to let him have his way with you. You wanted your first time to be special and with someone who you have a connection with and that’s clearly him. Although you don’t spend a bunch of time talking about feelings, it’s evident by what you do know how he feels. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be the worst choice.

But you’re going to force yourself to save that problem for another day. You don’t want to make a big decision just because you’re feeling frustrated.

You pull a giant shirt and a pair of panties from your pajama drawer, get dressed, and then return to your room to climb into bed.

You’re achy in ways that you didn’t think possible and it’s not like you did any physical activity. But the mental drain of being at the station all day sucked the fucking life out of you. It’s only early evening and you already feel ready for bed but you know that it’ll kill your sleep schedule.

Ugh.

What to do. What to do.

“Going to bed? It’s kind of early, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what to do with myself. This day was particularly draining.”

He lifts up his arm and you just scrunch your brows at him, having no idea what he’s doing.

“What?”

“Come here.”

“Oh… you wanna cuddle me, Satoru?”

“Why not? You’re hot.” Of course that’s what he’d say.

You decide to take him up on his offer and scoot closer to him before resting your head on his chest. It's a surprisingly sweet gesture and you feel more comfortable than you thought you wouldn’t.

“These phone things are amazing. If a kid in my day saw one of these things, I think their head would explode.” You let out a weak little laugh before eventually falling asleep.

‎⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

“Sweetheart, wake up. Hey, wake up.” You feel someone trying to gently shake you awake but your eyes are so heavy that it’s hard for you to open them. “Please, we have to go.”

When you’re finally able to open your eyes, you see Suguru standing before you with nothing but pure fear written across his face. You’ve never seen him look like this in your life and it immediately causes you to panic.

“Is everything okay? Where’s Satoru?” You look around the room when you notice that he’s not in bed with you anymore.

“He’s packing a few bags for you. We have to go.”

“Suguru, what the hell is going on?”

He sits down on your bed next to you before speaking, “a family member of one of the previous victims has been found deceased along with their partner. A print was found at the scene and came through as a match which unfortunately didn’t come through until a couple of days later. But now that we know that it’s connected, I’d like you to come home, at least for a few days.”

This time, you don’t argue.

You get up, go to the bathroom to wake yourself up and grab a few things before rejoining Suguru and Satoru in your bedroom.

“I didn’t know exactly what you’d need so I just packed a bit of everything. Even some of your ‘work clothes,’” and he puts work clothes in quotations.

“That’s fine. Anything else that I need can be bought or someone can accompany me back to get them. Can he come?” You turn to Suguru and ask.

“Of course. I knew you’d fight me otherwise.” You just chuckle in response and grab a few more things before heading out the door.

That’s how you found yourself woken up at midnight and rushed into Suguru’s car on the way back to your family’s home. 

‎⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

[louis-quatorze]

snippet

Wrote this out in notes on the train for the Discord, where we were discussing Aldo's theologian friends being even gayer than he is. it's too much of a little thing for me to put it on Ao3 but I did want to store it somewhere visible, so.

Vincent gingerly stepped out into the small garden, exhaling softly. High-level theology had never been an interest of his. At some point it all just got too abstract, and ultimately, he was a man of action. Endless discussions just made him restless. But, as he was constantly reminding himself, he was Pope now, and that came with responsibilities. There needed to be a theological plan for the Innocent papacy. Which meant he had to take this all seriously. 

Another reminder that, as dangerous as Kabul had been, it was so much more straightforward. 

A peal of laughter cut through the air, interrupting his thoughts. 

“You are such a liar, Jogi! Don’t think I won’t ask Karol myself.”

“Well, then it depends on whether he likes you or me more.”

Another burst of laughter. Vincent had been working with Aldo Cardinal Bellini for five months at this point and he’d never heard him laugh. He’d kept him on as Secretary of State based on the late Holy Father’s fondness for him and his need for someone who knew the Vatican, and had found him, as promised, diligent and dedicated, professional. What he hadn’t found was the warmth that his dear Thomas had promised, the sense of Aldo as a person and not an instrument. He was invaluable in the first months of Vincent’s papacy, but reserved, a mystery still.

But there were people who made Aldo laugh. 

The symposium had mostly been of Aldo’s design, and Vincent had left him to it. He had the contacts and interest. He’d known that Aldo was once a theologian, a promising one, before moving to the diplomatic service. He’d read Aldo’s file and knew the way the late Holy Father had described him. Somehow, though, Vincent hadn’t fully considered that Aldo might know these men beyond a list of names and publications.

His curiosity got the better of him, as it frequently did, and he pushed away from the column he was hiding behind, turning to see his Secretary of State sitting around a small wrought-iron table with two men. One was large and ruddy-faced, with a swoop of blond hair going white over his forehead, holding a cigarette languidly like an old Hollywood star. The other had a lined, narrow face, white hair streaked with gray cascading to his shoulders and a smirk playing at his lips. Their red zucchetto and clothing marked them for cardinals, which meant Vincent should probably have remembered them from the conclave, but it was all such a blur in his head. 

The long-haired one noticed him first, raising his considerable eyebrows, causing Aldo to turn. He rose, the mirth slipping off his face. “Your Holiness.”

Vincent raised his hand, gesturing for Aldo to sit back down. He’d worked him down to Vincent in private, but Aldo was always so aware of protocol. “My apologies, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nothing to interrupt, we’re just gossiping,” said the blond, a lilting, amused tint to his voice.

“Pieter!” Aldo snapped, huffing softly at the other man’s nonchalant shrug before smoothing down his cassock and turning back to Vincent. “Your holiness, let me introduce Pieter Cardinal Vandroogenbroek and Joachim Cardinal Löwenstein.”

“Charmed,” said Cardinal Vandroogenbroek, gesturing with his cigarette, and Vincent couldn’t help but be amused at the contrast between Aldo’s perpetually wound energy and that of his friends. He recalled their names from the dossier Aldo had passed to him last week. A former professor of theology, an Archbishop Emeritus from southern Germany, both thorns in the side of previous Papacies. Not easily intimidated, then. Aldo’s friends. Curious. 

“Come, sit down,” said Cardinal Löwenstein, waving at the remaining chair. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Vincent felt suddenly nervous. He was no theologian. He didn’t know these men, their clear history together. But they were intriguing, in their connection to Aldo and their obvious effeminacy. It was something he got a glimpse of with Aldo on occasion, in the roll of his eyes or an acerbic comment to his secretary, but it was hard to get past his reserve. So he took the offered seat, arranging himself as neatly as possible. “Have you?”

Cardinal Vandroogenbroek took a drag of his cigarette and peered at Vincent curiously. “Well, dear, you are the Pope.”

“But more importantly, you’re keeping our Aldo employed, which is a good thing for us all.”

“Excuse me?” Aldo said, looking mildly affronted. 

Cardinal Vandroogenbroek patted Aldo’s shoulder reassuringly. “The world couldn’t handle you bored.” 

“Hmph.”

“How are you finding the circus?” Cardinal Löwenstein asked Vincent with a kind, conspiratorial smile.  

“The cir…oh.” Vincent laughed softly, amused at the impertinence. It was not a terrible description of the Vatican. “It’s…well…”

“Awful?” Cardinal Vandroogenbroek drawled. “We’ve never been sure whether Aldo is a martyr or masochist, staying like he does.” 

“Some of us,” Aldo said waspishly, although there was a smile at the edge of his mouth, “want to do more than sniping from the cheap seats.”

“My seats are never cheap,” Vandroogenbrook replied archly, and Aldo’s smile broke through.

Vincent smiled as well. There was a warmth, a camaraderie, that was palatable at the table. This was a hostile place, in many ways, but Aldo had carved out a community in it anyway. And maybe he could do something with that.

[kikyoupdates]

Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

previous | story masterlist | next

It’s been a pretty shitty day. As if washing dishes for hours on end wasn’t bad enough, you just had to run into Kai. His cocky face, coupled with his scummy behavior, made your mood plummet faster than you could even blink. Your shift is over now, but you can’t help but feel apprehensive as you step out of the building, worried that he’s still lurking around somewhere. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him. 

As it turns out, though, Kai isn’t the one waiting for you.

Caleb is. 

“[Name]!” he grins. You blink in confusion, since you weren’t expecting to see him today. You thought he wasn’t scheduled to work. 

“Did you get called in to cover for someone?” you frown. “I didn’t think you were working today.” 

“Nah. I went out to buy some things,” he says, lifting up a grocery bag, then flashing you yet another grin. “And since I was in the area, I figured I’d stop by to see you after your shift was over.” 

You’re always happy to see him, but before you reply, you furiously glance around for the umpteenth time, just to be sure that Kai isn’t still around. 

The last thing Caleb needs right now is to run into that prick again. 

“Uh, is everything okay?” Caleb asks, frowning a bit. “You look a bit jumpy. Did something happen at work?” 

Leave it to him to pick up on your discomfort. Well, you suppose you weren’t being terribly subtle in the first place, but whatever. He doesn’t need to know that you ran into that douchebag. He’ll just get worried, especially since you basically picked a fight with Kai. You should count your lucky blessings just to have gotten away in one piece. 

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. Thanks for stopping by. I’m glad I got to see you today. You went shopping, so are you headed home now?” 

“I was gonna walk with you for a bit, then head back, yeah,” Caleb nods. He pauses for a moment. “Um… actually, my house is nearby, so if you aren’t too busy… did you want to stop by for a bit and hang out?” 

You blink. 

He’s inviting me over? 

How long has it been since you went over to someone’s house? The last instance you can recall is when you met up with Felix, and that was certainly not for fun. You honestly can’t remember the last time someone invited you to hang out. It’s a shitty thing to admit to yourself, the fact that you’ve had virtually no friends for as long as you can remember. 

But things are different now. You have Caleb, after all, and Elliot too. Two friends might not sound like much to most people, but for someone like you, it means more than you can even express.

Besides, when it comes to friends, it’s supposed to be quality over quantity, and you certainly feel like you’ve struck gold with these two. 

Even now, you’re still not really sure what you bring to the table, or why they even want to spend time with you, but you’ll do your best to cherish them. You’ll prove that you’re a friend worth having.

“Sure,” you smile. “I’m not working another job today, so I can hang out for a while.” 

Caleb’s cheeks redden. “R-Really? I mean, awesome! I’m glad you’ve got some time to spare. I bought a bunch of snacks, so we can pig out back home. I also have consoles if you want to play games. You liked some of the ones we played at the arcade, right? Like Mario Kart.” 

You remember doing an atrocious job at virtually every game you played back then, but Caleb is babbling on all excitedly, and you have no intention of dashing his spirits. It’s also good that he can still talk about the arcade trip fondly, despite how it ended. 

True to his word, it doesn’t take long to reach Caleb’s apartment, and he pauses before unlocking the door, a sheepish look overtaking his expression.

“Um,” he blushes, “I haven’t really cleaned up recently, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit messy.” 

You chuckle. “Relax. I’m hardly one to judge. I should show you my apartment at some point. Then you’ll get where I’m coming from.” 

“You’d be okay with me coming over?” he blinks. 

“Hm? Yeah, of course. My place is pretty crappy, but if you don’t mind checking it out at some point, I’d be happy to have you.” You smile happily. “We’re friends, right?” 

Caleb’s blush deepens, and after a hasty nod, he opens the door and steps aside to grant you entry. 

You’re not sure what mess he was talking about, because the place looks perfectly fine to you. As expected, it’s nicer than your apartment. You know that Caleb isn’t drowning in money either, but without any debts weighing him down, he’s been able to do pretty well for himself. 

You’d like to think that one day, once you’ve put this whole nightmare behind you, you’ll be able to thrive too. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Caleb smiles. He starts unloading the groceries he bought, most of which are snacks, and he lays them out into various bowls. 

You sit down on the couch and wait for him. He’s around your age, so he lives alone, but you’ve heard him briefly mention his family once or twice. You’re not sure where exactly they live, but they definitely stay in touch. He’s got a younger brother, from what you remember. 

All your family’s ever done is let you down. But at some point, once you’re doing better financially and have found yourself a proper career, you’d like to start a family of your own. And you swear to never mistreat your future children or burden them, the way your own parents did. 

“Did you remember something funny?” Caleb asks. He brings the bowls over and sets them onto the coffee table, then plops down onto the couch. “You’re smiling,” he remarks. 

“Huh? Oh. Not really. I was just… thinking of the future. I’m trying to imagine things to look forward to, I guess.” 

You know that starting a family is impossible right now, not to mention that you’re still so young. For the time being, you need to focus on yourself. If you stay diligent and do whatever you can to get through the most difficult period in your life, then only good things await you.

Surely. 

Caleb smiles again. “Yeah. There’s lots of things to look forward to in life. Even when everything seems really hard, don’t give up. It’ll be worth it in the end.” 

You don’t mean to, but when he utters the words, you find yourself staring at his injured nose. The swelling has gone down by now, but some of the bruising still remains, and you’re sure that even if he won’t admit to it, recovering hasn’t been an easy process.

“Does it still hurt a lot?” you can’t help but ask. 

“Huh? Ah, you mean my nose.” Caleb gently pats the area, then grins. “Nah, it’s a lot better now. The painkillers they prescribed me really helped. It’s no big deal, and best of all, it doesn’t look crooked or anything, right? U-Unless the doctor was lying to me when he said he was able to align it nicely…” 

“It looks fine,” you reassure. “I just feel bad that you’ve had to suffer for no reason.” 

Remembering your meeting with Kai earlier, and how he didn’t feel guilty in the slightest, just adds to the feeling of injustice. Life has always been unfair, and you know that all too well, but still. It sucks when good people like Caleb get screwed over. 

“Don’t worry, [Name]. I might not look it, but I’m pretty tough. Although I guess I’m a little embarrassed that you had to see me lose a fight,” he admits. 

“What? But he was a vampire. And he attacked you out of nowhere. I doubt anyone would’ve stood a chance.” 

“Yeah, but it still made me feel a bit lame. It won’t happen again, though,” he insists, and he even flexes his bicep, revealing a surprising amount of muscle mass.

You crack a grin. Here you are, worrying about how he’s been wronged, but he’s as optimistic as ever. Perhaps you should stop dwelling on it. The odds of you running into Kai are slim to none, after all. You’re sure as hell never going back to that arcade again. 

“Here,” Caleb offers, handing you one of the bowls. “Try some of the snacks. I’m gonna load up Mario Kart if you’re down to play a bit.” 

“Fine, fine,” you sigh. “But… go easy on me, okay?” 

Caleb laughs. “I’ll do my best.” 

Unsurprisingly, your losing streak persists. 

“[Name]. I only know her first name, not her last name. But I’ve written down a general description of what she looks like, and I have her phone number saved, if that helps at all.” 

The man frowns as he stares down at the piece of paper. It’s true that he’s tracked people down with relatively little information to go off, but it seems strange that his client knows so little about you. Normally, he gets requests from overly jealous partners who are trying to find out if they’re being cheated on, or angry divorcees who are hoping to get some dirt to use in court. 

“It doesn’t sound like the two of you are that well acquainted,” he remarks, “since you only know her first name. Also, it would be a different story if I could bug her phone and track her location, but it isn’t so easy to track her based on a phone number alone. Does she own a vehicle? It’d be more useful if you gave me a license plate. Also, I could hide a GPS tracker under her car to figure out where she is.” 

“I’m not sure if she owns a car or not. But I know for a fact that she regularly sells blood at Plasma Inc. You’re bound to spot her going into the building at some point.” 

The man frowns again. “If you know which places she frequents, why are you asking me to track her down? It seems like you’d be more likely to stumble across her on your own. Keep in mind I’m not refusing your request. I’m just a bit confused, is all.” 

“It’s too risky for me. I’ve been blacklisted from the place, and if anyone sees me, they might call the cops. Not to mention that she’d probably freak out and never go back. And if that happens, I won’t be able to find her ever again.” 

Felix crosses his arms. He’s been in a terrible mood these past few days, and it’s all your fault. 

Just what exactly went wrong? Granted, he may have gotten a bit carried away and taken a little too much of your blood, but it’s not like he put your life at risk. You were perfectly fine, and besides, he promised to be more careful from now on. He assured you that it would never happen again.

And yet, you still dismissed him so cruelly. You threw a fit and got him blacklisted from the program. He can still remember the way all those people looked at him. As if he was some sort of monster. Some sort of freak. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong. Is it really his fault that nearly all blood tastes awful to him? Is he really not allowed to want something, especially when it’s the best thing he’s come across in his whole life? 

Anyone else in his position would have done the same. Everyone has things that they desire, and it just so happens that what he desires most right now is your blood. He even offered to compensate you with a generous sum, so it’s not like he was trying to take it by force. 

Yeah. It’s not his fault. If only you hadn’t made such a big deal over nothing. Then he wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures. 

The only person to blame here is you. 

“I thought you were a private investigator,” Felix scowls. “Isn’t this your job? I told you everything I know about her, and where you’re most likely to find her, so what’s the issue? She doesn’t recognize you, so she won’t have her guard up. I’m sure you’ve tailed people before, so you can follow her home and find out where she lives. That’s what I’m paying you for.” 

The investigator makes a stern face. It’s true that this is his job. It’s a filthy occupation that involves all sorts of shameless work, and he can admit to it. He’s done plenty of things that he wasn’t proud of in the past, but at a certain point, he stopped losing sleep over it. He realized that even if he didn’t accept the job, some other lowlife would. The world is a massive shithole, and no matter the time or place, someone will always end up being screwed over. 

However, this case is special. It gives him pause. 

For the very first time, his client is a vampire. 

The details of the job are especially harrowing. Felix must have been meeting with you through that program, and for whatever reason, he’s been blacklisted and no longer has the right to see you anymore. The fact that he wants to track you down now can only mean one thing. 

He’s after your blood. 

It’s obvious what Felix will do once he finds you. He’ll take what he wants, without giving you a say in the matter. A dull pain shoots through the investigator’s chest. He tries to ignore it, but everything about this situation makes him feel unwell.

If he accepts this job, and sees it through until the end…

He may very well be responsible for the death of an innocent woman. 

“Well?” Felix glares. “What’s the problem? If it’s not enough money, I’ll pay you even more. I don’t care what it takes. I have to find [Name]. It’s no longer an option.” 

The investigator swallows. Even more money? Already, he’s being offered a huge amount. It’s the only reason he stuck around this long after discovering the person who commissioned him was a vampire. He may have spent the better portion of his life doing dirty work, but he’s certainly not immune to fear, and just being in the same room as Felix is making a nervous sweat break out on his neck. 

He shouldn’t accept. He really shouldn’t. But… what will happen if he refuses? Will this vampire even let him refuse? 

Will he be able to leave here in one piece? 

The investigator’s eyes drift down towards the ground. No. He’s being ridiculous. He always comes prepared to these meetings. In fact, he’s got a gun holstered and hidden under his clothing. A bullet wound is enough to restrict even a vampire’s movements. He could surely buy himself enough time to run away. 

It’s not that he’s not entirely unafraid, but he can’t try and pretend as if fear is his only motivator right now. 

In the end, it all comes down to the money. 

He’s being offered yet another dirty job. If he succeeds—which he has almost no doubt that he will—a young woman will find herself victim to a powerful vampire. It’s a situation you can’t possibly win. Once Felix has you in his clutches, your fate is all but sealed. 

He can save you. He can escape right now and pretend like this meeting never happened. Perhaps Felix will fail to secure another private investigator, and eventually, he’ll give up on you. 

It’s no exaggeration to say that right now, your life is in the palm of his hands. Maybe it’s finally time he makes the right decision. Maybe he can finally atone for all the shitty choices he’s made, and all the innocent people who’ve had to suffer because of him. 

“Getting cold feet?” Felix frowns. “Then how about… I pay you this much?” 

He jots down the new amount on the piece of paper, and immediately, the investigator’s eyes widen. 

It’s a lot of money. In fact, it may very well be the most expensive job he’s ever taken on. With this much money, he can afford to take it easy for a while. Maybe he can even give himself a little break. Go on vacation and leave this shitty job behind, at least for a while. 

The investigator’s eyes darken, and as he reaches out to grab the piece of paper, he knows he’s already made up his mind. 

“I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll find her. You have my word.” 

Felix’s lips split into a wide grin, revealing his fangs in full. 

Money really is the greatest of evils. 

More chapters are available on Quotev and Wattpad!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🩸 main masterlist! ♡ character appearances

[betty-fran]

#my fanfiction recommendation column

ten degrees below zero by kianspo

james t. kirk / s'chn t'gai spock

This is, without a doubt, one of the best fanfictions I've read in general, especially in Star Trek, especially in K/S (it's second on my personal list and I don't think it'll be replaced anytime soon). And while kianspo is best known for her portrayal of Spock (especially in Don't Stop Believing, which I plan to reread one day and also write about), I love her for her Jim. This is honestly one of the best reads of his character overall, and somehow she manages to keep him somewhere in the middle between his representations in AOS and TOS. In general, this balancing act between the original series and the reboot is inherent in all of her works; the way she reads K/S in their unwavering absoluteness, their constant magnitude, makes her work so... fundamental, and so clear, I think.

For me, this story is special in a strange, imperceptible way. And I find it particularly comfortable in its chamberliness, in this small, closed, cold space, over which unstoppable change looms. And they wear parkas here, and it's somehow incredibly cozy. This is an exceptional AU with a beautifully constructed world that both repels and draws you in; the way the characters behave in it is an organic continuation of the environment in which they find themselves.

As always, a few (almost non-spoiler) quotes, because it's beautifully written, really beautifully, and you need to read it:

“What are you doing here, Lieutenant Spock?” he asks quietly, as if voicing his inner thoughts rather than expecting an answer. “Someone like you should be anywhere but here.” Spock puts his fork down, takes a sip of sharib. “My mother is fond of saying that, at any given time, we are where we are needed the most, and where we most need to be.”

“I have learned early on, however, that violence ultimately solves nothing, even if one is victorious.” “Really.” Kirk’s voice is saturated with intense curiosity. “So, how early on are we talking about?” Spock considers this. “I was six.”

“You are a singularly frustrating individual,” he informs Kirk. Kirk snorts. “We’re a match, then.”

He doesn’t have to look to know Kirk is grinning. “Then someone reminded me I had a duty to the people in my charge, and being righteously pissed at the way the universe is run has never gotten anyone anywhere. A pretty obnoxious someone, I might add, but—I don’t know, I seem to be into it.” Spock suppresses a smile.

“Spock, you’re the kind of officer I thought had died out with my father’s generation. If I had a starship under my command, I would stop at nothing—listen to me carefully, nothing—I would bribe, blackmail, seduce, threaten, beg—hell, I’d probably cut off my right arm to have you serving with me.” A sharp wave of heat washes over Spock at the words, the charge of absolute truth, of intent so thick it’s almost tangible against his skin.

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you, but it’s…” Spock feels his eyebrow arch. “Neither would… slow my heart rate.” Kirk snorts, more laughter torn out of him, helpless and real and— Beautiful. Spock doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he remembers smiling.

Falling in love is a misnomer. It’s not a singular event; it’s an infinite process that starts once and never really stops. Well, for some people, perhaps, but not for Spock. He will never again stand on solid ground, assured of every step.

[justanotheryellowsoul]

Oh. Oh.

Siffrin isn't just missing the trap switch or keys because they suck at their assigned job. He doesn't. Or at least- didn't.

They miss them because they only have one eye now. Siffrin has bad depth perception. He can't tell if a space in a drawer or book is a bit bigger than it's supposed to be. They can't tell if something is sitting oddly-

He keeps hitting that one table, because he clearly hasn't adjusted to the new depth perception. It's not their fault.

It was never their fault.