#but the WAY this man writes. like with words.........not for me. like REALLY not for me. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoonmetogether · 2 days ago

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K, i’m sorry it took me so long to get back to this but ive had screenshots of the lines that hit me so hard sitting in my photo album lol

Jesus this hurt so fucking bad. I felt every one of these feelings as if i actually experienced them like????? its like i can visualize mc’s feelings??? Not just understand them through the words and thats some serious talent to evoke that kind of emotion that i can feel through a screen 👏👏👏but also 😭😭😭

Ouch….. i feel like mc doesn’t want to get in the way of them being a complete family even though she’s clearly important to haneul and yoongi and not just as a nanny anymore. So i get why she needs space. It would be hard to feel a part of something that’s not really yours like ofc she can love haneul and yoongi as a family maybe she’s worried haneul will think of her as his mom when she’s not biologically and she doesn’t want to confuse him

Brooooooooooo my fucking heart like its valid that mc had to step away but lil man was probs so confused and sad that she wasn’t around all of a sudden 🫠 and for yoongi to do that is in a way showing her that they both miss her 🥺

This is something ive needed to hear so many times. It’s so true but it’s so hard to stop being stuck. Thank you for writing this as a little reminder to all of us.

I still have a few chapters to read but this one really stuck with me the most!!! I enjoy your writing sososososososo much 💕💕💕

Love & Lullabies | Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)

Word count: ~7k

Posting date: November 21, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme.

I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

“She’s Haneul’s mom.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?”

“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”

You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”

Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate.

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”

“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself.

Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day.

Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.

“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”

Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?

Spoiler alert: you can’t.

When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.

“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.

“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.

“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”

Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”

Of course he is siding with her.

You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.

You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.

He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.

You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”

“Can we talk?”

You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.

“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”

The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.

“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”

“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”

Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”

He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”

“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”

You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”

Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”

The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”

Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?

The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting.

You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.

It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”

You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.

Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.

But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.

Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.

Because the truth is, you’re nothing.

You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.

But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.

And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.

The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.

You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.

Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:

Namjoon: You okay? Namjoon: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.

That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.

The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.

Yoongi: Can I come over?

You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:

You: No

You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.

For the next few days, you ghost him.

It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.

His messages come sporadically at first:

Yoongi: Hey, can we talk? Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it. Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.

You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.

The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.

Yoongi: Haneul misses you

The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.

Yoongi: Still missing you

Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:

A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:

“Sa-ra.”

Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.

And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.

You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.

You exhale shakily. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”

“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”

Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.

You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.

You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.

You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms.

Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.

Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.

He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.

Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”

“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.

Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.

You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.

Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”

“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.

“My dear girl, please listen—”

But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.

When you step into the living room–

Fuck.

There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.

Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she?

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”

His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.

“Wait—Y/N!”

You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”

Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.

It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.

You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”

He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?

You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.

“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.

Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.

You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.

Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere.

God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back.

But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—

“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.

Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.

“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”

And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can't see at all And even if I could, it'd all be gray But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad - Stan, Eminem

Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.

“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”

“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.

You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.

“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.

“You’re an idiot.”

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”

You shake your head.

Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there.

But it’s Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.

“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”

Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”

Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.

You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”

Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.

The first step is always the hardest.

Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”

You hated hearing it, but he was right.

So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.

Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.

You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.

At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.

You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.

Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.

Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

And then there was Yoongi.

He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:

Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.

Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.

Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.

Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.

Yoongi: I’m an idiot.

Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.

Then came the texts about Haneul:

Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.

Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.

Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]

Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.

And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.

Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.

Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoon says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!

Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it. Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoon.

Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.

They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.

Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.

But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.

Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.

But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.

You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.

Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.

You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.

One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.

“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”

“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”

You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”

“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”

So you did. And a week later, you got the call.

Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.

Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?”

“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.

Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.

“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.

“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.

You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”

“What?” you blink, confused.

Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.

“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”

Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”

You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”

The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.

His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.

Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.

“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”

You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.

The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.

“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.

You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”

The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.

For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.

And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.

(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)

That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.

You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)

His reply came almost immediately.

Yoongi: You deserve it

And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.

You: Can we talk? Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr

A/N:

Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕

I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗

If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo

Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭

P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake

@flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

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@jkkkkkay @chimmisbae @angellekookie @jovanaprime @txtsoobean @joonlovely

@kookiewithluv @soop-sprite @hyukaluve

#claret recs #the internal monologues are so beautifully written #k is amazing #and a writer i look up to!!

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bluebirdsfeathers · 2 days ago

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Her Office

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Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: Wanda tried to get to know you a bit better before you start working together but an innocent question bring out painful memories.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), Past verbal and physical abuse, Slight hinted at homophobia, Mommy issues bc i have them too, power imbalance?

A/N: sorry this took so long. uni is really kicking my butt right now and just when i thought i'd have time to write my research supervisor gives me a 400+ page book to read.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me… and for my sister!” Pietro joked as he helped you clear out your desk. You’d made yourself at home over the past few months working for him. You were sad to be leaving but excited to be working for Wanda, also incredibly nervous, like throw up into the recycling bin near the printer nervous. Not that that had happened of course.

“But seriously, we are going to miss you down here. Don’t go forgetting about us.” He patted you on the back handing you the last of your stuff.

“How could I forget you? I’ll be down here like every other day wont I? Wanda visits all the time.” you reply with slight confusion. Wanda was always coming down to check on things, like she must do with all the departments. You assumed most of your job would be to accompany her many visits around the building. Staying close and taking notes on what she says like you’d seen Theo do.

“Yeah, she definitely was just coming down here for routine check-ins.” Pietro mumbled with the faintest air of smugness of someone who knows something you don’t has. Before you could register what he said, the doors on the far side of the room swung open and in came Wanda.

Her stride exuded confidence as she made her way over to you and your now empty desk. Her hair was slightly messy, shirt untucked, and instead of her usual high heels she wore flats.

“Got everything?” She sounded short of breath, like she had just been running. “The elevator to my office is being inspected so we’ll have to take the stairs.” Without another word, Wanda started walking back towards the door pausing to look behind her when she sensed you hadn’t moved. “Come on those 15 floors won’t climb themselves.” Suddenly her slightly dishevelled appearance made sense. You took a deep breath and gave one last look at Pietro, who seemed to be going to great lengths to not laugh at his sister, before following Wanda.

The stair well was in stark contrast to the rest of the building. Tall grey brick walls and bright white lighting. It seemed to also double as extra storage space judging by the stacks of boxes and pallets back here. You only seen them briefly while getting your monthly fire safety talks from a very unenthusiastic Dr. Banner, who once again felt the need to remind the group he had much more important things to be doing than this. As much as you found the man funny, he’s short temper made him a little scary at times.

People yelling had always been something you weren’t fond of. Your mom had always been so angry with you for not behaving like she wanted. The constant being told to sit, speak, and act ‘like a lady’ throughout your childhood had led to so many arguments. Femininity was just something you never had an interest in and the pressure to fit in from your family only made you reject it harder.

This never made the yelling easier, instead it had only made you desperate to avoid that sort of conflict. Wanda yelling the other day had scared you in a way you hadn’t felt since you were a child, and you were now desperate to make sure you were never on the receiving of her rage.

“Y/n, careful.” You had been so lost in thought you’d missed a step and stumbled forward. Wanda who had been talking non-stop about how inconvenient the elevator maintenance was stopped to help you pick up some pens that had fallen from the box you were carrying. “Do you need some help with that? It looks heavy.”

You saw this a challenge.

“No I’m fine, I’m very strong.” Wanda gave you a smile as she placed the pens back into the box touching your hand as she pulled away before turning around to continue climbing the stairs. Your face immediately flushed red.

“Only 4 more flights to go.” Her voice echoed off the bare walls was she turned another corner. You let out a sigh, the box was actually really heavy.

Once in her office you placed the box on an empty desk in the corner of the room. It was pushed up to the window and gave you an amazing view of New York. It was only then you realised how high up you were.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wanda came up behind you making you jump slightly, all this achieved was making the red head chuckle slightly. “You’re so jumpy you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You gave a small smile. Being alone with Wanda was terrifying and exciting all at once. The reality of the situation hadn’t really sunk in till just now. It was going to be the two of you, alone, very often from here out.

“Can I ask you something?” You nervously asked fiddling with the hem of your shirt not daring to look Wanda in the eyes. Her beautiful green eyes.

“Of course you can, darling.” Her final word rattled about in your brain momentarily making you forget what you even wanted in the first place.

“What you said, before,” Finally a coherent thought, “about wanting me, from the start. Was that true?”

“Yes, why would I lie.” Wanda raised an eyebrow giving you a no-nonsense look that you couldn’t if it was fully serious or not.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just, why didn’t you? You know, pick me the first time?” It was definitely a word salad that came out your mouth, thank God you were better at writing than speaking. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry…” you added after Wanda took a second to respond.

“No, no, don’t apologies…” She took a deep breath as if debating what to say. “That first day, I thought you had potential,” she began, clearly choosing her words carefully, “I just wanted to, see if you had what it takes to you know, be mine.”

“Be… yours.” The words caught in your throat as swallowed hard, struggling to speak.

“Be my intern, my assistant.” Wanda rushed to clarify but something inside you felt like her previous words were more honest. Not that you would dare push her on it. “And being my intern comes with a lot of responsibility, so I hope you are ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” You say saluting the older woman, who found the action quite amusing. “What do you need me to do first?”

Turns out Wanda didn’t want you to do anything just yet. Instead the two of you sat across from each other in the strange living room area of her office. Wanda lent back into a large leather armchair while you sat on the edge of the couch, almost velvety, black sofa.

She offered you a tea or coffee but instead you opted for the remnants of the energy drink you had tried to chug on the train this morning. Your choice in beverage clearly wasn’t approved by Wanda but she did little to stop you besides remind you of their negative health effects.

She asked you questions about yourself, clearly wanting to get to know you better but you held back from answering her questions too honestly, scared of being fired or disappointing her which was somehow worse in your head. They were all basic questions, and you asked some back at her.

She wanted to know about your favourite meal, how to you travel to work, where are you staying, and when you were going to get some proper work shoes. Your real answer being when they made comfortable ones but instead you opted to say when you get your next paycheck.

Then she asked something that caught you completely off guard. “How is your relationship with your family?”

“My family?” You repeat to make sure you were hearing things right.

“Yes, your family, you are one of the only interns not from a known family in the city, you mentioned you aren’t from New York originally, they must be proud of you?” Wanda spoke with a warm smile.

You hadn’t noticed but during the conversation you had leant back into the couch. It was like she had given you permission to relax for a change. You didn’t understand why but talking with Wanda made you feel comfortable, almost too comfortable at times making you need to remind yourself she was your boss.

“They umm,” your mind went to the argument you’d had with your father when you told him you were going to university miles away, almost across the entire country, “can we talk about something else.” Your voice shook slightly at the memory.

How angry he’d been, how angry he always was. The same with your mother, always so resentful, never protecting you from him. You spent your first semester coach surfing with a black eye till you had enough money to afford to rent a shitty little apartment.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Wanda had seemingly caught on that something was wrong and moved to sit next to you on the couch. She placed her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug that made your whole body tense. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen your grades and watched how hard you work. I’m proud of you y/n.” Her voice had the same warmth as earlier, it was sickeningly genuine to you.

All you wanted to do was melt into her arms, but you couldn’t this was your boss. She was just being nice, there was no way she would let you get that close to her under regular circumstances. You told yourself you wouldn’t let yourself get attached. You’d seen how ruthless she could be, and it terrified you to think of being on the receiving end. Catching feelings would just make your eventual fuck up ever worse.

Besides there was no way in hell CEO Wanda Maximoff, multimillionaire Wanda Maximoff, Old enough to be your mother Wanda Maximoff would ever have feelings for you in return.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You stood up as quickly as Wanda grip on you allowed. “Sorry.” You hurried to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, locking the door behind you before allowing yourself a moment to cry.

Cruel words from you parents fought the gentle reassurance Wanda had given you. You took a moment to collect yourself. Taking several deep breaths and trying to get rid of the redness in your eyes with a little cold water from the tab.

The bathroom, like everything in Wanda’s office screamed sophistication. The mostly white tiles with the smallest hint of red complemented the plush red hand towels, and several well looked after plants littered a shelf above the toilet. Most surprisingly was the shower and clawfoot tub in the room. Did she actually use them? Or where they just there because they could be?

Finally you were ready to leave the bathroom, stepping out you saw Wanda quickly look away from your direction. Had she been watching the door the whole time?

“Y/n, feeling better?” you gave a weak nod. “Good, right back to business then, first order is sorting out… this.” She pointed towards you clothing. Since Pietro had never required you to dress professionally, you had never updated your wardrobe. You wore the same baggy, teen boy esc clothing you always did.

“Yeah, I thought that would be a problem, sorry about the way I dress. I just…”

“No I like the way you dress.” Wanda cut you off. “I mean, you dress fine, it’s just not… appropriate if you are going to be accompanying me to important meetings and such.” You couldn’t tell if you were imagining it, but you could have sworn you saw a small blush creep onto the older woman’s face.

“Right, there should be a measuring tape in the third draw of the left cabinet in my office. I have some work to get on with you can’t help with.” Wanda began quickly pressing the button of the, hopefully, now working lift.

“I want you to measure yourself and note it down. I’ll sort you out some more work appropriate clothing.” Before you could ask any other follow up questions the doors to the lift opened and she rushed inside, disappearing almost immediately.

Walking into Wanda’s office you looked out at the city, everything seemed so quiet, so still from all the way up here. Grabbing the measuring tape you sat down at your desk, getting your phone out to look up exactly what measurement you need to give her. You’d never had to think about measurements when buying clothes before. Your face flushed a bit think about the idea of Wanda choosing you some clothes. Hopefully she wouldn’t put you in a pencil skirt, or God forbid heels.

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Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter @htinha157 @the-falling-avenger @reginassecretlover @canyonyodeler @mrsromanovaa @loneliestafterparty @imawandasimp @caramelcat123 @marvelwomen-simp @reginassweetheart @unadulteratedballoonduck @kei034 @coollemonsaresour

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capuccinodoll · 16 hours ago

Text

The boyfriend act, part 9.1: "The one with the wedding" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Something’s changed, you can feel it, and you can’t fight it. Frankie keeps his promise—he accompanies you to Harry's wedding. Surprisingly, your ex isn’t the focus of the night. Instead, it's the strange, new dynamic between you and your companion that ends up tangled up in your house. Part 1 of chapter 9. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Well, the wedding’s here. Hope you enjoy this part, and don’t forget, it’s Part 1 of Chapter 9. Part 2 will be up this weekend. Hope you like it—it really helped me a lot to write this chapter this week! Love you love youuuuuuu!! Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

A breath slipped from your chest as you shut the front door behind you, the weight of it settling against your back like an anchor. You tipped your head back, staring at the ceiling, your pulse still uneven, still catching up with the last few minutes. Outside, the low growl of Frankie's engine cut through the stillness. You listened as the sound shifted, rolling away from the curb, fading, fading—until finally, it was gone. Only then did you let yourself move, peeling away from the door like you’d been bracing against something invisible, something heavy. Only then did it feel like you could breathe, like you had been granted permission.

There was one thing you knew with absolute certainty about Francisco Morales—he was a man. And men, in your experience, were predictable if you paid close enough attention. If you knew which buttons to press and precisely when to press them. Frankie, of course, wasn’t the kind of man who let himself be an easy read. He wasn’t careless. His walls were high, thick, carefully constructed. But that didn’t matter. Because you knew you could shake them. Even just a little.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since last saturday. Since the way he’d looked at you—like he was holding something back, like there was something just on the tip of his tongue that he had no intention of saying. You kept turning it over in your mind, the way he’d withdrawn, the way he’d been so carefully unreadable. What was he hiding so well that he couldn’t tell you? What was the thing he refused to say? The conversation with Will, the tension in his shoulders, the way the whole night seemed to spark with something unsaid—what was behind all of it?

Now, at least, you had an answer. Or something close to one. Santi's birthday. It had been a misunderstanding. That was what he said to you. Something about that night had put him on edge, made him wary, and that was why he had acted the way he did. But then, why only with you? Why not with anyone else?

But he wouldn’t tell you. Tonight, he barely even flinched after you’d spent the entire night looking at him like he was something sweet you wanted to sink your teeth into, teasing him with glances laced with suggestion, with promises of things best left unsaid. And honestly, that didn’t surprise you. Not really. Because if there was anyone who could hold their ground against you, who could meet your stubbornness and raise you twice over, it was him. Years of arguments and thinly veiled tensions had taught you that much.

If only you’d made your offer more enticing. If only you’d leaned in just a little closer, let the words slip out slower, given him something real to picture. You want to know what I dreamed? You should have asked him. You were there. We were both there.

And the worst part—the part that had your stomach in knots, your thoughts spiraling in circles—was that it wasn’t even a lie. You hadn’t just made it up to get a rise out of him. It was true. You had a fucking wet dream.

You didn’t have a good excuse for it. It had just happened.

Last night, you’d had dinner with a glass of wine, half-watched You’ve Got Mail for maybe thirty minutes before dozing off on the couch. When you woke up, groggy and disoriented, you dragged yourself to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed. And that should have been it. You should have fallen asleep instantly, melted into the sheets, let exhaustion pull you under.

But instead, you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts circling the same frustrating orbit. Francisco. Frankie and his secrets. Frankie and those stupid, unreadable brown eyes that never seemed to tell you enough. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, lost in the loops of your own mind, but eventually, sleep claimed you.

And then—somewhere between consciousness and whatever came after—you slipped into a dream. Not one of those abstract, distant ones that dissolve on waking. No, this one felt closer, eerily tangible.

You were still in bed, but the sunlight was filtering through the window, warm and golden, painting the morning across your skin. You let your eyes slip shut for a moment, pressing your fingers to your brow as if that might steady you. The light in the room shifted, dimming slightly, as though something had come between you and the sun. When you opened them again, Frankie was there. Above you. Close enough that his breath fanned over your skin. His arms caged you in, palms pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a pulse of heat through your body. Then, slowly, he dipped his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, stealing a gasp from your throat.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the dark, tousled strands, tugging just enough to make him sigh against your skin. Then lower—your hands traveled to his nape, his shoulders, your palms sliding over the warmth of bare skin, the solid lines of muscle. Nothing between you but heat.

Your nails pressed into his back, and he pulled away from your neck, his face hovering above yours once more. His eyes burned into you, dark and intent, something hungry simmering behind them. You barely had time to process it before you felt him settle between your legs, his body pressing into yours—solid, warm, achingly familiar despite the fact that this had never happened before.

Something wild and consuming unfurled inside you, tightening in your chest, curling around your ribs. Your hand slid back up, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down to you, and then your lips met his—fierce, desperate, stealing breath from one another. The second you felt him sink into you, slow, your whole body shuddered, every nerve lit up, overtaken. He moved against you, finding a rhythm that felt inevitable, like he had always known exactly how to do this. How to fit against you. How to draw you apart and put you back together all at once.

His lips left yours, and he pulled back just enough to see your face, his gaze never wavering. A half-smile curled at the edge of his mouth, his breath uneven, his voice rough when he whispered, “It’s okay if you want it.”

And then—before you could say anything, before you could even take another breath—a sudden, deafening crash yanked you out of sleep.

Your body jolted upright, heart hammering, breath coming fast and uneven. Heat clung to your skin, coiling low in your stomach, thighs pressed tightly together, the ghost of your dream still imprinted in every inch of you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the memory of it lingered, thick and inescapable.

Another sound—this time sharper, more familiar. A meow, loud and insistent, from the kitchen.

Barefoot, you stumbled out of bed, moving quickly through the darkened hallway, still half-dazed, still somewhere between the dream and the waking world. You barely stopped in time, catching yourself at the last second before stepping straight into the mess on the floor—shards of glass scattered across the tile, glinting in the dim light. And there, perched smugly on the counter, tail flicking, eyes wide with the kind of innocence only a guilty cat could muster—Mr. Darcy.

Cleaning up the mess took longer than it should have, but by the time the floor was spotless and the adrenaline had worn off, sleep was a lost cause. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning.

By the time evening rolled around and Frankie pulled up outside, something restless had settled inside you, curling around your ribs, winding tighter and tighter. A need. Not just for answers, but for something else entirely. To provoke him. To remind him that whatever space he had occupied in your mind last night, you could just as easily take up in his.

So you did. In his room, at the table, in the car—you tested him, pushed at the edges of his composure, watched closely for the cracks. You didn’t get what you wanted, not exactly. He still wouldn’t tell you what you so desperately wanted to know. But at least you could take pleasure in the way his hands tensed on the steering wheel, the way his gaze flickered when he thought you weren’t looking, the way your presence seemed to unsettle him just enough.

And maybe—if you focused only on that, on keeping him off balance, on staying in control—you could ignore the way his eyes were starting to affect you just as much.

Thursday, September 8th.

You were on the small step stool in the juvenile literature section, adjusting a row of hardcovers, when the chime over the door sounded. At the familiar sound of it, you turned, books still in your hands, to see a figure stepping inside, his outline briefly swallowed by the daylight spilling in from the street.

“Hey, hi,” you said, hopping down lightly.

Bill was already making his way toward the counter, resting his elbow there like he belonged.

“Careful,” he said, his voice easy, his grin lopsided. “Need some help over there?”

You were already slipping behind the counter, your hands resting on the keyboard of the computer by the time you answered.

“No, that's it.” You smiled, sinking into the swivel chair. “But thanks. Though, if you’re in the mood for heavy lifting, I do have a box of photography books in the back.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Those are huge, aren’t they?”

“Massive,” you confirmed, pressing your lips together in mock solemnity.

He laughed, but before he could come up with something else, you tipped your chin at him. “What can I help you with?”

“Anne of Avonlea,” he said, brows tugging together like this was a serious request.

You let out a small, knowing hum. “Ah, I see we’ve advanced.”

You pushed back from the counter and motioned for him to follow you toward the shelves. He fell into step beside you without hesitation.

“Yeah, she's really excited. She found out there’s a tv series yesterday, and now we have to watch it, but only after we finish the books. Strict rule.”

You nodded approvingly, running your fingers along the spines as you scanned for the title.

“That’s smart. The one from the seventies?”

“Yup,” he confirmed, his voice a low murmur just behind you.

You let out a small sigh as your fingers found the right book.

“I hope you like it.” You tapped the spine lightly before stretching forward to pull it from the shelf. You turned, holding it out with a bright smile. “Anne of Avonlea.”

“Perfect.” He took it from you, his smile lingering as he glanced at the cover. “Thanks. Julie’s gonna love it.”

You leaned back against the shelves, arms crossing loosely.

“Julie. That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks. Her mom and I met at a movie night at a friend’s place. We watched Natural Born Killers.”

Your lips parted slightly, then curled upward. “Oh, don’t tell me. Julie as in Juliette?”

He nodded, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah. I know, it’s a little—”

“It’s not,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Not at all. My cat’s name is Mr. Darcy,” you added, suddenly very serious. “Not that I’m comparing your daughter to my cat.”

Bill’s laugh was sudden, warm. His eyes shone, bright green.

“I bet he’s cute, though.”

“He is,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But don’t let him hear you. He’s got an ego.”

You turned back toward the counter, Bill following easily, like he had nowhere else to be. Once settled in your chair again, you glanced up to find him already watching you, forearms resting on the counter.

“Bring Julie anytime. I have all of Anne’s books. Your wife too—what does she like to read?”

Bill barely reacted at first, his smile small, almost absentminded. Then, after a pause, his brows lifted just slightly.

“She... Carla…” His voice shifted, quieter now, careful. “Actually, she passed away last year.” A breath. “But she loved Anaïs Nin.”

Your mouth parted, the casual warmth in your expression dissolving in an instant.

“Oh, Bill,” you said, voice soft, almost apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” You stopped, suddenly aware of how intrusive the question might have felt, how careless.

But Bill shook his head, his smile still there, though fainter now.

“No, no. It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

Even so, a wave of heat crept up your chest, an unshakable embarrassment settling in your ribs. You hated the idea of stepping too far, of pressing on something raw without realizing it.

“Still,” you murmured, shifting slightly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like talking about her.”

“That’s nice,” you said, meeting his gaze. “A way to remember.” You hesitated, then added, a little softer, “And maybe when Julie’s older, she can read some Anaïs, right?”

Bill let out a quiet laugh, something fond and distant in his expression.

“Oh, definitely when she’s older,” he said, shaking his head. “For now, we’ll stick with Anne.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“How much do I owe you, darlin’?”

For the smallest fraction of a second, your breath caught, the word slipping under your skin like a needle.

“Oh, nothing,” you murmured, recovering. “Tell her it’s a gift from me. I love Anne of Green Gables too.”

Bill’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“Of course. From one bookworm to another.”

His chuckle was soft, appreciative. He watched as you took the book back, reached under the counter for a gift bag, and slid it carefully inside. You peeled off the adhesive strip, smoothing the flap down, leaving it neatly wrapped in the store’s off-white packaging, its name written in deep blue script. When you placed it on the counter, he took a moment before reaching for it.

“Thank you.” His voice had shifted slightly, something in it almost tentative. Then, a flicker of something amused. “I don’t know if you knew this, but I have a coffee shop just a few feet away.”

You widened your eyes, deadpan. “No kidding.”

“Yeah. You should stop by sometime. Coffee’s on the house.”

Your head tilted slightly, an amused smile playing on your lips. “That’s awfully generous of you.”

“We like to think so,” he said, dipping his head in a mock bow before stepping away from the counter. "Have a nice day."

You watched as he walked to the door, his fingers brushing the handle. He turned slightly, offering a small wave, and you lifted your hand in return just as the chime rang again, the bright summer light swallowing him whole as he stepped outside.

Shifting your gaze away from the window, you turned back to the computer screen, where a paused video had been waiting, frozen in time for the past fifteen minutes. The still image captured Mark, 45, from Omaha, mid-fall, his arms flung out, mouth open in a mix of exhilaration and terror. Behind him, the instructor remained steady, hands firm on the harness, face unreadable behind mirrored goggles. The sky around them was a perfect, endless blue, the earth beneath barely more than a hazy patchwork of green and brown.

You pressed play, and the scene jolted back to life. Wind roared through the speakers as Mark tumbled forward, gravity pulling him fast, his limbs flailing before he found some kind of rhythm. The instructor tapped his shoulder, a signal, and Mark managed to stabilize, his expression flickering between fear and something like joy. The camera strapped to his wrist caught everything—the dizzying spin of the world below, the wild blur of movement, the sheer reckless beauty of falling.

You leaned in slightly, watching as the parachute finally deployed, snapping open with a force that yanked them upward. Mark’s face split into a disbelieving grin, breathless laughter spilling from his lips. You could hear it, even over the rush of air.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, rattling slightly against the keyboard. You blinked, pulled from the video on the screen, and reached for it without much thought. The message preview lit up in the dim glow of the display.

[Francisco]: Next saturday, 12 pm, is that okay with u?

Your brows knit together, fingers hesitating over the screen.

[You]: What?

There was barely a pause before the next message came through.

[Francisco]: Would u like to jump out of a plane this saturday at 12 pm?

A small, tight knot twisted in your stomach. You exhaled, thumb hovering before you typed.

[You]: Yesssss

[You]: Why do u have to say it like that tho?

The response came almost instantly.

[Francisco]: 🪂

[Francisco]: Are u excited?

A slow grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you typed back, the soft clack of the keys blending with the quiet music humming from the bookstore speakers.

[You]: Yes. Especially because tomorrow is the wedding and that means that on saturday I will be able to shout into the sky how much I give zero fucks

A short beat. Then:

[Francisco]: That’s my (fake) girl (friend)

A quiet laugh left your lips.

[You]: Fake friend?

The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

[Francisco]: U know what I meant.

[Francisco]: (That’s my) fake (girl) friend

Another laugh, this one slipping out before you could stop it.

[You]: Can’t wait for Saturday (I'm scared)

Dots. Then nothing. Then dots again.

[Francisco]: Don’t worry

[Francisco]: You’re in good hands (mine)

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. And then the chime above the door rang again, pulling you back to the present, forcing you to slip the phone face down onto the desk and get back to work.

Friday, September 9

“I’ll be right there!” you called out the kitchen window, barely sparing a glance downward before turning away.

Frankie stood at your front door, dressed in a black suit that cut a sharp silhouette against the fading evening light.

You shoved your feet into slippers and hurried downstairs, your steps quick and uneven, the sound of them filling the quiet space before you reached the door. The moment you opened it, a small, unbidden smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

He was leaning against the doorframe, one elbow resting casually on the threshold above his head. There was something almost careless about the way he stood, but you knew better.

Your gaze moved over him in a practiced sweep, taking in everything in the span of a breath.

His hair was tousled, but deliberately so, as if he’d run his fingers through it just once before leaving the house, and somehow, it had settled into place exactly right. His beard was trimmed, sharp along the edges, the mustache sitting just above his upper lip like an invitation. The black suit was sleek, perfectly tailored to him, the pristine white dress shirt beneath it unbuttoned just enough at the collar to suggest ease, effortlessness. On his feet, polished black shoes—classic, no-nonsense, the kind you’d expect him to own. Who was this man?

You stepped forward, and that’s when it hit you—the scent of his cologne. Woodsy, deep, something warm and clean that made the pit of your stomach tighten.

“You’re twenty minutes early,” you said, one eyebrow lifting, your smile still intact.

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing glint in his dark eyes.

“And? No comment? Do I look okay?” His voice was laced with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, lifting his chin just enough to emphasize the question. His arm stretched higher against the doorframe, making the space between you feel even smaller.

“You look good,” you admitted, then exhaled a little softer. “Really good.”

“Just as well, Shortcake.” His voice was smooth, familiar, the nickname rolling off his tongue. Then he stepped forward, forcing you to shift aside, and his eyes flicked over you, taking in your oversized t-shirt and soft cotton shorts with something bordering on amusement. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

You scoffed, shutting the door behind him.

“Because you're twenty minutes early.” You gestured vaguely at your face. “But my hair and makeup are done. What do you think?”

Tilting your head just so, you struck a pose—chin high, expression deliberately blank, imitating the models from the glossy magazines your mother used to leave scattered across the living room when you were a kid.

Frankie’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable for a second before something softened in his features.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice was quieter than usual. He sounded lighter tonight.

You turned away, satisfied with his response, and started up the stairs without hesitation.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you remarked, climbing the steps quickly, your feet moving with practiced ease. Frankie followed, matching your pace without effort.

“I’m a little hungry, to be honest,” he said. “And my back hurts a little. I'm gettin' older by the second.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you reached the top step and crossed the short distance to your door.

“I see you’ve decided to take this whole honesty thing very seriously,” you said, pushing it open. A rush of cool air greeted you, the inside of the house noticeably cooler than the narrow foyer.

Frankie stepped in behind you, his movements quiet, but you could feel him there. His gaze tracked you as you made your way toward the kitchen. Behind you, the soft click of the door closing.

“You told me to be honest,” he said, moving closer, resting his hip against the counter. “And I’m getting a taste for it.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back the impulse to make a sharp remark, to bring up Will’s business again. If he was so committed to honesty, maybe he could start by telling you something real—something about that night.

But no. You’d already decided not to let it take up too much space in your head. At least, not right now.

Instead, you turned, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I’ll go change... Instead of asking you anything.”

Frankie smiled at that—small, a little sheepish, as if he knew exactly what you weren’t saying.

“Where’s Darcy?” he asked.

You glanced around, half-heartedly scanning the room, but the cat was nowhere in sight.

“Probably in my bed.”

You started toward your room, intending to find him, scoop him up, and bring him into the living room so Frankie wouldn’t be left alone. But then—footsteps. Close behind you.

You turned your head slightly, catching him in your periphery. He was... following you?

A strange smile curled at the corner of your mouth, unbidden, as you looked down at your own feet moving across the floor.

You pushed open the door to your room, already anticipating what you would find. And there he was.

Mr. Darcy lay sprawled across your bed, all four paws tucked neatly beneath his round body, his eyes narrowed in quiet suspicion. He looked like a perfectly baked loaf of bread, soft and self-assured, wholly unconcerned with your presence.

Frankie stepped toward him, and immediately, Darcy let out a sharp, clipped meow—something between a greeting and a warning. You lingered for a second, watching as Frankie murmured something low to the cat, his voice smooth. Then, without comment, you turned and crossed the room to your dresser.

Your hands moved on instinct, slipping into the closet to pull out the dress you’d set aside earlier. The fabric felt cool and soft between your fingers, unwrinkled and waiting. You carried it to the bathroom, shut the door behind you, and peeled off your clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the tiled floor.

Something made you pause. A quiet sort of curiosity crept in, and you turned toward the mirror, catching your reflection in the soft overhead light.

You didn’t normally look at yourself like this—like you were something to be observed rather than dressed, adjusted, prepared. But now, you took your time.

Your eyes traced over the length of your body—your neck, the lines of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders. The curve of your breasts, the subtle rise and fall of your stomach as you breathed. Your hips, your thighs, the softness of your skin, marked here and there with tiny, familiar imperfections. Every part of of your body that had once seemed foreign but now just felt like you. It struck you then, the quiet realization of it. At some point, without noticing, you had stopped feeling like a girl and become someone else entirely.

You were a woman now. You had been for a while, of course. But somehow, standing here, looking at yourself, you saw it. Not just in your body, but in the weight of your gaze, in the quiet calm of your expression. If you spoke, you thought you might even hear it in your voice.

When had it happened? You weren’t sure. There had been no defining moment, no clear shift. Just a slow, quiet change, the kind that creeps up on you so gradually, you don’t notice it until one day you look at yourself—really look—and realize you are someone new. Someone older. Someone different.

A smile curved at your lips. Not a wide, beaming kind of smile, but something softer.

You reached for the dress, slipping it off the hanger with a quiet rustle of fabric. Holding it up, you studied it in the mirror for a second before stepping into it, watching the way the fabric slid over your skin, how it caught the light. You adjusted it at your waist first, smoothing out the material, then over your hips. You ran your fingers along the delicate straps, pulling them into place over your shoulders, letting them settle against your skin.

It was beautiful. You had bought it months ago, let it hang untouched in your closet, waiting for the right moment—the right excuse—to finally wear it. The color was a soft, muted pink, something delicate but not overly sweet. It fit like it had been made for you, skimming over your body in a way that felt effortless. The fabric clung in all the right places, smoothing over the curve of your waist, the line of your hips.

Thin, barely-there straps rested on your shoulders, so delicate they felt like they might slip with the wrong movement. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the right amount of cleavage, the gentle swell of your breasts visible beneath the silky material. They looked soft, full.

Yeah. You looked hot as shit.

Turning slightly, you opened the drawer in the bathroom cabinet and sifted through the tangle of small things inside—lip balm, bobby pins, a perfume bottle with a chipped cap. You moved things aside, searching for the tiny hook you used to pull up the zipper.

For a fleeting moment, the memory of Helena’s birthday surfaced. The way your stomach had clenched, panic twisting through you, though in retrospect, it hadn’t been entirely unwarranted. Your favorite dress, ruined—or at least, that’s how it had felt in the moment. A bold streak of red bleeding into the fabric, stubborn. And Frankie, kneeling in front of you, rifling through this very same drawer, his fingers brushing against the things you were touching now. His face set in concentration, his movements oddly careful.

The stain was still there. A faint trace remained, like a ghost of that night. You wondered, briefly, if his shirt had suffered the same fate. If somewhere in his closet, there was a reminder of it too. The thought was ridiculous, and you shook it off, smiling a little at yourself as you closed the drawer.

After a few moments of searching, you came up empty. The damn zipper hook was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, you left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom, heading straight for the bedside table.

Frankie was stretched out on his side, head propped up by his hand, elbow sinking into the mattress. His other hand moved absentmindedly over Mr. Darcy’s belly, fingers tracing slow, lazy strokes through the cat’s fur. He glanced up at you as you passed.

“So I take it that’s a choice,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward your dress. “The open zipper, I mean.”

You barely spared him a glance, shaking your head as you continued rifling through drawers.

After a beat, his voice came again, teasing. “No moon and sun tonight?”

Straightening up, you folded your arms and turned to face him. Frankie’s mouth was curled into an infuriating half-smile, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He was enjoying himself far too much.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do you think about that a lot?”

His laugh was quiet, barely contained.

“What, about the moon and the sun?” He paused, pretending to consider it. “Now that you mention it—yeah. Every time I see them. That is, in the morning. At night.”

“Pervert,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. Without missing a beat, you reached for one of the cushions resting against your pillows and hurled it at him.

Frankie caught himself with one hand, fingers pressing into the mattress as the pillow bounced off his shoulder and landed squarely on Mr. Darcy. The cat let out a sharp, indignant noise before darting off the bed in a flurry of fur and irritation. Frankie exhaled dramatically, shaking his head as he watched the cat disappear.

“Hey,” he said, turning back to you, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “That was uncalled for. For the record, I’m not a pervert. I was merely making an observation.”

“Right,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. “An observation about my lower back.”

He clicked his tongue, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a brief second before he pushed himself upright. Then, slowly—purposefully—he made his way toward you, arms loosely crossing over his chest as he moved. He stopped just short of you, standing close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating from him. His chin lifted slightly as he looked down at you, assessing.

“Can I see it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” he clarified, tilting his head to the side. “Can I see it?”

A quiet, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat. “What? Why?”

Frankie’s lips twitched. “I told you—I didn’t get a good look at it the other night. Just a glimpse. I’m curious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Then you’ve clearly heard very few excuses.”

You glanced off to the side, pretending to consider it, then let out a small sigh.

“Fine. But you have to zip me up after.”

His eyes flickered with something—triumph, maybe—but he kept his expression neutral.

“Where’s your little zipper thingy?”

“I dunno,” you muttered, already turning so your back was to him. “Can’t find it anywhere.”

“You’re lucky to have me here, aren’t you?” His voice came from just behind your right ear, low, the sound of it settling over your skin. He had moved closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back, the space between you narrowing by the second.

You exhaled. “Big ego. How badly do you want me to say yes to you?”

“As much as anyone,” he said without missing a beat, his fingers finding the clasp of your dress. They grazed the delicate metal before sliding downward, tracing the line of the zipper, stopping just where the slit in the fabric began. He applied the faintest pressure, fingertips dragging against the material. “Maybe more.”

You turned your head slightly, catching just the edge of his face in your periphery.

“Do you have a praise kink or something? Now that I think about it, that makes sense.”

Frankie let out a short, amused breath, the sound warm and rough in his chest behind you.

“Define praise kink.”

His fingers skimmed the bare skin of your back, the touch fleeting but intentional, before slipping lower to grasp the fabric. With a single motion, he pulled it down, holding it there, his fingertips framing the ink on your lower spine. He said nothing, just looking at it, as if trying to commit it to memory. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet consideration in it.

“You really like being told what a good boy you are, don’t you?”

His fingers traced lightly along your back, the motion absentminded, like he was waiting to see where this would go.

“Like a well-trained dog,” you added, tilting your head slightly, just enough to catch his expression out of the corner of your eye. “Always eager to follow orders.”

Frankie hummed, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “I am a well-trained dog.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

He pressed his index finger to your spine, a slow drag downward, featherlight but certain.

Then, lowering his head so his mouth nearly grazed your ear, he added, “Yeah, right. But don’t forget, baby—good dogs bite too.”

“Oh yeah? I’d have to see it to believe it.” A pause. “Isn’t there a saying? Barking dogs don’t bite? And you do bark a lot.”

You felt, rather than heard, the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest, the sound more of a reaction than a response. He didn’t bother arguing.

You waited a beat. Then another.

“Are you even listening to me, Francisco?”

“I am.”

A satisfied hum escaped your lips.

“Good job,” you murmured, mocking him, tipping your head back until it rested lightly against his shoulder. His mouth quirked, something amused flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing. His fingers pressed a fraction harder into your skin like he had every intention of staying there a little longer. With the barest hint of a smirk, you tilted your chin up at him. “Now be a good boy and zip up my dress.”

Frankie’s hand settled on your waist, firm but not forceful, a steady point of contact as he held you in place. His other hand worked the clasp at your back, fingers brushing against your skin. You stood still, your breath measured, though your heartbeat was anything but. It pounded in your chest, restless, erratic.

He began to pull the zipper upward, and instinctively, you shifted forward, just enough to give him space.

“All set.”

You stepped away before you could think too much about it, crossing the room toward the mirror in the corner. Your fingers found your hair, adjusting it with idle precision, but your focus wasn’t really on yourself—it was on the reflection behind you. On Frankie, standing where you left him, watching you.

“See? What did I tell you?” His voice was softer now, and in the mirror, you saw him move, closing the space between you until he stood just behind you. His gaze caught yours in the glass. “You look amazing in that dress.”

You exhaled, your eyes drifting down your own reflection. The fabric hugged your body, elegant, but that wasn’t what made your stomach tighten. It was the weight of Frankie’s presence, the solidness of him so near, the quiet intensity in his face as he looked at you.

And the strangest part was—you didn’t mind it.

If anything, you wanted to lean into it. To let your body relax against his, your back pressing into his chest, your head finding his shoulder. It would be so easy to let go, just for a moment, to let him be the thing keeping you upright.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his eyes in the reflection, a quiet sort of smile forming at the edges of your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You look amazing too.”

Frankie’s mouth quirked, like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He only stood there, his dark eyes locked on yours, unwilling to break the contact.

A slow warmth crept up your neck, spreading through your stomach in a way you weren’t prepared for. As if he could sense it, Frankie leaned in, his breath ghosting against your skin as his mouth brushed near your ear.

“I’ll get an uber,” he murmured, voice lower now, quieter.

And then he stepped back, turning without hesitation, crossing the room and disappearing through the doorway, leaving you standing alone in front of the mirror.

“I don’t want to have a hangover tomorrow,” you murmured to Frankie as you stepped into the Marriott’s party. Your arm was looped through his, your body angled slightly toward him like he was the only person here you trusted not to drive you insane. “Can you imagine? Puking from heaven?”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. The ceremony had been painfully sentimental, the kind of over-the-top romanticism that left little room for subtlety. You and Frankie had sat near the back, exchanging glances every time Harry or Lisa said something particularly saccharine. You could feel his amusement vibrating beneath his skin, a quiet, internal laugh that matched yours.

They were a cliché. But they were in love.

And the two of you? Yeah, also a cliché. But a different kind, a diffierent version. The bitter, disillusioned wedding guests who made quiet fun of people who still believed in grand gestures and happily-ever-afters. The inevitable result of being heartbroken, right?

“We’ll leave early,” Frankie assured you, his voice low, just for you. “Get you home at a decent hour. The drive’s over an hour, and I wouldn’t wish that hungover on my worst enemy.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, a hand clamped around your free arm.

“Holy shit,” a voice said, full of delighted surprise. “I thought I was seeing things when I spotted you at the ceremony, but nope. It’s actually you.”

Henry. Harry’s brother.

He was grinning as he leaned in, too close, forcing you to subtly pull back. His breath smelled like alcohol, like he’d started celebrating hours ago.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he continued. “Told Harry he was crazy to even invite you.”

Beside you, Frankie exhaled sharply—a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same edge of amusement. You felt him shift closer, the space between your bodies narrowing.

“Why, Henry?” you asked, tilting your head just slightly, curious to see how he’d wriggle out of this one.

Henry’s gaze flickered from your face to Frankie’s, then back to yours. “Well, you know.”

“I really don’t.” You let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. Then, before he could answer, you said, “Anyway, this is Frankie, my boyfriend. Frankie, this is Henry—Harry’s brother.”

Frankie nodded, extending his hand, and Henry took it with a grin that bordered on friendly but didn’t quite make it there.

“Henry,” Frankie said, shaking his hand. “Henry and Harry. Your parents were feeling creative, huh?”

Henry chuckled. “That’s what they tell me.”

They released hands, and Henry’s gaze slid back to you, his grin widening, unbearably smug. “Have you said hi to Harry yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, you should. He’d love to see you.” Henry’s expression was all performative innocence. Then, as if he’d just remembered something incredibly important, he clapped his hands together. “I took it upon myself to make the evening spectacular, by the way. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to throw a party. And personally, I like expensive parties.”

“I can imagine,” you murmured.

“If you’re not gonna do it big, don’t do it at all, right?”

“Exactly.” Frankie turned to you, his dark eyes gleaming with barely hidden amusement. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

“It is,” you said solemnly, nodding.

“Two hundred bottles of Dom Pérignon,” Henry continued, gesturing grandly. “No more, no less. One of my gifts to the happy couple. Because really, is there anything better than a proper glass of champagne?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

“See? That’s the attitude I like.” Henry rested a hand on your shoulder, his expression shifting into something more pointed. “And I have to say, I’m glad to see you here. You’re a beautiful woman, and it’s about time you both put all this behind you, don’t you think?”

Your spine stiffened, but before you could decide exactly how to respond, Frankie was already moving. He clapped a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder, forcing him to shift his attention.

“We should go find our table,” Frankie said, his tone pleasant, easy, but somehow final. “Nice meeting you, Henry. You really are a lot like your brother. Uncanny.”

Henry’s grin twitched.

“So they say.” His eyes flickered between you both, as if sizing something up, but then he just shrugged. “Well, enjoy yourselves.”

Frankie nodded once, then slipped his arm back around yours, steering you away as Henry melted back into the crowd.

“Harry and Henry,” he murmured close to your ear as you wove through the room, scanning for your seats. His breath was warm against your skin, but his tone was flat. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s a family tradition. Their dad’s name is Hugo. Their mom’s name is Hillary.”

“I guess being obnoxiously consistent is a family tradition too.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound barely carrying over the hum of conversation and the clinking of glassware. He gestured vaguely as you walked, like he was painting his exasperation into the air.

“I dunno, never met their parents. Just Henry.”

“He’s an idiot. I hope you’re aware of that.”

“Sure, but he’s an idiot who ordered two hundred bottles of Dom Pérignon, so we’re not leaving until we’ve had at least one.”

You spotted your table near a set of tall windows overlooking the courtyard, candlelight flickering against the panes. Without thinking, you reached for Frankie’s hand, your fingers slipping easily around his wrist as you guided him forward.

“If you want to leave, just say the word,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded. The truth was, if it were entirely up to you, you’d be gone already. But you were starving, and after sitting through an entire ceremony—one that would have been unbearable if not for Frankie at your side—you figured you’d earned a decent meal.

At the table sat Lydia, Eric, and Noah—friends of Harry’s—and Lucy, Eric’s girlfriend. You knew Lydia, but the rest were strangers, and judging by Lydia’s slightly startled expression when she saw you, she hadn’t expected you to be here either. You gave her a small, reassuring nod, the same one you had given Henry earlier. It’s fine.

You assumed Henry had handled dinner as well, given the absurdly decadent spread in front of you. The first course arrived, each plate looking like something out of a high-production culinary docuseries: fresh oysters crowned with lemon foam and caviar, served alongside champagne mignonette and delicate sprigs of herbs. Burrata and prosciutto salad followed, the cheese nestled among caramelized figs, arugula, toasted almonds, and a drizzle of aged balsamic.

Frankie didn’t talk much, too absorbed in his food, eating with the kind of quiet satisfaction that suggested he had no intention of wasting a single bite. You chimed in here and there, but the conversation quickly veered toward topics that held no interest for you. Harry’s friends all worked in the same field—cyber engineering, or something equally impenetrable, whatever—and there was nothing in the world you cared about less.

Just as the waitstaff began to move through the room, balancing trays and murmuring amongst themselves, Lydia turned to Frankie with a curious tilt of her head. She was seated close to him—closer than necessary—and the soft glow of the overhead lights caught the mischievous glint in her brown eyes as she spoke.

“How did you two meet?”

Frankie reached for his wine glass, taking a measured sip before glancing at you.

“I’m friends with her brother. Best friend, actually.”

Lydia’s lips parted slightly in surprise, then curved into a knowing smile.

“No shit,” she said, her fingers drifting to rest on his bicep in a way that felt both casual and deliberate. “I assume it was a secret thing for a while, right?”

“A little,” you admitted, letting your hand slide over Frankie’s where it rested on the table. His skin was warm beneath your palm, his fingers slightly tense. “But my brother took it well, thankfully.”

“When did you two start dating?”

“Almost four months ago,” Frankie said, so easily, so naturally, that for a second, even you almost believed it.

Lydia grinned, her eyes flicking between the two of you like she was cataloging details.

“I like it, I like you,” she said finally. “You make a good couple. You look great together.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, elbow propped on the table.

“Really?” you teased, then turned to Frankie, lifting your brows up and down in an exaggerated motion.

Lydia gave an affirming nod, lifting her glass to her lips just as the waiters arrived with the main course.

Frankie’s grip on your hand tightened—just slightly, barely perceptible. But you felt it. His thumb traced absentminded circles against the back of your hand as his gaze flickered to the waitstaff moving seamlessly through the room. Men and women in crisp white shirts and dark blue aprons carried silver trays. There were three options: meat, fish, or vegetarian. You had confirmed your choice in advance, so when the waiter set your plate down, it was exactly as expected—a perfectly seared beef fillet, dark and rich beneath a glossy truffle and red wine reduction. Beside it, a portion of rustic mashed potatoes, thick with butter, and a handful of grilled asparagus, charred just enough at the edges. It looked like a painting, like you were about to devour a Millais piece of art.

The conversation at the table carried on effortlessly, drifting from one topic to the next, until—unexpectedly—it landed on Frankie and his time in the Air Force, specifically CAG. You hadn’t anticipated it, but he took it in stride, fielding questions with ease. And the stories he shared were, for lack of a better word, unreal. Incredible, even. And yet, no one at the table doubted him. You didn't. There was something about the way he spoke—measured, composed, always keeping just enough back. He offered glimpses but never the full picture.

Like everyone else, you found yourself hanging onto his words. But it wasn’t just the stories that held your attention—it was him. The way he carried himself, his voice even and certain, the weight of experience settled into every syllable. He didn’t embellish. He didn’t need to.

You felt it in your stomach, that low, twisting awareness of him. Your gaze kept catching on the line of his jaw, the set of his soft mouth as he spoke, the way his hands moved when he gestured. You had never given much thought to the appeal of pilots, but suddenly, it made perfect sense.

You imagined him in a cockpit, eyes locked straight ahead, jaw tight in focus, hands steady on the controls. Big hands, thick fingers knowing exactly what to do. Flying a plane, or maybe a helicopter, his brows drawn together in concentration, gripping the throttle. You could see it so clearly, like a memory that wasn’t yours.

“Join me outside?”

His voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at him for too long. Heat crept up your neck.

“Sure,” you said, covering your embarrassment with a quick smile. “You okay?”

“Just need a smoke.” He tipped his head toward the door, his own mouth curving slightly.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You both stood, murmuring quick apologies to the table before slipping away, weaving through the room toward the patio doors.

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the faint hum of conversation from inside. Frankie walked past the windows to the far end of the patio, where the light was softer. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes with one hand, his lighter with the other.

You stood in front of him, watching as he brought the cigarette to his lips, tilting his head just slightly as he flicked the lighter. The small flame sparked, illuminating his face in a brief flash of gold, shadows shifting across his features. His eyes caught the light, reflecting it back like polished amber.

For a moment, he looked impossibly warm.

“Oh, they all loved you,” you said, stepping closer, your heels pressing softly against the stone patio.

Frankie took a drag from his cigarette, then exhaled to the side, careful to direct the smoke away from you.

“I’m convincing,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I needed to get out of there for a minute. I think you did too.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He studied you for a second. “You were quiet in there. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, nodding. You crossed your arms over your chest, more out of instinct than anything else. The movement pushed your breasts up slightly, the soft night air drawing a slow breath from you.

Frankie’s eyes flickered downward—so quick you might have missed it. And then just as quickly, he looked away, clearing his throat, focusing somewhere off to the side.

“Good,” he said, his voice steady again. “It’s a nice party.”

“It is. They seem happy.”

“Harry was watching you earlier. Looked like he wanted to come over.”

“I’ll find him later. He’s busy with all the guests.”

Frankie nodded, then lifted the cigarette back to his lips.

“So, you think we should head out after the cake?”

You let out a short laugh, tilting your head. “Unbelievable. That’s your plan? Wait around for the cake. It's always the cake.”

He exhaled another stream of smoke, this time straight up, and from where you stood, your eyes dropped to the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted as he swallowed.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said, his voice low. "And yeah, I want cake."

“Oh don’t even think about it,” you said, stepping even closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne beneath the smoke. “You think I’m leaving a wedding without dancing at least once? I didn’t put on this dress just to sit around all night.”

For a second, Frankie looked almost serious. Then, without warning, his hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm. His palm was warm, his thumb brushing absently against your skin.

“That’s true. And lucky for you, I know a couple of moves you might like.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh, yeah?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I have sisters. Do you know how many times they made me practice for their school dances?”

“Oh I’ll believe it when I see it, Travolta.”

He smiled, and his gaze dropped, trailing the length of your body in a way that should have felt obvious. But it didn’t. It didn’t feel leering or calculated—it felt like something else entirely. Something measured. Like he was taking in a view he hadn’t expected to find himself looking at for too long. Under his gaze, this time, you felt warm.

And yet, it settled inside you in a way you weren’t ready for.

No.

You pushed the thought away, rejecting it outright, like swatting at a mosquito buzzing too close to your ear. This—whatever this was—wasn’t supposed to burrow under your skin. It wasn’t supposed to live in you.

Nothing had even happened. Not really. There was no reason for your chest to feel tight, for your stomach to flip when he so much as looked at you for too long. You’d had a dream, that was all. A dream he knew almost nothing about. And yet, something was shifting. Your perception of him was warping, reshaping itself in ways you didn’t entirely trust.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to.

“I’m going to get a little drunk tonight,” you announced suddenly, as if saying it out loud would root you back in the moment. A sweet, practiced smile curled at your lips. “Just a little. Just enough to be happy and giggly.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched. “Champagne happiness, heard it’s dangerous.”

“Are you going to celebrate with me?”

He quirked a brow. “What, baby?”

The way he said it—casual, unthinking, like it was something he’d called you a hundred times before—sent a sharp, unexpected pulse through you. A deep, insistent thrum that settled low in your body, uninvited and impossible to ignore. But you ignored it anyway. Or at least, you tried to.

You let your head tip back slightly, arms falling to your sides in an exaggerated motion, playing up the lightness in your voice, the teasing in your expression. Then, closing the space between you, you pressed your hands lightly to his chest. Beneath your palms, you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his suit, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You looked up at him, eyes catching on his. Deep coffee eyes, they could keep you awake.

"We'll jump out of a plane tomorrow."

Frankie’s fingers wrapped around your wrists and he stepped back, drawing you with him until his back met the wall.

"Yes, we will."

He lowered his hand, pressing the cigarette against the wall to put it out, then flicked it toward the bin a few feet away. It arced lazily through the air before landing neatly inside.

You slid your hands down, settling them at his waist.

"Impressive." The teasing edge in your voice made him laugh.

He covered your hands with his own, resting them over his chest, his palms warm and solid. Then he shifted, bending slightly at the knees, his body slotting in closer to yours, his face suddenly right there.

"Ready to go back inside?"

"Ready."

And then—so brief it might not have happened at all—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Barely there. A brush of warmth, gone before your breath could catch up with it. But it stayed, somehow, like a ghost of heat on your skin.

Straightening, he stepped to your side, offering his hand. No hesitation. No smugness. Just an easy, open gesture and you took it without thinking. His fingers curled around yours, warm as he led you back inside.

Lydia greeted you with an easy smile, her chair scraping lightly against the floor as she scooted closer—not necessarily to you, but to Frankie, sitting beside her. She leaned in slightly, one hand curled around the stem of her wine glass, the other resting on the table as she tossed out a question about flying. Her bright brown eyes were glossy with the weight of the night as she touched her dark hair, curls falling over her shoulder.

Frankie answered without hesitation, his voice relaxed, slipping into laughter as she made some joke you didn’t quite catch. You weren’t really listening. Your mind was occupied elsewhere, preoccupied with the weight in your chest—a strange, persistent thing, both soft and heavy, pulsing faintly, not overwhelming but impossible to ignore.

Every few moments, he glanced your way, his gaze landing on you as if to check that you were still there. And you were, technically. You nodded at the right times, reacted just enough to seem present, though the words around you barely registered. It was like hearing a conversation through a thick wall, muffled, distant.

You let your head rest in the palm of your hand, tilting slightly as you watched him. The curve of his mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light caught the faint crease between his brows when he focused on something. Then he turned toward you fully, his expression careful, warm, like he saw you—really saw you—even though you weren’t saying anything at all.

Without thinking, your free hand moved to rest over his knee. A light squeeze. Quiet, grounding.

Half an hour passed, the conversation drifting into topics that no longer had anything to do with neither of you. The wine glasses sat empty, waiting to be refilled, and though you weren’t drunk, you’d had enough to feel lighter, your limbs looser, your thoughts a little hazier around the edges.

At some point, the bride and groom stood for a toast. People clinked glasses, raised them in the air, laughter rippling through the room. You listened, but only barely. It was strange, how little interest you had in any of it. And Frankie seemed to notice. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Do you want to go for another smoke?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “That would be rude,” you murmured back. “Later.”

At last, the champagne arrived. Waiters moved seamlessly through the room, carrying silver buckets brimming with ice, the necks of dark green bottles peeking out as condensation dripped onto polished trays. The music swelled, a subtle shift in energy, signaling the arrival of dessert. Over by the dance floor, an entire spread of sweets had been arranged under the glow of warm lights, a feast of sugar and cream and fresh fruit.

In front of you, delicate plates were set down—thin layers of almond sponge cake stacked with glossy chocolate ganache and silky coffee cream. Next to them, red fruit tarts sat like tiny works of art, mascarpone swirled into soft peaks, crushed pistachios scattered over the top, a drizzle of raspberry coulis glistening beneath a sheer, glassy icing.

The waitstaff moved through the tables again, offering bottles of crisp white and deep red wines, the bubbles of a brut sparkling ready for the toast. Frankie reached for his glass, ordering a sauvignon with practiced ease. You stayed with champagne, the cool stem of the flute pressed lightly between your fingers as you took a sip, the sharp fizz of it settling on your tongue.

Apparently, there were still more speeches to get through. Henry—the best man—took the microphone, followed by a handful of other guests, each offering heartfelt words for the bride and groom. The messages were exactly what you’d expect: warm wishes, fond memories, jokes about the honeymoon a handful of mildly embarrassing anecdotes that made the room laugh. Behind the head table, a slideshow played on a screen, flickering through childhood photos, vacation snapshots, and candid moments. Then, finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for—the official announcement that the party was about to begin.

Finally.

The staff moved quickly, clearing the dance floor as the music shifted. The lights dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of delicate strands of twinkling bulbs hanging from the ceiling, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. It looked almost unreal, like a scene lifted straight out of a fairy tale. In the center of the room, a mirrored disco ball began to turn, scattering shards of light across the space, tiny reflections dancing over tables, faces, the polished floor.

Frankie extended a hand toward you, palm up, fingers slightly curled. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

You laughed, mostly at the self-assured look on his face. “ I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back.”

He waved a hand, a casual I’ll wait for you, and leaned back in his chair. You stood, weaving your way past the crowd as they moved toward the dance floor, slipping along the edge of the music and laughter until you reached the hallway by the windows, where the restrooms overlooked the courtyard.

The bathroom caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected the luxury to extend this far, but of course, it had. The walls, clad in black marble with striking white veins, gleamed under the soft light of recessed gold sconces, casting everything in a soft, opulent glow. The floor, a stretch of polished black porcelain, reflected the warm light overhead, your silhouette mirrored faintly at your feet.

At the sinks, two women stood talking animatedly, their voices bouncing off the marble. Something about a Jenny. You barely registered it, and they paid you the same indifference as you slipped into one of the stalls.

When you emerged, the place was quiet again, just the faint hum of the music filtering in from the outside. You stepped toward the mirror, running your hands under the stream of cold water, watching yourself as you lathered the soap between your fingers. You looked good. Better than good, actually. The dress had been the right choice. Not to be vain, but your boobs looked phenomenal.

Your palm smoothed over the fabric, fingertips grazing the delicate material, adjusting where it clung just right. A quiet sigh left your lips. You reached into your purse, pulling out your lipstick and uncapping it. A quick swipe of color, then a gentle dab with your fingertip to blend, leaving just the right stain behind. The I've just been kissed kinda look.

Then, you straightened, squared your shoulders, and made your way to the door. The moment it swung open, the sound of the party crashed back into you.

A pop song from the nineties played, something ridiculously catchy. Your gaze flickered across the room, searching, landing almost immediately on Frankie. He was leaning against one of the columns near the dance floor, watching the crowd with that quiet attentiveness he always carried.

You picked up your pace, weaving through the shifting bodies, ready to reach him—

Until a voice cut through the noise, calling your name.

Harry.

He approached with a wide grin, his cheeks flushed, a drink clutched loosely in one hand. He looked happy—tipsy, maybe more than that.

“Hey, hey, there you are,” he said, his voice slightly louder than necessary as he rested a hand on your shoulder and bent toward you. “How are you liking the party?”

“It’s amazing,” you said truthfully, then tilted your head toward the dance floor. “How’s Lisa?”

Harry followed your gaze, nodding toward where Lisa was dancing in the middle of a group of women, all of them belting out the lyrics to the song playing over the speakers. She looked radiant, beautiful.

“Her dream wedding,” he said, sounding both proud and a little dazed by it all. Then he turned back to you. “You having a good time? Did you come alone?”

“No, I came with Frankie.” You gestured behind you instinctively, eyes scanning for him.

And there he was. Still leaning against the column. But now he wasn’t alone. Lydia stood in front of him, her body angled toward his, her fingers resting lightly on his bicep as she laughed at something he’d said.

Harry didn’t seem to notice—his attention elsewhere, the shifting crowd blocking his line of sight.

“I’ll stop by and say hi in a bit, okay? I’m really glad you came. And with him.”

“It’s nothing,” you said, smiling softly, already turning, already stepping away before he could say anything else.

When you looked back at Frankie, he was watching you now. He raised both eyebrows, his mouth curving into something smug and amused, as if to say, Are you seeing this?

Lydia tilted her head, still talking, still smiling.

And you smiled too—sharp, incredulous.

This bitch.

She was flirting with your boyfriend?

Well. Not really your boyfriend. But as far as she knew, he was.

How fucking dare she?

You stopped in your tracks just a few feet away, arms crossing tightly over your chest. Your gaze flicked between them—Frankie, who looked momentarily confused, and Lydia, who had somehow managed to inch even closer.

For a second, he glanced at you, then back at her, and you could see it—the slight crease in his brow, the way his mouth pulled at the corners, amused but uncertain. You had no idea what they were talking about, couldn’t hear a damn thing over the music and the hum of conversation around you. But still, irritation prickled at the back of your neck, heat pooling in your chest.

Why wasn’t he stopping her?

She was looking up at him, all effortless charm, fingers lightly grazing his arm. And Frankie—smiling, a little uncomfortable, sure, but not moving away.

Then she lifted her hand, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

And something in you snapped. You closed the distance between you in seconds, stepping up beside her with so much force she barely had time to react. She was still mid-sentence, still focused on him, and you didn’t wait for her to turn. Instead, your hand found her shoulder, firm but not forceful, and pulled her back.

“Take your hands off him.”

Your voice came out even, controlled. Not angry—just final.

Her eyes widened in surprise, feigned innocence flickering across her expression like she had no idea what you could possibly be talking about.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just asking—”

“I don’t care.” You smiled at her, wide and sharp, tilting your head slightly. “Step back.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head like this was all some kind of joke.

“Darlin', I—”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” you cut in again, your voice dropping slightly. “I said step back. Now.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink, just flicked your chin toward the other end of the room, arms still folded over your chest. Go on.

Lydia exhaled, something between a scoff and a sigh, her eyes narrowing slightly like you had just accused her of something truly outrageous. Then, with an exaggerated shake of her head, she turned on her heel and walked away, each step sharp and offended.

The second she was out of earshot, Frankie let out a strangled laugh, low and rough, pressing his knuckles against his mouth to muffle it.

You turned on him next, raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned, utterly unbothered.

“I was waiting for you. She came up to me, that’s all.” The fucker was enjoying this.

“Ah. And why’s that?”

“She just asked me something about my job.”

“Oh, really? What is it? She interested in joining the Air Force?”

Frankie let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t think so.” He cocked an eyebrow, watching you. “But she’s interested in flying. Asked if I could give her, you know… lessons.”

Your gaze swept over him, from his boots to his eyes, dragging your gaze up and locking onto his. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped your lips.

“Lessons,” you repeated, stretching out the word, lips curling. “Well, that explains why she was hanging onto your every word at dinner.”

“She’s got the passion for it.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding.

“Mhm.” That was all you gave him before turning on your heel and heading toward the dance floor.

Three seconds later, a hand curled around your waist, pulling you back with such certainty you barely had time to react before you found yourself against his chest, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

He didn’t let go. Instead, his hand shifted, moving higher, resting over your ribs. His thumb barely grazing the soft skin of your chest above the fabric, oblivious, the touch light, absentminded.

“Don’t go,” he murmured against your ear, voice edged with smile.

You turned your face toward him, just enough that your breath almost mingled with his, your mouth a whisper away from his own. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, settling in your chest like a slow, creeping warmth. It wasn’t overpowering, just enough to make you aware of how close he was.

“This whole pilot thing, I imagine it must be useful with women.”

You flicked your gaze forward before he could answer, landing on Lydia across the room, mid-laugh, one hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass, the other gesturing in animated conversation with someone whose name you didn’t know.

He didn’t hesitate. “It is.”

“Does it work for you?”

His chuckle was low, more felt than heard. “Most of the time.”

You turned toward him again, not quite meeting his eyes, his lips so close they could almost be mistaken for yours in a darkened room.

Your voice carried a hint of a lie. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“I know you don’t.”

“But I like uniforms. Do you wear one?”

“I used to. Full-body flight suit. A helmet, if I was flying. Full protective gear.”

A hum left your throat, thoughtful, considering. You nodded, but said nothing.

“I could give you lessons too, if you want.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, your expression shifting into something thoughtful, as if you were genuinely considering it. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you turned, unhurried, until you were facing him fully. The space between you barely existed—your chest pressed against his, so close that the contact made you ticklish. Your hands moved, trailing up his chest in a way that could have been absentminded if not for how deliberate it felt. They came to rest against his shoulders, then slid higher, fingers curling lightly around either side of his neck.

“I see, did you tell Lydia that too?”

“Careful,” he said, voice dipping lower, teasing. “Or I’m going to start thinking you’re jealous.”

A surprised laugh pressed against your ribs, got caught in your throat before you let it out, short and sharp. Your gaze flickered away for a moment, as if checking the room, as if needing to look anywhere else. Jealous. The suggestion was ridiculous. Completely absurd.

“Jealous? Of what? A fake relationship?”

“Who knows.”

Your fingers twitched slightly where they rested against his skin, your right hand skimming higher, grazing the place Lydia’s had been just minutes ago.

“No, but I do want to make something clear. Right now, you’re with me,” you went on, your voice quieter but no less firm. “That’s the story, isn’t it? We’re together. We’re a couple.”

“We are.”

“So don’t flirt with anyone else,” you continued, fingers pressing just a little deeper into the warm skin at his neck. “Don’t let them touch you, don’t let them get too close.”

His eyes traced your face, taking their time, unreadable. The corner of his mouth twitched again, his upper lip lifting slightly, like he was fighting against something—maybe a smirk, maybe a retort.

“If any woman approaches you while we’re at it, you tell her—respectfully—that you have a girlfriend,” you said, unwavering. “We can’t risk it. And I certainly don’t need people thinking you’re cheating on me. Right?”

“Right.”

“Other than that,” you added, tilting your chin slightly, “you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Frankie exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as his gaze swept the room. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth—thoughtful, maybe frustrated. Before you could ask, before you could even register the shift in his posture, he stepped away from you. The absence of his body heat was brief, because a second later, his hand found your waist. Again.

He didn’t say anything. He just started walking, guiding you with him, his grip firm but not forceful at all. You could have stopped him if you wanted to. You didn’t. Instead, you let yourself be led through the clusters of people, past the conversation, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter that grew fainter as he maneuvered you toward the door leading to the courtyard.

The air outside felt delicious, still carrying the remnants of summer heat but cooled by the open space. It was quieter here, though the muffled echoes of the party still drifted from inside. You glanced up at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he gave you nothing. Just kept moving, steering you toward the spot where you’d stood earlier in the night.

Then, with a firm nudge against the side of your ribcage, he pressed you toward the wall. Your spine met the cool surface, a muted shock against the warmth of your skin. He positioned himself in front of you, close enough that you felt the residual energy buzzing off him, though his expression remained composed.

“If we’re going to set rules,” he said finally, stepping nearer, “they should go both ways.”

His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, his right hand lifting, two fingers extended in your direction like he was making a point.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “I haven’t flirted with anyone, Francisco.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Keep it that way.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Okay.”

"I mean—I mean as long as we're together doing this in public, keep it that way."

“Okay.”

He exhaled through his nose, gaze still steady. “And this thing with your little games—you need to stop.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, a slow, deliberate movement. He noticed, his eyes flickering downward before snapping back up to your face, like he hadn’t meant to look. Like it annoyed him that he had.

A beat passed. Then you lifted your eyebrows, voice soft, feigning innocence.

“What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightened for just a fraction of a second.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, voice measured, even. “I know what you tried to do at my mom’s house.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable but enjoying all of this.

“The weird dreams,” he continued. "The way you act. All sweet and nice and pretending not to know exactly what you’re doing.”

He was so close now that you could see the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips curled just slightly at the edges, the soft texture of his lips, a hint of amusement masking whatever was simmering underneath. He lifted a hand, pressing his palm against the wall beside your head, leaning in, caging you in place without actually touching you.

“All of that,” he murmured, gaze unwavering. “Out of nowhere?”

“I never said anything about a weird dream.”

Frankie exhaled sharply through his nose, an incredulous half-laugh. “Of course you did.”

“No. I said wet dream, not weird dream.”

For a second, just a fraction of one, his expression faltered. Then he coughed out a rough laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.

“Same thing. And it’s still a lie.”

Something warm flickered low in your stomach, then curled upward, spreading through your chest. Maybe it was the champagne. Or the wine from dinner. Or maybe it was just him, standing so close, looking at you like that. Not that it mattered.

You smiled, slowy shaking your head. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I wasn’t,” you insisted, leaning slightly into the space between you.

He scoffed. “You didn’t even know what to say when I asked you about it.”

“Well, I was a little embarrassed, wouldn’t you be?”

Frankie gave a short, disbelieving shake of his head. “Not a chance.”

“Okay,” you said, inhaling. “Then let’s see. I’ll tell you. Since you’re so sure I made it up.”

A few hours ago, maybe a few hours from now, you might have had the good sense to keep your mouth shut. But right now, with him standing there looking so smug, so convinced he was right, something in you hardened, filled with certainty. A slow grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you took in the self-satisfied look on his face.

“Well,” you started, your tone casual, like this was just any conversation. “I was in bed, and it was daylight. Probably morning, since the sun hits right outside my window at that hour.”

“Uh-huh. Noted.”

“I closed my eyes, and the light dimmed. When I opened them, you were there.”

His smirk wavered slightly.

“On top of me,” you clarified, watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. A pleasant sort of nervousness buzzed beneath your skin, excitement curling around your spine. Your face felt warm, but you didn’t stop. “You were kissing my neck. My hands were in your hair—”

“Okay. Stop it,” he said, his voice a little rougher now, the effect of your words obvious in the way his jaw tensed, the way his posture shifted.

But you ignored him, eyes glinting with something close to triumph.

“And you kissed me. Sweet, hard, soft,” you went on, undeterred.

He didn’t tell you to stop again. Just watched you, his gaze dark and unreadable, eyes shining like black pearls.

“And... well,” you shrugged, feigning innocence, lips curling. “You know the rest.”

"I certainly don't."

A pause stretched between you, thick and charged with the air pressing in around you like something tangible, like you were swimming in mousse. He was a contradiction in real time—so eager to hear you say it, but so visibly bracing against it. Like he wanted to know and didn’t, all at once.

"Francisco—"

"Tell me what happened."

The confidence you’d walked in with was beginning to leak out of you, leaving a warm flush in its absence, like heat rising from your skin.

He opened his mouth again. "Are you embarrassed—"

"You fucked me," you said, the words coming out in a breath. "Like you knew exactly how, like it was second nature. And, to be honest, right now, looking at you from this angle, it’s like watching it happen all over again."

Something in him shifted. It was barely visible, the kind of change you’d miss if you weren’t already attuned to him in a way that felt dangerous. His body tilted forward, unintentionally, his hand still planted on the wall just beside your head. His gaze tracked yours with precision, like he was waiting for you to flinch first. Your head tilted back, chin lifting to meet him. Your mouth felt dry, your chest heavy.

A breath left him, uneven. His pupils dark and wide, mouth slightly parted like he might say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he held himself there, frozen in some strange balance between defiance and surrender.

"Out of nowhere," he said after a few seconds, voice lower now, more controlled than it had been a moment ago. "You bring these things up out of nowhere. You really think I’m just going to take your word for it?"

"You already do. You believe me because it’s true. Do you really think I’d make something like this up?"

A slow, almost lazy smile unfurled on his lips. "Of course you would. You love playing games with me."

"Do you actually believe that?"

"Yeah, I do. You used to do it before, you're still at it now. The only difference is, back then, you loved torturing me with other kind of stuff. Now, you’ve just switched it up a bit. I guess all that energy’s gotta go somewhere."

"Sure, well, just remember this—if there's gonna be tension, it’s gotta pull from both sides, right? If we’re talking energy... there need to be two hands on each side of the thread."

"So, you’re accepting it? That you're playing with me?"

"I never said that."

"I told you before—I know what you’re doing. These little looks you think I don’t catch. The way you push just enough to see if I’ll bite. Now that we’re not fighting all the time, this is your new strategy?"

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Like you don’t love every second of it."

"I don’t—"

"You do," you cut in smoothly. "And you don’t just take it, you give it right back. Let’s not pretend. You had me pressed against you in there, whispering in my ear like you didn’t have another option." Your chin lifted again, your lips inches from his. "Just admit it."

"Admit what?" He wanted to make you mad. But you weren’t mad.

"Admit that you’re playing the same game." A soft smile curved your mouth. "Don’t act like I’m the one setting the rules when you follow them so damn well. And even if I were the one setting them, you’d still follow them, wouldn’t you? You said it yourself—a well-trained dog."

Your hand moved to his chest, slow and knowing, fingers trailing upward to the base of his throat. His pulse beat against your palm.

"And don’t get too cocky," you murmured, pressing just slightly, feeling the way he swallowed under your touch. "I know exactly how to win."

His smile faltered, the edges softening until it was gone entirely. His expression was intoxicating—his heavy-lidded gaze sweeping over your face, lingering, tracing every detail like he was trying to memorize it. He wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, exhaling through his nose as he leaned in, tilting his head just enough for his mouth to ghost over your cheek.

"And what exactly is the prize?"

Your pulse slammed against your ribs, heat unfurling low in your stomach, molten and insistent. You had a response ready, but you held it back, breathing through the moment, trying to steady yourself enough that he wouldn’t hear how uneven you sounded.

Frankie pulled back just slightly, just enough to catch your eyes again. The air between you felt weighted, a thread stretched so tight it might snap.

Your fingers drifted up the column of his neck, brushing along his jawline, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He didn't move away, didn’t even blink, just watched you with the kind of focus that made your skin burn. You leaned in, your lips grazing his in a touch so light it barely existed. The ghost of a kiss, suspended between you, aching to be realized.

"Do you think you can win?" you murmured, the words pressing into his mouth more than being spoken.

Frankie closed his eyes, the barest smile curving his lips. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"I bet you are. Wrong," you mused, your fingers trailing downward, stopping at his throat, pressing lightly against the steady beat of his pulse. "Can you tell me something?"

His breath hitched, almost imperceptible. "Mhm."

"That night," you whispered, "you were talking about me with Will, weren’t you?"

His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t hesitate. "Yeah."

"But what you told him wasn’t true."

"No, it wasn’t."

"Why did you lie to him?"

A beat of silence. His throat bobbed under your fingers.

"You know Will."

"What did he tell you?"

Frankie closed the space between you, his movements unhurried but decisive, like he’d already made up his mind about what was going to happen next. His lips pressed the corner of your mouth—just enough to make your breath catch—but instead of deepening the kiss, he shifted, tracing a slow path up your cheek, leaving the faintest, teasing kisses in his wake.

By the time he reached your ear, your eyes had already fluttered shut, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. You felt the warmth of his breath before he spoke.

"He insisted," he murmured, his voice impossibly low.

You swallowed, pulse skipping. "On what?"

His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. His thumb moved in slow, measured circles, a silent rhythm against your skin, like he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. The touch sent a shiver up your spine, made your body react before your mind caught up—your back arching slightly, your frame pressing into his without thought.

"I insist, baby. Drop it," he said, his voice shifting—no longer just a whisper but something sharper, something awake. "It’s not going to work on me."

And then—suddenly, without warning—he pulled away.

The absence of his body against yours was jarring, a sharp contrast to the way he still held your waist in place, his grip firm as his chest separated from yours. The cold air rushed into the space where he had just been, and for a brief, humiliating moment, you realized you were leaning into nothing.

Frankie lingered for a beat longer, fingers flexing slightly at your hip, before he finally let go. He turned on his heel, putting distance between you with calculated ease.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he glanced back, his expression shifting into something smug, something infuriatingly self-assured. His gaze flickered over you—your lips, your throat, the rise and fall of your chest—as if he were assessing the damage he’d done.

"Aren’t you coming?" he asked, extending a hand toward you, the challenge unmistakable in his voice. "I did promise you a couple of dances. Let’s go."

Without a word, you pushed away from the wall, peeling yourself off like something unstuck, and started toward the door. Your steps were smooth, collected, an almost conscious effort at elegance despite everything—the heat clinging to your skin, the slight tightness in your chest, the residual tremor of words left unsaid. As you passed Frankie, you caught the amused curl of his mouth from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t spare him a glance. His hand hovered for a second like he might reach for you, but he didn’t. You walked on.

Then, the sound of his footsteps. A half-step faster than yours, and then, suddenly, he was in front of you, fingers wrapping around the door handle before you could reach it. You stopped short. He pulled it open with a casual flick of his wrist, and the pulse of the party crashed into you again.

You looked at him then, properly. His eyes flickered down to yours, alert.

He lifted his hand in a gesture so simple it almost felt absurd. “After you.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing

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missadangel · 2 days ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialist)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, piv sex, kissing, Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her?

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine.

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why?

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…”

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them my photo instead of yours. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.”

As if I want it so much, you thought.

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight.

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff.

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock.

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice.

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance.

"Melanie, right?"

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes.

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there.

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly.

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?”

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly.

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life.

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie.

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?"

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you."

"Do something to make him hate you already!"

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation.

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working."

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.”

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.”

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.”

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!”

Beep… Beep… Beep…

She hung up.

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that?

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why?

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything?

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard?

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in.

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge.

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart.

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up.

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.”

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness.

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened.

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you?

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face.

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company?

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors.

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door.

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—”

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head.

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit.

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten.

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away.

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?"

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.”

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?”

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal fanfiction #the materialist #harry castillo #materialists #harry castillo x reader #randy castillo

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noctiva · 2 days ago

Note

reader and Toby get into a heated argument which leads to hate sex and Toby is SOOO mean the whole time like degrading, spiting on reader, choking her whole nine yards and reader tries to stay mad and keep their attitude during all this but just totally crumbles and becomes sooo pathetic - 🪽

OOOOOOOOH MAN mean!toby… the way to my heart truly.. I know this is a request but writing this was very self indulgent I was kicking my feet giggling writing this

Unbearable

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

WC: 8.4k

Summary: Fighting with Toby is always a lost cause, because it’s just a case of two stubborn forces butting heads with one another. It all just comes down to who caves first (spoiler alert: it’s you. It’s always you.)

CW: explicit sexual content, toxic relationships + behaviour, I repeat - they are so toxic, this is not healthy relationship behaviour!, they fight and Toby’s an asshole about it, possessive and jealous behaviour, degradation, choking and asphyxiophilia, biting!!, biting and blood!!, very dead dove, rough handling, rough sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, toby being so fucking mean I hate him, mocking, face slapping, spit and drool, overstimulation, arguably CNC, but it’s alllll consensual, just maybe not safe or sane, hate sex!, multiple orgasms, dom/sub undertones, unsafe sex, creampie, hair pulling, dacryphilia, putting this here again bc I have to make it clear toby! is! an! asshole!, they make up at the end, but again - toxic, did I say dead dove? because dead fucking dove.

Reminder to separate reality from fiction!! Some of the acts written here are definitely not meant to be endorsed or romanticized irl! Stay safe!

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

“You don’t have t-to be such a bitch all the t-time.”

That, is what set you off.

Those words, spoken in that stupidly nonchalant tone of Toby’s as he milled around the kitchen after a mission, looking through the cupboards for a snack to ease his rumbling stomach.

And maybe, he was just tired. Maybe, he was just irritable because the mission had taken a lot longer than he was hoping it would. Maybe, you were both too cranky to have a proper, civil conversation. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What was certain, was that those words had pissed you off, because they had been said in response to you telling him it would be nice to know if he’d be home for dinner, so that you could be prepared for it.

And yet, despite your words so clearly showing your care for him, he decided the best plan of action would be immediately attacking you - like some stuck up teenager with his head up his ass. You loved Toby, you did, and you found more and more reasons to every single day - but, he also gave you more and more reasons to be left seething on the couch while he padded around the house as if he had done nothing wrong.

He was exhausting to deal with, just as much as he was a joy to be around. It was something you had gotten used to, chalking his snippy attitude up to just being a side effect of the strenuous line of work he found himself to be a part of. But, it got to a point. Got to a point where you just couldn’t excuse it anymore, especially when you had spent the greater half of your day tidying up after him. Making sure the cabin was nice and spotless, so that he wouldn’t have to do so much as lift a finger when he got home.

“Is that what I am?” You snap back to him, one hand on your hip with your eyes trained on his back as you watch him in the kitchen - peeling open a pack of chocolate chip cookies before promptly shoving one in his mouth. “I’m a bitch, because I want to know what time you’ll be home?”

“Uh, yeah. Y-You really want me to re-repeat myself?” His voice, partially muffled by the half-chewed cookie in your mouth, just proves to stoke the flame of anger brewing within you. You feel your eye twitch, and somehow you manage to just get angrier when Toby turns around to look at you. It’s the nonchalance on his face, like he couldn’t see a single reason in the world why you’d be getting so upset over his choice of wording. It’s maddening really, how this argument had barely even started, and yet you already felt like you were two words away from fucking strangling him. “I’ve t-told you before, I can’t predict how long these- fuck! -these things will take. Maybe, if you listened-“

“I do fucking listen, Toby!” You snap back at him, cutting him off so swiftly it makes his expression harden. You can practically see the switch in his brain flip, when he realizes that this wasn’t just going to be another one of your little spats. You were mad at him, actually, genuinely mad at him. Brimming with anger as you stood before him, jaw clenched and fingers curling into fists down at your sides. “All I do is fucking listen, and be the perfect little homemaker so that you don’t have to do jack shit when you get home.” You lift a finger to point at him, and his eyes narrow. “But you don’t seem to give a shit about any of that.”

“W-What?” Toby takes a step forwards, bringing with him an aura that was so imposing it nearly made you shrink. Thickening the air around you, making your lungs feel tight as he imposed on your personal space. Another step, he takes, then another, before tilting his head down to look at you - making it all too clear who would really have the upper hand if things went far south. “I’m supposed t-to pat you on the back be-because you swept the fuh-fucking floor?” His growing annoyance only made his tics worse, sporadic jerks of his neck and shoulders making him look all the more intimidating as he glowered down at you. “I just spent f-five fucking hours in the d-damn woods, hunting down four people all on my own b-because Brian and Tim were t-too busy to help.” You swallow thickly. “But when I come home, d-dead tired, the first thing I’m supposed to do is thank you for doing the ff-fucking dishes?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s the least you could do.”

“The least you could do, would be to at least be a little bit appreciative.” You spit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest and standing your ground though the weight of his presence was making you tremble.

You didn’t often think about what it might be like to be one of Toby’s victims - but standing there right then with him towering over you, the look in his eyes so cold it brought a chill to your veins - you could really picture it. Really picture the fear that he struck people with, before stealing their last breath. “You’re barely around anymore, y’know? And when you are, you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Toby presses, tilting his head down more to encroach further into your personal bubble. Those words were bait. And if you took it, you knew that this fast devolving conversation would just take a turn for the absolute worst.

But well, he had already resorted to name calling, so why couldn’t you?

“Like, an asshole.” You grit out, taking a step forwards as proof of your resilience, even when faced with a man you knew was dangerous. Toby wouldn’t really hurt you. You knew that, you hoped that, and yet pushing his buttons was still something that made your stomach twist. It was the knowledge that, if he wanted to, he could. Easily. Could probably incapacitate you before you even realized what had even happened. Knock you out cold with a swift jerk of his arm. He wouldn’t though. Not to you. That’s what you were banking on. “Like some self-centred prick that I can barely stand being around.”

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the point still stood. And you really, really, just wanted to get it through his head that as of late, he really hadn’t been acting like ‘boyfriend of the year’ material. Was that something you should expect, from a literal axe murderer? Probably not. But he used to be better. A new, heavier workload on his shoulders was forcing a strain onto your relationship that you hadn’t been prepared to face.

Toby was barely home. And when he was, it was for mere hours at a time. He barely touched you, barely kissed you, apparently finding a quick peck on the lips before he left again to be an adequate amount of affection. He was hardly present. When he was by your side, he was mentally distant. Never letting you peer into his mind, most likely for your safety, but forcing a wedge between the two of you nonetheless.

At the root of it all, your anger stemmed from sadness. Sadness, because you missed him. Missed the Toby that had stolen your heart, went out of his way to do stupid things just to earn a laugh from you, showered you with love every moment he got, and hated leaving your side for even a moment.

But, all those cushy soft emotions were hidden under the hardened shell of annoyance that had built up over time. And so, you were left spouting awful, awful words at the man you loved so dearly.

Hoping that maybe, this would be what cracks him.

“You c-can’t stand being around me?” Toby’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher, but it looks far too close to hurt for comfort. Whatever it was, he masks it quickly, covering the rawness of his emotions with that same passive expression he wore so often. “That’s c-cute. Why’re you still here th-then?”

“That’s not even funny.” You hiss, words laced with venom as they drip off of your tongue. “You know I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

“No, b-be my guest.” Toby snorts, sarcasm laced around every letter. You knew, that arguing with him was a lost cause. You had been down this road before, and it was much more beneficial to just roll over and let him believe that he was in the right. Not today though. As you had said before - it got to a point. “The d-door’s right there if you hate me so much.” He gestures towards your front door in a mocking manner, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“As if it would be that fucking easy.” You spit back at him, before promptly turning on your heel. Unable to stomach another moment of eye contact with him. Those eyes, weren’t the ones you had fallen in love with. They were lifeless, filled with the type of malice you never would’ve dreamed he’d direct at you of all people. It just made you angrier. Angry at the fact that he felt like he had a reason to be mad at you. “Acting like one of your buddies wouldn’t track me down and kill me for ‘knowing too much’.”

You stalk out into the living room, and you hear him follow behind you, the heavy soles of the boots he hadn’t taken off tracking dirt against the hardwood floors you had just cleaned earlier that day. “I don’t have a choice, you know? I have to either put up with you, or die, those are my only options.”

“‘Put up with m-me’?” When you turn around once more it looks like Toby had quite a lot to say about that choice of words - jaw clenched with his eye twitching - but he bites his tongue. Choosing instead to say; “A-And you act like it’s my ff-fucking fault. You knew what you were getting into w-when we started dating.”

“I didn’t!” You spit back at him, chest tight with anger as you force the words out of your lungs. “You told me you were a fucking hunter!”

Toby barks out a harsh, dry laugh, his eyebrows crinkling together in disbelief as he stared down at you. He looked almost amused, in some sick sense of the word, soft snorts of laughter bubbling from his lungs before he’s able to speak again.

“D-Don’t tell me you actually believed that.” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow. When the only response he gets is a quiver to you pouted lips, it just makes him laugh even harder. “H-Holy fuck, you did. I- chirp! -I didn’t think you were that- that fucking stupid.”

And with that, he’s managed to stun you into silence. The absolute disconnection and lack of accountability for throwing you into such a volatile way of life was sobering. He didn’t look the least bit remorseful, or even just a little bothered by the fact that he had effectively stolen away your freedom as a normal member of society. He hadn’t taken you hostage, you had agreed to be with him despite his flaws - but to pin all of the blame on you? That was just insanity.

You gaze at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you try to shake the shock from your bones. Toby, either just isn’t patient enough to wait or simply doesn’t care, because before you can form a proper response he’s turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen. All while muttering; “‘Hunter’… Fucking idiot.” Under his breath.

Christ, he just didn’t know when to stop today, did he?

“Do you hear yourself?” You tell after him, snapping out of the stupor he had frozen you into. You don’t move from where you’re stood though, knowing that keeping distance is probably the smartest move. “You can’t fucking speak to me like this.”

“W-Why not?” He asks, refusing to meet your eye. “Normally it gets you t-to shut up faster.”

Every time he opened his mouth, it just got so much worse. And maybe, the reason he wouldn’t look at you was because he knew he was in the wrong. Wouldn’t be able to stomach it, if he saw the unbridled wave of hurt that coated your entire expression when what he said sunk in. You blink a few times, and almost feel the need to rub your eyes in disbelief - because there’s no way he actually just said that to you, right? Had your boyfriend been swapped out one day, replaced with someone who looked just like him, but was filled with spite instead of love?

It sure seemed like it. The more you stared at him he didn’t even look like the Toby you knew anymore. Pale skin somehow paler. Sickly. His chiseled jaw too sharp, cheeks too hollow, the normally well-kept stubble on his face obviously a few weeks past being properly groomed. His under-eye bags were darker, and his eyes in general were… Deader.

Had something happened to him? He wouldn’t tell you, even if it had.

“Fuck you.” You hiss back out to him, and if your mind wasn’t so clouded by anger you wouldn’t shocked yourself with the amount of malice you managed you pack into those two words. You spit them out at him like you were trying to wound him, and it almost works - you see his shoulders tense up completely.

But his ego, his horribly inflated ego, just couldn’t let him back down. Couldn’t let him realize that he was doing a lot of damage, and that he should really stop while it was still reversible.

So his shoulders relax, his neck cracks in a way that was extremely unsettling, and then he’s muttering;

“Y-You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He picks at his fingernails absently, still not lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You sure that’s not w-what this is all about? Just mad I haven’t been giving it to you lately?”

Maybe. Partially. But not the fucking point. And the way he was treating all of this like it was just a joke? Yeah, you felt pretty close to jumping to kitchen counter and fucking killing him.

So, you choose the less violent route instead.

You don’t respond, you simply turn on your heel and start walking. Through the living room, on a beeline towards the front door.

That, had Toby’s gaze flicking up immediately. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Out.” You snap back to him, already slipping on your shoes and grabbing your jacket. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Toby move faster in his life once he realizes that you’re serious - crossing the living room in large strides, in just a matter of seconds.

“N-No you’re not.” His voice holds a tone of finality, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. You weren’t about to start taking orders from a man who had spent the last half hour making a complete mockery out of you.

“Why not? You do all the time.” You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowed as you glare up at him.

“B-Because I know how to deal with what’s out there!” Toby borderline growled back at you, jerking his arm towards to window as a means to enunciate his point. Towards the forest outside, that your little cabin resided in. The forest that you knew was teeming with genuine monsters, and people that were closure to monsters than humans. Toby, being one of them, when he wasn’t at home with you. “It’s- It’s late, and the sun’s going down. You cannot go out there. Jack’s probably-“

“Jack’s probably out hunting, I know.” You cut him off in a tone so cold he can’t even mask it when it visibly startles him. “I don’t give a fuck. He’d probably treat me better than you do anyway.”

A disastrously low blow. Such an egregious thing to say, even in your fit of anger, that you regret it the second the words slip off of your tongue. Because in general, that’s just such a horrid thing to say to the man you love, but saying it to a partner that you are well aware has some pretty unresolved jealousy issues?

Yeah, you just dug your own grave and laid in it.

You freeze after you speak, and the silence that follows makes your skin crawl. You stare up at Toby with bated breath, watching as shock settles onto his expression - and you know the worst is yet to come. It seemed like it took him a moment to really process what you had just said, or maybe he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hoping that, you’d backtrack, or correct yourself and clarify that’s not what you meant.

But you don’t, too stunned at yourself to even speak another word.

And that’s when everything blows up.

Once the shock drains from his face, Toby looks like you just slapped him. His expression crumpling, eyebrows furrowing together as a mixture of hurt and anger flooded his eyes. You could practically feel his temper rise, the air around you growing thicker and thicker the longer that he just stood there and stared at you like you had insulted his entire being. Maybe you had.

And then;

“W-What the fuck did you just say?” His tone is dangerous, holding an undeniable threat that shook you to the core. You couldn’t think of a single instance in the years you had been together where you had actually been scared of Toby (besides the day you had found out what he really did for a living) but right then, you were fucking terrified.

Suffocated by the fury in his eyes, feeling like you were being choked by the weight of the tension around you. It had never been more clear, who exactly you were dating.

Someone who could - might - hurt you.

And your fight or flight instinct kicked in fast. So fast, that Toby didn’t even have time to react before you were whipping open the door and darting outside. Down the steps of the front porch, feet crunching leaves under your feet as you sprint off into the very woods he warned you against traversing day after day.

Toby wastes no time perusing you. He is on your trail in a matter of seconds, bursting through the door after you with all the practiced ease of someone who had done this chase many, many times before. You hear him bark out your name after you, the low growl of his voice echoing through out the forest - bouncing off the trees to meet your ears and send a shiver down your spine. “G-Get the fuck back in the house!”

“Fuck you!” You scream back at him, still running though your lungs were starting to burn. The air around you was cold, stinging your skin and biting through your clothes to rise goosebumps on your arms. Your heart was racing, pounding so loudly in your ears that you could barely even hear the sound of your own feet hitting the ground. You could hear him though, gaining on you fast - boots snapping sticks beneath the soles. “Get the hell away from me, Toby!”

“Fat chance!” Toby snarls back at you, and fuck he sounds really close now. You won’t look behind you, knowing the sight of him would only make you falter - but you know it’s probably fruitless anyway. He’s close, and just gaining on you by the second. “You th-think you can just say that shit to me and then r-run away?”

His fingers graze your back as he reaches out to grab you, and you yelp, just barely steering clear of his grasp. “What the fuck is wr-wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You push forwards through your legs are starting to ache, lungs burning with each cold breath of air that you suck in. “What’s wrong with you? You started this by being a dick for no reason!”

“At l-least I didn’t- didn’t threaten to fuck one of your friends!” Toby reaches out again, and this time - he gets you. Fingers curling into the hood of your sweater, yanking you backwards with a force that made you choke and wheeze - hands flying up to try and claw yourself free of his grip. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t, but he does release you a few seconds later, only to shove you to the forest floor below you. Your back hits the ground and nearly knocks the wind out of you, eyes blowing wide as you struggle to take in a few panicked breaths.

“I never said that!” You grit out, going to prop yourself back up on your elbows but he promptly shoves you back down with a boot to the chest. He pins you down that way, nearly crushing your ribs under the weight of his body as he stands above you - absolutely teeming with unspent rage.

“No? You didn’t?” Toby sneers as he glares down at you. In the low light of the forest, he looks even more intimidating. The low lighting casting stark shadows against all the high points of his face, his eyes glinting with something downright maniacal. “W-What were you implying then, huh? Saying he could- fuck! -could treat you better than me?”

His boot leaves your chest and then he’s dropping down onto you, knees digging into the ground on either side of your hips - pinning you to the forest floor with his body weight. “Y-You really want a piece of that fuh-freak?” Toby reaches down and grasps your face roughly, fingers digging into your cheeks so deep it forces your lips into a pucker. “He’d bite your p-pretty little head off.” He leans in close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your face, and he looks like a beast. Snarling, twitching, shaking from the potency of anger flowing through his veins. Not looking the least bit fazed when the legs he had pinned down started to kick. “I-I’m a fucking saint, compared to the rest of them. You’re l-lucky I’m the one you met first.”

“Lucky?” You somehow managed to keep up the attitude despite the absolutely humbling situation you found yourself in - pinned to the forest floor by your serial killer boyfriend. And yet, it’s the closet you’ve been to him in days. The longest he’s held you in weeks. “Yeah, I sure feel lucky right now.” You spit out another wave of sarcasm as you struggle against his grip. “Get the fuck off of me, Toby.”

He doesn’t listen, predictably. If anything, your words just fuel him.

“And y-you wonder why I call you a bitch.” He hisses, the sting of his nails biting into your jaw making you wince. “M-Maybe, if you stopped acting like one, I’d stop calling you one.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick, that might happen.” Again, you struggle, straining against his unyielding grip as a strained whimper of pain slips from your lips. You make no progress though, forced to be at the mercy of this unmoving force above you. “Get off of me, asshole!”

“Fuck no.” You can feel rocks and twigs biting into your back, your face throbbing where he’s gripping you so harshly. “A-Act like a bitch, get treated like one.” His hand slides down, curling around your throat instead with a grip just as mean. “Maybe I’ll j-just tie you up and leave you here. Let ol’ Jackie find you.” His eyes are feral as he gazes down at you, as is the smile that stretches across his lips - uncanny sharp canines glinting in the low light. “That’s what you w-wanted, right? Wanted him to treat you good?” You were really kicking yourself for letting those stupid, stupid words slip before. You should’ve known he was going to fixate on them. “I bet he’d t-treat you real good, actually. Would really make you scream.”

Your breathing comes out as a wheeze as his palm presses down against your windpipe, restricting your airflow and making your vision swim. He’s done this before, in a much different situation (when you asked him to), but this time around you’re not too sure he’d stop if you asked him. When little black dots start popping up in your vision, your stomach flips in fear.

But, why the hell would you make things easier for yourself?

“I hate you.” The words come out as more of a wheeze than anything, but they do the job nonetheless. The job being, just riling Toby up further.

His fingers tighten around your throat, and your eyes widen even further - legs kicking and arms flailing when you feel your airway close up completely. You knew he was strong, but being at the mercy of his strength was something else entirely.

“You h-hate me?” He spits leaning down lower so that his nose is pressed to yours. “You don’t fucking hate me.” He says it like it’s a certainty, like there’s not even a single possibility that his words might be true - and the worst part is, that he’s right. Because you don’t. You don’t hate him, even as your vision starts to go fuzzy. “I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds. I’d love to hear you try and say that you still h-hate me when I’m stuffing you with my dick.”

You must be sick. Or maybe, just unfulfilled as of late. Because as horrible as it was, his words sparked up something within you. Something that desperately wanted that, something that would kill to feel his bare skin against yours once more - even if it was just to get his anger out.

And you must not have masked it as well as you would’ve wanted to - too preoccupied with trying not to pass the fuck out - because you watch through blurry vision as Toby’s grin widens into something menacing. “I knew it.” He laughs - not the warm, sweet sound you had grown accustomed to - this laugh was bitter, and cold. “Look at you, p-practically drooling at the thought of it.”

He releases your neck, to which you greedily gasp in air so quickly it nearly makes you choke, before you feel a sharp sting connect with the side of your face. Not hard enough to make the skin smart, but hard enough to shock you - because did he actually just fucking slap you? “F-Fucking whore.” He did.

Too stunned, you barely have time to think before you feel Toby’s rough fingers curling under the fabric of your hoodie. In a matter of seconds, he’s practically ripping it off of you. The cool wind hits your bare skin and makes you hiss, goosebumps immediately trickling up your arms and across your chest.

“Oh, fuck off, Toby.” You grunt, bringing your arms up to shield your chest from his hungry gaze. “We are not doing this here.”

He snorts out a laugh as if you had told him a joke, and shakes his head. Not listening at all, as his hands trail down your stomach, finding a home at the button of your jeans.

“And why would I l-listen to what a whore has to say to me?” He mutters, already popping the button of your pants and tugging down the zipper even as you try to jerk your body out of his hold. His fingers scratch at your skin as he starts tugging your jeans off with an insistence you could only dream to fight against. “T-Talking about letting Jack have a p-piece of you.” Fucking hell, this again? “Gotta remind you what you already have.”

He tugs off your jeans so harshly that you hear them tear, the fabric buckling under the force of his grip. And now, pinned to the forest floor beneath him in nothing but your underwear - it’s really setting in what situation you had gotten yourself into. How did the day end up like this? Just one horrible decision after another leading to you trapped beneath Toby like prey for him to feast on, with the cool night wind nipping at your skin and leaving you shivering.

“Give it a rest, Toby.” You huff, trying again to wriggle away from him but failing yet again. “You really think I meant that?”

“I don’t c-care if you meant it or not.” He snaps, your hips jolting when his fingers slide down towards your panties. Giving you no warning before his touch meets the front of your clothed cunt, pressing against your clit in a way that had you gasping. “The fact that you e-even fucking said it is enough.”

It’s around then, that you realize something absolutely horrific. Absolutely mortifying. With calloused fingers roughly rubbing your core through your underwear, you’re getting wet. Actually, getting wetter. You realized it the moment he tugged your pants off, the coolness between your legs when the breeze hit your cunt - you had been getting wet from Toby pushing you around like a cat batting around a mouse. And that… That was fucked up.

And Toby knows that too. “You’re already so f-fucking wet.” He growls. “And I’ve barely even touched you.” With this new revelation, he wastes no time slipping underneath the waistband of your panties instead, sliding his fingers through the wetness accumulated between your folds. “What a stupid slut. I c-coulda killed you, and yet here you are, soaking your panties.”

“F-Fuck you.” You bite out, your shoulders bowing and back arching against the forest floor as he rubs rough circles against your swollen clit with his thumb. Your teeth grit together, so tight you’re almost afraid you might crack a tooth. But right now, you’d much rather that than to accidentally let a moan slip out. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re impatient, b-but at least he subtle about it.” He doesn’t let up in his ministrations, playing with your clit as his other hand comes up to roughly grasp your tit. Gripping it hard enough to make you wince, maybe even enough to bruise. And it’s stupid, how good it feels. “You still hate me? S-Say it again.”

“I hate you.” You don’t even hesitate, taking the bait eagerly as you feel him nose into your neck, stubble scratching against your skin.

“Hm. I’ll follow back up on that later.” Then you feel his lips part, and you’ve been under Toby enough times to know he wasn’t going to just gently kiss and lick your skin. Especially not right now. So, the sting of his teeth sinking into your neck is expected - but that doesn’t lessen the pain any. It’s a dull ache, and then it’s a sharp skin.

When he breaks skin, it’s a blinding pain. Your vision goes white for a second, your whole body goes rigid as absolute agony ripples through your veins. It’s a pain that couldn’t be described, unless you were there to experience it. A pain so ruthless, that the scream that tears from your throat because of it sounds almost inhuman.

A shrill, desperate cry, like a wounded animal. Echoing throughout the forest like a taunt. “Oh that’s good.” Toby mutters once he tugs his teeth from your neck, gazing down at the gruesome indent of his teeth in your skin. Watching as blood pools in the deepest pits of the wound, before it starts trickling down your neck. “K-Keep on screaming. Anyone who could hear you doesn’t care.”

And then he’s biting down again, just a few inches lower than the first one. Pinching your skin between his teeth with a pressure that makes your head spin. His jaw locking into you as your fingers pick up in speed - rolling your clit beneath them with an unrelenting force. Ruthless, in every action. Overwhelming your body on every single front. Pleasure, pain, it was difficult to even tell the two apart anymore when both were so intense that your ears were ringing. “‘I hate you’ she says.” Toby murmurs in a mocking tone against you, his lips smearing your blood across your skin. “A-And yet you’ve stopped fighting. Why? Feel too good?”

Yes. But you weren’t going to tell him that.

Not that it mattered anyway, because your body was going to give you away regardless. You could feel it, that familiar heat, almost mocking in the way it just kept burning hotter and hotter even with all the violence being dealt upon you. Your stomach was twisting into a knot, hips bucking and twitching as you tried to hold back.

You were failing, miserably, because Toby was hellbent on making you fail. He wanted you to crumple, wanted to wipe away that attitude you were still clinging to so desperately. He wanted to break you down, and to your detriment and his gain - he knew just how to do it. His hands had roamed this body a million times before.

He drags his head down your chest, and uses his free hand to push your bra upwards - freeing your breasts to the cool night air. He captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue against it as his fingers pinch your clit, and your thighs start to shake. He grazes it with his teeth, then biting down with enough pressure to make you wince - and you’re done for.

Your hips buck off of the ground when your orgasm hits you with full force, the intensity of it nearly knocking the wind from you as your vision goes fuzzy. Your own voice sounds faraway and foggy, but you know you’ve failed at keeping your moans held back - because your jaw has gone slack now. A chorus of desperate, choked out sounds spilling from your lungs as drool drips down your chin.

And it’s humiliating. Absolutely humiliating how good he makes you feel, even when he’s being such an asshole. Even when he’s throwing your body around like a toy.

That feeling of shame only intensifies, when you hear Toby snicker. A cocky, self-satisfied sound - mocking in its nature. “H-How ‘bout now?” He chuckles against your skin, before leaning his head upwards to stare down at you. His chin dripping with your blood, teeth stained with it when he cracks a grin. His eyes are wild, glinting with a crazed sheen that makes your whole body feel cold. “Still hate me?”

“You-�� Your voice cracks, raw and strained from all of the screams and moans that had ripped out of your lungs. “You think that changed just because you made me cum?” You try to glare at him, but your convincing factor was gone now that you lay quivering below him - streaked with your own blood and slick. “I can do that myself.”

“I bet you can.” Toby laughs wickedly, his eyes never leaving yours even as his hands travelled to the buckle of his belt to pull it free. He’s quick with it, and in a matter of seconds the belt’s undone, his button’s popped, and his fly is tugged down. “B-But not like I can.” You watch with rapt attention as his thumbs hook under the waistband of his boxers - no shame in his actions as he lets his cock spring free.

And god dammit, it’s been too long. You try to hold it back, but you can feel drool pool in your mouth just from the sight of him. Thick, long, and so unbelievably hard. Flushed red at the tip, leaking precum that was just begging to be lapped up by you.

Maybe he deserved to be a little cocky, walking around with a dick like that. “O-Oh look at you.” He slots himself between your thighs, tugging your panties to the side before grinding his length against your slick folds. Coating himself in it, rocking his hips against you, really letting you feel the size of the cock you were about to be stuffed with. “You’ve practically got hearts i-in your eyes, baby. You can drop the act.”

Both hands curl around your waist, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh - and you can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth. “Just ss-say it. Say you missed my dick, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” You jolt when you feel the head notch on your entrance for just a moment before it’s slipping past it again - nudging against your clit instead. “Y-You were the one being an ass.”

Toby hums softly, not looking at you, too preoccupied with watching his cock slide against you. Glistening with slick already and he hadn’t even sunk into you yet.

“M’kay, make it harder for yourself.” He mutters, before finally lining himself up properly. “I d-don’t mind.” His hands pin your hips to the ground, leaving you nowhere to run as the head of his length slips past your entrance - and despite it being awhile, you should’ve known he wasn’t going to be gentle. He practically rams his cock into you, filling you up in a motion so quick it wipes every single thought from your brain.

Your body doesn’t even know how to respond to it, really, your pussy spasming and twitching around him as it struggled to accommodate to the mind-numbing stretch. Your hands fly up immediately, instinctively trying to push at his chest, but the other half of you (the stupider half) was what took over. You push against his chest weakly just once, before your fingers are curling into the front of his shirt - knuckles going white from the force of your grip.

Your whole face was scrunched up, tears springing to your eyes and clinging to your lashes from how overwhelmed you were. It hurt, of course it did, being stretched open around him without an ounce of care, but that fullness. God, it just felt so right. Felt like everything you had been missing over the past few weeks. You could feel him throb inside you, pressed so deep it made you dizzy. You can also feel, all of the anger within you fizzling away.

Just like that. Because he had been right earlier, unfortunately. “F-Fuck-“ Toby groans out, his eyebrows pinching together. An expression of unbridled ecstasy washing over his entire face. He takes a moment to savour the moment - just a moment - before he starts pounding away at your cunt like he owned it. Barely letting you adjust, snapping his hips into you with an intensity that stole all of the air from your lungs. “F-Forgot how good this pussy is.”

And the way he says that, he nearly sounds lovestruck, awe dripping off of every letter. But, then he had to go and ruin it. “Too bad it belongs t-to such a stupid bitch.”

And you can’t even respond, you want to so badly, but with how he was drilling his cock into you the only sounds you’re capable of making right now are downright pitiful gasps and moans. He was fucking the daylights out of you. Fucking you, like it was the last thing he’d do on this godforsaken planet. Like he was trying to mould your body to the shape of his cock, carving open a path that only he could fill. Leaving you absolutely ruined, for if you ever did run away with someone else.

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not when the pleasure he was dealing upon you was downright godly. Rough, aggressive, but so fucking good. Making you gush all over him, coating his cock and staining the front of his jeans every time he sunk into you. “C’mon, say somethin’.”

The feeling of his palm connecting with your cheek again barely even sobers you. The sting is welcomed, because it only deepens the pool of ecstasy he had thrown you into. Even more so, when he does it again to the other side of your face. The force of it, making your head crack to the side.

Cheeks stinging, tears rolling down your face, and dirt caked deep into your hair - your whole body was melting. Absolutely melting for him as his hips slammed against yours. “Say it again. S-Say you hate me.”

And you know he’s asking again, because he knows that he’s gotten you. You’re a pathetic mess on the ground below him. You don’t even have to see yourself to know that. Taking his cock like he hadn’t been insulting you since he got home. Like he hadn’t been insulting you while inside you. It’s degrading, and completely demoralizing - but that’s not all it is.

It’s the passion you had been missing. It’s his hands gripping your hips like letting you go would physically wound him. It’s the sound of his husky grunts and groans. The feeling of the wounds on your skin throbbing, while his cock pulses inside you.

It’s what you had been needing. Being his again. Being the object of his obsession. No work, no missions, no distractions. Just you, him, and the sticks digging into your back. This forest belonged to the two of you right now, all the dangers living within it fizzling away to create a sanctuary made to take you apart.

The ground you laid on, an altar where you sacrificed yourself to the man above you.

“I-“ With your cheeks streaked with tears, you can barely speak past your sobs of pleasure - hands slipping upwards to claw at his shoulders, pulling him in closer though he was the one dealing all the damage. You didn’t care. You just needed him. That’s what this had all been about, after all. “I don’t-“

“You don’t?” Toby’s hands slip under your thighs and press them upwards, folding you until your knees nearly touch your chest - spreading you open as wide as could be for his taking. And his stamina, never falters. Just one after another, he deals these brutal thrusts upon you, the head of his cock abusing your gspot every time he snapped his hips back in. He was downright punching the moans out of your lungs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs and scraping against it - leaving angry welts behind that you knew you’d feel the sting of later. “Say it proper.”

It’s a tall order, considering that you can barely breathe. More so just a puddle of drool and tears beneath him, than a person who could form coherent thoughts. You can barely even feel the scrape of bark and rocks against your back every time your body slides across the ground from the force of his thrusts. Mouth hung open, but producing nothing but intelligible babble choked out between sobs. Eyes squeezed shut because you couldn’t even see properly even if they were open, vision blurred with tears you couldn’t blink away.

He had, effectively, completely broken you down. He had the moment his cock slipped inside you. And the worst part was that he knew this is how it was going to go down, he knew that you’d crumple the moment he sunk in balls deep. He had said it himself; ‘I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds’.

And he had. Almost laughably easily.

“T-Toby-“ You cry, hands clawing upwards to tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands so hard that the sting probably would’ve buckled him if he could feel it. “I-I didn’t mean it. I don’t-“ A particularly harsh thrust makes your eyes roll back, stars dancing behind your eyes as your words choke off into a moan. “I don’t hate you. I c-could-“ He’s not making it easy to get a full sentence out, with the way he was seemingly trying to pound you into the ground. “I could never! You- You were just being mean.”

A sniffling, blubbering, sobbing mess. That’s what Toby was staring down at as he bruised your cervix. Such a pitiful sight that it made his chest twist, so incredibly beautiful throughout it all, that it sent a shiver down his spine. You just looked the most lovely like this - completely broken down. Crying for him while taking his cock so wonderfully.

He can’t help it when his expression softens. Can’t help it when the lingering annoyance started to morph into affection.

Could you blame him? You looked like an angel. An angel he had soiled, and ripped the wings off of.

So, he caves too.

“I know I was.” He murmurs, the grip on your thighs lessening a little bit. Leaving a sting behind but soothing it as his thumb smooth over the welts. “I know. I was r-real fucking mean.” The force of his thrusts doesn’t weaken, but he does slow down just a little bit - finally giving you a chance to catch your breath. “W-Wasn’t even mad at you. Just life in general. Work’s been… Really hard to deal with lately.” He pauses, eyes honing in on your face, tracing across every tear-soaked feature. “Well, not until you said that shit about Jack.”

“I was-“ Your toes curl, breathing stuttering when he grinds the head of his cock against your gspot. “I was just trying to hu-hurt you back. You know I- I’d never.”

And he really does believe you now. Because if you’d still love him like this, after he’d brutally broken you apart piece by piece, you’d probably love him every which way. Which, may be your downfall, but he still felt lucky to be the reason you were willing to go that far.

“Y-Yeah, I know.” He curls his body over you completely, nuzzling into your neck as his hips start to stutter, only spurred on by the way your pussy had started twitching around him. Your walls squeezing him tight, the beginnings of your release coaxing out his. He parts his lips, and this time he is gentle, lapping at the wounds he created with a tenderness so starkly contrasting his previous actions that it nearly gives you whiplash. “I’d kill him i-if he touched you anyway.”

And the sentiment is cute, but…

“Isn’t he like, an immortal demon?” You manage to gasp out, rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts as you let your head fall to the side - giving him more surface area to lick and kiss upon.

“I’d find a way.” And then his free hand is slipping down lower, finding your clit to roll it in time with his thrusts. Taking you higher and higher, practically smothering you as his hips snapped against yours. Skin on skin echoing through the forest, the sticky sound of him separating from you making your cheeks burn hot.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in him shoulder and breathing in his scent, and then - you’re cumming. Even harder than the first time.

You all but convulse, eyes rolling back as the pleasure consumes you - nails digging into his back through the fabric of his sweater. And you sob into his shoulder, an absolutely wrecked sound that Toby was sure would be pinging around his skull for weeks to come.

And your pussy - it practically strangled his dick when you fell over the edge. So tight, and milking him so good, that he only manages to get three or four more thrusts in before he’s coming apart as well.

Nestled right up against your womb, he spills his spend. Pumping your cunt completely full of that warmth you had missed the feeling of so dearly. Toby, obviously just as pent up as you had been, absolutely flooded you with it - having it dripping out around his length before he even pulled out.

And then, he collapses. The only thing stopping him from being complete dead weight on top of you, being his elbows which he propped himself up on. Still inside you, he stayed that way for awhile, letting you feel his cock soften inside you as he took in dazed gasps of breath against your neck. You can feel his hair tickle your skin - practically soaked with sweat that was rolling off the strands to drip onto you.

As soon as his erratic panting turns to calmer, quivered breathing, you hear him mumble. “I’m s-sorry. You’re not a bitch.” He finds the strength to snake his arms beneath your body, pulling you in close and shielding your bare body from the cold ground. “O-Or a whore. Or any of those horrible names I called you. Sh-Should’ve never said that shit. It’s like I’m trying to get you to hate me.”

Should you forgive him so easily? Probably not, but well, you had already crossed that bridge.

So you do anyway, your body pliant as you sink into his hold. “A-And I know you do a lot for me. I’ve just been too wrapped up in m-my own shit to appreciate it.”

“It’s fine, Toby.” You murmur softly, as you let your eyes flutter shut. All the anger you felt before just feels like a distant memory now, completely fizzled out. Insignificant, with your body pressed to his. That was all you had been wanting, really. And though you may have taken the worst route possible to get here, you were here nonetheless.

“It’s n-not, though.” Toby grumbles, his arms curling around you tighter. And you can feel his heart beat against your chest, still frantic - just like yours was.

“Maybe it’s not.” You agree. “But I’m too tired to fight about it anymore.” You lift a hand, and use it to gently pry his face out of the crook of your neck, tilting his head up so that you could look at him properly. “Can we go home now? It’s cold out here.”

You watch, as Toby’s lips slowly curl up into a disbelieving little smile, before he’s nodding softly. Then, he turns his head to the side, to press a gentle kiss against the centre of your palm.

“Y-Yeah. Let’s go home.”

—————————————————————————☆

OKAY! yeah this was filthy but honestly very fun and refreshing to write considering that the last smut I posted was fluffy fluff with some fluff on top

I hope you enjoyed it lols

thank you for reading!!

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dreamdragonkadia · 2 days ago

Note

would you consider writing a jealous xaden riorson? please andd thank youuu 🥹🥹

I thought about writing this into a spicy scene, but I am so out of practice that I didn't want to mess it up. x.riorson x reader

You hadn’t thought to bring it up. Not because you were hiding anything—but because it just... hadn’t mattered. It had been before becoming a rider. Before the Gauntlet. Before Threshing. Before Xaden Riorson had started looking at you like the world might crack in two if you didn’t make it through the next challenge.

You and Septon Izar had ended things cleanly, amicably, and left it at that. He’d been a friend before, and somehow, he still was—one of the few people who hadn’t flinched when you first started sitting with the marked ones. Honestly, his support during that time had meant more than you'd ever said aloud.

And honestly? Since Xaden? You hadn’t thought about Septon once. And maybe, maybe, you had mentioned it to Xaden. In passing. At most.

But judging by the sudden silence that swept through the dining hall—and the way Xaden’s head snapped toward you the second Septon opened his mouth—you definitely hadn’t mentioned that part.

"I think we only had sex twice," Septon said casually, sipping from his cup like he hadn’t just tossed a live drake into the center of the table. “And both times we were pretty drunk.”

You blinked.

What?

Your fork hovered above your plate as the table fell into a mixture of choked laughter and stunned silence. Garrick muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like oh shit. Nyra was already dragging her hands down her face. Bodhi looked delighted. Of course he did—this had his meddling written all over it.

You squinted up at Septon. “Man, that was so long ago, I barely remember.”

Xaden didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Not when you could feel the way his gaze landed on you—deadly calm, unreadable, and very, very still.

Someone coughed. Garrick kicked Bodhi under the table. Septon, gods bless his complete lack of self-preservation, raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like it meant anything,” he added, glancing between you and Xaden with a shrug. “We were just—”

"Don’t," Xaden said, voice low and even, but it carried like a cold front.

The entire table froze.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, forcing a smile as you turned your attention down the table, “Nyra, I don’t think I’ve ever heard about your physical escapades. Please, if we’re airing things out, do share.”

There was a pause.

Then Nyra leaned back with a knowing small grin. “Which year?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted. Nyra launched into a truly unhinged story involving a third-year from Rider’s Quadrant, two years ago and a storage closet full of training gear.

Everyone moved on.

Except you.

Because while the rest of the table erupted into laughter, Bodhi caught your eye and gave you a subtle salute—good luck with that—and Xaden’s shadows curled around your calves in a slow, possessive climb.

You had really thought that would be it. Completely and utterly it. There was nothing there.

You and Septon were barely a footnote, a hiccup in your timeline. But clearly, someone at the table had missed that memo—and that someone was now walking three paces behind you, silent, shadows brushing the edge of your steps like a warning.

You turned the corner just past the gym hall, fully intending to head toward the dorms, but a hand caught your arm—not rough, but firm—and suddenly, you were being pulled into a recessed archway you hadn’t even noticed.

Xaden didn’t speak at first.

Just looked at you.

That onyx stare that made it feel like he was peeling back your skin to see what was underneath. His jaw was tight, shadows curling restlessly around his boots.

“You’re mad,” you said flatly.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m…” He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to force the word back in. “You never told me.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you shot back, arms folding. “It was nothing, Xaden. It was before.”

His brow twitched. “I watched him look at you like he still wanted something.”

“He was talking to Bodhi!”

“He was talking to you.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming harder than it should’ve been. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

His shadows surged, crawling up your spine like a storm about to break.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

Your back hit the wall.

His hand came to rest beside your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His voice dropped lower, into that gravel-smooth edge that made your knees a little unstable.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth, “and I don’t like being surprised.”

Your heart tripped over itself.

And because your pride had a death wish, you arched a brow and said, “Well, maybe I do.”

That was apparently the final straw.

He kissed you like it was a declaration, like he had to remind you—remind himself—that he knew every part of you better than anyone ever had. His hands found your hips, grip just shy of rough, and your fingers curled in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto before the ground gave way.

“Tell me again,” he said against your lips, voice thick with something that wasn't just anger, “how it meant nothing.”

Your breath caught—because you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. The only thing that mattered.

“It didn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “It didn’t mean anything.”

He lingered there, just for a second, his forehead brushing yours as if he was searching for the truth in your skin. And then, with no more warning than a flick of his shadows, he pulled back just enough to say, “Come with me.”

You followed him without thinking.

Past cadets loitering in the halls, past flickering sconces and low murmurs, up flights of stairs that you barely registered because your heart was thundering in your chest. Xaden didn’t look back once—but his shadows stayed close, curling possessively around your wrist like a tether, a silent mine whispered over and over again in the dark.

By the time you reached his room, your pulse was high in your throat.

He opened the door, stepped inside—and then, just as you were about to follow, his hand shot out.

And pulled you in.

Hard.

You stumbled, but only for a heartbeat—because he was already there, catching you, pinning you back against the closed door with a thud that echoed in the silence.

“You think I care that it happened before me?” he murmured, his mouth brushing along your jaw, your neck. “I don’t.”

You shivered.

“I care that you didn’t tell me,” he continued, his hand sliding to your waist, hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. “I care that he thought he could say your name like that. Look at you like that.”

“Xaden—”

“I’m not going to be polite about it,” he interrupted, voice a low rasp. “I’m not going to pretend I’m okay hearing another man talk about what’s mine like it’s some casual memory.”

His lips found the corner of your mouth again, softer this time. A contrast to the words that came next.

“You’re not his story to tell.”

Your breath hitched.

“You want to tell me it meant nothing?” he asked, gaze catching yours with such intensity it felt like a command. “Then let me show the world who you belong with.”

Your hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him down.

And he did.

#✨️by yours truly✨️#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #fw #xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #listening to the maplestory soundtrack #😭😭 i cant explain it but Ereve ost just hits

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mahalachives · 2 days ago

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hi!! i don't if requests are still upon but if you're free can you please write one where the reader is azriel's mate and they've been together for a while and the IC knows, and at one dinner they find out that she used to be like, a party animal and kinda a maneater and they're totally shocked bcs shes so calm and composed now.

and then the next night the girls ask her for like tips to reject guys and stuff like 'what's the most offensive thing you've said to a man?' or 'how to reject men?'

really sorry if its too long!!

The Shadow's Mate: A Past Revealed

pairing: azriel x f!reader

genre: slice of life, fluff

The evening air was crisp as you made your way to the townhouse with Azriel, his shadows curling affectionately around your wrists. Six months since the mating bond had snapped into place, and still the Inner Circle dinners filled you with a mixture of joy and mild anxiety.

"You're quiet tonight," Azriel murmured, his hazel eyes searching yours."

You smiled up at him. "Just thinking."

His scarred hand squeezed yours gently. "About?"

"How different life is now." You leaned into his warmth. "And how much I prefer it."

Azriel's mouth quirked up at the corner, that small smile that only you could coax from him. "As do I."

The townhouse was already alive with chatter and laughter when you arrived. Feyre and Rhys were locked in what appeared to be a spirited debate about some painting technique, while Cassian and Nesta were arguing over knife-throwing techniques. Mor and Amren were deep in conversation about some jewelry merchant in the Rainbow.

"Finally," Cassian called out, grinning broadly as you both entered. "We thought we'd have to start without you."

"Some of us respect punctuality," Nesta remarked dryly, but there was no real bite to her words.

Dinner began as it always did – with wine flowing freely and conversation bouncing from topic to topic. Azriel kept his usual quiet vigil, though his shadows occasionally danced toward you, a secret gesture of affection that never failed to make your heart flutter.

"So," Mor said, refilling her wine glass for the third time, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow, "I ran into the most awful male at Rita's last night. He tried to convince me his father owned half the Night Court."

"What did you tell him?" Elain asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Mor's grin was wicked. "That I'd introduce him to my cousin, the High Lord, and see if that checked out."

Laughter rippled around the table, and you couldn't help but join in.

"I swear, the males in this city are getting more ridiculous with their approaches," Mor continued, rolling her eyes. "Remember that one who tried to impress me by claiming he could outfly an Illyrian?"

"Did you dare him to try?" you asked before you could stop yourself, a hint of your old mischief slipping through.

Cassian barked a laugh. "I would have paid good money to see that."

"When I was at the Court of Nightmares," Feyre added, swirling her wine, "the number of propositions I received was absurd. One male offered me a collection of 'rare' paintings that were such obvious forgeries I nearly laughed in his face."

Something about the conversation loosened something inside you—a reminder of a different time, a different you.

"At least forgeries show some effort," you said, taking a sip of your wine. "I once had a male offer to buy me a drink with money he'd just borrowed from me."

The table fell momentarily silent, and you realized everyone was staring at you with varying degrees of surprise. Even Azriel's brows had inched up slightly.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You've never mentioned... dating before Azriel," Elain said delicately.

You glanced at your mate, who was watching you with that unreadable expression that had first drawn you to him. But there was a curious glint in his eyes now.

"Oh, I didn't date," you clarified with a casual wave. "Dating implies some level of commitment."

Cassian choked on his wine. Nesta patted his back, though her eyes never left you.

"You mean you..." Mor began, leaning forward with newfound interest.

"Had a rather active social life? Yes." You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. "Is that surprising?"

"Considering how you nearly fainted when Cassian made that joke about bedposts last month..." Rhys trailed off, his violet eyes dancing with amusement.

"That wasn't embarrassment," you corrected him. "That was me trying not to laugh at how tame it was."

Azriel's shadows curled with what you recognized as amusement, though his face remained mostly impassive.

"You're so... composed," Feyre said, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "So..."

"Proper?" you offered, and couldn't help but laugh. "I wasn't always. Before I moved to Velaris, I spent decades in the Autumn Court border towns. You develop certain... skills to navigate those environments."

"Skills," Amren repeated, her silver eyes gleaming with approval. "I bet you have stories."

"More than you'd believe," you admitted, feeling oddly liberated. You'd kept this part of yourself tucked away, unsure how it would fit with the dignified Inner Circle. Now you wondered why you'd bothered.

"Like what?" Cassian pressed, looking far too eager.

You caught Azriel's eye. His expression was one you knew well—silent encouragement, absolute acceptance.

"Well," you began, leaning forward conspiratorially, "there was the time I convinced three different males they were meeting me for a private rendezvous, only to have them all show up at the same tavern, at the same table..."

"No," Mor gasped delightedly.

"Oh yes. They were all from prominent Autumn Court families who were business rivals. I simply left them to figure it out while I slipped away with a rather expensive bottle of wine from behind the bar."

The table erupted in laughter, and something in your chest loosened even further.

"Why?" Nesta asked, a gleam of approval in her eyes.

"One of them had been particularly cruel to a friend of mine," you explained. "The other two were just collateral damage. And terrible flirts."

"I can't believe we never knew this about you," Feyre said, shaking her head in wonder.

You shrugged. "It wasn't relevant. That was before... everything." Your eyes drifted to Azriel.

"Before you tamed our shadowsinger?" Cassian teased.

You and Azriel exchanged a look that made Rhys clear his throat awkwardly.

"I wouldn't say 'tamed,'" you replied with a small smile.

"I think that's enough details for dinner," Rhys declared, though he was grinning.

The conversation shifted to other topics, but you could feel the occasional curious glances from the others. It was strange to have this part of yourself exposed, but not entirely unpleasant.

Later, as you and Azriel prepared to leave, he pulled you close in the quiet of the townhouse foyer.

"You never cease to surprise me," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"Does it bother you?" you asked, suddenly uncertain. "Knowing I was so..."

"Free?" he offered. "Independent? Formidable?" His scarred fingers traced your cheek. "Why would I be bothered by the woman you were? She led you to me."

Your heart swelled as his lips found yours in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened into something more urgent.

"Take me home, shadowsinger," you whispered against his mouth.

His shadows enveloped you both, and the last thing you heard before the darkness swept you away was Cassian's distant whoop of approval.

The following evening found you at Rita's, surrounded by the females of the Inner Circle. It had been Mor's idea—a "girls' night" she'd called it, though you suspected it was partially motivated by her desire to hear more about your previous life.

"So," Mor began after your second round of drinks, confirming your suspicions, "most offensive thing you've ever said to a male?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "That's a high bar."

"We have time," Nesta said dryly, though her eyes sparkled with interest.

You considered for a moment. "Probably when I told a particularly persistent suitor that I'd rather mate with one of the naga than endure another minute of his company."

Elain's eyes widened while Feyre and Mor dissolved into laughter.

"That's brutal," Feyre managed between giggles.

"He deserved it," you replied with a shrug. "He had grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away."

"What happened?" Amren asked, sipping her blood-red wine.

"Let's just say he learned that not all females need Illyrian warriors to protect them." You smiled sweetly, and Nesta clinked her glass against yours in solidarity.

"I need your expertise," Mor declared, leaning forward. "Best way to reject a male without causing a scene?"

"Depends on the male," you replied thoughtfully. "For the entitled ones, nothing works better than complete indifference. Act as if they're invisible. They hate that more than outright rejection—it wounds their pride more deeply."

"Noted," Feyre said, looking impressed.

"For the genuinely decent ones who just aren't right for you," you continued, "honesty works best. A simple 'I'm flattered, but no' with direct eye contact."

"What about the handsy ones?" Nesta asked, her expression darkening at some memory.

"Ah, those." You leaned back in your chair. "Public embarrassment is effective. Loudly ask if they're feeling alright after that unfortunate rash cleared up. Works every time."

Elain nearly choked on her drink.

"What about the ones who just won't take no for an answer?" Feyre asked.

"That's when you employ the 'bait and switch,'" you explained. "Pretend to give them your address, but actually direct them to the most unpleasant location you can think of. In the Autumn Court, I once sent a particularly awful male to what I claimed was my private cottage. It was actually the local waste collection site."

Mor's head fell back as she howled with laughter. Even Amren's lips curled into an appreciative smile.

"You're a menace," Feyre said admiringly.

"Was," you corrected with a small smile. "Now I'm a perfectly respectable mate to a High Lord's shadowsinger."

"Speaking of," Nesta said with uncharacteristic curiosity, "how did you and Azriel actually get together? I can't imagine him navigating the games you used to play."

"He didn't have to," you said softly. "That's why it worked. He saw through everything—all the walls, all the games. He just... waited."

"That sounds like Az," Feyre murmured.

"It was terrifying," you admitted. "Someone who could see the real me when I'd spent so long hiding her."

"And now?" Elain asked gently.

You smiled, thinking of the quiet understanding that had grown between you and Azriel, the safety you'd found in his shadows.

"Now I don't have to play games anymore. It's... peaceful."

"Cauldron save me," Mor groaned dramatically. "Az has domesticated you."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," you replied with a wicked grin that made even Nesta raise her eyebrows. "Some skills never fade."

Later, when you arrived home to find Azriel waiting, his shadows reached for you before he did—always so eager, so honest in their affection.

"Did you have a good evening?" he asked, pulling you close.

"Enlightening," you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They think you've tamed me."

His low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Should I tell them it's the other way around?"

"Let them wonder," you whispered, standing on tiptoe to brush your lips against his. "Some mysteries are worth keeping."

As his wings enfolded you both in a cocoon of shadow and starlight, you silently thanked the Cauldron for leading you here—from the wild, guarded creature you'd been to someone who could finally be herself, completely and without fear, in the arms of a male who cherished every version of you that had ever existed.

End.

Note: hope you enjoyed! I had fun writing this. ❤️

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta acotar

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abiatackerman · 2 days ago

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Yo! How about you make levi x modern reader where he got transferred into our world?

Thank you for requesting! I tried to write in my way but it's really hard to finish the story in a romantic way just in a Oneshot. So I just tried to focus on the fact how Levi got transfigured into our world and how he starts to cope up with the reader! Hope you'll like it!

The captain is in my kitchen?

⚔️Levi Ackerman X Female Reader⚔️

Modern Era! Canon Levi x Modern era Reader! Isekai! Transfiguration! 1.3k words!

Summary: When a sudden blackout left you alone in the dark, the last thing you expected is to find Captain Levi Ackerman in your kitchen.....

Tags: @theremainsof-deactivated2025031 @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @dreamerofthewest @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns @ynackerman9499

If you wanna be tagged let me know

Masterlist

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

"MY SOLDIERS, RAGE!"

BOOM.

The apartment shook as if the walls themselves flinched. Then… silence. The television cut to black, taking the lights and the hum of electricity with it. The only thing left was you, sitting in the dark with a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on your lap.

You sigh heavily.

"Perfect…"

Reaching for your phone, you fumble to turn on the flashlight—nothing. The screen stayed dead and unresponsive.

"Great," you mutter, dragging out the word as you stand. "Just great."

Cursing under your breath, you stood up slowly, moving like a blind person through your apartment, one hand stretched out in front of you as you tried not to trip over anything. You hadn't made it more than a few steps when you heard it—a faint, rattling sound coming from the kitchen.

You froze.

That wasn't normal.

Your pulse quickens as a dozen scenarios raced through your mind. Someone? In your house? A thief? But no—whoever it was sounded clumsy, loud even. What kind of burglar made that much noise?

With your phone dead and no real weapon in sight, you grabbed the closest thing you could find: an umbrella. It wasn't much, but it made you feel a little less helpless.

Gripping it tightly, you crept toward the kitchen, holding your breath. Each step felt heavier than the last as you braced for… something.

The rattling stopped.

Suddenly, with an audible click, the power surged back on. Light flooded the room just as you raised the umbrella over your shoulder, ready to swing.

But then you saw him.

A man was crouched on your kitchen floor, breathing hard like he'd just finished running for his life. His back was to you, but it was impossible to miss the black undercut hair, the impossibly clean military posture, and the dark green cloak draped over his shoulders. A cape, almost. And the crest on it—

Your breath hitched.

"Who the hell are you?" you blurted before you could think better of it.

The man stiffened. Slowly, he rose to his feet and turned toward you. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass—steel grey eyes, narrowed, analyzing you in an instant. He looked exhausted, yet there was an undeniable danger in the way he moved. Controlled. Ready.

"Where am I?" he asks back. His voice was low, gravelly. Clipped words with an edge of strain behind them.

You swallow hard.

"Uh… my apartment?"

He glances down at the ridiculous weapon you were holding. Your pajamas. Your stance. His expression didn't change, but there was something deeply unimpressed in his eyes.

"Tch. Ridiculous," he mutters. "Put that down, brat"

"Not until you tell me who you are!" you snap back, though your grip on the umbrella faltered slightly.

"Levi. Captain Levi. Survey Corps."

For a second, you just stared at him.

"…You're kidding," you say. "Are you roleplaying Attack on Titan or something?"

He frownes.

"What's 'Attack on Titan'?"

The dead-serious tone in his voice sent a chill through you. Your stomach twisted.

All right, you admit it... You've read countless fanfictions where Levi gets isekaied in the real world and you enjoyed them too. You wanted them to be real. But you knew that was impossible... He's fictional... But-

This isn't a prank. It can't be. Here he is. Real. Breathing. Standing in your kitchen like he had just stepped out of your screen and into your life. Just the way you imagined him in your darkest fantasies-

You slapped your cheeks lightly, hoping to snap yourself out of whatever weird delusion this was. He arches a brow at you, unimpressed.

"You're serious?" you whisper, your voice shaky. "This… This has to be a prank."

"I don't have time for games," he growls. "One moment I was fighting. The next… I'm here."

You look him over again. His boots are caked in mud, tracking across your carpet. His cloak is torn, smeared with something that looked dangerously close to dried blood. His fists are clenched at his sides, and his eyes darted to every sound, scanning for threats.

It isn't cosplay. It's not a joke.

You slowly lowered the umbrella. "Okay… okay. Let:s just… sit down, yeah?"

He hesitates.

"Fine," he says eventually. "But I want answers."

You nodded, forcing yourself to move toward the small dining table. He followed, stiff and wary. You made tea—because you had no idea what else to do—and he watched your every movement like you might try to poison him.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until you finally spoke.

"So, uh… you're Levi. Captain Levi."

He nods.

"You kill Titans."

His eyes remains cautious, but curious. "Do you… have Titans here?'

You shake your head. "Not unless you count my creepy landlord."

His brow furrowed. "Explain."

And so you did. Hours passed as you explained your world to him. No Titans. No Walls. No humanity on the brink of extinction. Just endless wars of a different kind, and technology that made his sharp eyes widen in disbelief. You showed him your phone, he called it sorcery. You explained electricity and the internet. Indoor plumbing earned a grudging look of approval.

But as the night wore on, you noticed the change. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. The tension didn't leave him completely, but it softened. And when he spoke again, his voice was lower. Tired.

"What happens now? You're saying I'm just a fictional character here even though I have been fighting for my whole life?" he asked.

You bite your lip, hesitating. His entire world is gone. Everyone he knew. Everything he fought for. And he had no idea how to get back.

He looks… lost.

"I know you're confused but.... I'm here with you!" you say softly. "You can stay here. At least until we figure this out. How to get you back."

He stares at you, as if you are speaking another foreign language.

"You don't know me," he says.

You shrug, heat creeping up your cheek. "Yeah, well… I've seen enough of you on screen to trust you. And honestly? You could've killed me five times by now if you wanted to."

A faint huff escapes him. Almost a laugh, but not quite. "Tch. Idiot."

Still, he accepted the blanket you offered him. He sat stiffly on the couch, holding it like he wasn't sure what to do with the softness. Like he didn't deserve it.

"You'll need clothes, I have some clothes of my brother's" you say after a moment, eyeing his uniform. It is torn, stained, and had definitely seen better days.

"As long as they're clean," he replies.

You smile faintly. "Trust me, they are."

For the first time since he arrived, he let his guard down—just a little. When you come back with a pillow, he has already changed his clothes and you find him sitting by the window, staring out at the stars.

"You're worried about your friends, aren't you?" you ask quietly.

He didn't answer right away. Then he nods once.

You stand beside him, looking out at the night sky.

"We'll figure this out, Levi," you promise. "You're not alone anymore."

He glances at you then, and for a brief moment, the cold in his eyes thawed.

"Thank you," he said.

The words were quiet, but sincere.

That night, he fell asleep faster than he had in years—wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of detergent and warmth, in a world that had no Titans… but knew kindness.

And for the first time in a long time, he believed he might be able to rest for a while.

#levi ackerman #levi #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x fem! reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi aot #captain levi #levi heichou #snk levi #levi snk #levi shingeki no kyojin

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torawro · 3 days ago

Text

royal knight!caleb & princess!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless, and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a curvy, thick black woman but you do not have to imagine it that way ! anyone and everyone is welcome to read <3. historical / medieval au so there will be use of language & rhetoric relative to that era ( i.e., aye = yes or indeed . . . . i did my best doing research ). caleb is a high ranking knight in the kingdom they live in and is referred to as 'sir' because of his status. reader is a princess of royal status. mentions / descriptions of blood and injuries, and contains violence sprinkled with a little bit of gore (???). depictions of murder / character death. a liiittleeee bit of religious imagery & references, not sure but adding it just in case. hints at caleb having psychological issues and / or mental instability. kind of yandere(ish) behavior if you squint; caleb is obsessed with & in love with the reader. he is also a wee bit condescending ( not to reader ). instances of caressing ( groping? ) and slow, sweet kisses. veryyy subtle manipulation (?) via intentional omission of the truth. sorry if im exaggerating with these tags lol. directly based off this post i saw a few weeks ago. i tried my best to proofread at 1am pls excuse any errors. let me know if i missed anything!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! man…..🚬🚬🚬 i can’t believe i wrote this lmaaaoooooooooo like what. where did this come from even.....anyway hi everyone i’m back with another (short-ish) fic <3 my apologies it's been another two months since my last published work, you know what it is: it takes longer for me to put things out and i wanna make sure i put my best foot forward every time >< but whoop whoop here's to my second fic of the year! as u can see i have gotten into lads during this past month and some change....... and i swear, i really had no intention of writing for any of the guys any time soon, let alone the newest one..... i took a pause from working on my longer projects to write this LMFAOOOO. i honestly thought that if i really did have a burning desire to write about them, my first lads fic would have been about sylus cause he.....anyway i won't go on a tangent about him, but i sincerely hope u guys enjoy this one!!!!!! obviously this is my first time writing for any lads character so pls be kind to me. i also want to apologize if this characterization of caleb is weird or ooc, i haven't unlocked him yet but i have seen a lot of content of his story in relation to the mc, his lore, his voicelines, etc so i hope i did him justice!! reblogs + commentary are HEAVILY appreciated ♡♡♡.

THE SKY REMAINED DARK, BUT a deep navy hue began to seep into the heavens, soon giving way to the dawn; the early hours of the morning was nigh. The castle was silent— obviously, but still eerily so despite the hour. There was a draft that seeped through the miscellaneous cracks of the stone, the shutters, and the windows of the castle that had not been properly shut, and the brisk breeze that flowed inside caressed the walls with a whisper— quiet but forceful enough to sway the small flames of the candles. The unsteady flickering of the flames grazed and dimly illuminated the walls behind them. Upon its surface were fresh stains, which would permanently seep into the stone if not cleaned in time. The stains were red.

It was blood.

In the many corridors of the castle was a figure, trudging through the halls like a corpse that had risen from its resting place, exhaustion weighing down his every step down to the marrow of his bones. He was injured— not gravely enough to make him lose consciousness but enough to reopen the wounds he so haphazardly patched himself before returning to the kingdom.

His chambers in the keep, along with all the other higher-ranked Knights, was on the other side of the castle grounds. He should have made a left the moment the portcullis closed behind his heels so he could at least get patched up again, get some water, and something else for the pain. Instead, the soldier walked straight ahead, onward to the main structure of the castle, down the stretches of its veins, up the stairs– a path he had memorized after spending many a moon traversing it, sometimes without your knowledge.

But he needed to see you, and he was unsure if he would be able to wait until the sun’s ascension in just a few hours time to do so.

The knight was tired, and that slowed him down, but eventually he made it to your private quarters. He made sure to quiet his labored breathing and footsteps as much as he could; the king would have his head before he even made it to your chambers if he were to be discovered.

You laid underneath a thick blanket, the warmth of the fur against your clothed skin protecting you against the brisk cold. As comfortable as you were, however, tonight you had trouble staying asleep. It would greet you kindly, only to slip away from your embrace if you held it too tightly. Your eyelids were half-open, finally on the verge of drifting close again, when an abrupt but muffled thumping noise resounded on the wood of your door.

The sound caused your eyes to snap open with alertness, any waves of sleep that were about to wash over you retreated at the sound. You laid still, absently wondering if you were hearing things, but the noise reverberated in the air again, then three times— it was soft, as if the source of the sound was being careful not to be too loud.

As the sleepiness of the late hours continued to melt away, you began to remember what day it was, and your pulse quickened as a result.

He should have returned today, you thought. But could it be? It cannot possibly…

And yet, that possibility is what tugged your body forward to sit up and straight, and slide your legs out from underneath the layers of blankets. That possibility is what led you to slide your bare feet into your slippers, and move to swing the long, woolen robe on top of your nightgown. That possibility is what pulled you to the thick door of your chambers, and opened it by an inch to peek through the cracks.

The relief and subdued elation you felt when you saw the familiar features of Sir Caleb’s visage on the other side washed over you.

But that feeling faded as quickly as it came when you noticed the state Sir Caleb was in. While it wasn’t abnormal for him to have a deep scratch or a bruise somewhere, he looked . . . worse, somehow. And whatever it was seemed to reach deeper than just his physical injuries.

Without exchanging any words or outwardly questioning him, you carefully— for he winced at nearly every graze of your fingers on certain areas— led him into your room, allowing him to use your body as a crutch. Caleb let out strained puffs of air, both in relief that he didn’t have to carry the weight of his own body alone anymore, and with increasingly dwindling self-restraint.

He had hardly stepped foot in your bedchambers before; only about four steps past the threshold of the doorway at most, out of fear that his mere presence when he visited in your absence would become a noticeable, tangible thing. Like you’d be able to sense if he ventured too far in for too long, too many times.

Everything smelled like you. Your unique flowery scent was almost palpable with how it clung to every surface of your living space, even the air itself. The contrast between the fleshy softness of your body pressed against the cold, angular ridges of his armor was enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his pulse to miss a beat.

“M…milady.” Caleb croaked, his throat significantly lacking moisture to the point it almost ached to speak. At this point, the remaining strength in the knight’s body had become completely nonexistent; the sword he didn’t even have the strength to place back in its scabbard tumbled from his loosening grip onto the ground, the sound sharp and uncomfortably punctating.

“Sir Caleb”, you gasped, your grip tightening on whatever area of his stocky, towering figure you could reach. Both the suddenness of the sound of metal colliding with stone and your delayed realization of how serious his injuries were pulled your nerves all the more taut, the worried furrow in your brow growing more prominent.

Caleb’s legs gave out next, all while his heavier form still partially hung from your sleep laden frame. His arm slipped from around your shoulder as he descended to his knees, the movement clumsy enough to slightly throw you off your balance. The room was still dark enough that you did not readily see nor notice the blood that now permeated the folds of your nightdress.

The honorable knight— who did not quite look so on his knees like this— absentmindedly grasped at your calves, pulling another surprised noise from the back of your throat. It was as if making physical contact with you would steady his mind that swirled endlessly with fragmented thoughts, stained with the dark horrors that crawled from the depths of his subconscious, and keep him tethered to the plane of consciousness. The blood loss would soon catch up to him.

Silence descended upon your room, save for Caleb’s ragged breathing and your quiet, frayed inhales. He still held onto your lower legs like it was his lifeline, the mesh underside of his metal gauntlets sending a subtle shiver with each miniscule movement he made, but you did your best to silence any hitch in your breath or twitch in your muscles. Worry still festered underneath your skin, so much so that you were afraid if you moved, or even spoke, that Caleb might fall apart at your feet, considering his current state.

“Milady…” Caleb tried again, his voice still rough but a muted veneration was present underneath his words, as if your title was the beginning of a prayer. It was a thought that spurred another shudder to crawl across your flesh. “Milady, I have returned. The war with the kingdom to the east—Havencroft— is over now.”

The knight turned his head slightly so that his cheek was resting on the fat of your thigh, your nightdress being the only barrier between his skin and yours. Another stain of crimson leapt from the side of his face that rested on your leg to your clothes, but you could not see it from this angle. Caleb almost resembled a wounded animal, marking the territory that was once his after enduring an attack– not much for your sake, but purely for his own, as a reminder of sorts.

Even through the linen, you could feel the uneven puffs of warm air from his mouth fan across that small area on your thigh. Like a magnet attracted to a metal of the opposite affinity— a force yet to be explained or explored— your palm gravitated towards the knight’s armored shoulder. Whether it was an action of acknowledgement and commendation, to silently urge him off his knees, or as a means to steel yourself was unclear even to you.

“The enemies… have been defeated.” Each syllable felt delayed, each word tumbled from Caleb’s lips like a wispy trail of smoke from burning incense, and the casual hold you had on his steel shoulder imperceptibly tightened when you felt his gloved hands trail up the back of your legs. His movements were slow—almost reluctant and experimental— but deeply rooted in reverence, as if this was the first and last time he would be able to touch you so boldly.

The knight below knew better. He was well aware that his actions more than just bordered on bold, they fully reveled in it– embraced it, even. But he was having a significant amount of trouble caring enough to stop himself. It was always a difficult task reasoning with the thing that resided in the folds of his unconscious— especially and specifically when it came to you.

Caleb awaited you to halt the soft caress of his palms, either verbally or by action, but neither came. You were rendered silent, breath slightly restrained as you stared down at him from on high, your palm still resting upon his armor. A part of you was swayed by the currents of curiosity to see what he’d do next, just to see what might happen you allowed this moment to persist a bit longer.

And the other part…might have enjoyed this. It might have enjoyed the sight, the sound, the sensation of his iron skin, the subtle yet unknown metallic aroma that washed over your senses, mixed with his signature musk.

So he resumed, both his movements and his speech, which were languid and slowed. “Those that wished… to do harm to the kingdom, to you…They have been slain.”

The way his head shifted against your leg was like a cat nuzzling itself against its human companion. The weight of his body pressed upon you like this was even a bit endearing, and it began to melt your heart. Caleb’s hands glided from the backs of your knees down to the base of your ankles, only to carefully ascend back up the valleys and shores of your legs. In his ascent the hem of your dress got caught in between the gaps of his fingers, causing it to steadily rise like a curtain and expose the bare, supple brown skin hiding beneath it.

His touch was so gentle, like dragging the sharpened edge of a knife against one’s skin in fear of accidentally cutting it. As someone who has done so much damage and has scarcely been shown this kind of gentleness, it was a bit jarring to see himself embody it so naturally. “...The lot of them. I made sure of it.”, he continued, the knight’s noble heart raced so frantically about his chest, he thought it might reverberate and echo against his chest plate if it were to beat any more intensely.

Even with the sizable gauntlets weighing down his hands, Caleb was still able to tell just how delicate and cushiony your flesh was, and he released a barely-there, shaky exhale of his own when his fingers lightly clenched around it. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he was on the brink of death and was kneeling before the gates of heaven.

It was nearly impossible for you to distinguish the sensation of the carmine substance being smeared against your bare skin with each inch Caleb caressed, because your nerves had put all its effort into focusing on his breath fanning across your legs and the cold surface of his armor. At some point, the hand laying on his shoulder levitated to rest atop his head instead, the area unadorned without his helmet; a shiver rolled down the knight’s spine at the gesture. Sweat dampened the rich, umber strands of his hair, and the heat radiating from the crown of his head rivaled the one building underneath your face and chest.

“The army of the east kingdom, boasting numbers of over eight-thousand men, have all…. fallen. All of their strongest knights…”

Caleb’s words sounded a bit muffled as his mouth was slightly pressed against your leg, his pillowy lips continued to trail across the expanse of increasingly exposed limbs, “...their battalions, their village militia units…”

By this point, Caleb’s strong sense of rationale, his logical consciousness that usually never steered him wrong had finally caved in on itself. The void that it left in its absence would now be filled and controlled by the iniquitous thoughts that plagued him day in and day out. Such immoral, perhaps unhealthy, thoughts that always had you at the front and center of it all.

“...Even the gentry. Witnessing them …attempting to wield a polearm was almost pathetic. I would have pitied them, but one way or another, they would have attempted to harm you and our kingdom in some way, at some point…”

There was a brief pause, the surface of his parted lips and that of his artificial armor took turns savoring the feel and smell of you, even being so brash as to place tender almost-kisses across your thigh. You gasped silently at that, and the reflexive clench of your fingers in the tufts of his hair brought forth something of a purr that vibrated in the back of his throat. Embedded within that imperceptible purr in his deep voice lurked something more dangerous you did not notice— sharp, like having a dagger pressed against one’s jugular.

“And I cannot allow that.”

Caleb continued to murmur about his achievements of war into your chestnut-tinted skin as if he were talking directly into it and not you— as if it were actively listening. And with the way your nerves sparked and crackled with each syllable he pronounced, you could easily become convinced that it was.

Aye, he could not even pretend to spare an ounce of compassion for Havencroft’s gentrymen, or their local militia, their skilled battalions and armies, nor their most honorable knights. Not after their plans and intentions were discussed amongst the king’s council just months prior, which served as the reason why he and the rest of the kingdom’s army were dispatched there in the first place.

Swine, the lot of them.

The same could be said for his own king’s council members— your father’s most trusted political companions and advisors— that had the gall to speak ill of and scheme against the king and his realm.

The balls to speak ill of you when they believed there were no listening ears around; about how your future ascent to the throne would be this kingdom’s downfall, about how His and Her Majesty should have tried for more children in hopes of a young lad.

He could only thank the gods that he returned from his knightly travels when he did, for the dark-haired soldier knew within seconds of overhearing such idiotic arrogance what his next course of action should be.

Like some kind of cunning animal whose only purpose was to hunt and kill, Sir Caleb watched and waited for the opportune moment to present itself before closing in to strike. And that moment arrived when he realized the two men were making their way to the western-most side of the main castle, where the kitchen and laundry rooms were located. He sneered at how clever they thought they were being, choosing that specific place because they were aware most of the help and servants had retired for the evening.

Without a moment’s hesitation, when he had heard enough drivel, he attacked, administering two swift but fatal slashes to their vital points— one for each man. The pain from moving like that when his injuries had been previously reopened nearly caused his legs to buckle, but he remained steady and quick. This had to be quick, for it would be troublesome if they made noise or if he was too sloppy with his timing and execution. Blood splattered on the nearby walls from the sheer force of his swing, the blade cutting through the councilmen like a cleaver cutting through a slab of tender meat. He made a note to himself to come back and clean any remnants that remained later.

The councilmen fell to their knees, staring and cowering from Sir Caleb in confusion, shock, and unadulterated fear at the realization that their lives might end that very night, and that someone might have heard them.

Surely they blathered on in hushed voices, demanding to know the meaning behind his actions, begging for the knight to spare their lives, frantically questioning him if he had heard them say anything particularly controversial. But Caleb paid no mind and did not bother responding. All he did was stare at them, his eyes as empty as a weathered piece of parchment with no ink on it, his salmon-colored lips resting in a straight line that spoke nothing of his true thoughts.

Caleb’s gaze alone deeply unsettled them, for they had never seen him look like that before.

On his honor as a knight, Caleb would die before he let any harm— relative or distant, real or perceived, indirect or direct— fall upon you if it was in his power to prevent it. Because not only did he pledge his allegiance to the ruler of this land, but to you as well. And in performing his obligatory duties as a knight— guarding you from near and far, being graced with your kindness, your wit, your smile—it was inevitable that he would fall in love with you at some point along the way.

And wasn’t it a good thing, a true virtuous thing, a normal thing to do what you can for the one they loved? To keep them safe?

And so, with that resolve embedded in his heart, the knight Sir Caleb would do what he could, and did what he must when the steel of his blade at last collided with the mens’ uvula. The last thing those so-called loyal councilmen saw was his void eyes, and the slightest upturn in the corner of his lip.

But you need not worry or be privy to the gritty details. All you needed to know was that he fulfilled his duty in protecting you, in protecting this kingdom you loved dearly and would govern someday. He would see through this role until the day he could no longer.

Aye, you did not need to know that the blood that had now seeped into the fabric of your pretty lilac nightgown and smudged on his face was fresh; you did not need to know that in some other part of this very castle, two people that had been around since your youth had drawn their last breath, never to be seen again; you did not need to know that the faintest hint of guilt and regret for his actions was snuffed out the moment his eyes met your visage. You did not even need to know of the tender affection that he harbored for you– at least, not yet. A separate time for that should arrive soon, he would pray on it.

And now, all Caleb needed was to hear it from you. That you were proud of him.

“I hope my efforts in battle were satisfactory to you, milady. That my efforts …in keeping your safety and interests of the monarchy at heart pleases you.”

The knight's lips continued to drag across your skin in a lackadaisical manner, its touch at some point turning into undeniable kisses— pecks so light and fleeting you could have imagined it.

But you weren’t. You knew it to be so because the phantom sensation that was left behind after each one was as real as the ground you stood upon.

You were indeed proud of the knight before you, on his knees revering you with his mouth like you were some kind of holy thing that might disappear into thin air. For all of his years here, you have seen the scrapes, the faded scars on his ungloved hands, a limp in his gait or a straggle in his step, and you felt sympathy for him. You sympathized with him for having to sustain a number of different injuries in the name of your kingdom and its values. But seeing him hurt also inspired a great deal of gratitude within you, and you always made sure to take time at night before you fell asleep to thank the Lord above for uniting your paths– even though the two of you were on slightly different social standings. You secretly hoped that one day, that fact might change.

This is why you had no problem in saying that, “From what you have told me, Sir Caleb, your endeavors in battle are indeed quite….satisfactory to me,” Your words were momentarily interrupted with a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a pleasurable sigh, your fingers absently combing through his hair as you continued to speak, “So I must thank you, for doing your duty so well, and apologize that you were so badly wounded in the name of this kingdom. I truly appreciate all that you do.”

The words of sincere gratitude that spilled from your plush lips only excited the muscle beating wildly in Caleb’s chest, and they were enough to spur his heavy hands to glide higher underneath your gown, moving to the backs of your thighs once again. As his lips persevered in its affectionate assault of your legs, his palms mindlessly cupped the full roundness of your buttocks and gave it a slight squeeze, effectively losing himself in the suppleness of your curved body.

His name, without the proper prefix, was about to fall from your tongue, but you swallowed it down in exchange for something else. “This kingdom is— I am quite fortunate to have someone so capable…so strong and valiant at our disposal. Thank you, Sir Caleb, you have done well.”

And that was all it took for a quiet groan to be pulled from Caleb’s throat. A part of him hoped you didn’t hear it, he was already behaving so shamelessly.

But another part hoped that you did, so maybe then you’d realize without him having to potentially embarrass himself how much he cared for you, craved you, and impacted him so deeply.

“Thank you, milady. You are too gracious to me. I am unworthy of your praises, but will humbly accept them.” One palm resumed its directionless roaming to map out your lower body while the other remained on buttocks, interrupting his own reply by offering your skin doting, airy kisses in between. His reddish violet eyes were somewhat hooded when his gaze flickered up to look at you once more.

“I will continue to do my utmost…to serve you and your kingdom.... to the best of my ability.”

( # ) @smiley-babe @ramonathinks @dollwrites @valentineluvu @rinsko . my apologies if u did not want to be tagged. let me know if you want to be tagged in my future works!

155 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 day ago

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Ooh yay! Thanks for diving into Part 1, friend! 😍

This line 😂😂 made me burst out laughing! Brilliant!

ahaha glad you liked that one! 😆

My kind of man 😉😂 Ok, when he took her home... I have no words. I think my brain short circuited...

lol right?! And Dean got a chance to do what he does best. 😜❤️‍🔥

Oh no. There was a glimmer of hope this might be more than a one-time hook up, but I have a feeling that this action (even though it's genuine) might put a dampener on that.

A glimmer for sure, but if Dean had had more time that morning, maybe she'd have been able to hook him into that breakfast date. 🫠🫠

Ooo, a little nod to AC/DC.

Yes! I'm happy you caught that 😉🤟🏽

This really does sound like the beginning of a booty call type of phone call. Well... that is a bomb shell to drop at the wedding isn't it? Of course, he will Dean’s a decent guy. He took that news remarkable well, and I could picture him reacting this way to that news.

Right? I thought it would be understandable that she misinterprets the way he tried asking her out. 😅

A MEGA bomb for sure, but she needed to tell him some time! ��😅 Dean did take the news really well (glad you agree on his reaction lol), though time will tell if he steps up as a future father! ❤️

Of course, Sam has put two and two together and realised what is happening. I can also picture the look on his face, waiting to see what Dean's response was to the news. I could completely imagine his response if he didn't like the answer he got.

Oh yeah, we all know how smart and intuitive Sam is, and he knows the reader well lol. If he hadn't liked that answer, you already know he would've set Dean straight 🤣🤣

😂😂 Dean definitely knows his brothers tells.

lmfao that actually might've been my favorite Dean internal monologue for this chapter.

Oh ok she's one of those women... offer 'help and advice' when really it's a way for her to have a subtle dig.

Yessss exactly. 😒😒 Reader would've liked nothing more than to prove her "balloon" theory right!! lol

I absolutely loved Dean's reaction to hearing her talk negatively about herself. He was not having any of it, and I imagine he wouldn't be too happy if he found out that Lisa's 'helpful' comments were the reason for it.

Aww I'm so glad! That was a fun scene to write, despite the angstiness of it. If Dean found out Lisa had said that, he'd probably break up with her for good right there. 🙃

In a few days we'll see more of this messy quadrangle in Part 2!! 🤣

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath.

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there.

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases.

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more.

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously.

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now?

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try.

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled.

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red.

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN.

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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#lovely review!! ❤️❤️#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #if i stay feedback

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railingsofsorrow · 17 hours ago

Text

Game of Pretend

[Spencer Reid x Reader]

summary: In which friends with benefits go undercover as a married couple and they ended up playing the part almost too good.

pairing: spencer reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.7K

warnings/content: criminal minds case related stuff; suggestive content (no smut!); graphic descriptions of violence and wounds; idiots in love/friends with benefits trope; their love language is touch, you'll notice that; just a little bit of angst.

A/N: and I'm back. again. this challenge motivated me to write cause I was really going through it. but anyways. this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins “Undercover Challenge” with the prompt “Characters go undercover as a married couple” and the dialogue prompt “I'm just acting.” “Oh, so you can make your heart race on command?”

navi

masterpost

criminal minds masterlist

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“He’s looking over here.”

You looked at your partner, taking a sip of your non-alcoholic beverage slowly as you slightly inclined your neck to watch the UnSub having a drink in the other end of the bar counter.

“Let’s start the show then.” You winked at Spencer, earning a scowl that he quickly masked into a loving smile towards you.

Such an in love husband.

“He’s staring at her.”

JJ’s voice boomed into your ear as a warning as you reached for Spencer's hand, intertwining your fingers.

“My mom wants us to visit her first thing after the honeymoon.” You said, playing with the straw of your cup. “We should extend it.” That got a laugh out of him and you felt his curls tickling your temple as he leaned closer.

“We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yeah, baby.” You didn't know why the nickname surprised you but it did.

Spencer watched as your eyes traveled across this face in contemplation, wonder. He's just playing his part.

“Whatever I want huh?” You hummed softly, cheek leaning on your hand. Spencer knew that expression. He has lived with it these past months whenever you were going to do something you knew would piss him off. Often to tease him.

God he hated that look. Your teasing was relentless.

He pulled a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering near your cheek. His touch was warm and in spite of not really being a fan of physical touch, you'd always find yourself leaning closer to Spencer at certain moments. He represented some type of safety to you, you never really read too much into it, but you also never denied yourself to be close to him when you wanted to.

The way his eyes briefly shifted from behind you to you again told you the UnSub was closer this time.

“We could maybe do that thing in bed we were thinking of trying…”

The way Spencer choked on his own spit — he had a drink but he didn't even touch it — made you grin so big your mouth could split open. What he did with touches you were able to do with words.

“Kinky.”

You heard through your earpiece and Emily's voice almost got you to crack. You didn't.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Well, I have a few ideas I’ve been wanting to try but yeah, it's not like we have all the time in the world now.” You bit your cheek, hating the fact that he paid with the same coin. You, on the other hand, felt your neck heating up. His honey brown eyes stared you down and you saw the edge of his lips quivering in amusement. Caught you. You could read his thoughts.

“Oh, shit! I'm so sorry, miss.”

And you needed the UnSub to act to get out of your staring contest, you didn't know if that was good or bad.

First move — to accidentally bump into his victims with his drink ✓

Perfectly done.

Second move — the victim goes into the women's bathroom to clean herself up.

Now, it's your move.

Spencer heavily glared at the man as he insisted to buy you another drink, but you squeezed his arm and brought his attention back to you. Your voice was calm and calculated, a pointed gaze sent his way. I'm going to the bathroom, watch out for his partner. I got him.

“I’ll come with you.”

You halted, practically feeling the guy's gaze on your back. He had walked away after apologizing a thousand times but he was the one to watch the woman enter the bathroom while his partner stayed outside with the car, ready to take off.

They had fallen for the bait, it had been a simple stakeout. The whole reason the women were caught without any commotion was because they went into the bathroom alone. So why the fuck did Spencer want to come in with you? It wasn't part of the plan.

“Honey, it's the women's restroom.” You laughed as if that was the most funny thing in the world. Hotch’s deep angry voice resonated through the earpiece, telling Spencer off. You didn't have time to dwell on it because you were already moving away from your husband's pouty figure.

Flashforward and you were sitting in the back of an ambulance with an EMT tending to your superficial wounds. Nothing serious happened, a minor physical conflict when the man noticed you were about to fight back. He got a punch in your eye. You knocked him out with a swing of your leg. That was it. Still, Spencer was fretting.

“You need a head CT.”

“You need to calm down.” You told him with a sigh after pulling him away from the EMT so he would stop bugging them about your health. “Jesus Christ, I've been through worse. Relax.”

“He had a syringe to your neck—” He started and you interrupted him with a bored tone.

“Didn’t even graze my neck, Spencer.”

“It could've!”

Your voice was resigned because you were tired. All you needed was your bed and sleep twenty-four hours straight. That fucking duo of bastards had you and your team chasing them for a week. “Okay, honey, drop the overprotective husband act. We're off the stage. I'm fine.”

Spencer seemed to get the point and left you alone. After Hotch congratulated you for a good undercover job, he let you know you were not going back tonight because the jet would only be ready in the morning. So yeah, no warm bed with your soft mattress and your fairy lights tonight. Just the old musty bedding in your motel bedroom. At least it was a room for one, you didn't have to share with anyone else neither would you have patience to do it.

Emily and JJ followed you on your way to your room. You noticed their exchange of looks right away.

“Spit it out.”

JJ blinked innocently at you. “What?”

Pressing your thumb against the bridge of your nose, you tiredly said, “You two are either flirting shamelessly right in front of me or silently discussing something about me. I believe is the second option so spit.it.out.”

Emily wasn't one to beat around the bush when it was something she wanted information on.

“You and Reid at the bar.”

“You mean where we served as bait to catch the UnSub?”

“That kinky talk all of a sudden, I mean.” Emily smirked as JJ chuckled beside her.

The only thing you could do was offer her a blank expression. You also knew how to play dumb like JJ just did a few seconds ago.

“Oh, please. He didn't even bat an eye at you!” She carried on, raising a brow. “Something’s going on, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at them.

“What is this, fifth grade?”

Emily let out a groan that echoed the hallway just as you reached your door. Their respective rooms were a few doors down.

“Told you she wouldn't reveal anything.”

“I had hope.”

You rolled your eyes before pressing your key in the keyhole and opening your door. “Goodnight, girls.”

You liked certainty.

It was so much easier when people would be straight forward and simply put the cards on the table to avoid misunderstandings.

You've had that trouble in relationships throughout your life. The experience of navigating a situationship on eggshells. Am I giving too much expectations? Am I having too many expectations? Is this even worth my time? Sometimes you just wanted to take the edge off. Simple and effective. No strings attached.

Somehow, you never had that issue with Spencer. That doubt.

“Serendipity,” he said one night. Your limbs were tangled under the sheets and he just blurted out the word as if you were supposed to know what it meant without any context.

You looked up at him, your lashes barely letting you open your eyes since your latest activities had tired you out. “What?” You were used to Spencer’s random bursts of smart comments.

“It means when you…” He paused to kiss the back of your neck, causing you to squirm away only briefly, a smile growing in your lips. “... find something good accidentally…” another kiss, his hands wrap around your waist slowly. “without meaning to.”

“Oh.” You turned around as his arms caged you in, supporting your torso against his chest. You liked how his eyes seemed relaxed after you spent a night together. Ever since you met Spencer, he never had a healthy night sleep. Either because of a good book or worry. He never really rested. You had that in common. That was probably why you two clicked immediately in more ways than one. “You’re saying i’m that something good you found, Doc? Careful, I'll start thinking you’re getting attached.”

Certainty was in your agreement when you decided to turn friends with benefits. Things were pretty clear for the two of you since the beginning. Both wanted to just… forget about your jobs for a little while. And that's what you did.

That agreement was none of everyone's concern but yours. So you didn't tell anyone. It was your own thing, which was going well so far.

Too well.

You were too good at ignoring signs. All your life, you've been so focused on not getting attached that it usually worked well in your favor. But you realized you fucked up when after a bad day the only person you wanted around was him. And sex wasn't what you had in mind. Spencer’s presence was inviting and all you desired after being (barely) beaten up was to tangle your limbs with his and call it a night.

That's bad. Your brain warned. Very bad. Cut it off before it gets worse.

You stood in front of his door, staring at the wood as if it would knock on its own. Why were you even there? Maybe you should apologize because you felt like you did something wrong when he looked pissed moments before he left the crime scene. But then you remembered that he left. How dare he?

He answered your harsh knocks with a confused frown. His glasses were perched up on the tip of his nose, probably had slipped down while he tried to sprint to answer the inconvenient person at the door in the middle of the night.

“Is everything okay?” You entered without an invite and crossed your arms, waiting patiently until he closed the door. You were mad. You didn't have any reason to be mad.

“You left.”

He placed the book you only now noticed was on his hand on the nightstand. His nose scrunching up in confusion. “Left what?”

“You left the crime scene.” You left me — you wish you had say but you would've sound like a jealous girlfriend. Which you were none. “Didn’t wait for anyone.”

He didn't reply right away, his eyes accessing you carefully. He wasn't mad anymore. He wasn't even mad before. Just frustrated. You were just doing your part of the job and he let emotion go in the middle. It happens. Though the absolute terror he felt right before he got into the restroom was another thing. He never felt that before, it didn't just happen.

“I was tired, just wanted to… get some rest.” His eyes then softened which contributed to you feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry I didn't wait for you.”

“That’s not the point.”

He nodded, approaching you with careful steps. He wanted to redeem himself. You sighed in exasperation, running a hand over your face but you flinched when you touched your wounded brow.

With a gentle touch to your chin, he tilted your head upwards to check on your wound. Your eyes followed him every move. You felt like you could melt into a puddle. His touch was exactly what you needed.

“Does it hurt too bad?”

“No.”

“It may still be sore.” He observed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. Your eyes fell shut, you couldn't help it, your body had its own mind. “I’m sorry I reacted that way. It wasn't professional.” He mumbled after a long pause between the two of you. You had already given up on your tough act, resting your cheek against his chest as his fingers worked through your hair.

“Fuck professional.” You said, nuzzling against his neck while your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You fit perfectly and that would always amaze you. Spencer never rejected your touch and it made you wonder, for a moment, if you were being unbearable. That thought was quickly shut down by him pressing you closer.

“Your heart is racing.” He pointed out, both of his arms tightening around you as if that was supposed to make it better.

“I’m just acting.” You whispered, enjoying the sound of his laughter after you said it.

Spencer leaned back, quirking up an eyebrow looking down at you “Oh, so you can make your heart race on command huh?”

“I bet you got a scientific fact just on the tip of your tongue.”

“When you exercise, your heart rate increases,” he started slowly and you felt his fingers draw up your shirt slightly. You liked where that was going. His raised his hand until it was right by your chest, so he pressed his open palm right by your heart. You ignored the shivering. “It is actually very easy to raise it. When you take the stairs… When you're running on a treadmill…” He lowered his lips to your neck. “But when you're not doing any hard work with your body, let's say, it's even easier. Like now.”

The way he pressed kisses down your neck made your eyes flutter shut.

“If you're experiencing strong emotions like excitement or… stress? Which I know isn't the case right now, is it?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled, kissing the corner of your mouth. Before he could move to your lips, you drew back, but not so much.

“I came here to talk to you about something.” He withdrew his hands from your waist, his fingers traveled up your arms and he squeezed them reassuringly, urging you to go on. “So… this. Between us. It's cool, right?” Suddenly, you weren't good at communication at all. You barely remembered your own name.

“Yes?” His brows furrowed slowly. “Why? Do you want to stop?”

Your brows shot up. “No! No. That's not— it's not about that.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I mean…” You place a hand on his chest, taking a deep breath so you could gather your thoughts. “It’s not that it's wrong. But. Have you ever considered…”

Spencer tilted his head so he would catch your gaze. “Considered…?”

“Becoming serious. Exclusive. Like a—you know.”

You would've pushed him back annoyed because of how his face was scrunching while he tried to prevent a laugh. He was laughing at you. He held you back, hand crawling up your back to keep you in place. You felt like a fool.

“Yes.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks to make you look at him despite your annoyance. “Yes, I do want to be a couple. Exclusive. Whatever you want to call it. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“But I am excited.” Spencer emphasized, pulling your face closer which made you smile a little. “I was waiting for the right time, I didn't want to pressure you. I thought you would cut me out of your life and I'd rather just… stay with our deal instead of that being the case.”

“I’d never cut you out of my life, Spencer.” You said with your shoulders slumping in disappointment that he even thought that.

He nodded, resting his forehead on yours and silence took over both of you for a moment. Just your breathing balancing together.

“Stay the night?” His request was useless because you were about to do that anyway.

“Mhm, yeah, I'll stay.”

“Good.” He kissed you, his warm hands wrapping around your waist. “Girlfriend, right?”

You let out a loud groan. “Shut up.”

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#mentioningmargins #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction

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heroicn0nsense · 3 days ago

Text

I guess I'm about to get real vulnerable on main here, but I saw some kinda "BookTok" disk horse cross my BlueSky feed, and it's got me thinking in a way I really can only discuss without a character limit. But it feels kind of relative to an over all trans creative experience. Maybe more specifically for us masc people, but. You know. Maybe the threads are different but the weave a similar picture. Anyway, this is kinda what my tumblr blog has become, and so here goes. Please note I also use 'queer' as an all encompassing term, as to me it is the most inclusive word I can use despite its dubious origins and history. Sorry if that upsets anyone.

The funniest thing about this whole conversation popping up was the fact that I had just been lamenting about finding the concept of 'romantasy' fun but what I'd give to find or read something with a transmasc protagonist paired with an opposite partner of any gender. Something my masc bisexual ass would love to see. Mostly because I see and support so many ones that are sapphic in nature, but hardly see any masculine. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places but Anyway. Just so happened that in the next hour I saw what I was looking for cross my Bsky feed, but with the author show casing the really nasty and negative comments he received on his concept. things like but not limited to:

"of course the transmasc character is a twink bottom" "just a girl who got a mastectomy" And other just Internalized Misogyny and Heteronormative things that affect a good portion of us transmasculine guys.

And idk, man it really struck a nerve with me.

If only because first and foremost, the author is writing something he wanted to see. Filling a niche and void he wanted to see realized, and like so many other authors' works, in a way that feels personal to him. And to attack it in such a way was pretty vile.

Queer stories and creations in of themselves are personal stories, because we write from our own experiences, and put them in our original works whether subtly or not so subtly. It's there, and you can't separate the queer experience from a queer work because by its very nature its queer. But also like, that experience isn't the same for everyone. And we shouldn't expect it to be. So, no, not every work is going to be what you want or associate with. But we should be uplifting all of it so that someone with an idea or concept that does speak to you will have the confidence to bring it to the table. And yeah. Unfortunately, that sometimes means that cliches are gonna happen. That twink ass transmasc might end up being a bottom 75% of the time.

But it also like, led me to associate my own struggle of accepting my own body and transness and some of my own preferences in the bedroom.

I'm not saying that all writers, artists, or creators are using their method of making art to explore their own hang ups with their gender and bodies, navigating this absolutely messy and strange world of norms and expectations while simultaneously seeming to want to turn them on their head. Gender is complex. Being trans is complex. And it gets weird, and sometimes we need outlets to work our way through it.

But also, most of us transmasc people have vaginas. It's just a fact of life. We've got a big ol' gaping axe wound of an organ sitting between our legs and for a lot of us, it still feels good to stick something in it, and we shouldn't be ashamed of that at all. And hell, a lot of us are short, considering our genetics are wired that way and no amount of HRT is going to change the fact some of us aren't going to get past 5'5". But sometimes, especially with what is expected to be masculine by gender norms, and the physical form of a cis male body, it can sometimes be really hard to reconcile that.

I know it was for me. To the point where I often struggled with my sexuality and my relationship with intimacy about it for a long time.

I made my character Akihiro while I was, and still am parsing through a lot of my own dysphoric issues, and paving my own way to acceptance. And that's made him a deeply personal character to me. And he has grown and changed as I project a lot of those issues on to him and his development. Akihiro has been an exploration of myself as much as he is an an original character that I role play. But not so much in the ways of personality, but more in the ways of the challenges with which he is presented and has to navigate himself.

Akihiro is a trans man in a world that is accepting of it. Society has progressed past these petty and arbitrary standards. But he becomes a cyborg at a time where the question is instead what it means to be human, and so...The aspect of depersonalization, dysphoria, and depersonalization he experiences at the hands of transhumanism is not so different than what I have and do experience in my own transition.

Akihiro wasn't always trans. That was honestly a pretty recent development and one that I did struggle with making. And I realized I was struggling with it because of those same dysphoric issues. And I just needed to let them go.

It was reflected in another recent development; the way that I had Akihiro handle his genitals when he was presented with the option to upgrade from none to a functioning set. And he chose to go with what he had been born with, the genitals he had when his body was mangled. He went with a vagina. Because he wanted to embrace the body he had taken for granted before he lost it, and not some idealized version of himself he could have obtained at any point prior.

And yeah. He 'bottoms' the majority of the time for his boyfriend because he enjoys it. But it doesn't stop him from topping him either, nor enjoying that. Nor had it stopped him previously from being intimate with other men and women. And that's his preference as a character.

And who are we to say it wasn't the same for this author? Where he is putting his feelings and acceptance of his own body and desires onto paper? And that is being met with such vitriol because it's not someone else's idea of what is masculine, or whatever. I don't know. Maybe they weren't. Maybe they did just wanna write some twink ass boy getting dicked down and like, that's fine too. Why do we have to be so mad about that?

And maybe this was just a lot of words to say that I think we get so wrapped up in words and labels for things that it completely erases the nuances of our own experiences and it turns right back around to being so queerphobic and limiting. And we don't give ourselves, much less other people, the grace to create the things they want to, and from a place of their own experience and desire. It's harmful.

#long post #azrael.txt #the transmasc struggle I guess #oh and booktok drama?#rambling about my OCs too #Akihiro is v important to me ok #holy shit this post got away from me.

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siolixz · 19 hours ago

Text

'*•.¸♡ FATHER FIGURE ♡¸.•*'

Being Lucy's sister came with a lot of perks: good food, nice places to stay at- a rich handsome multimillionaire falling madly in love with you. Did I mention the rich handsome multimillioanire?

pairing: harry castillo x reader (Lucy's sister)

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

context: just fluff and romcom scenarios, older man x younger woman, everyone is over 18 and fully consenting; words: 3k I hope you will enjoy and pls tell me if you like it or tell me if you don't- I will probably write a part 2 with smut if it is well received. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ I will probably write the smut anyways tho loll Yes i have put a George Michael song name as the title put me in jail or whatever. Also I have no idea if his name is Randy or Harry so oh well, who cares hes so sexy.

It was a beautiful day in New York that welcomed you right back here in this city, looking across the cafe for your Lucy.

You slept in today, after a long plane ride and a longer ride to your sister's apartment you had to get your rest for the days ahead- and for the wedding. Because of spring break and because she received a plus one invitation to one of her glorious matchmaking results- her ninth to be more precise, you just had to join her in New York for the week ahead. You didn’t have anything else better to do, plus, you missed her.

She smiled at your sleepy face as you sat down in front of her.

As the coffee arrived you finally had some time to catch up on life, on your school and on her job. More importantly, how could John ever break up with her? She’s successful, she's beautiful and she’s brilliant. You told her that you were hoping she could finally get a guy who actually deserves her.

“I hope your wedding will be the tenth-” you started.

“Maybe it will be yours princess, did you think of that?” She smirked at you, clearly enjoying the banter you two were so used to having.

“So that’s why you called me here- to set me up with someone?” you leaned across the table “Because I’m taking the first plane back to college if that's the case.” There’s nothing more embarrassing than your own sister setting you up, I mean you could get a date if you tried but the boys back at school are, lacking.. certain qualities you were hoping for in a man.

She laughed at your expression, knowing you were being sarcastic and joking but also not really. You could hardly hear each other anymore as more people came into the cafe.

She grabbed the hand you had on the table as she said: “You’ve grown so much- I’m so happy you're here with me.”

All day long you walked across New York City, first it was dress shopping- you probably tried on like 10 dresses before picking a gorgeous green floor length dress and your sister a blue dress. She covered everything like the great older sister she is and on you went towards Sephora to get everything you might need or just plain wanted- perks of having an older sister with money- and then it was take out time back home; feet sore and exhausted. You loved and hated being in this city, but you could clearly see why Lucy wanted to live here. So many people, so many stories to tell. You two took a nap and then by late afternoon you were out again for dinner with some of her friends and then for a walk in central park.

“You know, I think tomorrow is going to be really special.” she linked your arms together as you passed people.

“Really?” you turned the upper part of your body towards your sister as you walked. “In what way may I ask?”

“Like in a good way; maybe you’ll meet someone.” she whispered the last part “Or maybe in a bad way.” She turned away from you like she was thinking. “Last time we were at a wedding together, you were very little- remember you got that stomach bug-”

“Ugh don’t remind me Lucy” you grimaced at her macabre reminiscing while she laughed in your face “We just ate-”

The wedding was truly beautiful, the bride and groom looked great together and the food was completely out of this world. The groom was a finance guy, so it made sense that the wedding would be held in a grandiose style, I mean they had a chocolate fountain for god sake. And free gifts for people- free gifts!

You and Lucy talked with some people, ate some food from the candy bar while gossiping and danced a little bit but you had to take a break as ‘Cupid’ herself was socializing with acquaintances. You texted some of your friends, one from childhood and two from college- all ecstatic about the amazing things there. You had to remember to get Maddy a necklace as her birthday was coming up and Mark asked if you could get him a lucky cat doll and also-

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up at the owner of the voice, “Um, no- no it’s not.”

Um, yes it was, your sister was seated there- who even is this?

The stranger sat on the chair, turned his whole body to look at you and placed his hand under his head- like he was engaged in the most passionate discussion.

From this position you could finally see the man up close- this must be the groom's best friend. Your sister told you as you sat down during the ceremony, even if you were seated far away, you could remember him now. He was right next to the groom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you-”

“No, it’s okay-” Now you’re interrupting him, please stop.

He smiled at you, endeared by your attempt at alienating his worries. His smile reached his eyes and the corners wrinkled, like a testament of this strange man’s seasoned life. He looked at you in an almost parental fashion like he already knew you- wait, do you know him?

Your sister has a bunch of friends and acquaintances around New York, maybe you did know him. “Do we know each other?”

“No, I don’t believe we have met.”

He had this air about him, like he was so comfortable and sure of himself. He smiled again at you, like he knew something you did not, was there something on your teeth?

“My name is Harry, it’s nice to meet you, miss…” You told him your name and he repeated it.

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because he was very, very handsome.

“Would you like a drink?” he said your name again and you forgot all about the phone buzzing in your hand.

“Um..”

You looked across the ornate ballroom for your sister for a second.

“Wait, you’re old enough to drink, right?” His smile faltered for a second but he quickly regained it as you reassured him that you were indeed, old enough to drink.

He ordered a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him and while you chatted, he asked about what you were doing in New York and how you knew the bride and the groom.

“You’re the matchmaker’s sister.” he pointed at you and you teared your gaze away from his beautiful brown eyes to notice the green ring on his finger.

“I am.”

He must’ve noticed you looking at it as he too, looked at it- then at you and remarked:

“Green is my favorite color.”

This handsome man was clearly hitting on you, but why? You haven’t chatted with anyone this evening besides your sister and some basic chit-chat with the bride. He must’ve singled you out of the crowd as only a man with experience could have probably. Well it wasn’t going to end how he hoped, with you in his bed and him never calling you again. You weren’t born yesterday nor were you that desperate, no matter how handsome he was nor how tall and big he was compared to you-

No, you’re not going anywhere with him, you’re here for and with your sister. Speaking of which-

“I see you’ve made some friends.” She smiled as she came closer and introduced herself to Harry. Harry. What a beautiful name.

As he turned his head towards her you looked at the curls he had at the base of his neck and thought you could never look at someone more handsome- his face looked like it was sculpted!

She made some polite conversation and It wasn’t long before she had to excuse you two in order to introduce you to some people there.

So in about 2 minutes- you said your goodbye’s and you left him there, silently hoping that maybe he could call out your name as you walked away or run after you and tell you he is madly in love with you ‘please don’t go’ - you audibly giggled next to your sister as you walked away, amused entirely by your schoolgirl-like-dreams as she gave you an odd look.

It was the cosmopolitan’s fault, you were sure.

As the night wore on you tried to see him again but to no avail; he must’ve left with some pretty model or gorgeous woman- the thought left an emptiness in your stomach you couldn’t shake for the whole night.

You were woken up by the sunrays on your face and by an immense amount of thirst that left your throat feeling like you scratched it all night long. You grabbed your phone instinctively and after about 30 minutes of coming back to life you finally got up.

As you entered the living room you saw your older sister on the phone and gave her a small wave.

She nodded her head at you as you walked into the kitchen to grab some ice cold water.

Why was everything so hot in this apartment?

After she finished her phone call you could finally debrief with her about last night's events, the most important of those things was definitely her meeting up with John again.

“Life just finds a way I guess.” you told her as she grabbed a coke from the fridge.

“Yeah, I guess.” She opened the can, took a sip and said “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah, what?” You couldn’t deny the way your heart jumped a little bit- maybe a bit more.

“I have a date for you.”

“Lucy, no..” you groaned. Was it with him? God let it be him.

“Hear me out, ok? I have to be at a girlfriend's house this evening and I want you to go, I would hate for you to be inside while I go have fun- plus you don’t have to go on a second date or anything, this is just for fun- no expectations, ok?” She pleaded with her eyes at you.

“I can’t say anything about this guy, but you have a lot in common, he is also a student like you- maybe you can bond over that.”

The day dragged on until 5pm when you had to get ready, you were hoping this guy wasn’t some snob or insufferable, but you trusted your sister. A short red dress and heels would suffice, as you were going to quite a fancy restaurant on the upper east side. When you arrived you said your name to the waiter and sat down at one of the beautiful velvet booths and ordered a glass of water for yourself. Being alone in a place as fancy as this, you did feel quite out of place a little bit.

On to wait for that guy to show up, even though you arrived on time.

Traffic in New York is horrible, so maybe he is fashionably late.

He was not fashionably late as 45 minutes had passed and you were still alone, you could see people glance at you between the sounds of silverware- pitying you.

Or maybe no one cared, it was hard to tell- especially because you were so embarrassed.

Your fingers itched for your phone, to text Lucy a 'I told you so'. Netflix and pajamas sounded infinitely better than this empty booth and the pitying glances. God you wish you were home right now, not dressed so fancy and looking so good only to be stood up.

The waiter came back, probably to ask you if anyone is coming.

No, no one is coming.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up in bewilderment and met the gorgeous brown eyes of last night's enamourment. Harry was looking down at you, an amused look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, almost too loud in this fancy setting. “No, no it’s not.” Your heart started beating fast as he sat down in front of you, he looked even more handsome in the dimmed yellow lights of this restaurant.

He took off his dress jacket and placed it on the chair, you couldn't help but stare at the way his big arms looked, he was a very big man, so handsome too-

“I was having a meeting with my business partner and I looked across the room and there you were. “ He smiled at you like he did last night.

You were happy to see him, very happy.

“What are you doing here, Cinderella?”

“I was waiting for someone, some guy my sister set me up with- he didn’t show up.” You leaned across the table so only he could hear what you said, not the old couple next to you two as well.

“What an idiot.” He leaned close to you as well and you could smell his cologne “Well it’s good I am here now, right? We can carry on last night's conversation.”

As you two ordered food, he asked you what you were studying.

“Psychology. I have a scholarship.”

“So you’re beautiful and smart.” He placed the napkin he received across his lap and you felt your ears get warm- you hoped the lights in this restaurant would dim the blush on your face as well. “Do you like what you are studying?”

“Yes I do. I truly want to start my own clinic back home and help people.” You must’ve talked for like some full minutes about your degree and dreams while he asked you questions. He seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying, like he wanted to learn as much as he could about you.

He told you he would like to be your first pacient when you do become a psychologist and you laughed.

Harry was a funny man, very charming as well, though he had a way of turning a phrase to escape any sort of mention towards his private life, you wondered why that is.

“Can I ask you a question?” you played with the short hem of your dress under the table.

“Of course, anything you want.” He took a sip of his drink as he looked at you. His hands looked so big around the glass.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask how old you are?” you could find in his eyes a touch of mischief, like he was thinking of something funny to say so he could see you smile.

“24.” he said. With the most monotone voice he could muster and with a straight face.

“24?” you asked, knowing he was messing around with you but deciding to play into his game.

“Yes, I lived a rough couple of years as you can see. What’s so funny?” he asked you, faking being angry at your smiling face.

“Nothing.” you tried to hide your smile.

“You better not be laughing at my life story.”

“I’m really not.” you put on your serious face.

A man came by your table as the waiter started bringing dessert, and Harry got up to greet him, the man shook Harry’s hand and thanked him, before he left he gave you a polite smile and a ‘good night’ to both of you as he exited the restaurant with his wife or girlfriend.

“Old friend.” Harry said as he sat back down again “He just bought an apartment complex.”

“Wow, he must be rich.”

“Very rich indeed.” he took the spoon from next to the plate and cut through the lava cake he was brought. “Like this chocolate.”

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance with me yesterday” He looked at you again and you wanted to die inside when you remembered that you left him. "You missed out," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm quite the dancer."

"Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t worry. I'm a fast learner. I won’t let you get away twice"

"Is that a threat?" you asked.

"A promise," he corrected you as he took a bite of the dessert.

Harry asked for your number by the end of the night and you gave it to him, of course you did.

As he told the waiter that he should put the dinner on his tab you protested, but he would have none of it. He said that this was the most fun he had in a while as he got up and watched you exit the booth.

“Let me take you home-” He started as he let you walk ahead of him; you tried to ignore the way he looked at you; like he was still hungry.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’ll call an uber.” He helped you put on your jacket before he opened the door for you.

A soft breeze danced around the streets of the city at this late hour- you hugged your jacket closer to you. You didn’t want your meeting to end, but it had to.

“Nonsense, let me take you home, c’mon.” He climbed the steps before you and turned around so your eyes could meet at the same level. His dark hair, with its natural waves, framed his face and the silver streak in his hair reminded you of something- he was so handsome, how was he so handsome? He smelled great too.

You smiled at him, maybe the drink you had inside made you this courageous.

“You never told me how old you are.” Everyone passing by you two must think you were drunk by the way you were smiling at each other. He grabbed your hands in his much bigger ones and pressed them close together, like one might do to a child to make them listen- butterflies danced across your stomach again because of the sudden intimacy.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly and he adopted a more serious expression before lowering his voice and telling you: “I’m 49 years old.”

His deep brown eyes searched your face, like wanting to remember it before you start showing any signs of discomfort.

You wanted to say something, before he interrupted you “If you are uncomfortable, I promise, I’ll take you home and I’ll never say-”

“And If I am not?” you spoke over him.

His eyebrows relaxed back on his face as relief washed over his expression and a smile slowly started spreading across his lips. His eyes twinkled under the light above you two from the entrance of the restaurant and he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you.

“I’ll take you home then.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this for you and for me. I hope you have a great day and wish u de best.

If you are one of my long time followers, I just wanna say im sorry that I havent written anything in quite a while, but life got in the way and I just couldn't find any inspiration to give you something actually good. But I am back now! And to stay for good this time unless stated otherwise. ILY

#pedro x reader #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #materialists #pedro pascal fic #harry castillo fanfiction #pedro pascal #materialistics movie

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slutsareteacherstoo · 11 hours ago

Text

Me this whole chapter:

NOT EVERYBODY KNOWs😭BUT THEIR ENERGY DOES SCREAM COUPLE

“Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different.” - AND THIS IS SOOOO REAL. Like let’s just stay in the bubble and let me keep it is my own😭i dont wanna share🙅🏿‍♀️

But shout out to Savannah she’s a real one for betting on her friend 😤😤

OMG YES TO RINI!!! I LOVE HIM!!! SUCH GOOD FUCKIMG MUSIC!!!

“Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks…” - oh youre sooo real for this 🤣 and the latter half of this sentence os such universal irony rn. Like these people are playing in my face. Theyre so sick but you are sooo lovely—-tangent but back on track *resumes reading*🧐

Asia’s overstimulation and frustration was so real. And that buildup bc it really is the little things that can send you over. Like im consumed right along with her despite the masked emotions but i def snorted at the hug or choke line bc….idk….

Ooh love how in tune they are with each other like from the beginning of this chapter to the two in the cubicle like theyre mirrors frfr

—

Ooh a love the omnipresent elephant and where it appears. Like i love that. Very lyrical to me, like poetry

Well shit they did start our as a crash course and well, life comes at you fast 😕☹️

Ok Kelvin was on the mic. Also Kitty Kat by Beyoncé started playing as Kelvin calmed down and that part where sings, “We in trouble but you won’t meet me at the bridge” like damn 😔

KELVIN SAID YOU DONT KNOW? BABY I PROMISE I’LL PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS 😩🧎🏽‍♂️‍➡️PLEASE

And Asia just needs the preparation, Kel just please 🙏🏿but also Asia please dont leave him hanging 🙏🏿

He made her want to try—-this reminds of How to Make Love to a Physicist in Deesha Philyaw’s The Secret Lives of Church Ladies anthology. And like the overlap in this moment like oohhh i love connecting media!!!

Alvin over…Well…true true.

Chile not Meet Me in Amsterdam oh…these people are sick 🤣 not for you but for me. oh. If they go 3 for 3, im flipping tables but like youre super talented (duh, you know that and your work is definitely making me look inward) but i had to put on play in the background for full effect cuz 😩

YES TO MAKING IT WORK 🙏🏿😩🧎🏿‍♀️

Lmaooo yeah know get FLO on the line cuz Asia been bending her rules for this man 😭 WHEW ASIA SAID SHES LOCKING IN 🙅🏿‍♀️🔒

Tryna tamp down those 3 words…yeah no that rocket gon land you exactly there. Sorry, Kel 🤷🏿‍♀️

Not the taunting and 101 throwback with some umph 🤣 oh he was serious. He need that feedback like Janet 🤣🤣

"You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?" - 😳OH OKAY ASIA 🤭🙈

TALK YO SHIT ASIA 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔊🔊🔊

“Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing.” - All I Need by Aaliyah started playing and ooh the intensity of the moment went up x10

Wow this glaring reality has Asia up in knots. I do NOT envy her but fuck she’s playing a bit at fake happy here

Wow this part was sooo good. I was scared but we weave in and out of all there emotions like a rollercoaster frfr and I loved that. You took us on a ride, and like Asia probably wishes/thinks when will we get off and have the happy ending🤣 but ooh the tension over that last few days def came out 🤭 but also fuck😭where are going with this. Im looking at the remaining chapter titles, genius by way, but also where are we going ??? Im stressed in a good way. Imma have to go back to my fav couple after this to calm my heart rate 😅

Thank you always for writing + sharing 💜

Midterm

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

Reading a congratulatory email with kind words and instructions to sign a lucrative offer was easy. Simply slip out of your third boring morning meeting, disappear into the surprisingly vacant courtyard, and spend no less than 30 minutes oscillating between excitement and sheer panic while clicking through pages of contracts to add your digital signature to an encrypted document. Kelvin followed the plan to the letter and then some.

The hard part was stifling the urge to scream at the birds and trees during peak business hours.

Voice low and eyes shifting in search of potential eavesdroppers, he sat in pensive silence to contemplate the gravity of his decision. In a little over a month, he'd be a Chicago resident. He'd wake up in his Chicago apartment, walk the Chicago streets, pass by Chicagoans on the way to his Chicago office, and then grab dinner ingredients at a Chicago grocery store. His license would change. Mail would need a new forwarding address. Updated voter registration, new doctors, a change in insurance, learning a transit system; change after change both excited and unnerved Kelvin all at once.

Part of him wanted to barge into his Head of Creative's office and slam his resignation on the table before clicking his heels together on the way out the door. Fuck this job. New and greener pastures were on the horizon! The other part, the terrified part of him that'd been worried sick since Saturday morning, couldn't even say the words out loud for fear that the wooden benches would absorb and tell his secret before he'd had time to craft poetic, well-thought-out lines.

In his mind, Kelvin thought he'd managed to maintain an impenetrable poker face. To a stranger or work acquaintance unschooled in Kelvin-ology, he could come across as convincing enough to overlook. For Asia, watching him from the communal kitchen, worry causing his knee to bounce in triple time told a different story.

"You know you can just go out there and talk to him, right?" Savannah's sarcastic introduction to an otherwise quiet moment cut through Asia's brain fog enough to garner attention as she shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I'm joking," Savannah laughed, trying to ease the tension between them. Asia's quick glance at the back of Kelvin's head provided the final number of a winning lottery sequence. "Wow, you really like him. Like, you two are a couple! I knew it."

Asia tried to remain casual as she crossed her arms and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Kel is my work friend."

"Must be a hell of a work friend for you to spend the night from his place. I noticed the cabinets, but I couldn't confirm until later that day when Kelvin took a meeting from the same place."

Savannah's cheeky grin sparked fear in Asia's heart. Widening her eyes, she craned her neck to see who may have heard her business in the area.

She leaned closer, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "You can't say that out loud," she cautioned. "We're being discreet!"

"Love you so much, Asia, but literally everyone knows."

"Everyone like who?"

"Asia," Savannah reiterated. "Every. One. The main crew has a group chat and everything. You just won me $20 bee-tee-dubbs. I'll share, promise."

Panic should've set in for Asia. Maybe dread and a tinge of fear. They'd broken another rule and crossed another carefully considered boundary in the pursuit of each other. Asia should've been nervous about how their not-so-secret pining had run through the office rumor mill and what it might mean for perceptions of her professionalism as one of the few Black women in the building. But relief was the only emotion worth exploring in the immediate aftermath of Savannah's revelation.

No more hiding. No more planning entrances five minutes apart or driving separate vehicles in busy morning traffic when one would suffice. They could share dinner leftovers during lunch and stop sneaking quiet giggles at jokes shared via text. No more hiding.

Relief helped Asia slowly release the extra air tightening her lungs and expanding her chest. She nodded at nothing in particular. "I expect my cut in all ones. It's for our strip club fund."

"Oooh, spicy," Savannah sang, stepping closer to speak in a hushed whisper. "So… how's it going with you two? How different is personal time Kelvin from work Kelvin?"

"Uh, I mean, you know. He's…you know."

Any sense of calm that offered a reprieve from an onslaught of complicated feelings was quickly replaced by the need to run out of the room and vomit. Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different.

Words sputtered from her lips as she tried to offer an explanation vague enough to get Savannah off her ass. The quiet roar of glass panes sliding on a metal track clipped Asia's start-and-stop sentence, turning all attention to Kelvin as he stepped in, looking like he'd just had his heart ripped in two and was trying but failing to keep his emotions intact. Savannah didn't seem to notice when she flagged him over. Asia couldn't take her eyes off his frown and sullen expression. Kelvin knew his face had betrayed him as soon as he was close enough for a thorough look at the questions knitting Asia's brows together.

Trying to play it cool, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered a wave to both ladies. "What's up?" A greeting he'd used a million times suddenly sounded bizarre. First mistake.

"Hiii!" Savannah's severe lack of subtly pulled a reluctant laugh from Kelvin before he shifted his gaze to focus on Asia.

"Asia. You good?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?"

"I'm good now, yeah."

Anxieties feasting on his mind momentarily paused in reverence for Asia's presence. A true breath of fresh air. One he'd fight tooth and nail to keep in his life, distance be damned.

Savannah stood between the pair and their smitten grins, looking back and forth to see who'd make the first move. "This is just the cutest shit ever. I can't take it." Googly eyes slowly turned into blank stares aimed in her direction. Hint taken. "No, you're so right. I should get out of here. Asia, remember to put the thing on the slide at some point. In the one deck."

"Bye, Savannah!" Kelvin and Asia watched Savannah awkwardly scurry off to do only God knows what until they were safely alone.

Without a buffer to fill in the gaps, all the nausea-inducing worry from the morning's events came flooding back for Kelvin in another crushing wave. Had he been thinking straight, he would've opted to save such delicate news for the privacy of his living room when all the thoughts sitting jumbled like Soul Train board letters were sorted into the proper place. Unfortunately, life-changing information sure to shake the still-wet foundation on which they'd built their relationship ran off with his rationale long ago.

Kelvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when words didn't come out. He tried again. Then, one more time before finally forcing, "I have…something to tell you," into the atmosphere.

Asia tilted her head in curiosity. "So do I. Is yours good news or bad news?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered, trying to smile through the rapid thudding in his ears. "You go first."

Don't press, Asia. Resist! An inner monologue determined to usher Asia away from the sins of her past forced back 101 questions to make way for her surprise. "You know how the Moët client is looking for new artists for that summer series activation?" Kelvin nodded, vaguely remembering project details he'd contributed to in a past life. Asia reached into her back pocket to showcase two laminated passes on lanyards. "I convinced Chris and Sid to give me their passes so we could pull up. Now, we don't have to go all the way to Australia to see RINI. Fun, right?"

Kelvin recognized the big reveal as something he should be excited about. And, had present circumstances not reared its ugly head, he'd have no trouble sharing Asia's toothy grin and silly dance. He tried to fight the heavy haze clouding his day by raising his hand for a high five and flashing a vacant smile. "That's great, baby. I'm excited. Really."

So much for honesty.

Asia couldn't hide her skepticism, pushing her eyebrows high, and Kelvin couldn't hide his discomfort, which made him fidget with the contents of his front pockets.

"Yeah," Asia answered, disappointment in his half-assed reaction instantly stealing the light in her eyes and turning her bright smile into a shell of itself. "Um, what was your news? Anything good?"

Tact was never Kelvin's strong point. Breakups over text and ghosting were more his speed, no matter how much he hated that fact about himself. What everyone else saw as sleazeball behavior reserved for fuckboys deserving of eternal banishment to hell, he saw as protecting feelings.

Promises were promises, and Asia was worth more than slipping back into bad habits. Kelvin had to rip the band-aid and deal with the residual blood later. "Remember the Chicago job?" he asked, wringing his hands.

Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks, but, dammit, she thought that meant traffic on the interstate or an annoying client ask, not the nagging tug of the Midwest.

"Yeah," she answered cautiously.

Kelvin adjusted the hydrant-red beanie on his head and sighed. Rip. The. Band-Aid. "They…called me back with all my negotiation demands met. And…”

"You took the job."

Patience was never Asia's virtue. Why beat around the bush when they could lay all the bad shit on the table and try to salvage a few pieces good enough to keep for fond memories later?

"Yeah." The finished sentence turned an abstract concept into reality, weighing so heavily on him that he found looking Asia in the eye and lifting his head too difficult. He repeated after her in a low, measured voice, "I took the job."

Suddenly, Asia couldn't help but hyper-fixate on her surroundings. The low hum of two French door refrigerators holding employee lunches was annoying. It always had been, but today, it sounded like an army of flies buzzing around the mess Kelvin's news had created. Distant laughter made her nostrils flare. How dare someone find joy in a time like this? The kitchen was too big and too open to contain the grief rising within her. Then, the stupid ping of notifications on Kelvin's phone threatened to blow her gasket. The stimuli converged simultaneously, bringing fresh tears to prickle at her waterline.

Asia forced them all back while Kelvin waited for her to say something to prove she didn't hate him. She extended a closed fist in his direction to match a closed-mouth smile. "Congratulations, Kel. I'm so proud of you. If we were somewhere else, I'd hug you."

"Hug me to sneak in for a choke or a real hug?"

"A real one," Asia chuckled, the sound of it returning to her stilted and lacking the mirth she intended. "I know you're bored here. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

Past all the hurt feelings and rage bubbling in her chest, Asia couldn't allow herself to stomp out Kelvin's fire with negativity. She'd save that for a tearful phone call with Sabrina or a good cry in the shower. Kelvin needed reassurance that he'd made the right decision, not the moaning and wailing she had planned for a moment alone.

"Yeah…" Kelvin paused to scan Asia's face for any sign of an impending adverse reaction but found none before he answered. Nothing. Not a shred of any identifiable emotion presented itself to Kelvin. Anxiety gripped him again. "Asia, don't shut me out. I know you have questions and fuckin' feelings. C'mon. Don't leave me out here by myself."

"Not here." An almost undetectable waver in her voice was enough to shatter Kelvin's heart into a million pieces. He watched her blink back tears to speak again. "Can we just be happy, please? For a little longer?"

He sighed, accepting defeat. "Okay." A mental reminder to add 'needs a moment before tough conversations' to his running list of things to know about Asia ran through his brain like neon letters on a marquee.

His index and middle fingers brushed across his puckered lips, collecting affection he quickly passed on to Asia. She kissed the spot his lips once occupied as a silent promise to revisit the subject when heightened emotions had time to return to baseline.

"You hungry? My treat."

An olive branch. Collective ease passed between them once Kelvin flashed a toothy grin at Asia and gestured ahead of him toward the courtyard doors. "After you."

What Kelvin couldn't have in her raw, unfiltered thoughts, he was more than happy to gain in a spare moment of mindless chatter over sushi a block away.

Something was better than nothing.

If left up to Asia, Chicago and all its complications would disappear because of her commitment to ignoring them.

City sounds and radio chatter on Saturday evening had spent more time filling silent gaps of conversation than Kelvin and Asia had for two straight days. The elephant in the room quickly became the elephant at the dinner table late Thursday night when Asia side-stepped the topic to discuss Married at First Sight instead, the elephant in the bedroom when the thought of Chicago kept her mind wandering too much to enjoy Kelvin feasting between her legs, and the elephant in the backseat while she pretended not to notice her boyfriend stealing glances at the red light.

Given the chance, Asia could avoid broaching the topic for weeks. Kelvin, on the other hand, couldn't ignore issues festering into resentment day by day. Before long, he'd carefully label boxes and precious belongings to ship to their new home. Being on the brink of drastic change without a resolution wasn't an option.

Standstill traffic and a small car accident separating them from their destination provided the perfect opportunity to catch Asia in close quarters and force the issue. Kelvin took a deep breath and slowly turned the volume down on one of Tyler the Creators' piano-heavy tracks, earning a confused side-eye for his behavior.

"Everything okay," Asia asked, shifting her body towards Kelvin so he could feel the full weight of her annoyance.

He shrugged. "You tell me, Asia. I'm not the one tiptoeing around some really important shit right now. Is everything okay?"

"Kelvin, not right now. We can talk about it when we get back tonight."

Arms crossed at her chest, and a deep frown sent Asia retreating into herself, frustrating Kelvin to the point of no return. When he imagined the first roadblock in their relationship, hogging the covers or choosing the thermostat's temperature came to mind. He expected little hurdles to make room for the big stuff. The relationship-altering, make-or-break whammies either strengthened a couple or sent them careening toward total implosion. This behemoth was a tsunami of complications he didn't expect but wouldn't allow to throw him off course.

"You said that last night and the night before. I'm tired of 'tonights!' It's happening, Asia! We can't get around the shit. So, talk to me right now!" Kelvin's body vibrated in time with his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel until he practiced in and out deep, soothing breaths brought him back off the ledge. Asia watched his shoulders slowly slump away from his ears before he reached over to rest a warm palm on her inner thigh to stroke his thumb against smooth denim, his eyes apologetic as he looked over at her. "I didn't ask you to be with me for no reason. Can we talk about what all this means for us?"

Asia rested her hand atop his to twist the ring on his finger while she tried to gather words and explanations she'd practiced for days on end. "I don't know."

In all her soul-searching and reckoning with the inevitable, she realized that she had no idea what the next steps were.

She always had the answers, the plan, and the foresight to know how to proceed in any situation. This one, though – this flurry of warm feelings filled with complicated explanations and head-spinning romance – she couldn't figure out. Not even when she turned to practical skills and timeline plotting to make it all make sense.

I don't know. Kelvin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to corner Asia for an answer, but that wasn't it. Not knowing was worse than not caring. He could deal with the finality of no longer giving a fuck. However, the uncertainty in what he thought was a reasonably black-or-white scenario was unnerving. Kelvin let the gut punch settle until Asia spoke again to soothe the pain she'd inflicted.

"How…how would it work," She questioned in a small voice, her eyes low to avoid cracking the nerve she'd built. "Tell me you have a plan. Because, if you don't, I –"

Kelvin rushed to reassure her. "I have a plan. Trust me." For once in his life, Kelvin was moving intentionally. No stone left unturned; no possibility left up to chance. "I leave in six weeks. Give me two to get my shit together, and you're on the first flight into O'Hare."

"And after that?"

"We'll talk every morning and every night. Then I'm on my way to you every other week, baby. And every other month, I'll make sure you get to me. Nonstop flight. The price doesn't matter. All you need is a packed suitcase. Or not. You can be naked the whole time. That's fine by me."

Two nonstop flights a month, airport pickups and drop-offs every other week, Fridays in, Monday mornings out, constant connection over the phone when the physical was out of the question—simple enough. There was no fluff, only a concerted effort to make a less-than-ideal situation work. The happiness didn't have to die if they didn't let it.

Still, Asia wrestled with separating idyllic assumptions from reality. What happened when schedules presented challenges? Or when the weather interrupted? Did distance make the heart grow fonder or help intertwined lives push away the realities of life together hundreds of miles apart.

Kelvin could see the wheel turning for Asia while she mulled over his proposal from every angle. "Give me a little more time, okay?" Deflating. The air in Kelvin's sails came through his nose in a disappointed huff just as traffic began to pick up enough for steady motion. She held his hand in place, hoping he could feel the intention behind her hesitancy. "I'm not closing the door on us. I need to make sure we're prepared. That's all."

The absence of an enthusiastic yes wasn't a no – another tidbit to add to Kelvin's growing Asia file. He'd have to find comfort in the details to keep her in his life. And damn, did he want to keep her in his life. His plan had more legs, including a permanent address change for Asia.

"That's okay. Take your time," he answered as he laced their fingers together and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Just don't leave me hanging like that again."

"I won't. I'm sorry."

Relationships came with a learning curve Asia had to experience to understand. No one in her life had prepared her for conflict resolution. Being an only child taught her how to play by herself and keep her secrets close to her chest. There was nothing in the manual about coexisting with another human she cared for more and more each day. She didn't know how to share items or feelings. But Kelvin made her want to try. That had to count for something.

Once tense quiet returned to the comfortable, wordless quality time Kelvin and Asia had come to enjoy, it followed them for miles to the venue until the need to mix and mingle took center stage.

In a room full of strangers intermixed with a few familiar faces, they moved around like a couple for the first time. Introductions as a tandem flowed naturally. Seeing them move from group to group hand in hand amused but didn't surprise team members who'd long had their suspicions confirmed by Savannah. 'Alvin' as one member of the group named them. Not their preferred choice, but good enough for the moment.

As alcohol flowed and inhibitions were disarmed, smooth crooning and soul-stirring baselines from the artist of the hour pushed tomorrow's problems further down the road.

Kelvin kept a hand on Asia's hip while she allowed her body to sway along with RINI's soulful cover of Leon Bridges' "That's What I Love." Hearing his voice beyond the warbling of his JBL speaker from Asia blasting music far too loudly reminded Kelvin of the first time she shared her new favorite artist with him. She made him listen to Ultraviolet twice all the way through, forcing him to commit more lyrics to memory than he ever did for any other artist. Truthfully, the music didn't hit the same when she wasn't in the room. He tried listening on his own, but it was missing something or someone to add the depth he needed to make the album spin worth his time.

Applause filled the room just after the final strum of RINI's guitar reverberated. Asia beamed from a spot toward the back. Asia claimed she was fine where she was, but Kelvin knew she was too scared to get close and act like a crazed fan. His lips found her temple for a quick kiss as RINI prepared to end his showcase.

"I gotta find a way to get out to the States more. This is great," he laughed, causing the audience to join him. "My time is ending, but I can't go without singing the song that put me on your radar. Big thanks to Moët for letting me spend some time with you tonight. I'm excited to get to work this summer. Until then, this is Meet Me in Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy."

Asia couldn't contain her squeal, earning a low laugh from Kelvin once the open notes of her favorite song began.

I would sail across the world

Row this boat from dusk till dawn

Kelvin and Asia had heard the song plenty of times together, so much so that Kelvin was tired of its slow drone and accompanying music video. Both RINI and Meet Me in Amsterdam were on his list of things he could live without and still die a happy man.

Until the lyrics started to circle too close to home. A plea for the songwriter's love to make the leap and meet him in a foreign land felt like a page ripped directly from Kelvin's journal. Had he possessed the talent, he would've sung into Asia's ear while she leaned against him, caught in the rapture of beautiful lyrics.

She didn't need Kelvin's additional vocal performance to know her partner had fallen victim to the magic. She was right there with him, letting the music speak where neither her heart nor mind could reach.

Won't you come closer; let it take over

I don't need anything; I just want you

"I just want you." The words came out before Asia could stop them. She was never one to fall into the melodrama of romance, but maybe she'd never had an adequate opportunity. Maybe all she needed was a few glasses of white wine and a man looking back at her like universes formed in her eyes to give in to what she'd always considered unrealistic and a little corny.

Kelvin wrapped an arm around her waist before dipping his head to meet her parted lips as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face. "You got me."

Turning in his arms, she faced him head-on. "I want to try. For you. Let's make it work."

"Every other week. I swear."

"I know. I believe you."

Rolling waves filled with blinding passion set their bodies aflame, connecting them for a kiss too searing to start and end in a room full of people. Some things were best experienced behind doors clumsily kicked closed after Kelvin and Asia burst through the door of his apartment connected at the mouth.

Small items clattered on the ground as they bumped into the wall, sending anything not bolted to Kelvin's entryway table scattering in the darkness. The moonlight streaming through his balcony door was the only light to illuminate their path. They couldn't care less. Kissing and fondling were their only priorities on the way to shedding extraneous clothing.

The bedroom was too far, and the couch didn't provide enough leverage for what Kelvin wanted to do for Asia. The counter was too high off the ground, unfortunately. The table, though, was perfect.

Kelvin thanked God for weightlifting as he hoisted Asia up into his arms, tongues still dancing as he walked them across the room. Asia used her forearm to swipe decorative mats and rattan charger plates to the floor so her backside could fill the empty space.

Soft panting and the light smack of lips coming together and separating rhythmically filled charged cold air. Asia flinched when Kelvin slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt to reach her bra's front clasp.

"Take this off. Hurry up," Kelvin demanded as he stepped back to pull his crewneck over his head. He didn't have time for frilly language and sweet kisses. Maybe later, when they'd calmed down from their high. This first fuck was for all the sessions they'd missed between quiet nights in and words left unsaid. A little something to take the edge off.

Zippers sliding down, garments rustling, and leather sliding out of thin loops made Kelvin's apartment sound like a department store dressing room until they were reconnected in mind and body.

Half-dressed with goosebumps pebbling an expanse of rich brown skin, lovers let their hands roam freely while they grinded against each other.

Asia moaned at the feel of teeth gently tugging her bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. "C'mon, Kel. Right now," she rushed on in one breath. "I need it."

"What about the condom? It'll only take a second." Kelvin asked, half-hoping but not expecting Asia to abandon her primary stipulation.

"Fuck a condom. C'mon."

The go-ahead to proceed with caution thrown to the wind put them on a path to the sort of carnal and fleshly satisfaction Kelvin's father warned him about before he left home at 18.

Sorry, dad. This shit feels way too good to miss out on, Kelvin thought to himself as he slid into Asia's warmth inch by inch. He was weightless for a moment, floating in otherworldly bliss while he fit himself inside her body. "Fuck," he whispered.

"Oh…yes. Yesyesyes." Asia's toes curled, gripping at nothing in a desperate attempt to remain tethered to the atmosphere. "Wait a second. Don't move." Crossing her ankles at the small of his back, Asia pulled Kelvin in a little deeper, smiling at the small groan he muffled against her skin. She just needed to feel him. In six weeks, they'd have to plan moments of intimacy and simulate sex through a screen, waiting for the day they could be together in the flesh. Tonight, with his body filling every dip and ridge like the final piece to a puzzle, they could kick the can down the road for a few more days. "Okay. I'm ready."

Agonizingly slow thrusts helped them get acquainted with one another in a new way. Kelvin lifted his head from the crook of Asia's neck, yearning to look her in the eyes for an added layer of closeness. He pecked her nose, lips, chin, cheeks, and lips again, trying to keep those three words at bay.

"Faster, baby." A firm request teetering on begging broke through Kelvin's haze while Asia tried to pull him into her body by his shoulders.

He smirked. "Oh, you can talk now?" His taunting made Asia squirm against him for extra friction before he stopped and held her in place. "You up for another lesson?"

"Mhmm," she forced out, hoping her compliance would get her closer to the real fun.

"You been quiet all week. Imma need to hear you tonight if you wanna cum."

A horny, exasperated sigh preceded a short whimper. "What? I don't know how t –"

"Yeah, you do," Kelvin encouraged. Tell me what you want, and then I'll give you what you need."

Near painful throbbing has Asia ready to agree to anything if it meant she could finally come off some of the pressure from a stressful week. Quick agreeance earned her a return to Kelvin's slow back and forth, a shiver hitting both their spines as he took a shallow dive inside.

Asia took a deep breath and tested her voice. "You - you feel so good?" She closed her eyes, hoping Kelvin would take pity on her feeble attempt only to be rewarded with nothing. She tried again. "Right there, baby."

"We'll be here all night. Relax. Be confident."

Relax. Be confident. The gentle reminder and suckling at her neck helped Asia partially release the valve on her nervousness. Kelvin rocked into her expert precision and care, waiting to hear more.

A choppy moan caught in her throat before she could speak again. "You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?"

Kelvin groaned and sped up enough for Asia to notice. She smiled, palming the back of his head to keep him close.

"There it is," he whispered. "Keep goin', beautiful. Tell me some more."

Bingo. Electricity sparking between them opened up a whole new world of vocal possibility. "I want all you got tonight, baby. Can you do that for me? Fuck me until I can't take anymore?"

"Uh-huh. I got you."

Asia rubbed circles at the nape of his neck, feeling a jolt in her body from another change in pace. "Mmm. Deeper, baby. You can do better than that, right? For me?" Her provocation ignited a burning desire for Kelvin to perform. He needed the glory. Asia dropped her talking display long enough to moan through her man putting his entire being into testing the limits of his little circular wooden table.

If sweet talk couldn't get him to knock the rings out of her, goading him with a challenge undoubtedly did the trick. Scratching against his back, demanding more depth, more speed, and more kissing spurred Kelvin into fast, furious fucking.

In no time, they were close. Deliciously, dangerously close. No protection meant no staying for the final hoorah. He had to time his exit perfectly for the right mix of precision and mutual satisfaction. Though Kelvin seemed to care, Asia was just hitting her stride.

"I think about you all day, waiting for you to fuck me just like this. I want you so bad sometimes." Asia confessed while Kelvin fucked her on his toes. "Even at work, when we’re not supposed to. That’s when I need you the most.” Grabbing the sides of his face with both hands, Asia forced him to look her in the eye. "Be good for me, baby. Make me cum."

Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing. He needed to focus. Focus on Asia's nipples rubbing against his chest and how her breaths and his started to become one. Then, the light sheen of sweat helping their bodies slide against one another. He focused on the sticky coating of arousal inviting him to rub his thumbpad against her clit.

Asia squealed, then licked Kelvin's open mouth. He rasped out a command of his own. "Come on! Come on!" Resolve began to wane. Any longer, and they'd be in the nearest drug store taking the walk of shame toward the Plan B pills.

If the walls ever decided to talk, they'd blush when recounting the vision of Asia forcing Kelvin's mouth against one of her breasts, trying to balance the sting from his hand colliding with her thigh with his warm tongue tracing braille on her areola.

Her body seized, making it almost impossible for him to pull out. Every other week on a stuffy flying bus sounded like hell, but if he had this to look forward to after the wheels touched the tarmac, he could drum up some enthusiasm in no time.

At the last moment, Kelvin forced himself out of his favorite place on earth just in time for the fruits of a mind-bending orgasm to spill from his head onto Asia's inner thigh. Together, they watched fresh semen coat supple skin, their chests heaving and ears ringing. Kelvin couldn't speak. He could only watch as Asia gathered a small amount on her fingertip and swiped it against her tongue.

Kelvin moaned when Asia moaned to relish the sensory experience of his taste. "Did I pass?" Her question fell on deaf ears, with Kelvin more focused on gathering more semen on his fingers to pop into her mouth. She treated him to a show, sucking the digits clean. She spoke again. "Answer me, baby. Did I pass?"

"With flying colors," Kelvin finally answered. Asia smiled into a searing kiss, reveling in her accomplishment. A new skill had been unlocked, and one more accolade had been added to her mental trophy case.

Another lesson to take her mind off of the inevitable. At least until the morning rolled around to wash the fresh coat of paint she'd forced over a very real, immovable problem.

RINI blasting from phone speakers dampened behind the bathroom door reminded Asia of the night before and how she'd allowed the heat of the moment to lock her into a contract she'd neglected to read the fine print on.

Facing the bedroom window, Asia snuggled deeper into warm sheets and scanned the pros and cons list on her phone. Pro #1: She could eat deep-dish pizza every other month. Con #1: Her man wouldn't be nearby multiple days a week. Which was more important. She couldn't decide. Food or the comforts of stable, local partnership?

She had started typing a new con when Kelvin emerged from the bathroom naked and moisturized from head to toe. "You awake now?"

Fuck. Asia thought she had more time to plaster on her happy face. She used a pretend yawn as her buffer. "Yeah," she answered, faking the funk. "Good morning, baby."

"Morning." Unbrushed teeth could never stop Kelvin from getting his first kiss of the day. He nuzzled his nose against hers before speaking. "Sleep okay?"

"Mhm. You?"

He nodded and slipped into bed beside her. "For the most part. I gotta show you something, though." Kelvin reached back to retrieve his phone from the nightstand's charging station. A few taps against the screen presented a short list of apartment options for Asia's inspection. "I started looking at some spots in the middle of the night. This one has a crazy second room for an office. Look at that view."

A wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape made Asia's stomach churn. Reality smacked her in the face. He was leaving and waiting on her approval on an apartment she couldn't stand in a city she wished didn't exist.

"That's so nice, baby. You can get a nice couch in there as a gaming room, too."

Kelvin considered her suggestion and nodded. "Damn, that's a good idea. I need to take you with me when I look next week. You down?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'll come." Asia shook off her rapidly increasing heartbeat and scooched closer to rest her head on Kelvin's shoulder. "Can you show me another one?"

Enthusiasm fading into meaningless sounds turned Kelvin into Charlie Brown's teacher as he gushed over layouts and natural light. She nodded along to nothing in particular. Smile. Rub his arm. Act supportive. Be the perfect girl. Just be happy for a little longer.

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