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deebris · 6 months ago

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The Misteryous Visitor 6

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Being alone with Damian after so many years didn't lead to the ideal conversation you two should have had, but every little word seemed to have helped you two get closer at least a little bit. However, the chaotic turbulence of the night returned when your mother decided to leave.

Warnings: Family discussion; mention of kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4k

Note: I wanted to post this and part 7 together, because they are the last two, but it didn't turn out as planned. I hope you like it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Damian walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading toward the living room. His only goal at the moment was to find you and try to prepare you for the catastrophic revelation he knew would come at some point. He was already tired of seeing you so unaware of everything; you weren’t an idiot and didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

But it seemed he didn’t have to try too hard because as soon as he turned the corner and walked a few meters, he abruptly stopped upon seeing that you hadn’t disappeared. In fact, you were there, sitting on the floor next to an old portrait of Martha, your grandmother, curled up as if just waiting for someone to come and get you. Someone who wasn’t your brother, apparently.

“There you are.” He took a few steps back and made no effort to crouch to your level; instead, he stood staring at you with a reproachful look that made you pull your legs even tighter to your chest. “Get up, quickly. The floor is for rats.”

He was trying to ignore the tension, but you were giving him the silent treatment, which made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it to himself. You had done this to him many times before, but it was always over silly reasons, so he never minded.

You also could never hold a grudge for long, and when you were younger, within an hour, you would have forgotten any disagreement between the two of you and would then come to annoy him again. But now you were older, it wasn’t a tantrum anymore, and the reason was much more complex than any other. You weren’t ignoring him because you were simply irritated, and he feared it was different now.

Damian couldn’t ignore the irritation he felt seeing how ashamed of yourself you seemed since he first saw you. He hated that trait of your personality, always very aware of everything and everyone around you, though it was contradictory to your incredible ability to do unthinkable nonsense.

From where you both were, he still had a view of the bedroom door. The boy couldn’t help but glance over there, curious about what kind of discussion your parents were having. At the same time, he was contemplating various ways to say something or maybe try to fix the awkwardness between you two now, but your guilty voice caught him off guard:

“I didn’t mean to cause harm.” You sounded hoarse, and you two stared at each other, and unlike his sharp eyes, yours were wavering. He gave you a hard expression, but not because of the aversion you thought he had for you, but out of confusion.

It was a pity that Damian’s feelings weren’t easy to read, so you thought he was angry because that night you found out Bruce was someone very important to your brother now. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Wayne. I really don’t know what I did to make him like this. I’m sorry.”

So you thought you had done something wrong to make your father that way, Damian concluded. He hadn’t reflected on how you might feel that way, and fighting against his own callous nature, he made an effort to relax his posture and crouched down in front of you. Damian didn’t dare sit the same way you were, balancing on his toes and leaning his torso forward.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” You’re not sure, but you risk saying this was the first time you heard your brother so soft in your entire life. Damian had always been very loud and was almost always yelling or offending someone, but now, combined with the gravity his voice had gained with puberty, it was tender.

He was going to say something else, but suddenly a strange noise sounded. It was muffled, but it seemed like something had fallen, and you both could feel the ground vibrate. It came from the bedroom, which made you become alert. You started to get up, worried, but your brother’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“It must have been nothing. Don’t worry about them.” The tenderness had been replaced by harshness, but it wasn’t directed at you.

Sliding your back against the wall again, you rested your chin on your knees while admiring your own shoes, and just like always, you couldn’t maintain your silent treatment with Damian for long:

“I think I bothered Mr. Wayne by coming here. Mom will be mad at me for this later, I know she will.” You were obviously nervous, seeking refuge in Damian as you always did when you had to face her. Your mother didn’t have a good relationship with Batman, and now having to deal with you for disturbing his evening would make her furious. The little relief you felt earlier had vanished, suspecting she had only been affectionate before not to show Bruce.

“Mom is mad all the time.” He tried to calm you down. It would be unbelievable for someone who knows Talia only through her assassin image to hear such a thing. She was a cold and calculating woman, but you both knew when she was upset. She didn’t express it in a conventional way, and Damian had already gotten used to it. Your mother’s mood didn’t concern him much, but it was still scary for you.

“You were mad…” Your statement made him sigh because it was true. A few minutes ago, he had reacted that way, but there was context he couldn’t immediately explain to you. “Maybe I can apologize to him? If he forgives me, I promise I won’t do it again, and then mom-”

“Y/n.” Your brother cut off your frantic speech sharply; you were almost hyperventilating. “No one is mad at you.” He said it as a statement, leaving no room for you to contest him.

“He was calm.” you started to ramble, picking at the fabric of your clothes with your nail. “He read something he took out of his pocket and started feeling sick, I was trying to help…”

Damian frowned. He had seen Dick give a small piece of paper to his father downstairs. That idiot wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write on it that you were his daughter, right? What a wonderful way to tell something like that.

“Idiot.” Your brother muttered aloud without meaning to, feeling immense anger at the thought that Dick had done that. And only after he blurted out the word did he realize you were still beside him, listening. “Not you.” He tried to explain hastily, still with a furious expression on his face.

It was strange for him to talk to you that way. He had called you an idiot many times during childhood, and you used to call each other much worse things, as siblings do. But your relationship now was delicate, like a strand of cotton candy, since that intimacy you once had was lost.

“By the way, Bruce is just stressed about Strange.” Damian analyzed your reaction at the mention of the name. To you, Strange was just another enemy of Batman, never suspecting that the man who appeared at your house years ago could somehow be him.

The League of Assassins had many enemies scattered across the globe; at that time, you thought it was just another one of them. You also never asked or wanted to talk about it, which was unusual for how chatty you could be sometimes. For you, Hugo Strange and the person who kidnapped you back then had no connection.

“There must have been something about our investigation there. I’m sure it was Dick who gave him that card. You didn’t do anything.” He said.

Your heart returned to its normal rhythm, but it grew heavy again as you understood the facts. Damian was blaming Dick for that thing Bruce was holding onto, but it was you who had given it to him in the first place. Bruce became distressed when you mentioned the gift and quickly pulled it out of his pocket. That must have been the object Strange gave you.

“Dami.” He heard the nickname leave your lips, and a flicker of hope hit him. There was still a certain closeness between you there. “I was the one who brought the card here; it’s not Dick’s fault. Strange gave it to me to give to Mr. Wayne.”

Damian abruptly stood up, returning to an upright posture. “Strange did what?” Neither Tim, Dick, nor Jason had mentioned this. They said they were telling the whole story, but none of them mentioned any kind of message. Was that why Tim had been acting so strange when he arrived? He remembers seeing him throw a box in the trash and getting all nervous when Damian got irritated and asked what it was. “Was it a small gift box, by any chance?”

“Yes, the same size as the card.” You made a square with your thumbs and index fingers, trying to show the shape of the object. “Just like this. But Mr. Wayne didn’t let me read it; I acted badly by trying to see what was in there too. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

So Bruce didn’t let you know on purpose? Maybe he just didn’t want you to find out this way. He should have told you. Damian was about to open his lips to take the initiative, but the sound of someone approaching stopped him.

Alfred paused for a moment, finding it odd to see the two of you here. He had returned to make sure you were okay once more and then leave you alone until later in the day. “Master Damian,” He said the boy’s name as a form of acknowledgment, “I thought you were asleep.” The butler added, addressing both of you.

“Alfred!” You got up and walked over to him, who rested a hand on your head expectantly. He saw the way you looked hesitantly at your brother, seeking some kind of approval before returning your attention to him once more. “Something bad happened to Mr. Wayne; he wasn’t well.”

Alfred's eyes widened, looking at Damian for an explanation or just confirmation that it was true. He was obviously tense and speechless for a moment but quickly composed himself.

“What happened, dear?” He asked, and once again you sought your brother’s approval, who took the initiative to explain in your place.

“He…” Damian began, trying to find a way to say it. “Bruce discovered something about Strange.” He said with a suspicious tone and the butler quickly understood the underlying implications.

“Where is he?” Alfred asked, worried.

Damian wasn’t planning to answer, knowing Alfred’s aversion to Talia, but you jumped in: “He and my Mom are talking.”

The butler was obviously displeased and furrowed his brow. He had planned to tell Bruce privately about his supposed daughter, but apparently, things had moved ahead of him. But Alfred knew Bruce well and understood that despite his instability, he would handle things as rationally as possible. Or at least he hoped so.

It was unsettling how a simple night so suddenly turned into yet another Wayne family drama.

“Well,” he sighed, “It seems it’s too early for breakfast, but also too late to go back to sleep.” He gave your hair a gentle tousle with the hand that still rested there, and you appreciated it. Indeed, the sky was already beginning to lighten. “How about some tea to start the day, miss? Or maybe coffee?”

“That’s fine.” You said, accepting that he would guide you through the mansion once more, but stopped when you realized your brother wasn’t making an effort to follow. “Damian, aren’t you coming?”

Your hopeful tone made him huff and approach to follow you. “Let’s go then.” He joined you, heading downstairs.

Damian was deeply irritated by how easily you let your emotions come and go. To him, it was inconceivable that you weren’t resentful, even hating him, as he had presumed you would be just moments ago. The way you let your emotions dissipate so easily bothered him, and he couldn’t understand how you could forgive so simply.

This behavior had always been the target of Damian’s criticism, as he didn’t have the same ease with forgiveness. What ate him up inside, however, was the certainty that even if you found out everything he and Talia had done, you would still be able to forgive them.

Damian suspected that this readiness to forgive came from a lack of options. Throughout your life, you had only him and your mother, and breaking away from either of them would be devastating. Perhaps that was Talia’s greatest fear; even if she tried to convince herself that she kept you hidden for your own good, away from the League and Batman, Damian knew that deep down, she wanted to ensure a safe harbor, someone who would always be emotionally supportive.

Although you might appear to be an very naive girl, your morals were unwavering. And incredibly, Talia managed to keep you loyal to her. Both of them knew that you secretly hated criminals and dreamed of a perfect justice that would never exist, at least not in Gotham City.

Damian knew that his mother’s real fear was that you would find someone else beyond her, people with whom you could connect, not out of obligation or lack of other options, but because you genuinely wanted to. This emotional dependency, nurtured by Talia, made you more spoiled than Damian, who in turn always confronted Talia with stubbornness and resistance.

“Do you like any fruit?” Pennyworth asked you, who were with your arms crossed on the counter, while your brother sat at the end of the table, just keeping watch over your figure.

“All of them.” You replied, and Alfred laughed contentedly. It was nice to hear something like that, especially as he opened the kitchen cupboard and saw the colorful cereals inside, all from Tim’s never-ending stash of treats.

“Master Damian?” The butler asked the boy.

“No, thank you.” He declined with a grimace.

You watched with curiosity as Alfred grabbed a bunch of colorful fruits and began cutting them. There was some kind of dough resting in a container nearby, which you noticed when he moved a cloth to check, and it smelled so good. It was comforting to see him there in the kitchen, even doing something as simple as cutting fruits.

Talia was a very busy woman, and cooking definitely didn’t suit her elegant demeanor. Housework was not part of her routine, so you often ended up eating at expensive restaurants. That’s why every move Alfred made captured your attention, and he noticed.

“Do you want to help me, miss?” He asked, intrigued.

“Can I?” You asked back, already moving to stand next to him with excitement. The butler nodded and instructed you to wash your hands in the sink on the other side of the kitchen.

You were distractedly scrubbing soap on your hands and far enough not to hear Damian whisper: “Bruce isn’t going to let Mom take her home.”

Alfred looked up, not at all surprised by the news. “Does your sister know, Master Damian?” He kept his voice at the same low tone as the boy’s.

“No, Pennyworth. That’s why I’m telling you.” Damian checked to see if you were still far, seeing you drying your hands and hurrying: “When they both come out of that room and Mom leaves, she’s going to make a fuss.”

“What should I do?” You came back, interrupting their conversation and asking for instructions.

Alfred set you the task of removing the stems from the strawberries until a noise from upstairs alerted all three of you. It sounded like glass, and it didn’t take long to hear Talia’s voice calling for the butler, who moved to go to her.

“I’m leaving,” Talia said with a firmness that disguised well the inner turmoil she was facing behind her attitude.

You were stunned, and a rising panic took hold of you. Alfred hadn’t noticed you had followed him until you heard: “I’m going to get my shoes and coat.” You declared. Your mind was spinning with the idea that your mother was angry with you, seeing how she was acting.

Talia turned slightly to you, but the look she gave was impassive. “You’re not coming,” she said. The coldness in her voice wasn’t unfamiliar but struck deep in your chest. “You’re going to stay here with your brother.”

“But…” You tried to process what was happening, needing to look at Damian next to you for a moment until reality hit you back. “Why?” You asked with a trembling breath, already approaching her and grabbing your mother’s hand in desperation.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/n. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She rolled her eyes and looked at you with impatience. “You and Damian will get to spend time together again.”

“But what about you, Mom? Why can’t we all be together?” You clung to her hand even tighter, trying to keep her there forever, but all you received in return was the look she gave when you upset her.

“I’ll send your things with someone. Be obedient.” She said, but her real desire was for you to be rebellious, especially towards Bruce. Your mother crouched to your height and pinched your cheeks with her hands while whispering so the other two wouldn’t hear: “But remember, you’re mine daughter, understand? Your mother will always be here for you. I’ll get in touch.” She gave you a strong kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark, and grabbed the coat that was already in Alfred’s hands with haste.

“I want to go with you!” Talia felt your arms around her waist and sighed.

“You're old enough to be acting like this, Y/n. Let go.” She tried to wriggle free on her own, but your grip was so strong that her fingers barely moved. “Y/n, enough!” She shouted genuinely furious, and you jumped back in fear. The sight made her wilt, but she still suppressed it and opened the door.

You were in shock, never imagining that your actions could have led to this. It was as if she hated you for it, and you felt a pressure on your forehead, unsure if it was from the anger you felt at how your mother treated you or from the desperation.

“Don’t go after her,” Damian ordered, knowing you would do it anyway, which is why he held you in place.

You couldn’t accept it. The idea of being left behind, the feeling of being rejected by the only family you knew, was overwhelming. “Mom!” You shouted, struggling to free yourself from Damian’s grip in fury, the sadness totaly replaced by a burning rage. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry for disobeying! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” you screamed. “Why are you like this with me?!” You shouted louder, not caring about making a scene.

Talia’s feet were already buried in the snow, trying to hide the pain she felt, but your muffled voice didn’t help. The sound of the door closing was like a final blow, and her heart sank even further. She didn’t care whether Bruce was right or not; she hated him like hell now.

You were sobbing and gasping, the pain of rejection still present in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t want you to leave…” You murmured lower, feeling your throat ache.

As she took more steps towards her own car, her thoughts raced. She knew that sooner or later you would need to know the truth, and deep down, she wished the news had come from her.

She tried to keep her mind clear during the brief walk to the car, passing by a snow-covered tree where ravens had gathered to rest. She was so distracted for a few seconds that when she felt an arm pull her back, she instinctively threw the stranger away, who hit the trunk and caused the birds to start flying erratically while cawing discordantly.

“What the hell is this!” She shouted furiously, shocking the boy who immediately began to apologize while getting up, feeling pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?!” She was outraged by his assumption. As if she would be scared by a kid like him. “And which of Bruce’s little pests are you?”

“My name is Tim.” The boy assumed a serious tone now, abandoning the polite courtesy he had before.

“And are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

Despite her hurry, Tim stared at her and looked back, checking if there was anyone outside the mansion and taking a few seconds to do so. Talia’s arrogant look didn’t intimidate him, and he spoke firmly:

“A few years ago, in that alley…” The phrase made her eyes widen, but she still took a deep breath to compose herself. “It was you.”

Talia never thought she would have the opportunity to face that boy again after that day. When Strange fled, she followed him and caught up with him. She remembers how she grabbed the man by the collar when she didn’t see you there. After wringing the truth out of that pathetic man, Talia had to let him go as she rushed desperately to where you were, but not before leaving a beaten face as a gift. But that night, that boy... Tim, had heard your call for help.

“So, you were the Robin.” She let out a curious laugh, looking Tim up and down. “And so what if it was me?”

“You tricked me. Pretended to be a helpless person.” He frowned while narrowing his eyes at her. “I remember the little girl I saved; it was her.” Tim turned his face towards the mansion again, as if to point at you.

“You just had the luck of arriving before me. And what did you expect me to do? Tell you who I was?” She took her gloves out of her pocket and began putting them on. “Do you think you could have caught me, kid?” She laughed sarcastically this time, belittling him.

“You could have told me the truth. You had the opportunity to tell Bruce about Hugo Strange all this time. We could have protected her.” Tim’s eyes moved around, trying to process. “After I left there, Bruce and I continued on patrol and found him passed out. If we had known who he really was, he might be in jail now.”

“Spare me your laments, kid. She’s going to stay here, isn’t she? So what else do you want?” Talia said, and Tim wasn’t surprised by the information. He had already assessed the scene while waiting to approach her outside. He had jumped through the bedroom window, having not been able to sleep after recognizing your face.

Tim remained silent. It seemed that Talia had a very concrete idea about everything, and it made no sense to try to circle her with assumptions about how things could have been. He couldn’t help but feel foolish, realizing that you had been so close to him at some point, and he couldn’t do anything for Bruce since he didn’t know.

“Listen.” Talia’s surprisingly soft voice caught him off guard. “Thank you for helping, even though I didn’t exactly need it.” Despite trying to be understanding, she couldn’t help but emphasize. “She means everything to me, you understand? Put some sense into your father, or I’ll find a way to take her back, and I promise you’ll never see her again.”

Tim swallowed hard at the mention of Bruce but snorted indifferently soon after. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“I noticed.” She murmured with irony and turned to walk away, with Tim not interrupting her this time. The boy watched her go to the car, but suddenly she stopped at the gate. She ran her fingers over the electronic lock, and suddenly some loose wires became visible. Tim found it strange, and Talia looked at him with a smile, which even from a distance, he could see.

“I think you’re going to need someone to fix this.” She shouted for him to hear, and for a moment, Tim thought if she had done it, but only now did he wonder how you had gotten past the front gate. It seems that your innocent face hid some skills. “Don’t pamper her, and tell your father and Pennyworth not to let her eat too much sugar.” She let the wires go while grumbling, slamming the car door, and driving away.

Tag list:

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@m4chine-girl @kellyyn02 @urminebutidontwantyou

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phantomrose96 · 9 months ago

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Oh, hey, hey there! Hello! Sorry to bother you. Yeah I'll be out of your DMs in just a second. Yeah it's just I was passing by and realized the way you're expressing your gender or sexuality really doesn't cohere with the way that my extremely insular groupthink faction of the internet thinks gender and sexuality should be expressed. What you're doing is really problematic actually, given how much it really doesn't gel with how my group thinks gender and sexuality need to work. I just wanted to give you a friendly heads up and give you the chance to change before I do anything like call you out publically.

Oh what's that? If you change what you're doing to satisfy me, then a completely different extremely insular groupthink circle of the internet will be mad at you instead? Yeah that's completely true. Luckily this is easy! My groupthink's group-think is the correct and progressive one. Their groupthink's group-think is really problematic and narrow-minded. I hope this helps?

Oh you're still doing what you're doing. :/ Okay man it's just that there's kids in my group, you know? Teens. They're literally kids, and you're making them super uncomfortable because we told them to be uncomfortable. Won't you think of the kids? This argument has never once backfired on a member of the queer community.

Oh. Okay. Well, I mean I was being really polite and respectful and you've just been rude so. Tell you what. If in 5 years from now the narrative has shifted such that the common queer community now supports what you're doing, I'm gonna act like I actually always supported this and have always been on your side. That's a good compromise right? Cool.

Anyway, I think that's totally fair of me. I'm gonna go warn everyone I know about how you're an unsafe person to interact with. This is for protection of the queer community. I'm a very good person.

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reidmarieprentiss · 6 months ago

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Not Her

Summary: Reader can't figure out why Spencer doesn't like her, Spencer doesn't know how to tell her it's not her fault.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: camping, being stuck, wilderness, swimming in underwear, teasing, talks of bullying, insecurities, mild aggression from a male (not spencer), small injury

Word count: 16.6k

a/n: i want to go camping with spencer sooo bad he would be so nerdy and useful

main masterlist

From the moment you joined the BAU, it was obvious that you were entering a tightly knit group. The closeness between the team members was clear, and while you didn’t expect to be everyone’s best friend right off the bat, you were determined to fit in. You took time to get to know everyone, learning their quirks, their likes, and dislikes, hoping to carve out your place within the team.

With Derek, you found an easy-going rapport. His playful nature and quick wit made it easy to banter back and forth. JJ was kind and welcoming, often making a point to include you in conversations or to check in on how you were adjusting. Penelope was a whirlwind of energy, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself swept up in her vibrant world of tech and color. Rossi felt like a wise uncle who loved everyone on the team as his own. Alex was someone who acted as an older sister to you and whom you looked up to very much, and Hotch, though stern, had a way of making you feel like you were a valuable part of the team.

But Spencer Reid… he was different.

From the start, there was a disconnect. It wasn’t as if he was openly hostile or dismissive—he was far too professional for that. But there was something in the way he avoided your gaze during meetings, or how he seemed to drift to the opposite side of the room whenever you entered. You had caught him, more than once, excusing himself from a conversation as you approached, as if the mere prospect of talking to you was something he couldn’t bear.

At first, you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that he was just shy or perhaps overwhelmed by the demands of the job. After all, you knew that Spencer wasn’t the most socially adept person in the world. But as time went on, the distance between you and him became more apparent, and it started to gnaw at you.

You didn’t need everyone to like you. You had learned long ago that such a goal was impossible, especially in a high-stakes environment like the BAU. But the way Spencer acted around you—like he could barely stand to be in the same room—was something you couldn’t ignore. You were both professionals, and you could work together when necessary, but it was clear that there was a barrier between you, one that wasn’t present with the rest of the team.

You found yourself replaying your interactions with him over and over in your mind, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. Was it something you had said? Something you had done? Had you offended him without realizing it? Every smile you offered that went unreturned, every attempt at conversation that fizzled out into uncomfortable silence, only deepened the mystery.

—

The whole team could see the ridge between you and Spencer, but no one was any more privy to its cause than you were. Naturally, they had asked, each of them trying to get to the bottom of the tension, but Spencer always brushed it off, insisting he had nothing against you. And technically, he wasn’t lying—it wasn’t you he had a problem with.

The team had noticed the rift between you and Spencer early on. It was impossible to ignore, especially in a group as close-knit as the BAU. And so, they took it upon themselves to try and bridge the gap, often resorting to what they jokingly referred to as “parent trapping” the two of you.

Whenever the team needed to double up on rooms during cases, you and Spencer were always the ones paired together. If there were assignments to be handled in pairs, it was somehow always the two of you that got teamed up. On the jet or at the round table, there would only be one spot left for each of you, forcing you to sit side by side. And then there were the bar nights—group outings where, mysteriously, everyone else would bail out at the last minute, leaving just you and Spencer nursing your drinks awkwardly.

But despite their best efforts, nothing seemed to work. Spencer wasn’t warming up to you, no matter how many times you ended up in forced proximity. The wall between you remained as solid as ever, and eventually, you stopped trying to break through it. You resigned yourself to the fact that whatever issue he had with you, it wasn’t something you could change.

However, Rossi—always the wise, seasoned veteran—was not ready to give up just yet. He had one last trick up his sleeve, one final attempt to get you and Spencer to break through the barrier between you.

A team bonding camping excursion.

It was the perfect setup. Out in the wilderness, away from the usual comforts and distractions of your everyday lives, you would all be forced to rely on each other. And maybe, just maybe, the isolation would do what all the previous attempts had failed to achieve.

But here’s the final kicker—when the day of the camping trip arrived, everyone else conveniently piled into cars together, leaving you and Spencer to drive alone in your car. You noticed the sly looks exchanged between your teammates as they handed out the keys, but before you could protest, Spencer was already sliding into the passenger seat of your vehicle.

Just as you were about to follow the convoy of cars out of the parking lot, Rossi strolled over to your window, an easygoing smile on his face. He handed you a printed sheet of directions, different from the ones the others had received.

"Just in case you get separated," he said with a wink, his tone far too innocent.

You couldn't shake the feeling that Rossi had planned this down to the last detail. Of course, you and Spencer wouldn’t just be separated from the group—you’d be on an entirely different route, one that would give you no choice but to spend even more time together, alone and without the safety net of your other teammates.

As you pulled out of the lot, Spencer sat quietly beside you, his eyes trained on the passing scenery. The silence in the car was heavy, almost suffocating, but there was nothing you could do now. You were in this together, whether either of you liked it or not.

And as the miles stretched out ahead of you, you couldn’t help but wonder what Rossi had in mind, and if this final trick up his sleeve would finally be the one to force Spencer to open up—or if it would just deepen the divide between you.

—

The campsite was a solid three hours away, and while the drive was scenic enough, it didn't change the fact that you had a small bladder and a penchant for drinking a lot of water and coffee. It was inevitable that you'd need to make a pit stop before reaching your destination.

As you glanced at the time on the dashboard and then at the half-empty travel mug in the cupholder, you sighed internally. You’d need to pull over soon. The thought of having to break the silence yet again didn’t exactly thrill you, but the discomfort was starting to outweigh your hesitation.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the quiet that had settled over the car. “I’m going to stop and use the restroom. Want me to grab you anything?”

Spencer, who had been quietly absorbed in the book he was reading, glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. “No, thank you,” he replied politely before returning his attention to the pages in front of him.

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and pulled off at the next rest stop. As you parked and unbuckled your seatbelt, you tried not to dwell on the strained exchange. It wasn’t much different from the countless other interactions you’d had with Spencer—brief, polite, and devoid of any real connection.

—

You’d been driving for what felt like ages, the occasional road sign the only indication that you were getting closer to your destination. You were determined to reach the campsite without any further detours, but the unfamiliar roads and winding paths made it easy to second-guess yourself.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the silence again that had settled back over the car like a heavy blanket. “I think we’re getting close. Can you give me directions, please?”

Spencer looked up from his book, blinking a few times as he refocused on the world outside. “Yeah,” he replied simply, his voice still carrying that same detached tone.

He reached for the directions Rossi had given you earlier, unfolding the paper and scanning the instructions. His finger traced the lines of text as he read through the details, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated the next turn.

“Take the next left,” he instructed, his eyes flicking up to the road ahead. “And then, after about two miles, there should be a right turn onto a dirt road. That should lead us directly to the campsite.”

“Got it,” you said, following his directions carefully, hoping that this final stretch would be as straightforward as he made it sound.

As you turned onto the narrow, winding road Spencer had pointed out, the trees began to close in around you, their dense foliage casting dappled shadows on the path. The silence returned, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. You glanced over at Spencer, who was once again absorbed in his book, his focus seemingly unshakeable.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. Did he realize how obvious the team’s attempts at pushing you two together were? Or was he simply indifferent to it all, content to keep you at arm’s length?

—

“Okay…” you mumbled under your breath as you pulled into what looked like a campsite. The trees parted just enough to reveal a small clearing, but the emptiness of it made you hesitate. The gravel crunched under the tires as you rolled to a stop, and you squinted through the windshield, scanning the area. “This should be the place… Do you see anyone else?”

Spencer lifted his gaze from his book, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the deserted clearing. “Uh, no. No, I do not.”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. You leaned forward, double-checking the area, but it was clear—you and Spencer were the only ones there. “Did I take a wrong turn?”

“Not according to the directions,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but not particularly reassuring.

You let out a slow breath, trying to push down the rising anxiety. “Maybe we beat them here?”

“That’s unlikely,” Spencer said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Due to the number of times you pulled over for the restroom.”

You couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up your neck at his blunt observation. “Right,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to figure out what to do next. “So… what do we do now? Should we wait for them to show up?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flicking back to the directions. “It’s possible they took a different route. But considering how empty this place is, I’d say we’re either very early, or we’re not at the right site.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, feeling the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. “Great. Just great. I’ll give Rossi a call,” you muttered, more to yourself than to Spencer, as you reached for your phone. The screen lit up, but when you glanced at the signal bar, your stomach dropped—no signal. “Uh, do you happen to have a signal on your cellphone?”

Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket and checked, his brow furrowing as he studied the screen. After a moment, he sighed, the sound tinged with resignation. “Nope.”

“Fantastic,” you said, the sarcasm barely masking your frustration. “Should we wait for a bit and see if anyone else shows up?”

Spencer considered the suggestion, his gaze drifting back to the empty clearing. “That seems like the best choice right now,” he agreed, his voice steady but lacking any real optimism.

With nothing else to do, you both settled into the uncomfortable silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last as you both kept your eyes on the road, hoping to see the rest of the team’s cars pull in. But the road remained empty, and the only company you had was the uneasy tension that had settled between you.

If this was Rossi’s idea of getting you and Spencer to bond, it was off to a rocky start.

—

The campsite in front of you looked serene and peaceful, bathed in the soft light filtering through the towering trees. The fire pit in the center was surrounded by a few scattered logs, perfect for sitting around and enjoying the warmth of a campfire. Despite its picturesque setting, the site was eerily empty, with no sign of the team anywhere.

Eventually, you heard the sound of Spencer unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. The soft click of the door opening made you glance over. “What are you doing?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Getting out,” Spencer replied simply as he stepped onto the gravel. “I want to stretch my legs.”

You nodded, realizing that was a good idea. “Yeah, good idea,” you agreed, your tone a bit lighter now. The tension of being cooped up in the car with nothing but silence between you two was beginning to wear on you.

You both got out of the car, the fresh air a welcome change after the long drive. As you stood there, taking in the surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a bit more relaxed. The forest around you was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the faint crackle of the fire pit from when it was last used.

Spencer moved toward the center of the campsite, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looked around. “It’s a nice spot,” he commented, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

You walked a little closer to him, scanning the area for any signs of the team. “Yeah,” you agreed, though the emptiness still gnawed at you. “But it’s weird that no one else is here yet.”

Spencer nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe they’re just running late. Or they took a different route like I said before.”

You glanced back at the car, then around the site again. It was hard to shake the feeling that something was off, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now. “Well, at least it’s peaceful,” you said, trying to focus on the positive.

Spencer gave a small nod, seemingly content to stand there in the stillness of the forest. Despite the lingering uncertainty, there was something calming about the solitude, and for a moment, the silence between you felt less strained and more comfortable.

—

As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, casting long shadows across the campsite, you felt a growing sense of unease. The emptiness of the site was now coupled with the approaching darkness, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. You finally voiced your concern, unable to keep it to yourself any longer. “Spencer, they’re obviously not coming. Should we drive around? Look for a fire? Or just head home?”

Spencer, who had been pacing slightly near the car, stopped and looked at you, his expression conflicted. “I don’t—I don’t know what we should do,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly, a rare display of uncertainty from him.

You bit your lip, weighing the options. None of them seemed particularly appealing, especially as the light continued to fade. “Okay… do you just want to set up here for the night and figure it out in the morning?”

“Umm… yeah,” he agreed after a moment, though his tone was far from confident. “Do you mind if I sleep in the car?”

That caught you off guard. “Sure…” you replied slowly, trying to mask your surprise. Spencer had always been an enigma, but this felt particularly strange. It wasn’t like him to be so unsettled.

Alas, you pushed the oddness aside and decided to focus on the practical. You set about pitching your tent, the familiar motions calming your nerves slightly. Once it was up, you ducked inside to change into your pajamas, eager to get a fire going and start making some food. The pangs of hunger were beginning to make themselves known, and you knew you needed to eat something soon.

When you emerged from the tent, you glanced over at Spencer, who was standing by the car, arms crossed, looking even more out of place than usual. “Spencer, you can use my tent to change if you want,” you offered, trying to bridge the gap between you.

“No thank you, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, almost too quickly. His refusal struck you as odd, adding to the growing list of things that didn’t seem right about this situation.

“Would you mind getting the cooler from the boot then?” you asked, hoping to keep things moving forward, even if everything else felt off.

Spencer nodded and moved to the back of the car, retrieving the cooler with a quiet efficiency. But as you started preparing the food, you couldn’t help but notice how closely he was watching you. His gaze was intense, almost as if he was studying you—or perhaps watching out for something.

It was unsettling, to say the least. You tried to brush it off, focusing on the task at hand, but it was difficult to ignore the prickling sensation of being observed so intently. “Everything okay?” you asked casually as you stirred the food, hoping to ease some of the tension.

Spencer blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts had been occupying his mind. “Yeah,” he said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convincing.

You paused for a moment, considering his words. While it wasn’t unusual for Spencer to be cautious, the way he was acting now felt different—like he was on edge, anticipating something. “Let’s eat and get some rest. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

He nodded, but the unease didn’t leave his eyes. As you finished cooking and began to serve up the food, you couldn’t help but wonder what had Spencer so spooked—and whether you should be more concerned than you already were.

—

That night, Spencer stuck to his word and slept in the car with the doors locked. You couldn’t help but feel a little puzzled by his behavior—he seemed so on edge, far more than you’d ever seen him, and it left you wondering why he had agreed to come camping in the first place. The idea of him spending the night in a locked car instead of enjoying the fresh air and the open sky was odd, to say the least.

But despite the lingering unease, you slept surprisingly well. Camping had always been something you loved—the scent of the pine trees, the sounds of the forest, the cool breeze that swept through the tent—all of it made you feel at peace. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl, and you drifted off easily, wrapped in your sleeping bag.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was already casting a warm glow over the campsite. You stretched, feeling refreshed, and emerged from your tent to find Spencer already awake. He was crouched by a small fire, a pot of instant coffee brewing over the flames. The sight of him tending to the fire, his movements precise and deliberate, was a little surprising. It was clear that he hadn’t slept much—if at all.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you walked over to him.

“Morning,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but still carrying that edge of tension.

You sat down on one of the logs near the fire, enjoying the warmth it provided as you shook off the last remnants of sleep. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, trying to gauge his mood.

“Fine,” he answered shortly, though you weren’t convinced. “You?”

“Really good,” you said with a small smile. “I love the fresh air. There’s just something about being out here that makes everything feel better.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze fixed on the pot of coffee as he stirred it. “Yeah, fresh air is good,” he said absently, though his tone lacked the enthusiasm you had.

You watched him for a moment, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to be holding himself together with sheer willpower. Something was definitely off, but you weren’t sure how to address it without making him uncomfortable. “Spencer,” you began cautiously, “is everything okay? You seem… different.”

He paused, the spoon in his hand stilling as he considered your question. After a long moment, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I just… I don’t like the idea of being out here without the rest of the team. It doesn’t feel right.”

His admission caught you off guard. You knew Spencer was meticulous, always needing to have control over the details, but you hadn’t realized just how much this situation was affecting him. “I get that,” you said softly, trying to offer some reassurance. “But we’re safe here, and we’ll figure things out. Maybe we’ll hear from them once we’re back in range.”

Spencer gave a small nod, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You decided to let the conversation drop, not wanting to push him further. Instead, you focused on the comforting smell of coffee and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden light over the campsite. For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

But as you glanced around the site, something caught your eye—a piece of paper tacked to a tree, fluttering slightly in the breeze. “Hey, did you see that?” you asked, pointing towards it.

Before Spencer could answer, you were already on your feet, walking towards the tree. The paper was pinned to the bark with a small tack, and as you pulled it down, you quickly scanned the handwritten note. Your eyes widened as you read the familiar handwriting, the message becoming clear.

Hey guys!

I know you’ll be mad about this, but please see it from our point of view. We sent you two to a separate site, please talk through your issues, we are a team and we need to be able to trust each other. Obviously, we can’t force you to stay, but if you do come home early, you will each have to take two paid days off. No work.

Please, work it out.

You stared at the note in disbelief for a moment, the words sinking in. This whole thing—Rossi’s directions, the empty campsite, the strange sense of being set up—it had all been orchestrated by the team. They had sent you and Spencer to a completely different site, forcing you into isolation together with the clear intention that you’d hash out whatever had been causing the rift between you.

You turned back to Spencer, holding the note up so he could see it. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, frustration and disbelief coloring your voice.

Spencer stood up and walked over, taking the paper from your hand. His eyes quickly scanned the note, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he realized what had happened. “They… they set us up,” he said quietly, his voice laced with irritation and something else—maybe betrayal.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you replied, crossing your arms as you processed the situation. “They’re basically holding us hostage until we ‘work it out.’”

Spencer shook his head, clearly struggling with the realization. “They can’t just force us to talk. We’re not children.”

“Apparently, they think we need to be treated like we are,” you replied, the frustration in your voice mirroring his.

He remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the note as if it might offer some sort of solution. The fire crackled behind you, the only sound breaking the heavy tension that had settled between the two of you. The note in his hand felt like a ticking time bomb, and you both knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This wasn’t how you had envisioned things going, but there was no turning back now. “Spencer… should we just talk about it?” you asked, your voice softer, almost pleading.

“About what?” he replied, still not meeting your eyes, his tone flat and defensive.

“Come on… please,” you urged, trying to keep your frustration at bay. You needed to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. “Did I do something to you?”

“No,” he answered quickly, his voice sharp with finality.

“But you don’t like me,” you pressed, feeling the frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t just his short answers that were getting to you; it was the wall he was so clearly putting up, the refusal to even entertain the possibility of a conversation. You were tired of dancing around the issue, of feeling like you were constantly walking on eggshells around him.

“It’s not—” Spencer started, but then he cut himself off, clenching his jaw. His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flash in them—something like pain, or maybe guilt. But just as quickly, he looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The firmness in his voice left little room for argument, but you weren’t ready to give up. Not after everything. “Spencer, please,” you said, trying to reach him on a level beyond the walls he’d built around himself. “I’m not trying to push you, but this… whatever this is between us… it’s affecting the team. It’s affecting us. We can’t just keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed, and you could see the internal struggle he was facing, the way his mind was working through a hundred different thoughts at once. He seemed to be weighing his options, considering whether or not to open up. But in the end, all he did was shake his head again, his expression closing off. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t.”

You felt a pang of disappointment, not just for yourself, but for him too. Whatever was going on inside his head, it was clearly something he wasn’t ready—or willing—to share. And that left you at an impasse, standing on opposite sides of a divide neither of you knew how to cross.

“Okay, well,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you turned away from him, “I’m just going to go for a walk then.”

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly in alarm. “No, Y/N, that could be dangerous,” he said, his tone more urgent than you expected. There was a genuine concern in his voice, a sharp contrast to the distance he’d been maintaining.

“I don’t care,” you replied, your words coming out sharper than you intended. You needed to clear your head, to get some space, even if it meant wandering off into the woods. The tension between you and Spencer had reached a breaking point, and staying here, in this stifling atmosphere, felt unbearable.

You turned and started walking away, not really caring which direction you were heading. The forest loomed around you, the trees casting long shadows in the morning light, but you welcomed the solitude. You needed time to think, to process everything that had just happened.

Behind you, you heard Spencer call your name again, but you didn’t stop. The sound of his voice faded as you walked deeper into the trees, the cool air brushing against your skin as you moved further away from the campsite. You didn’t know where you were going or how far you would walk, but right now, that didn’t matter. All you wanted was some distance—from the campsite, from Spencer, from the emotions that had been building up inside you.

You heard the leaves crunch beneath your boots as you continued walking, the forest growing quieter with each step. The anger and frustration that had driven you out here began to ebb, replaced by a heavy feeling of sadness. You didn’t know why Spencer was so intent on keeping you at arm’s length, but whatever it was, it hurt. It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythm of your footsteps and the cool, fresh air filling your lungs. The walk might not solve anything, but it was a start. At least out here, you could breathe.

—

When you finally returned to the campsite, the tension in your chest had eased, though the lingering frustration and sadness hadn’t entirely left. As you approached, you noticed Spencer sitting by the fire, a new book in his hands. His fingers flicked through the pages at lightning speed, a blur of motion as he absorbed the text with the kind of intensity that only Spencer Reid could muster.

He didn’t look up right away, but you noticed his ears perk up at the sound of your footsteps crunching over the forest floor. It was a subtle movement, but it was clear he was aware of your presence, even if he wasn’t immediately acknowledging it.

You stood there for a moment, watching him as he continued to read, his focus unwavering despite your return. The sight of him, so deeply engrossed in his book, made you wonder if he’d spent the entire time trying to escape into its pages, to block out the unresolved tension between you both.

“Okay, Spencer,” you began, your voice steady as you walked closer to where he sat. “Here it is. I’ll drive us back tonight. I’ll tell Hotch that I made us leave and I’ll take the two days of paid leave. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk to me, and I’ll take the blame.”

Spencer finally looked up from his book, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. There was surprise and confusion in his expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. For a moment, he just stared at you, the book forgotten in his hands.

“You… you’d do that?” he asked, his voice soft, almost uncertain. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even confrontational after the way things had gone earlier, but instead, here you were, offering to take the blame, to make it easier for him.

It was clear that Spencer couldn’t believe how nice you were being, especially after everything. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, fearing that you might turn out to be like your sister, but your words and actions were proving just how wrong he might have been.

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug, trying to downplay the gesture even though it meant a lot to you. “I mean, we’re obviously not getting anywhere with this. If leaving early is what’s best, then that’s what we’ll do. And I don’t mind taking the hit for it. I’m not going to force you to talk if you don’t want to.”

Spencer swallowed, still struggling to find the right words. He wasn’t used to this kind of kindness, especially not from someone he had kept at arm’s length for so long. It was disarming, to say the least.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with genuine surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a soft, understanding smile. “But I’m offering to because I know this whole situation isn’t easy for either of us. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

For a long moment, Spencer just looked at you, trying to reconcile the person standing in front of him with the fears and assumptions he had held onto for so long.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice sincere. “I… I really appreciate it. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to leave just yet. We could just… see how things go.”

You nodded, sensing the tentative olive branch he was offering. “Okay,” you said gently, feeling a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something better between the two of you.

Spencer nodded, a small, almost hesitant smile forming on his lips. It was a start—a small one, but a start nonetheless.

“Could I maybe ask you a question?” you ventured, your voice tentative, hoping to bridge the gap between you both just a little more.

“Sure,” Spencer said, closing his book slightly but still keeping his thumb between the pages, as if not entirely ready to let go of his comfort zone.

“Did I… do something?” you asked, the question hanging in the air between you. You had to know, even if it was uncomfortable.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone gentle, yet firm. “You didn’t do anything.”

There was a brief pause, the silence between you more comfortable now than it had been earlier. You gave a small nod, accepting his answer even if it didn’t give you all the clarity you had hoped for. “Okay, I’ll leave you with your book,” you said, starting to step back, figuring he might want some space.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t pick up where he left off in his book. Instead, he looked up at you, his expression more open than it had been since you’d met. “You don’t have to… we can talk a bit,” he offered, and though his voice was cautious, there was a genuine willingness in it.

You smiled slightly, appreciating the gesture. “Alright,” you agreed, trying to think of something simple to start with. “Um, where did you grow up?”

“Las Vegas,” Spencer answered, the familiar name rolling off his tongue with a mix of nostalgia and a hint of something else—perhaps a memory he wasn’t sure he wanted to share yet.

“Seriously?” you asked, your eyes widening with surprise.

“Yeah… is that weird?” Spencer replied, his expression uncertain, as if he was bracing for your reaction.

“No, no, that’s where I grew up too,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. The coincidence was almost too much to wrap your head around.

“Oh…” Spencer’s voice trailed off, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He seemed hesitant, like there was something more he wasn’t saying.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, sensing there was more to the story. “Okay, you know something. Did you see my file or something?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting away for a moment before he answered. “Or something…”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, half-joking, but still curious. “Oh, come on, Spencer. What’s up? What school did you go to?”

“Las Vegas High,” he admitted, finally meeting your gaze again.

Your eyes lit up with recognition. “Me too! Wait… but you’re only two years younger than me. Would I have known you?”

Spencer’s expression shifted slightly, and you could see a mix of emotions flicker across his face—hesitation, discomfort, maybe even a touch of embarrassment. “No… uh, I was a freshman at 8 years old.”

“Woah! That’s insane!” you exclaimed, genuinely amazed. “That must have been so difficult for you.”

“It was,” Spencer admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of old memories.

You felt a pang of empathy for him, imagining how tough it must have been to navigate high school as a child. The challenges he faced were beyond anything you could have imagined at that age. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I wish we had been in school at the same time, we could have been friends,” you said, offering him a warm smile.

Spencer’s discomfort was palpable, and you could sense it immediately, like a shift in the air between you. He shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping back to the ground as if he was retreating into himself again. “What did we bring for dinner tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to steer the conversation away from where it had been heading.

The sudden change in topic stung, a pang of rejection hitting you square in the chest. You had thought, just for a moment, that you were making progress, that maybe you were getting through to him. But you knew Spencer well enough by now to realize that he wasn’t ready to go there, not yet. And pushing him wouldn’t help.

So, for his sake, you forced yourself to move on. “Uh, hotdogs, I think,” you said, trying to match his casual tone, even though the disappointment lingered in the back of your mind.

You busied yourself with preparing the food, focusing on the simple task of gathering the ingredients and setting them up by the fire. The familiar motions helped ground you, giving you something to concentrate on besides the unease that had crept back into your interactions.

Spencer remained quiet, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you worked. There was a tension in his posture, a subtle but unmistakable sign that he was still grappling with whatever had made him uncomfortable in the first place.

“Hotdogs it is, then,” you said, forcing a small smile as you handed him a stick to skewer the hotdogs. You hoped that by focusing on something as simple as cooking dinner, you could ease some of the tension between you, even if the conversation from earlier still hung heavy in the air.

Spencer took the stick from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before he looked away again.

As the two of you cooked over the fire, the crackling flames and the scent of roasting hotdogs filled the air, creating a more comfortable silence. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start, and for now, that was enough.

—

The conversation over dinner had been light and mostly focused on work—discussing cases, swapping stories about the more mundane aspects of life at the BAU. It was easy, familiar territory, a safe haven for both of you to retreat to after the earlier tension. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the campsite, a quiet settled between you.

After finishing your meal, you excused yourself to change into your pajamas, the cool night air making you eager to get comfortable. When you returned to the fire, Spencer was still sitting by the flames, the orange light flickering over his face as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

You approached him, sitting back down across from him. The night was still, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves. For a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to break the fragile peace, but curiosity got the better of you.

“Hey, Reid,” you called softly, trying to ease into the question that had been on your mind since the night before.

“Mhm,” he hummed in response, not looking up from the fire but clearly acknowledging you.

You bit your lip, then decided to just go for it. “Why did you sleep in the car?”

The question hung in the air between you, and you saw Spencer’s entire body stiffen. He froze, his eyes widening slightly, the tension in his shoulders returning in an instant. You could tell he didn’t want to answer, and for a second, you regretted asking. But you had to know.

“Just safer, I guess,” he finally mumbled, his voice tight and unconvincing. His eyes remained fixed on the fire, avoiding your gaze entirely.

You could sense there was more to it, something he wasn’t telling you, but you decided not to push. Spencer was clearly uncomfortable, and whatever the real reason was, he wasn’t ready to share it. So you nodded, accepting his explanation even if it didn’t feel entirely truthful.

“Okay,” you said softly, letting the matter drop. You didn’t want to make him feel any more uneasy than he already did.

—

Halfway through the night, you jolted awake, your heart pounding in your chest. There was an eerie, unsettling sound coming from outside your tent—a low, persistent noise that sent chills down your spine. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just the wind or some animal moving through the underbrush, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t calm down. The noise wasn’t stopping, and the longer it went on, the more your imagination ran wild.

Unable to shake the growing fear, you carefully and quietly unzipped your sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. The cold night air hit you immediately, but the fear kept you moving. You crept toward the car, every step making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. When you reached the car, you knocked lightly on the window, hoping not to startle Spencer too much.

“Spencer!” you whisper-yelled, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. You could see him stir where he had flattened the back seats into a makeshift bed, his body shifting as he came to.

“Reid!” you whispered again, a little more urgently this time.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with wide, confused eyes. He sat up quickly, clearly surprised to see you standing there in the middle of the night. He leaned forward and unlocked the door, cracking it open just enough to speak to you. “What??” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep and a touch of irritation.

“Can I come in, please?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with fear.

Spencer blinked, clearly not expecting that. “No??” he replied, still half-asleep and unsure of what you were asking.

“Spencer, there’s a really scary noise out here,” you pleaded, your fear becoming more evident as you looked at him with wide, desperate eyes. “Please, please let me in.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing. He was still wary, worried that this might be some sort of prank or something worse. But as he looked at you, really looked at you, he saw the genuine fear in your expression. You weren’t trying to mess with him—you were genuinely scared. He’d never seen you like this before.

“Okay, fine,” he finally relented, scooting over to make room for you in the cramped space.

You didn’t waste any time, quickly crawling into the car and pulling the door closed behind you. As soon as you were inside, Spencer locked the doors again, the click of the locks echoing in the silence.

The two of you sat there for a moment, the car suddenly feeling much smaller with both of you inside. The strange noise outside continued, but now that you were with Spencer, the fear didn’t seem as overwhelming. You still couldn’t pinpoint what the noise was, but you felt safer with him there, even if he was still a bit unsure about the whole situation.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the irritation gone.

You nodded, still trying to calm your racing heart. “Yeah… I just couldn’t stay in the tent with that noise. It was freaking me out.”

He nodded in understanding, though his eyes flicked toward the windows, clearly trying to listen for the noise himself. “It’s probably just an animal,” he said, trying to reassure both you and himself.

“Maybe,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely convinced. But for now, you were just grateful to be out of the tent and with someone who made you feel a little less alone.

—

Eventually, despite the lingering fear and the cramped quarters, exhaustion took over, and you both drifted off to sleep in the back of the car. The strange noise outside had faded into the background, and the warmth of the enclosed space made it easier to relax.

Sometime in the middle of the night, however, Spencer stirred from his sleep, his body shifting slightly as he became aware of something unexpected. Blinking his eyes open, he realized with a start that your limbs were wrapped around him, your body pressed close as you clung to him in your sleep. Your arm was draped over his chest, your leg tangled with his, and your head was nestled against his shoulder. It was as if you had sought out the warmth and security he provided, even unconsciously.

Spencer froze, his mind racing as he tried to process the situation. He wasn’t used to this—intimacy, even in such an innocent form, was foreign territory for him. His heart started to race, not out of fear but out of sheer confusion. What was he supposed to do? Should he wake you? Should he try to untangle himself without disturbing you?

But as he lay there, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing against him, he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was something oddly comforting about the way you had sought him out, something that made him feel… needed. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to, and it left him at a loss for what to do next.

He glanced down at you, seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. The fear and tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a calmness that was almost contagious. Spencer’s mind continued to whirl, but he didn’t want to disturb you—not when you seemed so at ease.

So, he stayed still, letting you cling to him, trying to reconcile the strange mix of emotions coursing through him. The awkwardness was still there, but it was tempered by a quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, things between you two were starting to change. And for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem so terrifying after all.

—

When the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting warm golden rays across the campsite, Spencer was already outside, crouched by the fire as he prepared coffee. The familiar scent of brewing coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the forest, creating a peaceful start to the day. You emerged from the car, feeling a little stiff from the cramped sleep, but more than that, you were feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

You approached Spencer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey… thanks again for letting me bunk with you,” you said, your voice laced with genuine gratitude.

“No problem,” Spencer replied, his tone flat, distant, as he focused on the coffee. He didn’t look up, his gaze firmly fixed on the task at hand.

The coldness in his voice felt like a sharp contrast to the fleeting moment of connection you thought you’d shared the night before. You sighed, the disappointment settling heavily in your chest. Somehow, it seemed like you’d messed up again, and you couldn’t help but feel the sting of rejection all over again.

“Did that… make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry,” you ventured, hoping to clear the air, even if it meant confronting whatever it was that had made him withdraw.

“It’s fine,” Spencer replied, his voice clipped, as if he was trying to end the conversation before it could really start. He still didn’t meet your eyes, his attention entirely on the coffee pot.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the familiar ache of misunderstanding between you two. It was clear that whatever had happened during the night had unsettled him, but he wasn’t willing to talk about it. The walls were back up, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t seem to break through.

But instead of pressing further, you decided to let it go, at least for now. Pushing Spencer never worked, and you knew that trying to force a conversation would only make things worse. So you offered him a small, resigned smile, even if he wasn’t looking to see it.

“Okay,” you said softly, accepting his response even though it left you feeling hollow.

You sat down by the fire, quietly waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The silence between you felt heavy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had taken a step backward after all the progress you thought you’d made.

“Um, we can head out whenever you’re ready. We only had to stay until today,” you mumbled, your voice subdued as you stood up and started to take down your tent. You avoided looking directly at Spencer, the awkwardness of the morning still hanging in the air.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer replied, his tone neutral, though you could sense a hint of hesitation in his response.

As you began to disassemble the tent, Spencer watched you for a moment, the silence between you lingering. Despite everything, he found himself reluctant to leave. The tension and awkwardness aside, there had been moments—small, fleeting moments—where he had actually enjoyed your company. The quiet of the campsite, the simplicity of the night, even the unexpected comfort he’d found in your presence last night… it was all something he hadn’t anticipated.

He felt a strange pull, a desire to stay just a little longer, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why. But he was Spencer Reid, and expressing those kinds of feelings wasn’t something that came easily to him. Instead, he stood there, conflicted, as he watched you go about packing up.

“Actually… we don’t have to rush,” Spencer finally said, his voice softer now. “If you want, we could stay for a little while longer. There’s no hurry.”

You paused in your task, surprised by his words. You turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of what had changed his mind. “Are you sure?” you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose if he really wanted to leave.

Spencer nodded, his expression more open than it had been all morning. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s… nice out here. Peaceful.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that morning, you felt a bit of the tension ease. Maybe you hadn’t messed up as badly as you thought. “Okay,” you agreed, setting the tent pole back down. “We can stay a little longer.”

Spencer gave a small, almost imperceptible smile in return, and as the two of you stood there in the morning light, it felt like there was a chance to start over—to take the time neither of you had been willing to take before.

—

After a simple breakfast, you looked over at Spencer, feeling a bit more at ease with the morning stretching out before you. “When I went for a walk, I saw a body of water,” you suggested, trying to keep the conversation light and inviting. “Do you want to go check it out?”

Spencer looked up from his coffee, a little surprised by the suggestion. “Oh, sure,” he agreed, his tone more relaxed than it had been earlier.

The two of you set off through the trees, following the path you had taken before. It didn’t take long to find the body of water again, the sunlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering patterns. The sight was even more beautiful now, with the morning light casting a gentle glow over the water.

“It’s gorgeous,” Spencer said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation as he took in the scene.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your eyes sweeping over the peaceful setting. The water was so clear, so inviting, that you couldn’t resist the urge to get in. “I’m going to get in,” you announced, already starting to kick off your shoes.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked, his surprise evident as he watched you strip down to your undergarments without hesitation. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as you waded into the cold, refreshing water, a small shiver running through you as the temperature hit your skin.

The water was invigorating, waking you up in a way that the morning coffee never could. You splashed around a bit, reveling in the feeling of the water against your skin. Turning back to Spencer, who was still standing at the edge, looking unsure of what to do, you grinned. “Do you know how to swim, genius?”

“Yes,” he replied, blushing even deeper as he averted his eyes slightly, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of decorum despite the situation.

“Do you want to join me?” you asked, your voice light and teasing as you floated on your back, letting the water carry you.

Spencer hesitated, clearly torn between his natural inclination to stay dry and the surprising appeal of joining you in the water. After a moment, he looked back at you, the uncertainty in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—curiosity, maybe even a touch of daring.

“Alright,” he finally said, as if making a decision that surprised even himself. With a deep breath, he began to unbutton his shirt, methodically removing his clothes until he was down to a tshirt and briefs. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if he was still a bit unsure about this whole idea.

When he finally stepped into the water, a shiver ran through him as the cold enveloped his body. “It’s… colder than I expected,” he admitted, his voice a bit higher-pitched than usual.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, watching as he waded in deeper, adjusting to the temperature. “You’ll get used to it,” you assured him, still floating easily on the surface.

Spencer nodded, his movements tentative at first, but as he swam out to where you were, he began to relax. There was a certain lightness to the moment, a freedom that neither of you had felt in a long time. The water, the sun, the simple act of swimming—it was a welcome escape from the tension that had defined your interactions until now.

The two of you spent what felt like hours playing and splashing in the water, the cool waves washing away the tension that had been hanging between you. It was a rare, carefree moment where you both felt free and childlike, laughing without a care in the world. There were no pressures, no responsibilities—just the simple joy of being in the moment.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling that it was time to come out, you noticed a shift in Spencer. He seemed hesitant, his earlier playfulness replaced with a familiar tension. He lingered in the water, avoiding your gaze, and you could sense his discomfort.

“Um, Y/N… can you turn around when I get out?” Spencer asked, his voice quiet, almost nervous.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course,” you replied, caught a little off guard by his request but willing to do whatever made him comfortable.

“And, um… maybe walk a bit away?” he added, his tone even more tentative.

“Uh huh, sure. Whatever you want,” you said gently, giving him a reassuring smile before turning away and moving up the bank. You grabbed your clothes and began walking a bit further from the water, giving him the privacy he clearly needed.

Spencer waited until you were a safe distance away and preoccupied with getting dressed before he quickly and quietly scrambled out of the water, pulling on his clothes as fast as he could. The vulnerability of being in nothing but water-tight briefs had brought back all his fears, the insecurities that had haunted him for years.

As you both started the walk back to the campsite, you couldn’t help but address the tension that still lingered. “Did you think I would make fun of you?” you asked, your voice soft, but tinged with concern.

Spencer shook his head slightly, though he didn’t look at you. “Oh, no, I don’t know,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

Your heart ached at his response. “I wouldn’t, for the record,” you said earnestly, hoping to reassure him.

There was a brief silence, heavy with unspoken emotions, before you felt compelled to share something of your own. “I grew up with a really mean sister,” you began, your voice carrying the weight of old wounds. “She would make fun of everyone for anything and everything, including me. It was a torturous way to grow up. I would never want to make anyone feel the way that she made me feel.”

Spencer suddenly stopped walking, his entire body tensing as if he’d hit an invisible wall. You turned to him, alarmed by the sudden change.

“Spencer? Are you okay?” you asked, worry lacing your voice.

He took a deep breath, his voice strained as he spoke. “It’s not you, it’s never been you,” he said, his words confusing you even more. “It was your sister.”

“What?” you whispered, the revelation hitting you like a cold gust of wind.

“Your sister was in my grade in high school,” Spencer explained, his voice trembling with the emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

“Oh…” was all you could manage, the pieces slowly clicking into place.

“She wasn’t nice,” Spencer continued, his voice thick with the memories. His eyes welled up with tears, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “She bullied me pretty relentlessly. Tied me up naked to a flagpole and took pictures.”

“Spencer… oh my God,” you breathed, horror and guilt crashing over you. You thought your heart had broken earlier, but now it felt shattered, the pieces scattered by the weight of his confession. “I don’t even know what to say. I am so, so sorry. No one ever deserves that. I can’t believe you went through that.”

Spencer nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he stood there, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. The pain he had carried for so long, the fear that had driven a wedge between you, was now out in the open.

“Can I—can I hug you?” you offered, your voice gentle, filled with the empathy and care that had been building in your heart since Spencer’s revelation.

Spencer hesitated for only a moment before nodding, allowing you to pull him into an embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the tension in his body gradually melt away as he leaned into the comfort you were offering.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured softly against his shoulder. “I’m going to assume that you were afraid of me being like my sister, and that’s why you didn’t talk to me.”

Spencer nodded again, his silent confirmation making your heart ache even more for him. You could only imagine the fear and pain he must have felt, avoiding you because of a past that had nothing to do with who you truly were.

“I just want you to know, Spencer,” you continued, your voice steady but filled with emotion, “I would never do anything to hurt you in any way. I am nothing like her. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the opposite of her. My family disowned her a long time ago.”

Spencer pulled back slightly then, just enough to look at you, his eyes still wet with tears. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, a deep, raw emotion that spoke volumes. “I believe you,” he whispered, his voice breaking but filled with sincerity.

Your own eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his belief in you meaning more than you could express. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel uncomfortable this whole time,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I completely understand why you didn’t want to get too close to me.”

Spencer shook his head slightly, about to apologize, but you stopped him before he could. “No, never apologize for protecting yourself,” you insisted, your tone firm but kind. “We’ve solved it now, and that’s what matters. I hope we can be friends?”

There was a moment of silence as Spencer processed your words, and then, slowly, a small but genuine smile formed on his lips. “Of course,” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief and hope wash over you. The wall between you and Spencer had finally come down, and in its place was the beginning of a real connection—one built on understanding, empathy, and the promise of a friendship that could grow from here.

“Thank you,” Spencer added quietly, his voice full of gratitude. And for the first time, you both felt like you were truly starting fresh, free from the shadows of the past.

—

You and Spencer made it back to Quantico with a sense of quiet relief, knowing that the rift between you had finally been addressed. When you reported back to the team, you both kept the details vague, simply letting them know that you had worked things out. Spencer was immensely grateful for your discretion, and you could see it in the small, appreciative smiles he sent your way. During the ride back, the two of you had chatted the entire time, the conversation flowing easily as if the weight of the past had finally been lifted.

The next day at work, you felt a new sense of ease around Spencer. The tension was gone, replaced by the beginnings of what felt like a genuine friendship. As you approached his desk, you felt a little flutter of nerves, but it was a good kind—like you were about to take a step forward into something new.

“Hey, Spencer…” you called softly as you reached his desk.

He looked up from his work, a smile spreading across his face when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted warmly.

“Would you maybe want to come over this weekend? We could watch a movie or something?” you asked, hoping to continue building on the connection you’d started.

“Sure,” he grinned, clearly pleased by the invitation. “That sounds great.”

You returned his smile, feeling a little spark of excitement as you walked away. It felt good to know that things between you and Spencer were on a new path, one that was built on mutual understanding and trust.

Unbeknownst to you, Derek Morgan had been casually eavesdropping from a distance. As soon as you were out of earshot, he sneaked up on Spencer, a mischievous grin on his face. “You got yourself a date, Reid?” Derek teased, leaning on the desk with a playful glint in his eye.

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “What? No, we’re just hanging out,” he insisted, his voice flustered but firm.

“Mhm,” Derek hummed, not buying it for a second, his teasing grin only widening. “Sure, man, just hanging out.”

Spencer shot him a look, trying to maintain his composure, but the slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. Despite Derek’s teasing, there was a sense of warmth and excitement bubbling up inside Spencer—because for the first time, “just hanging out” with someone felt like it could lead to something more, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it yet.

Derek chuckled and gave Spencer a friendly pat on the shoulder before walking away, leaving Spencer to ponder the possibilities that lay ahead, a small smile still lingering on his face.

—

Friday evening arrived faster than you and Spencer had expected. Both of you were feeling excitement and nervousness, eager for the evening ahead but also unsure of how it would unfold. You had spent the day tidying up and preparing your living room, making sure everything was just right for your night of movie watching and hanging out. You wanted Spencer to feel comfortable, and you hoped the cozy atmosphere you’d created would help set the tone for a relaxing evening.

When Spencer arrived at your place, he was immediately taken aback by the scene before him. Your living room was bathed in the soft glow of string lights, their warm hue giving the room a welcoming, almost magical quality. The sunset outside the window painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, adding to the serene ambiance. The couch was piled with soft blankets, and a few pillows were scattered around, inviting him to sit and get comfortable. On the coffee table, you had set out some snacks, drinks, and everything you might need for a night of watching movies.

As he stepped inside, Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He had been half-expecting some sort of trick or prank, but instead, you had gone out of your way to make the evening as enjoyable as possible. It was clear that you genuinely wanted to spend time with him, and the effort you’d put into setting everything up didn’t go unnoticed.

“Wow,” Spencer said softly, his eyes taking in the cozy, well-thought-out setup. “This looks amazing.”

You smiled, pleased that he seemed to like it. “Thanks, I wanted to make sure we could just relax and have a good time,” you replied, motioning for him to come in and make himself comfortable. “No tricks, I promise.”

Spencer chuckled, the tension he’d been feeling all day melting away as he settled onto the couch. “I believe you,” he said, feeling more at ease than he had expected.

As you both sat down, the air was filled with a comfortable anticipation, the kind that comes with knowing you’re about to spend time with someone you genuinely enjoy being around. It was the start of what promised to be a wonderful evening, free from the worries of the past and full of the potential for a growing friendship.

After the first movie ended, the credits rolling across the screen, you and Spencer found yourselves lingering on the couch, the atmosphere between you light and airy, buoyed by the humor of the comedy you’d just watched. The laughter had done its job, breaking down any lingering tension, and now conversation flowed easily between you.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” you asked, turning to Spencer with a smile. You’d both been chuckling throughout, but you were curious to hear his thoughts now that it was over.

“It was great,” Spencer replied, a genuine grin on his face. “I don’t usually watch a lot of comedies, but that one was really funny. The timing, the dialogue… it was all really well done.” He seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, his guard down as he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you said, pleased that he had enjoyed it. “Sometimes you just need something light to unwind, you know?”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “Definitely. It’s nice to just… laugh, without thinking too much.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I guess I don’t do that enough.”

You smiled softly at his admission, feeling a warmth in your chest at the idea that tonight was giving him something he didn’t often allow himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. We can do this more often if you want. Just hang out and relax.”

Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes softening. “I’d like that,” he said sincerely. “It’s nice to have someone to do this with.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, the kind that felt natural and unforced. You reached for the remote, ready to start another movie, but found yourself pausing, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer.

“So, what’s one movie you think I should watch?” you asked, curious to hear his recommendation. “Something you really love.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with excitement, the prospect of sharing one of his favorite films with you clearly appealing to him. “Oh, there are so many,” he said, his enthusiasm contagious. “But if I had to pick one… Have you ever seen *The Great Dictator* by Charlie Chaplin?”

You shook your head, intrigued by his choice. “No, I haven’t. Is it good?”

“It’s incredible,” Spencer said, his voice full of admiration. “It’s one of Chaplin’s best works—a satire that’s both funny and deeply poignant. It’s also one of the first films where he speaks, and the final speech… it’s just powerful.”

“Wow, sounds like a must-watch,” you said, genuinely interested. “We should definitely put that on our list for next time.”

“Absolutely,” Spencer agreed, smiling. “I think you’d really appreciate it.”

As the night wound down, the conversation between you and Spencer became more intimate, the two of you curled up on the couch, facing each other. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, the barriers that had once stood between you now gone. The flickering glow of the TV cast soft shadows around the room, but your focus was entirely on each other, the outside world forgotten for the moment.

“So, Reid… are you seeing anyone?” you asked, your tone light but curious.

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hah, no, I’m not,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you?”

“I was,” you admitted, feeling a small flush rise to your cheeks. “But they were kind of flaky, not ready to commit.”

“That makes sense,” Spencer said, nodding thoughtfully. “Do you date a lot?”

You blushed a little deeper, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “Not a lot,” you confessed. “I prefer to wait for a genuine connection.”

“Me too,” Spencer agreed, his voice soft, as if he were relieved to find that you shared the same sentiment.

“Have you dated recently?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. Spencer had always seemed so private, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone special in his life.

“Not really,” he said, a small, almost sad smile crossing his face. “I… am kind of wary of dating.”

“Can I ask why? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said gently, not wanting to push him but also wanting to understand more about him.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not to share. “Um… well, in school, girls would ask me on dates, and when I showed up, they’d make fun of me and take pictures,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet, the pain from those memories still lingering.

“Like my sister?” you asked softly, already suspecting the answer.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes flickering with the old hurt. “That’s how she… yeah.”

“Oh, Spencer…” you breathed, your heart breaking for him all over again. You reached out instinctively, wanting to offer comfort, but you held back, respecting his space.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said, his voice firmer this time, as if he needed to move past the subject for his own peace of mind.

“Of course,” you agreed immediately, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

There was a brief silence, one that felt heavy with unspoken words, but before you could change the topic, Spencer spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “You’re prettier than her, you know.”

“What’s that?” you asked, not sure you had heard him correctly.

“Your sister,” Spencer clarified, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. “You’re prettier. And nicer, but that’s a given.”

You felt your cheeks flush deeply, not just from his words, but from the way he said them—with such earnestness, as if he’d been holding onto that thought for a while. The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t quite sure how to respond.

“Thank you,” you finally managed, your voice soft, touched by his words more than you could express. “That really means a lot. She… did not think so.”

Spencer’s expression softened even further, a mix of empathy and determination in his eyes. “I hope you know that you are,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, a warm smile spreading across your face. “You’re really pretty too.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, his cheeks tinging pink at the unexpected compliment. “Really?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief and curiosity.

“Mhm,” you nodded, your smile widening. “I’ve always thought so.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to catch Spencer off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like this—especially not from someone he was beginning to care about as much as he cared about you. He felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of validation that he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper, but the smile that touched his lips was genuine and full of a newfound confidence. There was something deeply reassuring about your words, something that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt before.

As the evening continued, the bond between you only deepened, both of you more relaxed and open with each other than you had been before. The compliments exchanged were just the beginning—a sign that what was growing between you was more than just a simple friendship. It was a connection built on mutual respect, admiration, and a shared understanding of each other’s pasts and insecurities.

—

“How was your date, pretty boy?” Derek teased, his voice carrying across the bullpen as he leaned against Spencer's desk with a wide grin.

“It wasn’t a date,” Spencer mumbled, his eyes firmly fixed on the stack of papers in front of him. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he desperately wished Derek would drop the subject.

“Reid had a date?” Rossi’s voice chimed in as he walked by, a look of amused surprise on his face.

“Yep! Friday night,” Derek laughed, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

“Would you guys keep it down? I did not have a date,” Spencer hissed, his voice low and urgent as he glanced nervously toward the entrance. The last thing he wanted was for you to walk in and overhear them. The thought of you getting the wrong idea—or worse, feeling awkward about the night—made his stomach twist.

“Aw, come on, Reid,” Derek continued, not ready to let it go just yet. “You’re telling me you spent a whole evening at Y/N’s place, all cozy on the couch, and that wasn’t a date?”

Spencer sighed, his frustration mounting as he tried to formulate a response that would shut down the teasing. “We were just hanging out,” he insisted, though he couldn’t deny the warmth that crept into his voice at the memory of the evening. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

Derek exchanged a knowing look with Rossi, both of them clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide—for now, at least. “Alright, alright,” Derek said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so, pretty boy.”

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a reassuring pat on the back. “Whatever it was, it’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, his tone more serious now.

Spencer nodded, grateful for the subtle shift in the conversation. “Thanks, Rossi,” he replied quietly, hoping the conversation was finally over.

Just as the tension began to ease, you walked through the door, a bright smile on your face as you entered the bullpen. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly looked down at his work, praying that the others wouldn’t say anything more.

“Morning, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the earlier exchange.

“Morning, Y/N,” Derek and Rossi replied in unison, their voices notably more innocent than they had been moments before.

Spencer dared a quick glance up at you, relieved to see that you hadn’t picked up on the previous teasing. “Morning,” he mumbled, trying to focus on the files in front of him.

You gave him a warm smile, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. Whatever Derek and Rossi thought, you knew the truth—and that was all that mattered.

—

“Hey, Y/N,” Alex greeted you with a warm smile as she approached your desk.

“Hey, Alex,” you replied, returning the smile. “How was your weekend?”

“It was relaxing, thanks for asking,” Alex said, her tone light and casual. “How about you? What’s up?”

Before you could answer, Alex’s eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as she continued, “I heard you had a date this weekend.”

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off by the comment. “Uh, nope. Just hung out with Reid and went to the farmers market,” you clarified, wondering where she had gotten the idea that it was anything more.

Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the teasing. “It wasn’t a date with Reid?”

“No? Did he say it was?” you asked, genuinely curious now. Had Spencer mentioned something to someone that made them think it was a date?

Realizing she might have stirred something up unintentionally, Alex quickly backtracked. “I think I might have misspoke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any confusion,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Bye, Alex,” you replied, still a bit puzzled by the exchange. As she walked away, you couldn’t help but replay the conversation in your head, wondering how such a simple evening of hanging out with Spencer had turned into a rumor about a date.

Shaking your head, you decided not to dwell on it too much. You knew the truth of the situation, and that was enough. Still, the idea of others seeing you and Spencer as something more than friends lingered in your mind, leaving you with curiosity and uncertainty as you returned to your work.

—

“Reid! You had a date with Y/N and didn’t think to tell me?? I thought we were close!” Penelope’s voice whined from across the breakroom, her tone a mix of hurt and playful exaggeration.

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face her. “I did not have a date with Y/N!” he insisted, exasperation clear in his voice. “Did Derek tell you that? I swear, the gossip in this office travels at the speed of light.”

Penelope shook her head, her brightly colored glasses slipping slightly down her nose. “Oh, no, I heard it from JJ.”

“JJ?” Spencer repeated, even more bewildered. “I never told JJ anything about a date because there wasn’t a date!”

Penelope tilted her head, a curious look on her face. “Maybe Y/N did…”

Spencer sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the situation. “No, Y/N wouldn’t have said it was a date because it wasn’t,” he reiterated, feeling like the whole thing was spiraling out of control.

Penelope’s expression softened as she realized how flustered Spencer was. “Okay, okay, calm down, boy genius,” she said gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s just a bit of harmless teasing. But, honestly, with how everyone’s talking, it does kind of sound like a date, you know?”

Spencer groaned inwardly, knowing that trying to convince everyone otherwise was starting to feel like a losing battle. “It was just a casual hangout,” he emphasized, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded at this point.

Penelope studied him for a moment, her gaze more thoughtful now. “Okay, I believe you,” she finally said with a small smile. “But just so you know, if it ever turns into more than just a hangout… you can always come to me for advice.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he offered her a shy smile in return. “Thanks, Penelope. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, Penelope gave him a quick hug before heading out of the breakroom, leaving Spencer standing there, still a little dazed by how quickly the rumor mill had turned a simple evening into a full-blown office saga. But as he finished his coffee, he couldn’t help but wonder—if so many people were seeing it as more than just a hangout, was there something there he hadn’t fully acknowledged yet?

—

You were focused on making copies in the copier room when you heard the door creak open behind you. Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Spencer standing there.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a warm smile, happy to see him.

“Hi…” he replied, but his tone was hesitant, his usual shyness creeping back in.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Oh no, I thought we were past the cold shoulder,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease whatever tension he might be feeling.

Spencer’s expression softened, and he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, we are,” he assured you, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

Before you could say anything else, the door swung open again, and JJ walked in, a playful grin on her face. “Hey, love birds,” she teased, clearly unaware of the moment she was interrupting.

Startled, you jumped, your hand slipping and slamming down on the copier lid. “Ow!” you yelped, pain shooting through your fingers as you quickly pulled your hand back.

JJ’s face immediately filled with concern as she rushed over. “Oh shoot, Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with guilt.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, his worry evident in his eyes. “Y/N! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached for your injured hand.

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly to test them. “No, I crushed my hand really hard,” you admitted, the throbbing pain making it difficult to think about anything else.

“Let’s go get you some ice,” Spencer said quickly, his hand gently guiding you toward the door.

JJ nodded, clearly feeling bad about what had happened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity as she followed you both out of the room.

“It’s okay,” you reassured her, though the pain in your hand made it hard to keep the smile on your face. “It was just an accident.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time as he led you down the hall, his worry for you clear in his every movement. Once you reached the breakroom, he quickly grabbed a small bag of ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a towel before gently pressing it against your injured hand.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice full of concern as he held the ice in place. “This should help.”

You nodded gratefully, touched by how attentive he was being. “Thanks, Spencer,” you murmured, the pain starting to dull under the cool pressure of the ice.

In that moment, as Spencer held the ice gently against your hand, you looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile. The concern in his eyes, the tenderness in his touch—it was all so sweet, so genuine. For a second, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of shared warmth. Anyone looking at you both in that moment would have seen it—the soft, unspoken affection that had been quietly growing between you.

Just then, the door to the breakroom swung open, and Aaron Hotchner walked in, his gaze immediately landing on the two of you. He stopped short, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. “Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his usually serious tone.

You and Spencer both snapped out of your little world, glancing at each other with wide eyes before quickly looking away, your faces flushing with embarrassment.

“No, uh, Y/N just hurt her hand,” Spencer stammered, his voice a little higher than usual as he struggled to explain. “I was just helping her with some ice.”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a small smile, clearly not entirely convinced by the rushed explanation. “I see,” he said, his tone even but with that subtle hint of amusement. “Well, it’s good to see you’re taking care of each other.”

You nodded, still blushing, but managed to muster a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. It’s nothing serious, just a little bump.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aaron replied, giving you both a knowing look before heading to the coffee machine. He didn’t say anything more, but the slight smirk on his face as he poured his coffee said plenty.

As he left the room, the silence between you and Spencer felt charged, the air thick with the unspoken feelings that neither of you were quite ready to fully acknowledge. But despite the awkwardness, there was also a warmth—an understanding that something was shifting between you, something neither of you could deny.

Finally, Spencer broke the silence, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You should keep the ice on for a while,” he said, still holding the towel-wrapped bag against your hand.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice just as quiet, but your heart was still racing from the earlier moment. “Thanks, Spencer. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again. “Anytime,” he murmured, and despite the awkwardness, there was a small, genuine smile on his lips that made your heart flutter just a little more.

—

By the end of the week, the teasing from the team had mostly died down. The playful comments and knowing looks had given way to the usual routines of work, and everyone seemed to move on from the idea that you and Spencer were more than just friends. But despite the outward calm, Spencer couldn’t shake the thoughts that lingered in his mind.

All week, he found himself replaying the moments you had shared—the movie night, the quiet conversations, the way you had looked at him when he held the ice against your hand. It wasn’t just the teasing that had gotten under his skin; it was the way it made him question things he hadn’t fully considered before.

Spencer wasn’t someone who easily delved into matters of the heart. His mind was so often occupied with facts, statistics, and the complexities of human behavior that his own emotions sometimes felt like an unsolvable puzzle. But now, those emotions were harder to ignore. He kept thinking about the way your smile made his heart beat a little faster, or how he found comfort in your presence in a way that was different from anyone else.

He was still trying to wrap his head around what it all meant. Was it just friendship, or was there something more? And if there was more, what did that mean for both of you? Spencer wasn’t sure he had the answers, but he knew he couldn’t just brush it off as easily as he once might have.

As the week came to a close, he found himself wanting to talk to you more, to spend time with you, to explore whatever this was between you both. The thought of asking you out—actually asking you out—crossed his mind more than once, but every time he considered it, a wave of nerves would hit him, and he’d retreat back into his thoughts.

By Friday afternoon, he was still thinking about it as he sat at his desk, his work in front of him but his mind far from focused on the task at hand. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but there was also a flicker of excitement there, a small hope that maybe, just maybe, this could turn into something real.

—

As the workday came to an end, people began to gather around the elevators, eager to start their weekends. Spencer had been keeping an eye out for you, hoping to catch you before you left. He wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out again this weekend, the thought of spending more time with you making him feel both nervous and excited.

But just as he was about to approach you, another agent, Brant Ledgers, beat him to it. Spencer slowed his pace, watching the exchange from a distance, his heart sinking as Brant tried to turn on the charm.

“Hey, Agent,” Brant said, his voice smooth, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

“Um, hello,” you replied, taken aback by his sudden approach.

“You look beautiful today, and I couldn’t help but notice you smell divine. Did you intentionally pick my favorite scent?” Brant continued, his tone dripping with arrogance.

“What?” you asked, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was speaking to you.

Before the situation could escalate, the elevator arrived, and Spencer, feeling a pang of anxiety at the possibility of hearing you agree to another man’s advances, quickly stepped inside, not wanting to witness it.

But just as the doors were closing, he overheard Brant’s next move. “What do you say, baby? You and me, this weekend?” Brant asked, his tone filled with unwelcome confidence.

“Oh, um, no thank you. I appreciate the offer,” you replied, trying to be polite despite your discomfort.

“Why not?” Brant pressed, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” you said firmly, attempting to walk away.

But as you turned to leave, Brant grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Uh, yeah, you do,” he said, his grip tight and his tone menacing.

Just then, Derek Morgan, who had been nearby, stepped out of the bullpen and saw what was happening. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Derek’s voice boomed, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.

“We’re having a conversation, butt out,” Brant snapped, clearly irritated by Derek’s interference.

“Y/N, you good?” Derek asked, ignoring Brant entirely as he focused on you.

You shook your head, the fear and discomfort evident in your eyes.

“Let her go, Ledgers,” Derek commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Brant hesitated for a moment, clearly not wanting to back down, but the look in Derek’s eyes told him this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. With a huff, Brant released your arm, glaring at Derek as he stepped back.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Brant muttered under his breath as he turned and walked away, but Derek paid him no mind.

As soon as Brant was gone, Derek turned to you, concern etched on his face. “You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though your hand instinctively rubbed the spot on your arm where Brant had grabbed you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime,” Derek said, his tone softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You need anything, you let me know, alright?”

“Will do,” you replied, giving him a grateful smile.

Derek walked with you toward the elevator, determined to make sure you got to your car safely. The incident with Ledgers had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, but having Derek by your side brought a sense of security.

When you reached the garage, you spotted Spencer standing near Derek’s car, clearly waiting for his ride home. His eyes lit up with concern the moment he saw you, and as Derek explained the situation, his expression shifted from concern to anger.

“Hey, Reid, I’m going to walk Y/N to her car, then I’ll be back, okay?” Derek said, his tone firm as he made sure Spencer understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Oh, sure, what’s going on?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ledgers tried to grab at her. I want to make sure she gets out of here safe and sound,” Derek explained, his voice laced with protective determination.

“What?” Spencer’s voice boomed, the anger evident as he looked around, clearly ready to confront Ledgers himself. “Where is he?”

You quickly placed a hand on Spencer’s arm, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Spencer. Derek stepped in before he got too far.”

Spencer’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the concern in his eyes clear. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now, but still full of worry.

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to determine if you were really alright. “Do you want me to come over tonight? Keep you company?” he offered, his voice sincere and filled with a desire to help.

Your heart warmed at his offer, and you nodded, grateful for his support. “Thank you, Spencer, that sounds really nice. Do you just want to ride with me?” you asked, knowing it would be easier for both of you to go together.

“Yeah, I do,” Spencer replied without hesitation, clearly wanting to be there for you in any way he could.

Derek, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smirk, couldn’t resist a little teasing. “Have fun on your second date, lovebirds,” he quipped, the smirk growing wider as he saw the blush rise on both your cheeks.

Spencer gave Derek a half-hearted glare, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “It’s not a date,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Derek just chuckled, patting Spencer on the back. “Whatever you say, pretty boy. Just take care of her.”

With that, Spencer stayed close by your side, the silent protector you hadn’t known you needed until now. As you both got into your car, the earlier tension faded away, replaced by the comforting knowledge that, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

—

As you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, enjoying the simple comfort of dinner together, Spencer’s thoughts kept circling back to what had happened earlier. The guilt gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have done something—anything—to protect you from Ledgers. He had been so close, yet he had let the situation unfold without intervening.

Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Setting his fork down, he looked at you with a seriousness that made you pause. “Y/N, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

You looked up from your plate, surprised by the sudden apology. “What? Oh, Spencer, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

He shook his head, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “I should have waited for you,” he insisted, his guilt deepening. The thought of you being in a situation like that without him there to support you weighed heavily on his mind.

“You’re not required to wait for me,” you replied softly, trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay, really.”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes dropping to his plate as he wrestled with what he wanted to say next. He knew he had to be honest, even if it made him vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the plunge. “No, I know. I just…” He paused, gathering his courage before continuing. “I heard him asking you out, and I guess I didn’t want to stick around to hear you say yes.”

Your breath caught slightly at his admission, the pieces falling into place. It wasn’t just guilt driving Spencer’s apology—it was something deeper, something more personal. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he was trying to gauge your reaction.

“Spencer,” you began gently, reaching across the table to take his hand, “I would never have said yes to him. I’m not interested in Brant, and I’m certainly not interested in anyone who would treat me like that.”

He looked up at you then, the worry in his eyes softening as your words sank in. “I know, I just… I didn’t want to hear it, you know?” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

You squeezed his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. “I understand,” you said softly. “But I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about that. I can take care of myself.”

Spencer felt a pang of frustration as he realized his initial explanation hadn’t fully conveyed what he meant. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to be as clear as possible, even if it made him nervous. “I know that, Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of vulnerability. “You’re more than capable of handling yourself—that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” you replied, your curiosity piqued. “What did you mean?”

Spencer hesitated for a brief moment, but then the words came out in a rush, fueled by the need to be honest with you. “I don’t want you to go out with someone else.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. “Someone else?”

“I want you to go out with me,” Spencer said, the vulnerability in his eyes now unmistakable. He had put everything out on the table, his feelings laid bare for you to see.

The realization hit you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh,” you managed, your voice soft as you absorbed what he was saying.

There was a moment of silence, and you could see the anxiety flickering in Spencer’s eyes as he waited for your response. His whole posture was tense, as if he was bracing himself for whatever came next.

“Do you… want that too?” Spencer asked, his voice quieter now, but filled with hope.

You bit your lip, feeling a smile spread across your face as your heart swelled with warmth. “I do,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice clear. The smile on your face widened as you saw the relief and joy that washed over Spencer’s features.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the atmosphere between you thick with unspoken feelings and the excitement of what was to come. Then, Spencer’s lips curled into a shy, genuine smile that mirrored your own.

“So, when should we have our third date?” Spencer asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed, delighted by this lighter, more confident side of him. “Hmm. Tomorrow?” you suggested, your heart fluttering at the thought of spending more time with him.

“Sounds perfect,” Spencer agreed, his smile widening.

“Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone turning more serious as you looked into his eyes.

“Yeah?” he responded, his voice gentle but filled with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you before our third date?” you asked, your heart pounding as the words left your lips.

Spencer’s smile turned even softer, his eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he replied, his voice a tender mix of humor and sincerity.

With that, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Spencer met you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips touched in a soft, sweet kiss. It was gentle at first, both of you savoring the moment, the culmination of everything that had been building between you.

When you finally pulled back, your faces still close, you both wore matching smiles, the connection between you now unmistakable and full of promise.

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wcnderlnds · 1 month ago

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fxxk it | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: thanos is your ex and when he sees you linking up with the guy that scammed him out of his money, he's furious. ・❥・word count: 1.5k ・❥・warnings: mentions of death bc squid game, fighting, blood, jealous thanos, female reader ・❥・ authors note: making it my mission to name every fic after a bigbang song now.

The air was thick with tension as winning team by winning team slowly rolled into the main holding area. Frustrated groans echoing off the walls from some of the players at how many people had survived. Everyone was fighting for that money and the more people that survived, the more the money had to be shared. Praying on each other's downfall wasn’t the most fun situation to be in but in this place it was necessary. You did what you had to do to survive even if it went against every human moral in existence. It was do or die in this place. If you weren’t strong willed (and strong-stomached) then it was game over.

The blood in your veins was pumping fast, adrenaline coursing through you at the fact you had survived yet another game. It was all thanks to your team. Myung-gi had very kindly let you join his team. If you were honest with yourself, you had wanted to team with him anyway but your ex boyfriend - who just so happened to be in the games, too - had tried to recruit you for his team. Sensing how uncomfortable you were, Myung-gi had come to the rescue, gently grabbing you by the elbow and pulling you away. To say your ex was furious was an understatement. But, you didn’t care. Definitely didn’t care one bit. Nope.

That wasn’t to say that you didn’t keep an eye on him, often finding yourself seeking him out. It was just a precaution to make sure he stayed away from you. The breakup hadn’t been smooth sailing — a lot of hurtful words and unspoken truths finally coming to light. It had been almost two years since you’d seen him. All the lingering feelings you had deep down were threatening to surface again but no. You liked Myung-gi — he was kind and different from Su-bong. Different is what you needed.

“Hey, you okay?” Myung-gi gently elbowed you to get your attention. “I know the games are rough but I’m here if you need to talk.”

You smiled. “Thank you. Not just for that but for saving me from Thanos. He and I.. we have a history.”

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that with the face you were pulling when he approached you. He’s an asshole. He’s still blaming me that he lost all his money.”

“Sorry. He’s just very… difficult.”

It wasn’t long after when the voting took place. You wanted out so you’d voted to leave along with Myung-gi who had taken to staying close by your side. The thought alone that someone was protecting you made you smile. A sweet guy that was easy on the eyes? There’d be no complaints from you. Thanos had voted to stay which was no surprise. He was more eager than most to get that money. From what you’d read in the media, he had lost all the money he’d made rapping after he’d invested it in Myung-gi’s crypto – every single penny. His life had apparently gone downhill from there. There had almost been a moment of weakness on your end where you reached out to him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Now, as you stood in line to grab your food, you could hear his familiar voice behind you.

“You know I’ve seen you with him,” his deep voice was right against your ear, you could feel his chest almost pressing against your back. “Of all the fuckin’ people in here, you pick him. Thought you had better taste than that, Senorita.”

You had to take a deep calming breath. Something about having him so close after so long was sending a shiver up your spine, all your senses going into overdrive as you remembered the way he used to made you feel. “Yeah, he’s nice and he actually seems to give a damn about me.”

“I…yeah, well…” Thanos shrugged like he didn’t care but you could tell by the clench of his jaw and the slight reddening of his cheeks that he was furious.

“You look like you’re about to explode there, Su-bong. Don’t go poppin’ a vein now,” you teased, turning around to face him.

“Maybe stop talking about the guy who fucking scammed me like he’s an angel on earth. He’s an even shittier person than I am. The sooner you see that, the better but you go carry on with your sweet little angel boy,” Thanos rolled his eyes, stepping in front of you to grab his food. You watched as he stalked off. A small frown appeared on your face before you shook it off. No way you were going to feel bad. That’s exactly what he wanted.

‘Whatever’, you thought as you grabbed your own food and sat back down with Myung-gi. He was stuffing his face with his food, cross legged on his bunk. A word wasn’t said between you but you could see him occasionally glancing at you, the corners of his lips unturned in a small smile. The attention was nice – it had been a while since someone had looked at you like that. After your relationship with Su-bong, you had remained single hoping to finally find peace with yourself first before you jumped into another relationship. Maybe now it was time to officially move on. Myung-gi seemed to like you and there was a part of you that liked him. If you both survived, maybe this could be the start of something good.

Good thoughts never seemed to last in your world because as soon as the idea of dating someone else popped into your head, Thanos made his way over. It was like he had some kind of sixth sense. This time, he didn’t approach you but Myung-gi instead. Oh no, this was sure to be trouble.

“First you scam me out of my money and then you want to steal my girl away?” Thanos seethed.

“Last I heard she wasn’t your girl,” Myung-gi quipped. He didn’t even bother looking up which seemed to infuriate your ex more.

“You don’t know shit about us so shut your mouth and stay away from her. She has better taste than a puny, little, fraudulent fuck like you.”

That seemed to trigger something in Myung-gi and before you could even react, he had jumped up and pushed Thanos to the ground. The two men threw punches at each other, yelling obscenities. It wasn’t the first time they had fought. It was becoming an almost daily occurrence at this point. Thanos seemed to have the upper hand, his hands wrapped around Myung-gi’s neck trying to choke the life out of him but Myung-gi kneed him in between the legs. He rolled them around, sitting on top of Thanos as he threw punch after punch into his face.

“Stop!” You cried out but nobody listened. It wasn’t until Gi-hun and Young-il stepped in to stop it. Thanos had blood pouring from his nose, his hand trying to staunch the flow. Myung-gi held his cheek, both of them panting heavily. Your eyes flitted between the two men before you made a decision you knew you’d probably regret.

“Come on,” you said, taking Thanos’ hand and dragging him off towards the bathroom. Myung-gi looked offended but you didn’t care. Your heart had told you Thanos needed you more and, as reckless as it was, you always trusted it.

He sat down on the counter as you dabbed the blood away from his face with some paper towels. Not a word was said between the two of you, only Thanos wincing when you dabbed a particularly sore spot on his face. His poor beautiful face that was now littered in bruises. Once everything was wiped up, you gently examined him.

“Your nose might be broken but… other than that you’re probably going to have a few brusines,” your fingers softly ran across his cheek causing him to sigh deeply, leaning into your touch.

“You chose me…”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Thought you hated me,” he met your eyes, his hand coming up to take yours from his cheek and hold it in his. “Aren’t I an ‘obnoxious, loud, annoying purple haired moron’ or whatever I heard you call me the other day.”

You blushed. “I mean… yeah you are but… you’re you and there’s always going to be a part of me that loves you regardless of how obnoxious and a pain in the ass you are. I just wish you weren’t so reckless.”

“Sorry, babygirl. Gotta take me or leave me as I am. Can’t change. Won’t change,” he pulled you in a little closer, his lips hovering inches from yours. “So, what’ll it be?”

You were going to regret this, you knew you were but the heart wants what it wants and in that moment it was telling you that was him. The most reckless person you knew but there was something about him that always seemed to pull you back in. Without hesitation, you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you with no intentions of ever letting you go.

taglist: @ldydeath @angelofbooksworld @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @djarindroid @justsisse @sassyyoyo @mysatnin @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind @belladonna-303

#choi su bong x reader #thanos x reader #choi seunghyun #squid game x reader #squid game

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formylovetodaryldixon · 16 days ago

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"His only one." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

You are his only one, Daryl told you that the day you got married, that's why you don't mind the neighbors' blatant flirting with your husband, but the third time's the charm, and at that moment, you make clear to that woman that his ass belongs to you (literally)

A/N: Someone here asks for someone to write about Daryl and the flirty neighbors making him feel uncomfortable haha so this is my failed attempt, although it made me smile a little so I hope you like it at least a little, too. Thanks!

The first time it happens, you let it go.

It's not that you don’t care, but you know that a relationship is built on trust, and if there is one person you trust even after someone had put a blindfold on you, that’s Daryl. Daryl was quiet most of the time, but his personality was actually very funny after you saw who he really was when you two were alone, when you saw his true self behind his crossbow and the way he used to push others away for fear of getting too attached. But when Daryl became open about showing his own vulnerabilities, only with you, it was so easy to fall for him, plus, the love and shyness in his gaze every time he saw you coming was sweet—a love only reserved for you.

After Daryl let you in, you realized he had a lot to offer as a person with a good and brave heart, so willing to protect others even if it put his own at risk. Daryl was always a good company: he spoke little but paid attention, remembering even the smallest detail that you swore was unimportant, just because to him, everything related to you was important. But when he asked you to marry him along the way, that was a big surprise. However, you found a shelter in his arms, a real home with him: and maybe because his gaze always made you trust that there would be no one else, you never doubted him even after you saw how the neighbors turned to look at him. Maybe it was also because everyone was focused on his exterior, on that almost pornographic image that Daryl was, (with his broad shoulders, his arms in that sassy sleeveless shirt, and that face that seemed carved by God when HE was in a VERY good mood) but no one paid attention beyond the obvious, so you never felt threatened.

Now, slowly, like a pretty moving photograph, the sun starts to hide away in the infinite horizon, painting the calm sky of that new world with beautiful shades of orange. The end of the day is quiet on your home, with your husband sitting on the porch steps, carving an arrow because several are never enough, Carol on the wooden floor close to you while she solves another crossword puzzle, and you, rocking lazily in the rocking chair, eyes and mind on the book you managed to find in the last search for supplies.

A comfortable silence abounds in the air, until Miss Ellie walks by on her way to her own home.

"Hi, neighbor." She purrs, with a bright smile and the way the corner of her lip curls like a kitten's.

Like meerkats when danger is latent, the three of you raise your heads (almost in a comical way) to see her walking away, watching her lowering the hand with which she had just greeted Daryl, and only Daryl: although his first reaction is to look in your direction, like he’s asking for help to understand what the hell was that. You know Daryl has a tough exterior, but his personality, when it came to accepting flirtations, almost reached the point of stuttering.

“Wait a sec, weren't there three of us here?” Carol asks, frowning playfully.

“Yeah… did we suddenly become Casper the damn Friendly Ghost?” You chuckle, turning your attention back to the book. “Not to state the obvious, but I think the neighbor has a crush on you, love.”

Carol chuckles too, but your disinterest in the matter and his best friend's mockery makes Daryl frown.

“What are ya waitin' for, woman? Go over there and defend yer husband’s honor.” He says with a swing of his hand.

Carol shrugs, agreeing with him.

“Well, she just looked at Daryl like he was a piece of meat, (Y/N).”

You nod, but you don’t even bother to look up.

“I know. But going there would only prove Daryl has some interest in her, and since I know he doesn’t, I don’t see why I should bother.”

Daryl scoffs, but he knows you are absolutely right, so he returns his attention to the arrow.

“I see ya're not even the slightest bit afraid of losin’ me, woman.”

Carol chuckles at your silence.

"Yeah, (Y/N), I mean, Daryl's such a great catch, especially with his gruff personality."

You chuckle.

“I know. I know the neighbors have been staring at him ever since we arrived in the community, but I don't blame them because, look at him..." From top to bottom, you point at him with one hand, still paying attention to the words in the book. "Daryl is like walking porn."

Carol laughs, longer this time, but your unfiltered words make Daryl blush under the sunset as he keeps his eyes down, still carving the same arrow.

The second time it happens, you are a little far to say something.

At the end of the day, you arrive last to the community meeting after your rotating job at the infirmary, taking your place against the concrete wall in Deanna’s backyard. Alexandria’s head keeps talking, directing people and you pay attention for a moment, until your sight catches the image of Mary, who is probably one of the most striking neighbors, and the way her mischievous fingers try to touch the exposed skin of Daryl’s bare arm as she keeps trying to make a conversation with him, who looks like a kitten cornered in an alley by a pack of dogs, while giving her weird looks that she doesn't seem to notice.

The comparison makes you laugh, but you stifle the laughter with a gentle smile when some of the neighbors in front of you turn to look at you. Waving back, they turn their attention to the front, and you keep your eyes ahead too even after you feel your husband’s presence next to you, after a very short while.

“What did I miss?”

Daryl shrugs.

“The same shit as always. How was work?”

“Quiet, just two people with a cold and a baby who came for his second vaccine.” You try to keep a calm expression as you speak your next words through a softer voice. “You are a grown ass man, Daryl Dixon, and yet you looked terrified of a small woman.”

Embarrassed, he grunts.

“What do ya want me to do? Fight her? That’s yer job n ya ain’t doin’ it.”

You chuckle.

“I don’t fight over a man, love, never did, never will.”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest, eyes still ahead.

“I forgot ma wife is the most unbothered person in this damn world.”

You chuckle again.

“There are priorities even in this life, my dear husband, but if you want, next time we go on a supply run we can take her with us, and something mysterious can happen to her. We can make it look like an accident.”

You’re joking and Daryl knows it, so he chuckles, the corner of his lips curling adorably.

When the meeting is over and everyone returns to the safety of their homes, you and Daryl are one of the first to leave, walking side by side to your house that is almost on the other side of the community. The weather is warm during that season, and for the first time in a long time, the night doesn't grow deeper, darker or scarier. However, your gaze travels from the moon to your hand when you feel your husband's on yours.

You frown, making an amused expression.

"What are you doing?"

Daryl mimics the look on your face.

"What? I can't take ma wife's hand?" He scoffs.

You shrug, looking ahead again, but knowing that some neighbors are behind you, with Mary between them since her house is close to yours.

You know why he's doing that like never before. Daryl is reserved with his married life, always keeping his displays of affection within four walls or while being alone with you, too shy and slightly awkward to let other people see how needy for your love he became sometimes.

"But… ain’t yer job to mark yer territory or some shit like that? Like, make it clear to her that I'm yer husband?"

You frown playfully, looking back at him.

“I'm not a damn dog, Daryl. Or do you want me to pee on your leg?"

A little surprised, Daryl chuckles.

"Are ya really not worried? Or slightly jealous?"

You shrug again.

“No. I mean, I trust you, but if you start bringing squirrels just for her, that’s when I will get worried. You are like those cute penguins who bring the most beautiful stone to the love of their life: believe me, the squirrels are your stones.”

Daryl chuckles again, letting go of your hand only to slide it over your shoulders and pull you into him, doing it because he wants to.

The third time it happens, you intervene.

A few minutes earlier, you walked out of your house to sit on the rocking chair with a sandwich on a plate, eager to continue with your book after a successful supply run. Daryl and Rick took the lead to leave the things found in the community warehouse, walking down the street towards your house about half an hour later. But too engrossed in old poems from the last century, you miss the way Daryl is intercepted by Ellie two houses away, until the voice of one of your family members catches your attention.

"Aren't you going to save your husband, (Y/N)?" Rick chuckles, standing near the porch steps. You follow his gaze, lingering on the way that every time the female neighbor tries to make a subtle step, Daryl takes one back. “Please, do, this went from being funny to being sad.”

You roll your eyes, leaving the book aside.

“Fine.”

“Wait... are you going to fight her?” With his gaze slightly more open, Rick stands there as you walk past him. “Because I've seen you take out walkers for less.”

“Goodnight, Rick.”

He chuckles, walking towards his own home.

Maybe it's your height, maybe it's the way your gaze turned serious, with a quiet but menacing personality when the occasion called for it, but there's something about you that makes the neighbor take a step back when you stop next to them, slapping your husband’s butt playfully but shamelessly, almost making him jump in place.

“Whatcha doing, buttercup?” You smile at him, with his surprised look on you, even after you turn your attention to Ellie. “Hi, neighbor, I didn’t see you there like you didn't notice me last week when you greeted my husband. Ellie, right?”

She nods, surprised by your calm outburst.

“Don’t be scared please, I’m not going to hurt you, although, I could, you know? But I just wanted to ask you nicely not to try to suck all the air out of my husband’s face because you make him uncomfortable, and he’s not going to do anything about it, but I will: trust me, I’ve killed people for less, so imagine what I’d do for his ass, which is mine, so… yep, I guess that’s it.” Keeping the cutest smile you can muster, you take Daryl’s hand to make him walk with you. “Say goodbye to the neighbor, sweetheart.”

As all words have left Daryl’s mind, he simply waves goodbye once. And he lets himself be guided in silence until you’re within the four walls of your home, but once the door lock has clicked and a second after you let go of his hand, he catches it again to pull you towards him, lifting you up in those strong arms of his until you have no choice but to tighten your legs around his waist.

Daryl is smiling, in the way he only does with you.

"Fuck, woman, I don' know if m’ scared of ya, impressed, or turned on."

You chuckle, holding his face in your hands.

"Your ass is mine, Dixon, why do you think I married you?"

He chuckles along with you, before pressing his lips to yours.

@fluffy-dixon

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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simpjaes · 11 months ago

Text

HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later.

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!!

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show? What’s not to love about it?

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire.

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work.

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage.

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers?

You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard.

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance.

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status.

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage.

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday.

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money.

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see.

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it.

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does.

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center.

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits.

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time.

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves.

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you.

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass.

“Jake, again?”

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though.

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe.

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.”

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out.

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays.

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good.

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity.

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even.

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others.

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?”

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him.

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him.

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.”

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with.

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him.

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips.

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body.

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it.

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?”

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night.

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule.

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap.

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has.

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face.

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly, turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?”

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him.

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him.

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper.

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you.

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free.

The game is on now though, it seems, as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out.

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile.

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours.

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?”

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it.

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him.

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win.

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him.

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?”

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin.

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?”

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks.

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked.

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it.

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special.

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching.

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined.

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him.

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him.

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment.

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick.

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you.

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out.

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in.

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric.

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice.

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags.

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face.

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now.

You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture.

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him.

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker.

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.”

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back.

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing.

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls.

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak.

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you.

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway.

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked.

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it.

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again.

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping.

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.”

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this.

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you. He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do.

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you.

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held.

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely?

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.”

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch.

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door.

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob.

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #jay smut #park jay smut #jay park smut #enha smut

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uranvittie · 9 days ago

Text

I’m on the run with you, my sweet love.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You are a special soldier for Hydra, who brainwashed you to forget your past in Red Room. On a certain mission, you come face to face for the first time with Black Widow, who tries to kill you at first. And then she looks at you with sad eyes?

Warnings | Tags: ¿Angst? little. Friends to enemies to friends to lovers? Sort of, not really enemies, at least not that much. Blood, a little. Knives, guns, some stabbing, pretty quiet actually, I think, very fluffy and some comfort. Slow burn maybe. No use of T/N. +7K.

Note: This is actually my first time writing here on Tumblr, my first time writing a story for Reader/TN, just so you know, I do NOT use "T/N", sorry. It's replaced with "—" Is that more comfortable? Somehow it feels that way. Anyway, yeah, this is my first time writing something like this here, so sorry if it looks ugly. And well, I also clarify that english is NOT my forte, gosh, it's not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. And about this, well, the reader is basically a Bucky Barnes, but the equivalent for Natasha would be Steve, but without the good morals. Although I don't think I mentioned the gender of the reader, the intention is that it should be a female. And this is just a practice for my writing, it's been a long time since I wrote.

Your mission there was easy, well, you wouldn't use the word 'easy', it would be rather simple. A simple task where you had to be efficient.

Assaulting a moving train so that others could gain access to a weapon. There were no specifications, you didn't need them.

You were never given the number of soldiers accompanying you, nor the number of agents you had to deal with. You didn't ask. It was never necessary information.

Your job was one and simple, the only thing you were good at: assassination.

Every known SHIELD agent had been shot through the forehead by you. And your expression was unchanging, without a trace of emotion —under the mask— even when blood splattered on you, you barely twisted your lips in disgust, because, God, the feel of other people's dirty blood on your skin was always unpleasant and uncomfortable. But this was your job, and you had to do it perfectly.

The team responsible for removing the weapon was in place. After you had perfectly fulfilled your role as a shooter, you finished off everyone in most of the wagons.

Your mission was to make other people's jobs easy. Your boots echoed on the floor with every step you took, and the loaded gun in your arm was used on any agent who got in your way. And then there was the redheaded agent. Someone Brock Rumlow had identified as Natasha Romanoff, and through the earpiece you received a warning not to entertain Natasha Romanoff.

Uh.

The name echoed in your brain, but you didn't understand why.

So when you reached the inside of a carriage, after disposing of two SHIELD agents in the back, and met her head-on, you barely had a chance to blink before she lunged at you.

The way Natasha Romanoff fought was something that deserved a warning, now you understood. Her moves were fast, precise, deadly. She didn't even give you time to breathe, and you were so shocked that someone could match her movements and speed that you barely had a chance to dodge and protect yourself from each blow.

At some point, Natasha Romanoff knocked you to the ground. You couldn't even blink, what was going on? And at that moment, you seemed to have finally snapped out of your stupor, jerking forward as the agent pinned your wrists to the floor. You practically grunted in pain as the redhead drove her knee into your stomach.

In the next second, you felt your mask being removed. It was like a soft caress of her fingers against your sweaty, sensitive skin. You didn't change your expression.

But you noticed the agent's expression change.

"—"

Her voice had an accent that sounded familiar —familiar—. Your brain repeated the word and you realized that you had nothing familiar to react to. But her voice, and that accent, and the way he looked at you. And what did she say?

You feel it. You feel it immediately. The way Natasha Romanoff's grip weakens, it's just a second, —or less than a second— a moment of weakness. A microsecond in which the agent seems to freeze. And, of course, you take advantage of it.

Your foot hits the agent's stomach hard, causing the redhead to roll off you. You stand up with incredible speed, and in that same second, you pull a knife from the pocket on your leg. You waste no time in throwing it forward, toward Natasha Romanoff's right arm, preventing her from grabbing the weapon she was apparently trying to retrieve. You don't give her a chance. You're fast. You're quite fast, faster than a mere human.

Your hand holds the gun tight, it's that second, and you don't hesitate when you fire. You never do. You shoot, aiming for her forehead, as you always do. But you miss. Damn it, Natasha Romanoff is fast too. She must be experienced enough to have seen that shot coming, or were you predictable?

You don't think about it. You don't think. You grab the smoke bomb on your belt and throw it on the ground, the smoke billows out, and the next second you're gone.

You run through the empty wagons, having just received a simple "It's done. Get out of there."

You know how the escape plan worked. Go to the last wagon of the train, with the weapon there, everyone was going to be picked up by a helicopter after they cut the connection to the moving train, which was also about to derail because they cut certain tracks before reaching the bridge.

They had about two minutes to get to the last wagon. Although there was the more risky backup plan, it was not recommended.

"Get back here!"

Then you stop.

You stop right there. You don't know why, but you do. Maybe it's the thick accent in that harsh, strong tone, or maybe it's because you're curious about the agent, Natasha Romanoff. Why is she looking at you like that? You're not sure, but it feels strange.

You blink slowly as you turn around and focus your gaze on Natasha Romanoff. She doesn't look like she could stand another fight against you. Not with that deep cut on her arm, or the bruise that's forming on half of her face, plus she's bent over, holding her stomach. Are you going to take advantage of that?

Of course you are.

The way your feet move with inhuman speed seems to surprise her again, wasn't she expecting it? You frown, but you don't stop, and you pick up speed after jumping and shoving yourself into one of the empty seats of the wagon to deliver another blow to Natasha Romanoff's face from above.

You watch as the agent collapses to the ground with a loud crash, like something breaking.

You watch her slowly, your head cocked to the side as you focus on the image of the seemingly defeated agent. Natasha Romanoff looks up at you with reddened, crystalline green eyes. Is she crying? You barely blink. She has a busted lip and a scrape on her cheek where she hit the ground.

"Where are you?"

The voice in your earpiece asks, and then you snap to attention. Why are you looking at all?

You barely have a chance to take a step before you feel the weight on your left foot. You look down, confused, and notice the bloody hand gripping you tightly. Then you turn to see Natasha Romanoff crawling, clinging to your leg.

You raise an eyebrow in further curiosity, but after a heartbeat you grab the gun on your belt and point it at her head.

"—"

That name again. You frown as your gaze lingers on Natasha Romanoff. —It's a name, isn't it?— You're sure you recognize the name, but you're not so sure. Your breathing has become more leisurely and you don't realize it until you feel the grip on your boot tighten again.

"—"

"Who's that?"

The look Natasha Romanoff gives you at that moment is that of someone who knows less than you do. Barely able to think, you press the gun to her head to remind her where she is.

The agent says nothing and gives you a confused look. It feels strange. You definitely don't like her. Your finger slides down the trigger and just as you're about to squeeze, you feel the pressure of a bullet in your shoulder make you pull back.

You back up, letting the gun fall to the ground as you clutch your wounded shoulder. You glare angrily at the person who shot you, your hand immediately going to your uniform belt to grab another weapon when you hear the sound of another gunshot.

But this time the bullet never hits, as Natasha Romanoff takes out the agent shooting at you. Fighting her own people? You don't think. You don't think. You don't think about that or anything.

You're not supposed to.

So you use the second she's giving you to escape and throw yourself through the smashed door of the wagon onto the cliff.

Well, here's the emergency plan.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

"The agent… on the train…"

"I saw her somewhere else…"

"I knew her."

"But… uh… I knew her…"

You can't think about it. You're not allowed to. You're not allowed to think.

After the mission was successfully completed —Hydra had the weapon it wanted in its hands— you had been found among the snow-covered mountains of the cliff where you had thrown yourself to escape. That had been the plan.

You had used the ropes and hooks to hold on to something on the mountain, which lessened your fall, and the snow that seemed to have recently fallen also allowed you to stay alive. Anyway, it wasn't like you were allowed to die.

You were found quickly that same day at dusk, unconscious but breathing, of course, you had a tracker embedded in your neck.

When you woke up, they took you to the interrogation room to give the mission report, but you kept mumbling barely understandable words —things that no one had asked you— you kept repeating in your head and on your tongue that agent, Natasha Romanoff, as Brock Rumlow had called her.

So you didn't seem to be responding as they instructed. Did you hit your head too hard? Perhaps. Your brain remembered things. You remembered things you shouldn't remember, things they didn't want you to remember. The voice of the agent played in your head. And the name the agent had spoken.

What was it?

You don't remember now, of course. They never allowed you to remember anything. You weren't allowed to think. You weren't supposed to think. You weren't made for that, so after you made them hurt your head again, they threw you in your room.

It was nothing more than a cell. You wouldn't call it that because you didn't really have that word in your head. But it was a simple cold room with no windows, with brick walls painted white. Though the light that illuminated the small space was a cold light, which made it get a greenish-blue hue.

You moved to the mattress on the floor, it was hard and also cold, you had a pillow and a blanket at least. And then there was the bathroom, although privacy was poor, just a curtain. You didn't do much anyway, you weren't really allowed to do much. You would sit on the edge of your mattress and stare at the floor with your face resting on your knees and not even think. —Because you had no ideas or memories to think about— And you also don't know how long it takes before you hear the sound of the cell opening and the scientists coming in again.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

A hand rests on Natasha's shoulder, causing the agent to raise her head to look up and meet Steve, the man looking worried.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, though then he seems to regret asking, Natasha gives him a clear look that says, "How do I look?" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

The agent doesn't respond, just nods as she looks nonchalantly down at the floor.

Natasha hadn't spoken, not even during the mission briefing.

Steve and Natasha had been sent to the train to protect the SHIELD scientists on board, of course, the real mission was for the other team to secure the SHIELD weapon and they could protect the train. It all went horribly wrong. Many hostages were killed, the weapon was stolen by the mercenary group, and Captain America, while he may have been able to protect some SHIELD agents and scientists, was disappointed that his own team had to hide missions from him.

Steve still didn't understand.

Of course, Steve was upset with Natasha and had initially gone to see her to complain about her disappearing in the middle of a mission where she was endangering the lives of her teammates, only to find her collapsed on the ground, shaking. The agent next to Natasha also seemed upset, and it was because Natasha Romanoff had not allowed him to take the shot. Steve looked at Natasha confused at that moment, Natasha was not someone who would hesitate to shoot, in fact that was very much her style.

When Steve realizes that the agent doesn't seem willing to clear up any of his doubts, he walks away, hands on his belt and head down.

Natasha doesn't allow herself to lament too much, of course, she had spent a few hours looking down at the floor and up at the ceiling while recovering. And no doubt she had replayed every moment of her fight with you in her mind. How?

The way you looked at her, the way you didn't hesitate with your blows even when you shot her. Those cold, dark, clouded eyes. It wasn't like you. It wasn't.

You were so sweet, so gentle, so kind. You always looked at Natasha in a certain way. A way that made Natasha feel warm and appreciated. Even in the red room. And you cared, oh, you always cared about everyone around you, you even cared about others more than yourself.

Where was that?

Something had happened. Natasha missed a lot of things.

She met you in the Red Room, the first time she saw you was in the ballet room, and her first thought was that you were perfect. You did it the perfect way. You were more outstanding than anybody else. And at such a young age. Even Natasha was always called a prodigy, but you were a genius. And you had a heart. That was the most important thing. You kept your heart.

Until you didn't.

Natasha never heard from you again after you were taken on a mission from which you never returned. Everyone assumed you were dead. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the first time another girl was sacrificed for Dreykov. Nor would it be the last. So when Natasha had the chance to get out, to leave, she took it.

And Natasha didn't think about you anymore. She didn't. The Red Room had been left behind, far behind, buried in her past. She never thought she'd see you again, never even imagined the possibility that you were still alive out there.

Where had you been? Still working as an assassin? For a group of mercenaries for hire?

And you didn't even remember her?

———————————————　♡　———————————————

It was not your mission. You definitely didn't need to intervene. It wasn't your business. It wasn't your mission, but there you were. Disobeying someone else's orders for the first time. Winter Soldier, a super soldier you knew well —their torture chambers were next to each other— the soldier heard your cries of pain and you heard his cries. You also heard his screams. And you definitely heard him recognize more than just orders and missions.

He remembered someone. Just like you.

Just like you once did.

You did, didn't you?

"Report, —" Brock Rumlow's voice in your earpiece made you jerk for a moment, you'd forgotten. You had left your position to follow the soldier. You just had to talk to him, ask him certain things, what did he remember? How could she remember too? Was there someone he was looking for? For what?

You were not there to fight. It wasn't your mission. So you don't intervene when you see the soldier —the Winter Soldier— fighting what you think is the acclaimed Captain America. You grimace in disgust at the Captain's uniform, ridiculous. Everything is going to shit, well, it's not like you can hold buildings, so you let everything go on without getting —if possible— even dirtier hands. It's not possible anyway.

You watch from a distance, a prudent and appropriate distance that allows you to see everything. You wish your hearing was as good as your speed, but it isn't, so you just read lips. Before you fall into the river, you see Steve Rogers —or Captain America?— call the soldier "Bucky".

You get out of the river before they do, of course. You are a good swimmer, and you are not carrying the weight of another super-soldier. You watch as the soldier, Bucky, pulls Captain America out of the river and drops him on the shore, and he takes off.

Then you follow him.

You'd like to say you'll get through the next few days without a hitch, but you won't, because first you had to rip out your tracker. And damn it, it hurt like hell. The news, the papers and everyone is talking about Hydra and SHIELD. Both organizations seemingly sunk and broken, finally dismantled. And with Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, exposing all their secrets, it seems the bad guys are hiding in the shadows while the good guys are struggling to find them.

Natasha Romanoff. That's who you should be looking for, right? The agent on the train who looked at you the way no one else had. And who had spoken a name, a name that might have belonged to you, in a quiet way.

Bucky Barnes is a pain in the ass. Maybe you shouldn't have followed him. And you shouldn't have stayed with him, but it's too late. And they're stuck together. He's stupid, clearly from a bygone era when people barely used televisions. And he doesn't know anything except his own name, and that's because Steve Rogers apparently told it to him.

Because Steve Rogers is a hero revered by many in the world, he gets a museum filled with information about the soldier. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, they both learn. They can reconstruct a bit of Bucky's past, but there is nothing about yours. Most of Hydra's facilities are destroyed or being dismantled by the government, or incredibly hidden if they're still there, and there's not much you can do with a soldier who looks at you like he's lost, and you with a clouded and shadowed mind. You're both a mess.

He screams and cries almost every night. And you can't sleep —you don't have nightmares, it's worse than that— you can't sleep at all with the constant feeling of alertness in your head.

At least neither of them is alone in their stormy times. If that's any consolation.

Until you separate.

It's more or less an agreement. You realize that Bucky is of no use to you and you're of no use to him. One day you both just give up the little shelter you have and run off to different places. Neither of you visits the room you shared for the last time.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

Norway.

She's been searching for you for over eight months. Chasing a ghost, an elusive kitten, but here you are at last.

Natasha's breathing gets heavier as the cabin finally comes into view. She's tracked you here, she can see it's the shelter you've spent the most time in. She's found your other huts, of course, she's been through a few. And without a doubt, this one seems to be the healthiest.

A cabin in the woods, quiet, bright, also quite cold. Natasha goes to the cabin, doesn't even have to force the door, no lock. Quite organized —yes, kinda like you— clean, cool… do you even have books? Natasha's heart skips a beat as she inspects the pile of books on the coffee table.

Natasha doesn't touch anything, but her gaze is intense, curious and penetrating. She looks deeply at every detail. There is an old television in front of an equally old sofa, she also notices a record player in a corner and an empty cage on a wooden chair. The table is clean and decorated with a scented candle that is not lit at the moment.

Natasha is not surprised when she hears the sound of the door opening. But you are.

You see her sitting on the only other wooden chair, one hand resting on the table, holding your book. Even though it doesn't really belong to you. You see her put the book down and look at you for a second, both of you looking at each other in silence without saying anything.

You're wearing a thick cotton turtleneck that covers you up to your chin. It's too big for you, of course, and it doesn't belong to you. And you're carrying wood for the fire in the fireplace.

"Natasha Romanoff."

The name slips from your lips in a low, husky tone, shit, you haven't used your voice in a long time and it sounds strange. You try to control your breathing as you look at her and then look away.

"Do you remember?"

You let out a sigh and move forward, shrugging your shoulders. You move towards the fireplace with soft but steady steps, dropping the firewood to the side so you can stack the logs later. As you do so, you feel Natasha's gaze on your back and a shiver runs through you.

"I remember… some things, sometimes… memories come to me from time to time at unexpected times…" You turn around and look at her closely, Natasha hasn't moved from her seat, even though the book is now on the table and she's crossing her arms. "Sometimes… when someone says a word or I read about something… it's like a different image suddenly comes to me and then…" You rub your hands together, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, and finally take off your gloves. "It's easier now that I'm alone…"

Natasha nods and looks at you with a wry expression, then points to the books on your nightstand.

"That's why you read so much."

You don't answer, continuing to rub your hands together in front of the fire, your fingers icy cold from spending so much time away from the cabin.

You don't look at Natasha, but you can feel her looking at you. God, her gaze is so intense. You lie on your back, facing the fire, shivering and hiding your almost tearful reaction. Natasha Romanoff. You've spent months reconstructing the image of the agent in your brain, trying to put the pieces together in your memories, searching and wandering to find crumbs of this person standing behind you now.

You feel your breathing become agitated and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat and lower your eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you…"

Natasha's voice has this soft tone. You're not used to being spoken to like that, even with Bucky, in his better moments, his voice was always sleepy, fearful and insecure. Natasha Romanoff seems confident and kind, and your chest warms at the first comforting words you've heard in years.

Natasha doesn't seem bothered or uncomfortable that you don't speak. In that way she's a lot like Bucky, at least back then they didn't speak, they just looked at each other a lot and seemed to communicate through their eyes. Natasha Romanoff looks at you too much, but you try not to look back at her. It feels strange, in your chest, like a feeling of comfort and familiarity, but when you search your brain for where it came from, there's nothing there.

After adding more wood to the fire, you turn to Natasha, who is still sitting in the chair with her arms resting on the table, looking at you with a soft, calm smile. Why does she always have that look? You move more awkwardly as you straighten up, but when you finish stacking the logs, you walk to the area that functions as a kitchen.

You don't offer Natasha tea, you just make it for her. You learned how to make tea from Bucky. And you found out that you like chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey. So you make one for Natasha just like that.

You bring the cup to her and place it next to her at the table, since there are no other chairs, the only existing chair is pushed into a corner with a pile of books and more stuff, you stand there staring at the floor while you drink in silence.

"—"

You raise your head to look at her. Oh, she called you that again.

She explains that it's your name. She calls you that a few more times until it doesn't sound strange in your brain. Natasha puts a folder on the table that she apparently had hidden in her jacket. She offers to read it to you when you're ready. And you don't really feel ready, but you accept.

It leads you through the Red Room, how you were apparently kidnapped by Dreykov since you were a little girl. To your first mission for the Red Room, from which you never returned. Hydra captured you and brainwashed you to be their assassin, leaving behind everything you knew about the Red Room and leaving you with only the training. Much like Bucky —the Winter Soldier— you were given high-level missions by Hydra. A perfectly conditioned assassin who was not supposed to ask questions or have a past. Natasha Romanoff has been searching for you since the fall of Hydra because of your shared past, of which you only have fragments.

Natasha speaks and explains in her characteristic calm tone. She looks at you with soft eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips. Her green eyes sparkle as they focus on you. You let her talk about you and listen to her. She asks questions and you answer as best you can.

"How have you been?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Are these your clothes?"

"Are you eating well?"

You've moved over to the old chair and she follows you, sitting at the other end, because she's noticed that you move away when she gets too close. And you can't help it, even though part of your brain is sure that Natasha Romanoff won't hurt you, the damaged part of you is constantly on alert, sending out danger signals.

"Did you have a bird?" Natasha asks, pointing to the cage on the pile of books on the chair in the corner of the room. You shake your head.

"It was trapped. And I freed it."

Natasha nods and smiles at you again. For the first time, you smile back at her, and you see her eyes light up at what you have done. You can't help but blush when you notice it.

As night falls, you realize that Natasha has no intention of leaving, so you start to get ready for bed. You turn off the fire in the fireplace, and after making some more tea, you show her where you sleep. It's a separate, airier room with thick glass windows and fluffy curtains drawn to keep out the little moonlight. There are a couple of oil lamps because the bulb is out and you haven't found a replacement. The bed is in a corner, with thick blankets and a few pillows. There's a large green rug on the floor and a rocking chair. The rest of the furniture is mostly empty, except for a closet with some clothes in it.

You point to the bed and tell her she can sleep there.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

You point to the floor and Natasha laughs.

"I'm not taking your bed away."

"I'm more used to sleeping on the floor than on a mattress…"

Natasha twists her lips in disgust at this comment.

"We can share the bed. It's big enough." She points, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. "It won't be the first time you share a bed anyway. And I assure you, I can be softer than Bucky…"

Oh, the heat rushes to your face, but you say nothing. Yes, somehow you had to share a bed with Bucky some nights. How would Natasha know?

You blink and nod, offering Natasha a coat which she accepts, changing your jacket into a sweater and kicking off your boots as you climb into bed.

Natasha lets you sleep on the side closest to the wall and you curl up in a blanket while she lies comfortably beside you. It's quiet, except for the sounds of the forest, like the wind or the animals. You can't sleep, not because you're uncomfortable with Natasha —it is uncomfortable, yes— but it's really your brain. Your damaged brain that won't stop sending out warning signals from the time you spent locked in a cell at Hydra Labs.

"I can hear you breathing faster."

You close your eyes and let out a sigh at the sound of Natasha's voice. You still have your back to her.

"Did we have an intimate relationship? Before I disappeared?"

You don't know why you're asking this —well, you do— but it seems you've surprised Natasha as well, because she remains silent for a long moment, you hear her clear her throat and shift.

"No. Never-" Natasha lets out a sigh and you're almost sure she's staring at the ceiling because her position on the bed has changed. "There was no time for that…"

Oh.

You're tempted to say something else. You want to explain the reason for your question, you even want to ask more, but you remain silent. It's just that the way Natasha had talked about you, about the two of you, when you were in the Red Room, it had seemed to you that something else had almost happened.

You regretted not being able to remember, or not being able to right now. Yes, you had some memories of the Red Room, but it was all about the exhaustive training they forced you to do.

"But there was something special." Natasha speaks, and even if you don't look at her, you can tell she has a smile on her face. "You were always someone special. Someone real. With a heart."

———————————————　♡　———————————————

You spend the next few days with Natasha. She doesn't seem to have any desire to leave, in fact, she just seems to get more and more comfortable. You go with Natasha to the town, she does her shopping and you do yours. You've never needed much. You do the shopping and buy some blankets. Natasha, on the other hand, seems to be carrying a lot of bags in her arms. You don't ask what she bought, she tells you anyway.

Natasha had a car, which you didn't find out about until the third day, apparently she abandoned it in an empty warehouse in town and when she went to pick you up the first time, she did it on foot. She mentioned that she didn't want to scare you.

She drives you back to the cabin. And she lets you be quiet the whole way because she doesn't ask you any questions.

Bucky has taught you how to cook some simple things, and you live with that. White rice is your favorite dish; plain, simple and neutral, somehow you feel comfortable eating it. Until Natasha makes you fried rice.

She seems really happy that you like her food, because she smiles like a fool as she offers you more and more. You've never eaten anything so delicious, or at least you can't remember, so you thank her for the food and wash the dishes when you're done.

You share your place like Bucky, but she's very different from Bucky. Natasha is super helpful. It's not like Bucky was useless, but between two mentally damaged and deranged people, they couldn't fix a window lock. Natasha talks a lot all the time, and she's organized, very clean too, she seems to like to flirt and smile at you more than you'd think appropriate, but she's always very kind and gentle. She fixes the TV and manages to find a video player in one of the old boxes that the previous owner kept in a closet.

They sit on the couch —closer than before— for hours watching old movies. Natasha also offers to buy newer movies or ones she thinks you'd like, but you tell her you're fine with whatever. In the afternoons, you usually go for walks in the woods and around the nearby lake, you sometimes take the opportunity to chop wood, and she usually spends her time fixing things around the cabin. You don't ask her, she just finds things that don't work and fixes them. Like the broken glass in one of the windows, or the poorly nailed floorboard, or the door without a lock.

You're making tea when she comes in with a new light bulb to finally replace the burned out one in the bedroom. Natasha doesn't say anything to you when she sees you standing there with the jar of honey in your hands, as she goes into the bedroom with a ladder that she somehow built back in the day to change the light bulb. Natasha also fixes the shower in the bathroom so that the hot water works, even though you tell her that you prefer cold water.

"You shouldn't try so hard to fix this…you know this place isn't even mine?" You tell her one day when you see her trying to rebuild the fence.

"I bought it."

"What?"

"Well, I obviously knew it wasn't yours. So I tracked down the real owner and bought it." Natasha explains carefully, a hammer in her hand as she gestures toward the cabin. "I bought it for you." She mumbles and her goofy smile returns to her lips. Oh, she's a fool who likes to flirt. You already figured that out. "You don't have to run anymore."

Natasha looks at you in a way that makes you feel warm. And you have to look away so she doesn't notice the heat rising to your face.

You don't thank her. Your throat feels too tight to speak. And you know your voice gets shaky when you blush and get embarrassed, so you just avoid her by going back inside.

That night you cook for Natasha. It's a simple dish you've learned to make from the recipe book you've been reading. Mushroom risotto with Parmesan. It's a thank-you dinner, somehow you both know that. Natasha seems very happy that you're cooking for her. And she praises your dish a lot too, until you blush too much and ask her to eat in silence.

Natasha also fixed the record player, so after dinner you both sit on the couch while you read and she fixes an old radio she found in one of the boxes, she puts her feet up on the table and a slow melody plays in the background.

The next few days are much the same, though you seem to feel more comfortable with Natasha's presence as you get used to her. Natasha is someone who touches a lot, so you no longer flinch when Natasha's hand sometimes brushes yours, or freak out when you feel her hand on your lower back, or when she looks over your shoulder at what you're cooking. You finally have something familiar. And you appreciate it.

You appreciate the way Natasha wakes up before the sun even comes out to go for a run, the way she greets you when you come into the house after her morning run —with a pat on the cheek as she rests her head on your hair— you appreciate the way Natasha always finds something to fix, and you appreciate the way she smiles when you offer her more pancakes and tea. Even though you know Natasha prefers coffee. You learned how to make pancakes from Natasha and started making them for Natasha almost every morning.

One day you discover a box on your doorstep. Natasha is out running, so you pick up the sealed and wrapped box and notice a label on the top. A package for Natasha. You didn't even know that a place like this could receive packages.

You leave it on the table and when Natasha returns from her run, she greets you as she always does, with a pat on the cheek and her head resting on yours, you smile at her and offer her tea, when Natasha sits down next to you, she notices the box and her expression darkens as she reads that it's a package for her.

She doesn't seem to want to open it, and you can tell by the way she looks at it, as if it's cursed. You can also tell that she doesn't want to open it in your presence, so without being asked, you excuse yourself by saying that you have to go to the bathroom.

You give her a few minutes, and when you come out of the bathroom, the package is open and Natasha is nowhere to be found.

You try not to look too hurt by her sudden absence. You start to read the new gardening book that Natasha recently bought for you —after hearing you say that you wanted to have a hobby like hers about fixing things, she suggested gardening— Natasha also bought you some gardening tools, but you haven't started yet.

Natasha shows up a few hours later. You notice that she's gone for a drive, and she greets you as she always does, apologizing for leaving without telling you, but not explaining where she went. You don't ask any questions anyway.

"I want to stay here forever…" Natasha says suddenly in the night as you lie in bed, ready to sleep.

You blink and look at her with big eyes. You don't know why she said that, but deep down you feel like you know. You smile at her and reach for her hand to squeeze it into yours. It's the first time you've made contact. And Natasha seems both surprised and delighted.

You breathe and she leans forward, for a moment everything stops for you and you are about to push yourself back when her forehead touches yours.

"I want to plant poppies…" You whisper, your eyes closed as Natasha rests her forehead against yours and you feel her thumb caress the back of your hand.

She lets out a soft laugh.

"I'll get the seeds tomorrow…"

You're finishing Natasha's pancakes when you hear the door open and turn to see her come in. She has a paper bag in her hands and a silly grin on her face. You're already serving her pancakes when Natasha greets you in her usual way. You pour her coffee and she puts the paper bag on the table.

Natasha finishes her first pancake and you finish a page of the book you're reading when you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. Natasha immediately moves and you follow. You look out the window and notice Natasha's tense shoulders slump slightly and her expression becomes somber and tired.

She lets out a sigh as she turns to look at you, and you look at her in a way that seems to hurt her.

The two of you walk out to find Captain America —Steve Rogers— in civilian clothes. He's got the whole soldier thing going on with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out as he looks at Natasha and then back at you. He seems to be smiling in embarrassment.

“Romanoff.”

Steve Rogers' voice is cheerful and firm as he moves forward to close the distance. He looks at you in a way that makes you feel shy. He seems kind of cute with that bright, friendly smile, but also kind of pretentious with all that attitude. You don't introduce yourself even though he does, and he seems to understand your silence because he doesn't push, instead he looks at Natasha and you see them exchanging silent glances.

You don't know what they say, but you can feel it.

Natasha says goodbye that afternoon and promises she'll be back soon. She makes a lot of promises. She promises she'll finish fixing the fence, bring you more books on gardening, find you new movies, get you a decent video player, and come back to watch your flowers grow.

Natasha kisses you as you see her off at the door.

She holds your face in her hands, caresses your cheeks with her thumbs, and her soft lips press against yours. Natasha kisses you tenderly. She closes her eyes as her forehead meets yours, forcing you to open your mouth with a thumb pressed against your chin, pushing her tongue into your mouth and only pulling away when Steve Rogers clears his throat loudly enough to annoy Natasha.

"Please don't run away again."

Her look is a plea and you nod. You give her a short, soft kiss on the lips. Natasha smiles at you and says goodbye with a touch on your cheek.

It's been almost three months. Almost three months since Natasha Romanoff got into Steve Rogers' car and drove off without much explanation. You discovered that the paper bag she left on the table were the seeds of the poppies you mentioned you wanted to plant, so you did. And indeed, the flowers had just bloomed.

You planted not only poppies, but other wildflowers that could grow in cold climates. Yes, you did your research and all that. You learned that you liked gardening, so you started to put more effort into it, so much so that you started a small vegetable garden as well.

It's a sunny and cold day, the wind isn't as annoying as other days, so you go outside to examine your flowers, happy and proud that they are blooming beautifully.

And then the sleek black sports car pulls up on the dirt road in front of the cabin. You watch as Natasha gets out of the car with a smile on her face, a large bag in her hand, hanging from her back as she walks over to you.

"You have beautiful flowers."

You straighten up, your hands covered in dirt and your face flushed from the time you spent outside in the cold. Natasha wraps her arms around you and you bury your head in her shoulder. The leather of her jacket sticks to your skin and you squirm in the embrace, but Natasha just laughs.

You walk into the cabin with Natasha. She kisses you sweetly after you wash the dirt off your hands. And she murmurs against your lips how much she's missed you as you sigh between kisses.

"I can start fixing the fence…"

She mumbles, moving to the closet to get her toolbox when you interrupt her, your fingers tightening on the sleeve of her jacket and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow.

Natasha turns to you again, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back in for a deep kiss. You sigh in her arms and shudder as her tongue slips into your mouth, Natasha’s hands tighten on your waist and she leans down, pushing her face onto yours as she kisses you in an intense and hungry way.

“I’m going to repair the fence…” Natasha mentions with a goofy smile on her lips as she pulls away, leaving you dizzy and slightly hazy. “I swear. I have time for it. I’ll stay here with you.”

Natasha slides her hands down your face and kisses you again. It’s just a peck on your lips and you smile at her as she pulls away to get her tools.

“I’ll build you a mailbox too. Bucky Barnes said he wanted to send you letters…” She scoffs as she walks out the door.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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aeralux · 3 months ago

Text

"Easy Going Down" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Modern!Jacaerys x Stepsister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys and you have never gotten along very well ever since his mom and your dad got together. However, you both tolerate one another, staying out of each other's way. But this night, Jace has had enough of your defiant attitude, lashing out at you. Obviously, you decide to pay him back.

Warnings: SMUT; nasty and filthy language; dub!con (they both want it tbh); stepcest; both are mean to each other; masturbation; oral (m!receiving); degradation; name calling; rough sex; breeding kink lowk (he cums inside); fluffy ending; taboo relationship; reader admits to sleeping around; drugging? (reader uses Viagra on Jace, as payback);

Words: 11.7k

Notes: English is not my first language. This is hella 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 (regarding the language used). They are not blood-related in this story. No descriptions of Reader and no use of (y/n). If you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings, please do NOT read it. Thank you.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Jacaerys sits engaged in his studies in his room. Still, the constant pop music blaring from his stepsister's room soon distracts him. The loud tunes echo in the hallway, quickly becoming a source of frustration. He feels his aggravation bubbling inside him as he struggles to concentrate on his assignment.

"Why does she always have to blast that ridiculous music?" he says to himself, gritting his teeth. His patience is wearing thin, and he can no longer disregard the noise that seems intentionally designed to irritate him. Taking a deep breath to calm his rising anger, Jacaerys stands up and heads toward the door.

Walking to your room, he reflects on how much you frustrate him. "Why is she even awake? I still don’t understand why she needs to be so loud. Can’t she be a little more considerate?" The mix of irritation and anger boils within him as he approaches her door.

He knocks, but the music continues to drown out everything else. "Just fantastic," he mutters to himself, and at that moment, he realizes that his patience has completely evaporated. Jacaerys flings the door open, bracing himself to demand that she lower the volume. Still, he’s hit with a wave of anger that makes the whole predicament even worse. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for a confrontation.

"Hey, turn that music down," he demands. He lacks the composure to simply ask, and in that instant, his emotions take charge. Jacaerys is fully prepared for an argument, knowing that this encounter won't go smoothly.

You were dancing in your room, clad in your baby blue panties and a loose white tee. The music was blasting, the beat thumping through your veins as you moved to the rhythm. It had been a long, tiring day, and you just needed to let loose, to forget about everything.

Your hair swayed with each twist and turn of your body as you lost yourself in the beats of Black Eyed Peas, a classic. You finally felt somewhat better, like the cool, carefree girl everyone sees you as. Nothing else mattered except the music and the feeling of the air against your skin.

Suddenly, your 'party' was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. You didn't need to look to know it was Jace. He always had a knack for ruining your fun. But you didn't let it phase you. Instead, you turned up the volume, your grin turning wicked as you faced him.

You continued to dance, lipsyncing the words with exaggerated passion, putting on a show just to annoy him. His face contorted with anger, his brows furrowing. You had to bite back a laugh as he got angrier while you just kept twirling around like an exotic dancer.

"What? Not used to actually good music?"

Jacaerys stands in the doorway, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight before him. His stepsister is dancing in nothing but her underwear, your body moving sensually to the music. He feels a wave of anger wash over him, mixed with a hint of something else... something he doesn't want to acknowledge.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shouts over the music, his voice dripping with contempt. "You can't just blast your shitty music at all hours of the night!"

He takes a step into the room, his eyes never leaving your body. He tries to look away, trying to focus on the anger bubbling up inside him, but he can't help but stare. Your curves are mesmerizing, your skin glowing in the dim light of her bedroom.

"And put some fucking clothes on!" he adds, his voice rising. "You look like a cheap whore!"

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he can't take them back. He knows they're cruel, but he's too angry to care. He hates you, hates how you have invaded his life, his home. And now you're dancing around half-naked, taunting him with your body.

"Don't you know I'm trying to study?" he shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you have any idea how annoying you are?"

He's breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest, he can't seem to look away from you, can't stop watching you move. Jace clenches his fists, trying to ignore the way your breasts are visible through the light-coloured tee and the way your panties hug your hips.

You stop dancing and glare at him, your lips pursed together. You abruptly shut off the music, the sudden silence deafening.

"Get out!" You yell, furious at his degrading words. You know you pissed him off, but he's never called you names like that before. What's gotten into him?

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your state of undress. But you refuse to let him see that he's gotten under your skin. You keep your chin raised defiantly, meeting his angry gaze head-on.

"You're the one who barged in here unannounced," you snap. "Maybe if you knocked first, you wouldn't have seen anything. But apparently, you just can't help yourself when it comes to invading my privacy."

You turn away from him in disgust, not wanting to look at him anymore. Your heart is pounding and you feel your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You can't believe he said those things to you. He's never been so cruel before.

Jacaerys feels a pang of guilt as he sees the hurt in your eyes, but he quickly pushes it down. You're the enemy, the intruder in his life. He can't let himself feel sorry for you.

"Oh, so it's my fault now?" he scoffs, taking another step into the room. "I'm the one who can't help myself? You're the one who's always prancing around half-naked, just begging for attention."

He reaches out and grabs your arm, turning you to face him. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin and can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. It's intoxicating, and he hates himself for noticing.

"Listen, you little bitch," he sneers, his face inches from yours. "I'm in charge here, not you. You don't get to do whatever you want, whenever you want. There are rules in this house, and you're going to start following them."

He can see the rage in your eyes, the way you grit your teeth. But he doesn't let go. He wants to show you who's boss, wants to make you submit to him.

"Now put some fucking clothes on and stay out of my way," he growls, giving your arm a rough shake. "And if I hear that music again, there will be consequences."

Jacaerys' grip is rough as he grabs your arm, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. You grit your teeth, trying to suppress the wince of pain. His closeness is suffocating, his hot breath on your face making you light-headed.

"Get. Out." You spit the words at him, ripping your arm free. The movement leaves angry red marks on your skin, a physical reminder of his bruising hold.

In the past, you would have run straight to Dad. His presence loomed large, always ready to swoop in and protect you. But not this time. The air between you is different now, charged with a new dynamic since his relationship with Jace's mother. No, Dad won't interfere this time.

You are on your own.

Something stirs inside you. A spark of anger, of determination. You won't let him bully you, won't let him treat you like you're nothing just because it's his house.

A smirk plays at the corners of your mouth as a plan takes shape in your mind. Oh, you'll make him pay for this. You'll make him regret ever laying a hand on you.

"Now," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. "Get out of my room before I scream. And if you ever touch me again, I will cut your dick off and fuck your face with it."

You watch as he hesitates, his eyes flashing with rage and something else, something you can't quite place. But he backs down, turning and storming out of the room.

You slam the door behind him, leaning against it heavily. Your heart races and your breaths come in short gasps. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. But for now, you've made your stand. And you will get the better of him.

Jace storms out of your room, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang that echoes through the hallway. His hands are shaking, his heart racing. He can still feel the heat of your skin under his fingers, and can still smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume.

"Fuck!" he shouts, punching the wall in frustration. Pain shoots through his hand, but he barely notices. All he can think about is you - your defiance, your attitude, your goddamn body.

He knows he shouldn't have touched you, knows he crossed a line. But he couldn't help himself. You were just so... there, so tempting. And he hates himself for it.

Jace takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He can't let you get to him like this, can't let you see that you have any kind of power over him. He's the one in charge, not you.

But even as he tells himself this, he knows it's not true. You have a hold over him, a power he can't quite explain. And it terrifies him.

He stalks back to his room, slamming the door behind him. He needs to clear his head and focus on something else—anything else.

But as he sits down at his desk, trying to force himself to concentrate on his homework, all he can think about is you. The way you looked at him, the way you smelled, the way your skin felt under his fingers.

He groans in frustration, burying his face in his hands. This is going to be a long night.

Jace slammed the door and before you could think, you were screaming, hurling the nearest object you could grab - your half-empty water glass - right at the wooden barrier separating you. It shatters on impact, scattering shards across the floor.

You pant heavily, your vision swimming with a red haze of fury. Those red marks on your arm are a throbbing reminder of his cruelty. How dare he lay a finger on you, how dare he treat you like you're just some nuisance to be dealt with.

Cursing under your breath, you go to clean up the pieces of glass, hissing as a few sharp slivers embed themselves in your fingertips. It hurts, but you grit your teeth and keep sweeping.

Tomorrow, you vow to yourself. Tomorrow, he's gonna learn not to underestimate you. And there's no one to stop you this time. No dad to intervene, no mom to play peacemaker, and no Lucerys to come to his defence.

Just you. And you know exactly how to make him pay. That smug, cocky expression on his face will be wiped right off when you're through with him. He'll be begging for mercy.

A wicked smile curls your lips as you imagine all the ways you can make Jace suffer. Oh, it's gonna be so satisfying to bring him to his knees. He'll regret the day he ever laid a hand on you.

Jace hears the crash of glass, followed by your muffled screaming. He knows you're angry, knows he pushed you too far. But he can't bring himself to care. All he can think about is the feel of your skin. It's driving him crazy.

He paces his room, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He hates you, but he can't deny the attraction he feels. It's eating him alive, consuming every thought. He's never felt this way before, never been so torn between lust and disdain.

Jace stops in front of his mirror, staring at his reflection. He looks like shit - his hair is a mess, his eyes are wild. He looks like he's losing his mind. And maybe he is. Because all he can think about is you, touching you, claiming you as his own.

He slams his fist against the wall, feeling the sting of pain in his knuckles. But it's not enough. Nothing is enough to quench this fire burning inside him. He needs you, needs to overpower you, needs to take you like an animal and make you into an obedient bunny.

Jace strips off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. He's been working out like crazy lately, trying to blow off steam. But it's not working. Nothing is working. Except the thought of you, naked and helpless under him.

He reaches down, palming himself through his shorts. He's already hard, already aching for release. But he knows it won't be enough. Nothing will be enough until he has you.

Jace collapses onto his bed, his body tense with need. He wants to hate you, wants to push you away. But he can't. All he can do is lie here, imagining all the ways he's going to make you his.

His cock is hard and aching, straining against the confines of his boxers. He reaches down, stroking himself slowly, imagining it's your hand on him instead of his own.

Jace groans, his hips thrusting up into his hand as he imagines you touching him. In his mind, you're naked and wet, your body pressed against his, your lips trailing kisses down his chest.

"Fuck," he moans, his name for you falling from his lips like a prayer. He's always tried to resist you, always tried to push you away. But now, he can't fight it any longer. He needs you, needs to feel you, needs to claim you as his own.

He thinks about barging into your room again, pinning you against the wall, tearing your clothes off with his bare hands. He wants to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream his name in pleasure and pain.

Jace speeds up his strokes, his cock throbbing in his hand. He's close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he'll explode, will paint his chest with his seed like a fucking teenage boy.

"Oh, yes, fuck," he pants, his eyes rolling back in his head as he imagines you riding him, your tits bouncing in his face. He wants to grab them, to suck on your nipples until you're begging for more.

With a final groan, Jace comes, his cock pulsing in his hand as he shoots his load all over his stomach. He lies there for a moment, catching his breath, his body still tingling with pleasure.

Unable to drift off, you pop a melatonin and collapse onto the bed, giddy with anticipation for tomorrow. You just have to act normal and bide your time patiently. With your mind foggy from the drowsiness, you struggle to recall clever quotes about patience. Ah well, you'll just have to exercise some restraint until the moment is right. Tomorrow, Jace will get a taste of his own medicine.

The next morning, Jace wakes up feeling groggy and exhausted. He can still feel the ache in his cock, the memory of his fantasy still fresh in his mind. He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow to muffle a groan.

He knows he shouldn't have done that, knows he shouldn't be thinking about you that way. But he can't help it. You're always on his mind, always tempting him, always challenging him.

Jace gets out of bed, and heads to the bathroom to shower. As he strips off his clothes, he catches sight of the cum stains on his boxers from last night. He feels a sense of shame washes over him, followed by a surge of anger.

"Fuck," he mutters, balling up the underwear and throwing it in the hamper. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

He turns on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his body. But even as he scrubs himself clean, he can't shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He imagines you in the shower with him, your hands sliding over his slick skin, your lips on his neck.

Jace groans, his cock stiffening again. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around it, stroking it slowly. He thinks about you, about how you'll look when he finally breaks you when he makes you submit to him completely.

He's close, so fucking close, when he hears a knock at the bathroom door.

"Jace, hurry up!" his brother Lucerys calls out. "We're leaving!"

Jace curses under his breath, releasing his cock reluctantly. He finishes his shower quickly, towelling off in a hurry. As he heads to his room to get dressed, getting ready to bid his brother and parents goodbye, he wonders what kind of shit you'll pull today.

You head downstairs as well, your heart fluttering with excitement as you watch your family leave for their weekend trip. You give them each a quick hug, your smile a little too bright, your eyes a little too eager. They say their goodbyes, reminding Jace and you to study hard for your upcoming finals.

You turn to Jace, who's engrossed in conversation with Lucerys. You seize your chance. Slipping into the kitchen, you retrieve the Viagra pill you'd tucked away in your pocket earlier. Your hands shake slightly as you open the capsule, pouring the powdered contents into Jace's glass of coffee. You stir it smoothly, erasing any trace of your tampering.

A wicked smile plays across your lips as you picture what will happen next. Jace, oblivious, will gulp down his spiked drink, blissfully unaware of the chemical coursing through his veins. And when the effects hit, oh, how delicious his suffering will be. The smug boy finally brought low by his own lust, enslaved by a desire he can't control.

Part of you feels a twinge of guilt for drugging him without consent, but your desire for revenge overshadows it.

Jace finishes his breakfast, gulping down the last of his coffee. As he starts to work on his History paper, he feels a strange sensation wash over him, a tingling warmth spreading through his body. He stands up, heading to the sink to rinse his cup.

But as he walks, he feels a sudden tightness in his groin. He looks down, shocked to see his cock hardening in his pants. What the fuck? He hasn't even seen you yet, and he's already hard? He can barely walk, his legs trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

"Fuck," he groans, pressing his thighs together. His cock is rock hard, throbbing painfully against his zipper. He can feel it pulsing, almost like a heartbeat.

He stumbles back to the sofa, sitting down heavily. He can feel his heart racing, his skin flushed with heat. He knows he shouldn't be feeling this way, knows he should be focused on anything but you. But he can't help it. All he can think about is you, about your body, about fucking you until you scream.

Jace shifts in his seat, trying to adjust himself discreetly. But it's no use. His cock is throbbing, aching for release. He looks around, making sure you are nowhere near.

"Fuck," he mutters, reaching down to palm himself through his jeans. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, and knows he should stop before he loses control. But he can't. He needs to cum, needs to relieve the pressure building inside him. Jace is a mess. His cock is leaking steadily, soaking through his boxers and making a damp spot on his jeans.

He slides his hand into his pants, pulling his cock out and wrapping his hand around it. He's so hard it hurts, so fucking horny he can barely think straight. He starts stroking himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound.

Jace's mind is filled with thoughts of you, of your body, of your touch. He imagines you walking in on him like this, seeing the shock in your eyes as you realize what he's doing. He pictures you dropping to your knees, taking his cock in your mouth like a good little slut.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, his hips thrusting up into his hand. He's so close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he'll explode.

You crouch behind the wall on the staircase, eyeing Jace through the gap. There he is, the always arrogant Jacaerys, pumping himself like a horny teenager. You can't help but smirk, feeling a thrill at seeing him so undone. But you can't ignore the dampening between your legs at the sight of his toned arm wrapped around his thick shaft...No! You shake your head.

You need to stick to the plan.

You stride into the living room, calling out in mock shock, "Ew! Seriously?!" You point accusingly at his hard leaking cock in his fist. "So I'm a 'cheap whore' for dancing in my room, but you can just whip it out and whack off anywhere?!"

You lay into him mercilessly, your voice dripping with disdain. "What are you, some kind of sick pervert? Jerking off where your innocent step-sister could walk in on you? God, you're disgusting!"

You know you shouldn't take such delight in humiliating him, but you can't help the wicked satisfaction curling within you as you watch his face flush with shame and anger. He looks like a scolded child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Get your act together, Jace," you scold, your voice laced with faux-concern. "This isn't appropriate behaviour."

Jace's eyes widen in shock as he hears your voice, his heart pounding. He's caught, exposed, his worst nightmare come true. He scrambles to cover himself, his face burning with shame and anger.

"Get out!" he shouts, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Get the fuck out of here!"

But you don't move, just stand there with that smug look on your face. He can see the evil glint in your eyes, the way you're looking at him like he's some kind of pervert.

"Fuck you," he spits, his cock still throbbing painfully in his hand. "This is none of your business."

But even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. Everything about him is your business now, whether he likes it or not. You're in his life, in his head, in his fucking cock. And he hates it, hates you, hates everything about this situation.

He looks down at his crotch, seeing the wet spot on his toned stomach, the sticky strands of precum leaking from his tip. He feels like a fucking animal, like a dog in heat. And you're standing there, watching him, judging him.

"Get out," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper."

But even as he says it, he knows it's a hollow threat. He's too weak, too desperate.

Jace's hand is still wrapped around his dick, his fingers slick with pre-cum. He can feel it dripping down his shaft, making a sticky mess of his boxers. He's so fucking hard it hurts, so desperate to cum that he can barely think straight.

"Just leave me alone," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I'll make you leave."

You bite your lip, looking at his aching cock, making a mess all over himself. "Aww..." you coo, pouting your pink lips. "Look at you, you're so horny, you can't even think straight. Your cock is leaking all over you."

You tease him with faux regard, your eyes gleaming with amusement. "What a mess you are, Jace. You really need to learn some self-control."

Jace glares at you, his eyes narrowing with anger and embarrassment. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the shame burning through his body. He knows he looks pathetic, and knows that you're enjoying every second of his humiliation.

"Shut up," he snarls, his hand tightening around his cock. "Just shut the fuck up."

But even as he says it, he can't tear his eyes away from you. You're so fucking beautiful, so perfect in every way. And you're staring at him like he's some kind of freak, some kind of pervert.

He wants to hate you, wants to push you away, wants to make you suffer for what you've done to him. But he can't. All he can do is stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest, his cock throbbing in his hand.

"Fucking slut," he mutters, his voice low and vicious. "I bet you love this, don't you? Love seeing me like this, all pathetic and desperate."

His hand is moving faster now, stroking his cock with frantic, needy movements. He's so close, so fucking close to exploding. He just needs a little more, just a little more friction.

"I bet you're getting wet right now," he growls, his eyes locked on yours. "I bet you're picturing me fucking you, aren't you? Fucking you like the dirty whore you are."

He's not thinking straight, not thinking at all. All he can focus on is you, your body, your touch. He needs you, needs to dominate you, needs to make you submit to him completely.

"Come here," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock like a good little slut."

He knows it's a mistake, knows he shouldn't be saying this. But he can't help it. The drug is clouding his mind, making him say and do things he never would normally do.

"Do it," he commands, his voice harsh and demanding. "Get over here and put that pretty little mouth to work."

Your breath catches in your throat as Jace's filthy words wash over you. You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, your panties growing damp with arousal. You never expected this, never thought he would affect you like this.

"N-no," you stammer, your voice trembling. You press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building in your core. You shouldn't want this, shouldn't want him. But you do, so badly.

You can feel your nipples hardening beneath your shirt. You know you should leave, should get away from him before it's too late. But you can't seem to make your feet move.

You can feel your juices trickling down your thighs, your panties clinging to your slick folds. You're so wet, so desperate for his touch. You know you should be disgusted by your desires, but you can't be. Not when Jace is looking at you like that, his eyes dark with lust and hunger.

Jace's eyes are burning with desire, his gaze raking over your body like he wants to devour you whole. He can see the way your nipples are hardening beneath your shirt, the way your breasts are swelling with need. He knows you're turned on, knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.

"Fuck," he growls, his hand speeding up on his cock. "You're so fucking hot. I bet you're dripping wet right now, aren't you? Bet you're aching for my cock."

He spreads his legs wider, giving you a clear view of his throbbing cock. It's swollen and red, the tip dripping with pre-cum. He knows it would feel so good inside your tight pussy, stretching you, filling you, claiming you.

He takes a step towards you, his hips thrusting into his hand. His cock is throbbing, dripping with pre-cum.

"Get on your knees and worship me," he demands, his eyes burning into yours. "Show me how much you want it. Show me how much you need my cock."

He knows it's immoral, knows he shouldn't be saying these things. But he can't stop, can't control himself. The medication is making him wild, making him say and do things he never would before.

He knows it's a challenge, and knows that you won't be able to resist. He can see the way your eyes are locked on his cock, the way your tongue is darting out to wet your lips.

"Come and get it," he taunts, his voice thick with desire. "Come and show me how much you want to be my little cock sleeve."

"Do it," he demands, his eyes boring into yours. "Get on your knees and suck my fucking cock."

He's moving closer now, his cock bobbing obscenely in front of him. He can smell your arousal and can see the way your body is shaking with need.

"Fucking. Do. It," he snarls, his hand tightening around his shaft. "Or I'll fucking make you."

He's so close, so fucking close to losing control completely. If you don't obey him, if you don't give him what he needs, he might just snap. Might just grab you and take what he wants, consequences be damned.

He's going to make you submit to him, make you his own personal fuck toy. He's going to use you, abuse you, make you beg for his cock.

"Now," he snarls, his hand tightening around his shaft. "Before I lose my fucking patience."

You take a small step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. "No, Jace... this is wrong," you say, trying to sound firm even as your body betrays you. Fuck, why does he have to be so hot? Every fibre of your being is screaming at you to drop to your knees and worship that massive cock.

The sight of Jace stroking himself, his eyes dark with lust, is enough to make your head spin. You want him so badly, want to feel that thick shaft stretching your throat, fucking your face until you're gagging and drooling all over yourself.

But you can't. You won't. No matter how much your body craves it, you know this is wrong. He's your stepbrother, for fuck's sake. You can't do this, can't cross this line.

You take another step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so close to giving in, so close to letting all of your inhibitions melt away.

"Jace, please," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't do this. It's not right." Trying to sound commanding, but it sounds like a pathetic whimper.

Jace's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching with anger. He can't believe you're rejecting him, can't believe you're turning him down after everything his family has done for you. He's been nothing but patient to you, nothing but kind and generous. And this is how you repay him? By denying him what he needs most?

"Fuck you," he spits, his hand tensing around his cock. "You think you're better than me? Think you can just walk away?"

He takes a step towards you, his eyes burning with rage. He knows you're unconvinced. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is his own need, his own desperate hunger.

"I own you," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me. And I won't let you go until I'm satisfied."

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you towards him. He pulls you close, his body pressing against yours, his cock rubbing against your stomach.

"You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll fucking violate your throat until you're begging for more. And you'll enjoy every second of it."

He shoves you to your knees, his hand tangling in your hair. He pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him.

"Open your mouth," he demands, his cock pressing against your lips. "Put that pretty little mouth to work and show me how sorry you are."

You stare up at Jace with wide, shocked eyes. The sweet, charming stepbrother that you know has transformed into someone so cruel, so aggressive. But despite yourself, you can't deny the slick pooling between your thighs at his vulgar words and forceful actions.

With trembling fingers, you place your hands on his muscular thighs, steadying yourself. Slowly, obediently, you part your pink, glossy lips and stick out your tongue, offering your mouth to him. Your heart pounds wildly in anticipation of what he might do.

Jace grins down at you, his eyes gleaming with triumph and dark lust. He grips your hair tighter, practically yanking you forward to take his throbbing cock. "That's it, slut. Open wide for your stepbrother."

He slaps his heavy, veiny shaft against your cheek and lips, smearing sticky pre-cum on your soft skin. The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils. "Mmm, yeah, gonna train you with my dick. Gonna wreck your throat with it."

Grabbing your jaw, Jace forces his fat cockhead past your lips, stretching them obscenely. "Ffffuck..." he groans at the tight, wet heat engulfing him. He bucks his hips, ramming several inches of thick cockmeat down your throat.

Your eyes bulge and water as he hits the back of your throat, making you gag and sputter around his invading length. Drool leaks from the corners of your stretched mouth. Jace's heavy balls smack against your chin.

"Take it, bitch!" he snarls, eyes wild with lust. "Choke on my fucking cock! Gonna use your throat like a fleshlight." He yanks your head forward, burying his dick to the hilt in your convulsing oesophagus.

Holding you in place, Jace starts savagely pistoning his hips, sawing his huge cock in and out of your abused throat. Your eyes roll back, drool splattering your tits as he uses your face like a cocksleeve. "Ungh, fuck, so good!" he grunts, grunting and sweating. "Best. Throat. Ever!"

Spit-roasted and choking, you can only gurgle helplessly as he breaks your throat. "Look at me," he demands, his voice rough with lust. "Look at me while I fuck your throat."

You force your eyes open, looking up at him through your tears. He's looking down at you with a wild, feral expression, his eyes burning with a hunger that terrifies and thrills you.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks, his voice low and cruel. "Like being used like a fucking toy. Like being my personal cum dumpster."

He pulls out suddenly, his cock slipping from your lips. You gasp for air, coughing and sputtering. But before you can recover, he's shoving back in, fucking your throat with renewed vigour.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises, his hand tightening in your hair. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Until you're nothing but a set of holes for me to use."

You moan around his thick cock, the vibrations travelling up his shaft as your throat constricts around him. Wet, obscene noises fill the room - the sloppy sounds of spit and drool as he uses your mouth like a disposable fucktoy

Gasping desperately, you pull off his cock for a moment, lungs burning. You gaze up at him with huge, tearful eyes, mascara smeared down your flushed cheeks. "Jace..." you whine pathetically, your voice is scratchy and broken.

You trail your delicate fingers along his chiselled abdomen and strong thighs, a soft apology. Your nails lightly scrape his heated skin, silently pleading for mercy. But your sorrowful puppy dog eyes hold a dark, masochistic thrill - you love being used like his personal fleshlight.

Jace chuckles darkly, his hand still fisted in your hair. "You look so cute when you're choking on my cock," he sneers. "Like a pretty little whore. My pretty girl."

He tugs your head forward, forcing you back onto his massive dick. Your nose presses against his pubic bone as he bottoms out in your throat.

"No more talking," Jace growls. "Just take it like a good little step-slut."

He starts face-fucking you with cruel intensity, hips slapping against your face. Drool pours from your stretched lips, making a further mess of your tits. He yanks your hair, forcing you to deepthroat him over and over.

"Fuck yes, gag on it," he pants harshly. "Choke on your stepbrother's fat cock."

Spit sprays from your mouth as he ruthlessly pounds your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down your face. But you look up at him with a perverse, masochistic adoration.

Jace leers down at you wickedly. "Take it all, you filthy throat slut. Milk my cock with your whore throat."

He holds your head down, burying his dick as deep as it can go. Your throat spasms around him, convulsing as you struggle for air. But he keeps you pinned, using your mouth like a warm, wet fleshlight.

Pulling out suddenly, Jace rips you off his cock. A flood of drool and pre-cum pours out of your used hole. You gasp and splutter, trying to catch your breath.

"You love this, don't you?" Jace sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "Love being treated like a cheap fucktoy. Like a set of holes for me to use."

He slaps your cheek with his wet, veiny cock. "Go on, slut. Clean my dick."

You obediently wrap your lips around his cockhead, suckling gently. You lap up the mixture of pre-cum and saliva, savouring the taste of his essence.

"Mmmm..." you moan around his leaking tip.

Jace shudders as your tongue swirls around his sensitive cockhead, your lips making little kisses along his shaft. "Ohh fuck, that's it," he groans. "You’ve done this before, haven’t you? On your knees for some man who just wants to use you for your mouth and ass?”

You whimper softly as you clean Jace's thick shaft with your tongue, slurping up the mix of your spit and his pre-cum. Your eyes flutter shut as you lose yourself in the sensation.

But his degrading words sting, making you scowl around his throbbing cock. You want to show him how much more experienced you are than he realizes.

Releasing his dick from your lips with a wet pop, you shift to nuzzle his heavy, cum-filled balls. Your tongue darts out to lap at the wrinkled skin, stroking his veiny shaft at the same time.

"Ohh Jace," you coo sultrily, your warm breath washing over his sensitive sack. "Do you want to cum on your pretty little sister's face? Be a dirty pervert and paint me like a cheap whore?"

You roll his big balls in your mouth, suckling gently as you pump his cock with your soft hand. Your fingertips dance teasingly over his weeping slit, making him twitch and throb.

"Mmmm...I'll be such a good girl for you, brother. Just tell me where you want to cum. My mouth? My tits? All over my slutty face?"

Jace groans, his head falling back as you worship his most intimate areas. Your warm, wet mouth and soft hands feel amazing on his heavy sack and throbbing cock.

"F-fuck..." he stammers, his eyes squeezing shut. "You're so good at this. Have you practised much? On your ex-boyfriends?"

His abs flex as you tongue his balls, your hand pumping his slick shaft. "Dirty girl," he pants. "Bet you've sucked off lots of boys before. Bet you love it."

You glance up at him through your lashes, your eyes dark with lust. "Maybe I have," you purr, your hand speeding up. "Maybe I can't control myself around big, hard cocks. Maybe I just need to be filled up and used like the slut I am."

Jace groans, his cock throbbing in your soft hand as your tongue and lips worship his heavy balls. The sight of you nuzzling and sucking them, combined with the depraved words tumbling from your lips, has his cock swelling even larger.

You release his balls with a wet pop, gazing up at him with sultry bedroom eyes. "I've dreamed about your cock, brother," you purr, pumping his shaft slowly. "Imagined you bending me over and fucking me like you own me."

"Fuck," he pants, his hips rocking slightly into your touch. "You're such a dirty little slut. Begging for your own stepbrother's cum."

He reaches down to fist his hand in your hair, guiding your head to his groin. "Open up, whore. Let me feed you my cock."

You obey eagerly, parting your glossy lips to accept his thick meat. He slides over your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum flooding your mouth.

Jace starts fucking your face, his balls slapping against your spit-slick chin with each thrust. "Take it all, you filthy cumslut," he growls. "Choke on your stepbrother's fat cock."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, but you moan wantonly around his pistoning shaft. Drool leaks from the corners of your stretched lips, making a sticky mess of your chin and breasts.

"Mmmph!" you hum, the vibrations driving Jace wild. His grip tightens painfully in your hair as he starts bucking into your mouth with reckless abandon.

"Ohh fuuuck!" Jace throws his head back with a guttural groan. "Gonna fucking bust! Gonna paint your whore face with my load!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries his cock in your throat and unloads his seed directly into your belly. Hot spurts of thick, sticky cum shoot down your throat as he empties his heavy balls.

You whimper as Jace pulls his spent cock from your throat. Globs of his thick cum spill from your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your already ruined shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with spit and his precum.

Wiping the cum from your face with trembling fingers, you bring them to your mouth and suck them clean with a sinful moan. Your body is on fire, desperate for more despite the ache in your throat.

You peel off your soiled top with quivering hands, revealing your perky tits glistening with dried fluids. Your pert nipples stiffen in the cool air, aching to be touched. You toss the shirt aside carelessly, uncaring of your state of undress.

You know he's not done with you yet. The drug has him in its thrall now, his need insatiable. Your pussy throbs, empty and needy. You present yourself to him, ready to be used again and again for his pleasure.

Jace drinks in the sight of your half-naked body, his eyes dark with lust and something more sinister. He circles you slowly, drinking in every curve and dip of your lithe form. His gaze lingers on your pert breasts, the peaks already pebbled with arousal.

He trails a single finger down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver and arch into his touch, craving more. Jace chuckles lowly, the sound sending tingles across your skin.

"So desperate for it," he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. "So eager to be filled by your own stepbrother's cock. What a dirty little slut you are."

His hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his muscular body. You can feel his renewed erection pressing insistently against your ass, hard and heavy. He grinds against you, letting you feel exactly what he wants to do to you.

Jace's fingers dance across your sensitive skin, tracing teasing patterns over your hips and thighs. He nips at your earlobe, tugging it between his teeth. "Beg for it," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Beg me to fuck you like the filthy cumslut you are."

His words make you burn with shame and need, a combination that has you dizzy with want. You've never been spoken to like this before, treated like a piece of meat to be used for someone else's pleasure. But, god help you, you love it. Love being degraded and objectified by the man you've secretly craved for so long.

"Please Jace," you whimper, grinding back against his rigid length. "Please fuck me. I need it so bad. I need you to split me open on your big cock and make me yours."

Your shameless begging seems to inflame him further. With a low groan, Jace fists your hair, pushing you face-first onto the couch.

He looms over you, his eyes wild and hungry. "I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly as he rips off your flimsy shorts and panties.

You yelp as Jace roughly pushes you down, your glistening holes exposed to his hungry gaze. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you feel his eyes devouring your most intimate places, watching the way they twitch and flutter with need. You can feel your arousal coating your inner thighs, your desperate cunt clenching around nothing.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, your mind reeling with a mix of shame and desire. You've never been so vulnerable before, so utterly at someone else's mercy. And yet, you've never wanted anything more than you want Jace to claim you in this moment, to make you his in every way possible.

You can feel his eyes raking over your body, taking in every curve and dip of your quivering form. It's as if he's memorizing every inch of you. You squirm under the intensity of his stare, your skin prickling with goosebumps.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please Jace, I need you. I need you to split me open on your fat cock. I want to become your personal fleshlight, you can use me whenever you want, please."

Jace growls low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He runs his rough palm over the globes of your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. "Such a desperate little slut," he taunts, giving your cheek a sharp smack. "So eager to be used like a cheap whore."

You cry out at the sudden sting, your pussy clenching hungrily. Jace chuckles cruelly, rubbing the reddening skin. "You like that, don't you? Like being marked and claimed by your stepbrother."

He spreads your cheeks wider, exposing your twitching holes to his ravenous gaze. "Look at you, dripping for me already. Your cunt is practically begging to be fucked."

Jace notches the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, the blunt tip nudging your sensitive folds. "Brace yourself, slut," he warns, his voice a dark promise. "I'm going to fucking destroy this sweet little pussy."

With that, he slams his hips forward, burying his massive length inside you in one brutal thrust. You scream at the sudden intrusion, your body stretched to its limits around his girth. It feels like he's splitting you in half, the thick cockhead kissing your cervix.

Jace doesn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace. He pounds into you with animalistic eagerness, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The couch creaks dangerously beneath you, rocking with the force of his thrusts.

"Fuck, so tight," he rasps, his hips never faltering. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one will ever make you feel as good as I do."

You can only whimper and moan, your mind short-circuiting with pleasure. It's too much, too intense. The feel of him claiming you so thoroughly, owning your body in the most primal way possible. It's everything you've ever wanted, even if you're too ashamed to admit it.

"Oh god, oh fuck!" You wail, your voice cracking with ecstasy. Jace's fat cock is stretching you beyond belief, filling you so completely that you can barely breathe. It feels like he's in your throat, splitting you open from the inside.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he pounds into you mercilessly, the couch groaning beneath your combined weight. You can't believe how good it feels, how right. Like you were made to be used by him, and him alone.

In your pleasure-drunk haze, the words spill from your lips without thought. "You're even bigger than your best friend," you moan dazedly, clenching around his pistoning length. "Fuck, you're ruining my pussy!"

The moment the comparison leaves your mouth, you realize your mistake.

Jace stills, his hips still buried deep inside you. "What did you just say?" he asks quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Realization dawns on you, horrified. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did you say THAT?! Now he knows! Now he'll stop, now he'll pull out and leave you empty and aching and you can't let that happen!

"I didn't mean it," you babble, desperate. "I was just saying stuff, I didn't mean anything by it!"

Jace pulls out abruptly, his cock slipping from your clenching hole with a lewd noise. You whimper at the loss, your body already missing his thick meat.

But then he's flipping you over, pushing you down onto your back. He looms over you, his eyes dark and fathomless. One large hand wraps around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Who?" he asks, his voice low and menacing. "Who have you fucked? Who else has had this sweet little cunt?"

His other hand reaches down, his fingers brushing over your swollen, sensitive folds. You buck your hips instinctively, seeking more of his touch.

"Tell me," he commands, tightening his grip slightly. "Tell me who you've spread your legs for. I want names, pet."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You can't tell him the truth, can't admit to all the boys you've let use you. He'll hate you, he'll see you as nothing more than a dirty whore.

But then again, isn't that exactly what you are? A filthy cumslut desperate for any cock that will have you? Maybe this is your chance to finally be honest, to let him see the real you.

"I...I've fucked a lot of people," you whisper, your eyes downcast. "Guys from school, random hookups. I've let them all use me, brother. I'm nothing but a horny slut."

Jace's hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air. "Did you enjoy it?"

You can barely breathe with Jace's hand around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your lungs burn, and your vision starts to blur at the edges. But even through the haze of oxygen deprivation, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, your treacherous body responding to his show of dominance.

"Y-yes," you manage to choke out, your voice strained. "I loved it. Loved being used like a cheap whore, like a set of holes for them to fuck."

Jace's eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. His grip on your throat tightens even more, making spots dance across your vision. "Did you let them cum inside you? Fill you up with their seed like the dirty cumslut you are?"

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face. "Yes, brother. So many times. I wanted to be claimed. Please, please fuck me. Use me like they did. I'm your filthy slut, yours to ruin."

Jace releases your throat abruptly, letting you gasp and cough, drawing in desperate gulps of air. He flips you back over onto your hands and knees, your ass presented to him like a bitch in heat.

"Spread yourself," he commands, giving your rear a sharp smack. "I want to see those slutty holes that have been so eagerly fucked."

You obey immediately, reaching back to spread your cheeks wide. Your swollen pussy lips glisten with arousal, your puckered asshole twitching hungrily. You're so empty, aching to be filled, to be used like the cum-hungry whore you are.

"Please, Jace," you beg, your voice trembling with desperate need. "I'm yours, only yours. No one can make me feel as good as you do."

You jiggle your round ass, spreading your cheeks to expose your soaked holes to his hungry gaze. Slick arousal trickles down your inner thighs, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

"I'll be your personal fucktoy, your cocksleeve to use whenever you want. Just please, fill me up again. I need your big cock stretching me open, claiming me as yours."

Your eyes are pleading, your body shaking with need. You've never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at someone's mercy. But you trust Jace, know that he'll give you exactly what you crave.

"No one else will ever touch me again," you promise, your voice breaking. "I'm yours, brother. Yours to fuck, yours to fill with your seed. I'll be the best little cockwarmer you've ever had."

Jace's eyes darken with lust as you present yourself to him so wantonly, your trembling body an offering to his basest desires. He drinks in the sight of your glistening folds, swollen and desperate for his touch.

"Such an obedient little slut," he purrs, trailing his fingers through your slick heat. "So eager to be bred by your own stepbrother, fucking dirty incest whore."

He notches the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your hips buck back instinctively, trying to impale yourself on his thick length.

But Jace holds you in place, his grip bruising on your hips. "Ah ah, pet. You'll take my cock when I give it to you. Not a second sooner."

He drags the blunt tip through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass of his cockhead sends sparks of electricity racing up your spine, your body singing with need.

"Please," you whimper, tears of frustration leaking from your eyes. "Please, Jace. I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me, need you to fill me up."

With a satisfied growl, Jace lines himself up and thrusts forward, burying his massive length in your aching cunt again in one brutal stroke. You scream as he splits you open, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. It's almost too much, the delicious burn of being filled so completely.

Jace sets a punishing pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your whiny moans and his grunts of effort.

"Take it, you filthy whore," he snarls, slamming into you. "Take my fucking cock like the cum-hungry slut you are. This is where you belong, speared on your stepbrother's dick."

It truly was, and you wouldn't change a thing about it. The degradation, the filthy words falling from his lips, the way he uses your body for his pleasure. You've never felt so complete, so utterly owned.

"I lo-ove your f-fucking cock," you sob brokenly, your fingers digging into the soft cushions of the couch. Drool spills from your slack lips and your eyes roll back in your head as Jace pounds into you with brutal force.

You're lost, drowning in a sea of pleasure, your mind short-circuiting under the onslaught of sensation. His thick cock stretches you impossibly wide, the wet slap of skin on skin filling your ears. You can't think, can't breathe, you can only focus on the feel of him splitting you open over and over again.

"Fuck, Jace!" You wail, your body convulsing around his pistoning length. "You're ruining me! Oh god, don't stop, please don't ever stop!"

Your hips rock back to meet his thrusts, desperate for more. You've never felt so full. At this moment, you're not even a person, just a hole for Jace to fuck.

You clench your hole around him, trying to milk his cock for all it's worth. You want him to use you, to fill you with his cum until you're leaking with it. You want to be his personal fucktoy, to exist solely for his pleasure.

You moan, your voice is ragged and broken. "All yours, big brother. Ruin me, break me, I can take it. Just please, please don't stop fucking me!"

Jace's thrusts become erratic, his cock pulsing inside you as he nears his peak. He leans forward, pressing his sweat-slicked body against your back. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back as he growls in your ear.

"Gonna fill this slutty cunt up," he pants, his hips snapping forward even harder. "Gonna breed you like the filthy whore you are. You want that, pet? Want to be knocked up by your stepbrother's seed?"

The thought sends a shockwave of lust through you, your already tight walls clamping down on his pistoning length. You've never wanted anything more, never ached to be claimed in such a primal way.

"Yes," you keen, pushing your hips back to meet his brutal thrusts. "Yes, fuck! Please! I wanna leak with your cum."

Your words seem to shatter the last of Jace's control. With an animalistic roar, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock jerks and pulses, painting your insides white with his thick seed.

"Gonna ruin this tight hole," he grunts, slamming into you harder. "Paint these filthy walls with my cum. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To be bred by your own fucking brother?"

You can only moan in response, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you lose yourself to the relentless pounding of his cock. Your mind is blank, all thoughts consumed by the feel of him inside you, claiming you, owning you.

Jace's balls slap against your sensitive clit with each thrust, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. Your toes curl, your nails scrabbling uselessly at the cushions as your body tenses, ready to shatter.

You scream as your own orgasm crashes over you, your cunt milking him for every last drop. Pleasure explodes behind your eyelids, whiting out your vision as you're consumed by ecstasy.

Jace collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath. His softening cock slips from your abused hole, a trickle of cum following in its wake. You can feel it running down your thighs, marking you as his.

As the post-orgasmic haze clears, reality starts to sink in. You just let your stepbrother fuck you raw, just begged him to cum inside. What have you done? What kind of sick, twisted person are you?

Shame and self-loathing wash over you, warring with the afterglow of pleasure. You should feel disgusted, should push Jace away and run as far away from this shame as you can.

When he finally pulls out, you feel empty. Your abused hole gapes obscenely, a trickle of his release leaking out. But Jace isn't done with you.

"We're not done yet, slut," he promises darkly.

"What?" You whisper hoarsely, your body still throbbing in the aftermath of Jace's brutal fucking. But even through the haze of pleasure, truth starts to creep in. You were the one who drugged him, who set this whole thing in motion.

"Wait," you whimper, twisting in his arms to face him. Your lips are swollen, your eyes glazed and unfocused. You can feel his cum leaking out of you. "Jace..."

Jace grabs you by the hips, pulling you flush against his body. His semi-hard cock nestles against your sensitive folds, making you gasp.

"You drugged me," he accuses, his voice low and dangerous. "Slipped something in my drink to make me fuck you. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, dread and arousal warring within you. You've been caught, and your sick game exposed. But why does the danger only excite you more?

"I...I'm sorry," you stammer, trying to squirm out of his grasp. But Jace just tightens his grip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, shaking you roughly. "You wanted this, wanted me to fuck you senseless. Admit it."

He grinds his hips against you, his cock hardening further. You can feel him throbbing against your slick heat, the promise of more pleasure making you dizzy.

Your legs tremble, barely able to support your weight after the brutal pounding Jace just gave you. But it's not just exhaustion making you shake - it's the anticipation, the promise of more in his heated gaze.

"Y-yeah..." you admit meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to embarrass you. Wanted to see you lose control."

You look up at him through your lashes, biting your plump lower lip. "Did it work, big brother? Did I make you forget all about being a gentleman?"

You can feel his cock twitch against your slick folds, already hardening again. The knowledge that you've reduced him to such base lust, that you've corrupted him with your depravity, sends a thrill through you.

With a feral growl, Jace slams your head against the couch, pinning you there. His hands are everywhere, groping and mauling your sensitive flesh.

"You're playing with fire, little sister," he warns, grinding his rock-hard length against your aching core. You can feel him throbbing against you, hot and hard and ready.

Jace leans in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "I should punish you for drugging me, you know. Bend you over my knee and spank that juicy ass until it's red and raw."

He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your rear, making you yelp and arch into him. Your body craves more of his touch, your pussy clenching on nothing.

"Please," you whimper, too far gone to care how desperate you sound. "Punish me, Jace. I deserve it."

Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes at your admission. "Filthy little slut," he growls approvingly. "Trust me, I will."

With a vicious smile, Jace scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He carries you towards his bedroom, his grip unyielding.

You shriek as Jace picks you up, your body going limp in his strong grip. You can feel his muscles flexing beneath your fingers as he throws you over his shoulder like a rag doll, carrying you effortlessly towards his bedroom.

Jace kicks open the door to his room, dumping you unceremoniously onto his bed. You bounce once, twice on the firm mattress before coming to rest on your back. You stare up at him, your chest heaving, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

"What are you going to do to me?" You ask breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper. But you both know the answer.

Jace looms over you, his eyes dark with lust. He crawls onto the bed, covering your smaller body with his own.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly, his fingers finding your dripping slit. "Gonna fuck this greedy cunt until you're screaming for mercy."

He drives two thick fingers into your tight channel, making you cry out. Your walls clench around the intrusion, trying to suck him deeper.

"So eager," Jace croons, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat. "Such a desperate little slut, always hungry for cock."

He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Pleasure crashes through you, stealing your breath.

"Nngh, fuck!" you moan, your back arching off the bed. Your hips buck into his hand, chasing more of that delicious friction.

Jace just smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how he's reducing you to a mindless, cock-hungry mess. And god help you, you love every minute of it.

"Beg for it," he demands, scissoring his fingers inside you. "Beg me to fuck you like the desperate little whore you are."

"Please, Jace," you whine, your voice high and needy. "Please fuck me! I need your cock so bad! I'll do anything, be anything, just please use me!"

With a triumphant grin, Jace withdraws his fingers. He lines up his thick length with your entrance, the swollen head nudging against your fluttering hole.

"Since you asked so nicely," he purrs, slamming forward in one brutal thrust.

You scream as he splits you open, the stretch bordering on discomfort. But it's the good kind of pain, the kind that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head.

Jace's thrusts are relentless, his thick cock pistoning in and out of your stretched hole. Even though he just fucked you, split you open and bred you like a bitch in heat, you can never get enough of him. Of his fat dick stretching you so full, claiming your body as his own personal fucktoy.

You moan like a whore, your voice high and keening as he pounds into you. Thank fuck Dad and his mom and brother aren't home, because the sounds you're making would make a porn star blush. Obscene wet slaps fill the room as Jace's hips slam against you, driving him deeper with every thrust.

"Harder," you beg, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked back. "Fuck me harder, Jace! Ruin me with that big cock!"

He snarls, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he slams into you even harder. The headboard bangs against the wall, the rhythmic thumping obscenely loud in the quiet room.

You can feel another orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Jace is hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, stoking the flames higher and higher. Your pussy flutters around him, your walls clenching greedily.

"Filthy slut," Jace grunts, pounding into your abused cunt. "Can't get enough of your stepbrother's cock, can you? Fucking desperate to be ruined."

He drives into you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your eyes roll back, drool leaking from the corner of your slack mouth as he fucks you stupid.

Your cunt is making obscene squelching noises, overflowing with Jace's cum from the last round. It dribbles down the crack of your ass, staining the sheets beneath you.

"Aaahh, fuck!" you moan, your toes curling as another orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clamps down on Jace's pistoning cock, milking him for all he's worth. You claw your nails down his back, leaving red marks in their wake as he fuck you through your intense climax.

"Gonna flood this slutty hole again," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Fill you up with so much cum you'll be leaking for days."

With a roar of completion, Jace slams into you one last time. His cock jerks and pulses, painting your insides white with his thick seed. You can feel it filling you up.

Jace collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath. His softening dick slips out of your sore pussy, followed by a gush of cum. It pools between your thighs, oozing out onto the bed.

"Aah..." you whimper as your hole is throbbing, so sore and used from Jace's relentless pounding. You try to catch your breath, your eyes squeezed shut as aftershocks of pleasure course through your spent body.

But it feels so right, being claimed by him. Like you were made to be fucked thoroughly by your stepbrother's massive cock. Your pussy is still twitching from the sheer intensity, his cum leaking out of you in a steady stream. You're absolutely wrecked, but you've never felt more satisfied.

You open your eyes, looking at him. Seeing him just as messed up, makes you smile with adoration. His hair is messy, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat and his lips swollen from biting them so much.

Jace rolls off you, flopping onto his back with a groan. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, sweat cooling on his skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. Your eyes roam over his body, taking in every dip and plane. He's beautiful like this, dark hair tousled, muscles flexing with each laboured breath.

"That was..." You swallow hard, struggling to find the words. "Intense."

A wry smile tugs at Jace's lips. "You can say that again. Fuck, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes softening. "I meant what I said, you know. About you being mine now."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, warmth blooming in your chest. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere."

Jace reaches out, cupping your cheek with his calloused palm. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, the gesture surprisingly tender.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he confesses, his voice low and rough. "But you...you're under my skin. I can't imagine my life without you in it now."

You smile softly, emotion welling up inside you. You lean into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

"I never thought I could want someone as much as I want you," you admit softly. "I don’t care if it’s wrong. I need you..."

"And I need you," Jace murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. "Always. You're mine, and I protect what's mine."

He seals his promise with a kiss, his lips moving against yours with aching tenderness. It's a stark contrast to the furious fucking that just took place, but no less meaningful.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. Jace tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Jace's touch lingers, his fingers trailing down your cheek to your neck, your collarbone. He traces idle patterns on your skin, mapping out the contours of your body like he's trying to commit it to memory.

You smile drowsily at Jace, your hand caressing his handsome face, your thumb brushing tenderly over his cheek. "My beautiful boy," you murmur softly, your gaze locked with his intense brown eyes. Your heart flutters in your chest, the intimate closeness between you sending shivers down your spine. Never before have you felt so deeply connected to someone, so utterly exposed and vulnerable. But with Jace, it feels safe.

Jace leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. A soft sigh escapes his lips, his body melting into yours. He nuzzles into your palm, pressing a kiss to the centre.

"My sweet girl," he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You've ruined me for anyone else. No one will ever compare to you."

Jace wraps his arms around you, holding you close. You melt into his embrace, your head tucked beneath his chin. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's love and passion.

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