#finally came up w one and it wasn’t taken :)

[tonycries]

NNN

Synopsis. No Nút November finally came, and so did he!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, losing NNN, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, bréeding, creampíes, cúmming in his pants, oraI (fem receiving), cúmplay, spítting, húmping, making Geto WHIMPER, exhibítionism (Geto), jealousy (Gojo), GOJO’S POWERS, innap. use of jujutsu, true form Sukuna, dp, p slapping, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Y’all have no idea how I’ve been waiting to write this since FEBRUARY.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8th Nov. 7:48PM

“S’stupid, so stupid-” Toji’s spitting, teeth grit so hard that he thinks he could taste the tang of metal. With a roughened grunt, his big palms smear open your sopping lips,  “Such a stupid challenge, n’ a stupid month ah-”

And oh how Toji wishes he could reel back the babbles spilling from his ravaged lips. How he wishes his rumbling baritone didn’t shake ever-so-slightly near the end. 

Because Toji Fushiguro was going crazy - and it was all your fault.

“Deprivin’ me of her-” Every single shred of his needy frustration from the past eight days bleeds into each gush of his furiously weepy cock. Fingers curling around the hilt to smack! smack! smack! his round, pinkish tip on your soppingly wet lips. “-ya know how hngh- crazy it drove me?”

One strong arm of his flexes mouth-wateringly tight around your squirming body, massaging your perfectly arched spine closer into his rock-hard abs. A full nelson. His favorite. One he’s missed for- “Over a week. Ohh- over a week n’ m’still not gonna lose.”

He already knew that was a lie. 

Because just a single, sunken inch is enough to stretch your sloppy entrance so gapingly open, enough to have you keening for air. 

To have him let his jaw fall slack with a hoarse drag of your name, drunken head falling back into the silken sheets when your gooey cunt swallows more and more of his hefty girth. So heavy and sweltering hot inside your clingy walls.

The first time in so long and it felt too good. 

Your trembly fingers clutch Toji’s sweat-dampened locks. He growls with a rough pull of your hands, fat, readied balls giving such a painful squeeze at the simple gesture. Hiccuping a feverish puff of condensation by your ear, “What, ma? T-torturin’ me for eight days isn’t enough?”

“Not that–” you’re whining, batting away big bulbous tears of stimulation in your eyes. “Jus’ need you so bad.”

Fuck, that has every drop of blood in his body pumping right to his maddeningly hard dick, staggering size growing twofold. 

You feel his velvety shaft kiss deeply into the bullseye of your g-spot, swollen length making your elastic walls constrict around him. Shit, all it’d taken was eight days to almost forget how jaw-droppingly big Toji was. How he was rutting up in mindless, squelching wet gyrations up into your dripping cunt.

“Shoulda thought of that before ya were holdin’ out on me.”

And Toji’s utterly seething, pressurizing his riotous hips with enough of his almost-inhuman strength that he’s fucking you like he hates you. Every one of his words are dripping in a scolding tone, pumping up harshly with sudden jabs into your snug pussy. Deeper and deeper and oh-

He can’t help but leer his glassy eyes over down at the heavenly view, splaying his beefy forearms underneath your quivering legs to stretch you out shamelessly. 

“Did ya kn-know this was ah- gonna happen?” he gruffs, already feeling a slight trickle of drool down the side of his scar. “That this stupid fuckin’ challenge was gonna drive me mad? M’still not- not gonna ah- cum-”

Fuck. 

But even Toji didn’t know at this point.

“Shit-” Your body bows in an even sluttier way, hips swiveling in slow, sultry grinds to guide the very end of his weepy cock into kissing your most sensitive spots. Drawing wet, translucent glides of steaming hot precum down your insides. “W-wasn’t on purpose, Toji I s-swear- s’a chall-”

“Challenge my ass.” he’s rolling his eyes, and you feel his lips graze across yours in a messy excuse of a kiss. Dark brows furrows, a low ah! ah! ah! leaving his mouth with every slurping plunge. “My only ch-challenge right ah- fuckin’ now s’to get you to cum–”

You shake your bleary head, fingers dipping to his wrist. “No– wan’ you to cum first-”

Earning you a sweet, simpering smack! right alongside the peak of your throbbing clit, he’s smoothing over the sting with methodical massages of his rude fingers. “Move that damn hand.” 

Leaving you gasping when he shotguns his painfully hard cock at such an angle to mash ruthlessly into your g-spot, your cervix. Punishing, bruising spearheads to remind you. “A challenge and m’gonna t-treat it like one. Cum.”

But oh, if Toji Fushiguro thought that he was running on merely the fumes of his sanity before then he wasn’t ready for you to finally reach your orgasm. 

Milking his cock in only a few more shuddering jams before you’re crashing headfirst into a sudden wave of your high, tightly stuffed pussy gushing out in honeyed gushes. It glistens down into his drenched tufts of black, squirting all over his rippling abs to shine an almost-creamy sheen.

His dewy eyes widen - you squirted. You squirted. 

And in response all Toji can do is bite down into the tender crook of your neck. Bite and bite until he was cumming. 

Whimpering out a broken tone into your skin, his sharp canines dig even more animalistically. Dangerously pulsing cock snapping upwards in a sudden surge that has his rummagingly fat tip bumping into your womb, a thorough thrust before dumping out thick, voluminous spurts of his cum.

“F-fuck–” he’s breathing out unsteadily, sculpted chest heaving for breath. Eyes still scrunched firmly shut no matter how much he wanted to see that prettily fucked-out expression on your face, because ever slight squeeze of your cozy walls had him twitching out another ribbon of cum. “Oh god- shit, ma- this pussy- gonna be- hngh- death-”

Easily overstimulating Toji until he could feel embarrassing tears prick behind his lids, cumming after what felt like so long and now he didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop.

Instead swirling a ravenous thumb down the edges of your leaking slit, pooling the creamy dredges of his seed that’d formed a little ring around his thick base. 

Without warning he’s shoving every single pearlescent bead back into your already overspilling pussy. 

“Heh, whatever-” he tuts, sliding his tongue down those syrupy splatters of your slick - glossing all the way up to his scar. “Now that I’ve already lost this stupid challenge, jus’ stop yer whinin’ and ride me proper, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 21st Nov. 5:31PM

Nanami Kento was not going to lose to your little challenge.

He was not going to let down his gorgeous wife.

He was not going to-

“Fuck.” Nanami heaves, he gasps for air. “Fuck.”

Thick fingers curl even tighter around his fat hilt, squeezing within an inch of himself. He’s hissing at the way that makes his angrily red tip blush even deeper, beading down glistening beads of precum that drip! drip! drip! right onto your pretty face. 

“Tha’s it-” he’s huffing out, darkened eyes drooping into a sultry half-lid. Muscled thighs spreading further, he sears a firm five-fingered grip onto your hair. Cool wedding ring brushing over your scalp, “K-keep that gorgeous face still f’me, my love.”

But oh, despite that sweet, sweet pet name his tone drips with such sheerly primal need. Hoarse towards the end with something dangerous. 

It was only a brief mention of this month that ended up with you two this - just a tiny joke of a special reward at the end that had Nanami clenching his teeth and his sanity to keep from cumming this entire month.

And he’d only made it so far.

All it took was a single pissed off work meeting, a single complaint from a client, one bad day at work for him to slam your shared apartment door open. Striding his way towards you darkly before spitting to you - his beautiful wife - “on your knees.”

Not even to have your pretty mouth on him- no, Nanami’s blond brows furrow deeper, sweat sheening a thin layer on his forehead when his greedy palms just drag down his drooling length. Over and over. 

“Ken-”

“Shit.” His fat, rotund head twitches at the mere sound of your honeyed voice, his favorite song. Gushing out a steady stream of glossing precum against the side of your lips, and Nanami just hunches. “Shhh, darling you’re gonna have me-”

“I want you to, Ken.” you’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes him gasp, admiring all the dips and curves of his sculpted body. “Please?”

He pants out such a shuddering breath that you feel fan your face, stern lips falling further and further slack with every sodden clench of his balls. Every swirl of the soft pad of his thumb around the bawling pinkish divot of his tip. 

“Take it.” Reward be damned. He was nothing against you. His metallic wristwatch flashes with every hurried pump up and down up and down up and- “T-take it all f’me, my wife.”

And oh then he’s cumming - head thrown back, toned abs rippling, face burning red when he’s moaning your name like a mantra. Over and over again into the heady living room air because Nanami hadn’t even made it as far as the bedroom before giving into that dark urge to paint your pretty features white with himself. 

Spazzing tip weeping out thick dredge after dredge of his seed that sticks to you like a sloppy second skin. Drooling down the side of your mouth, and he’s guiding his fat cock to gloss over your lips. Pretty.

“My love- get up-” he’s hissing through clenched teeth. And before those syrupy slurring words can even register in your mind, Nanami’s swiftly looping two strong arms around your waist. Dragging you upwards like some glorified ragdoll. “Need- hahhh– I need-”

Immediately, you’re being carried to splay all out on the plushy sofa nearby, Nanami hovering over you with kiss after messy kiss. Tasting himself, tasting you.

“Have no idea how much- hngh–” Shit, he can’t even speak right now, words breaking into the most whiny groans you’ve ever heard pulled from the man. “How much I missed-” And with a particularly loud squelch! he’s reeling back just enough from the filthy kiss. Drunken grin leering across his face at the dripping gleam all over the lower half of your face, delicate strings of spit and cum still connecting you to him. “-this.”

You’re blinking away the haze, pressing pecks into sight dimple at the corner of his mouth. “M-missed this, too- Hah, don’t even care about that ch-challenge.”

Gliding an open palm down your curved spine, he grins. “Exactly what I like to hear.”

And then you feel like you’re being split open apart so widely that it feels like Nanami’s reaching into your very lungs, swiping the milky tip of his still-hard cock against those hidden-away sensitive spots of yours. He’s prying open your snug cunt with steady, slow spearheads, barely even tugging away his work tie before folding you into such a thorough mating press. 

“I remember–” he’s dancing a thumb across your sodden lips, glossing it over in the most obscene opaque coating of cum you’d never even imagine. Popping it into his mouth. Sucking. “-something about a reward.”

He’s smearing his left hand down your throbbing clit - purposefully, to chuckle at the way you whine and puff about the cool sting of his golden wedding band. But more importantly, Nanami’s other hand draws down an invisible line about halfway down your stomach. 

Fuck.

Exactly where he could feel his leaky cock bludgeon solid, circular bruises into your spongy cervix. Bouncing back at the recoil, exactly where he knew that little nudge was, dragging his pulsing cock to massage your cunt, your womb-

You suck in a shuddered inhale, “Wh-what about the reward?”

“Well, since there’s no ngh- u-use in the challenge anymore…” His long fingers press down hard. And oh the way the realization dawns on your face makes you look so beautiful underneath him - his beautiful wife. But Nanami can’t help but think how much more of a beautiful momma you’d be. How perfect. Unable to tear his eyes away from the slow dribble of cum down your lips. “How about a reward for both of us, my love? Two or three rewards?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 11th Nov. 3:33AM

“S-Sugu-”

“...”

“Sugu-”

“Shhh–” Your leader’s silky smooth voice thrums at your throat, pressing an unapologetic trail of kisses down the tender skin. And you jolt at the sharp nip of his canines, “We’re trying to have a hah- meeting here, honey.”

But it was anything but that.

Fed up with your little challenge, Geto had all but demanded you sit with him through your next cult meeting. Plopping you down all prettily on his manspread lap as soon as the rest of your members filed in, acting for all the world like he wasn’t just taking filthy advantage of that short skirt he’d insisted you wear. 

Stuffed staggeringly deeply inside. 

Your saturated pussy lips bulge around his fat length, swirling his swollen cock around your walls with even the tiniest jostles. Firmly and readily cockwarming him for hours now. 

And both of you were nearing your limits - especially Geto, but, of course, he couldn’t let you know that yet. 

“Something wrong?” he’s lilting his baritone voice in volume, just enough for the surrounding members to catch interest in. Deliberate. One massive palm gripping a handful of your hips, “Seems like you’re having oh- difficulty gettin’ comfortable, gorgeous?”

Muscular thighs bouncing up and down in a relentless little cadence that had you gripping onto his decadent robes for balance. Tiny, rummaging thrusts of his sloppy length pierce your snug insides. Ridges upon ridges of his prominent veins massaging every single sweet spot he could reach - all of them.

They had him coaching those gruff grunts to the very back of his throat, fists curling on the table to prevent himself from simply slamming you down until you were stupid on his thick cock. 

Babbling out in a desperate tone, “Suguru I can’t-”

Oh? He grits his teeth at the clingy squeeze of your velvety walls around his rotund tip, the way your ass jiggles at every slight gyration. So filthy. Raising one dark brow, Geto flicks a finger at the rest of the meeting to carry on. “Can’t even handle a lil’ cockwarming, hm? What h-happened to my stubborn girl from before? And her no-nut-Nov-”

“Stop teasing!” you’re mewling out with a pretty pout that makes him twitch inside. “Jus’ want you t-to cum–”  d-don’t care that i-it’s November anymore-”

His rock-hard cock throb throb throbs inside your melty walls, bumping every oozing wave of precum into the very bottom of your pussy. And you could hear mutters spurting from every corner of the room now.

They knew. They always did.

“Oh so now, you don’t care?” Geto snickers, leaning back in his velvety chair to seep a bit more power behind his swiveling hips. “D-didn’t hngh- seem so greedy for my cock when ya made me p-promise not to cum for a month.”

As if to prove his point - and disprove yours - Geto’s hand comes slamming! down onto the vast mahogany table, grin wide. Dangerous. A primal rasp resounding at the back of his throat when he’d punishing your poor pussy with his first thorough thrust yet. 

One. Two. Three.

“P-please!”

“P-p-please, what?” he’s mocking, dramatics of your own whiny tone.

“Please, Sugu–” You’ve definitely attracted the attention of every other person in this meeting room right now. But Geto couldn’t give a fuck. Not when those words fall from your syrupy sweet lips, “-m’s-sorry jus’ fuck-”

SLAM!

He stands. One hand at your neck, the other at your clit. 

And as soon as your needy front is hitting the cool table, Geto’s merciless cockhead is diving thoroughly into your sweetened spots. The sudden change in angle letting him barrel his girthy shaft to tuck away at your very womb, all it takes for you to cum.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, nails clawing at the poor wood, he’s driving his weepy cock in to pound you through every single one of your highs.

Peak after peak that Geto can’t help but get addicted to, and he’s missed this heavenly feeling so much that he can’t help but let his mean mouth hang open. Dark, dewy eyes rolling so far into the back of his head that he’s forced to scrunch them closed.

The table rattles precariously when he’s rutting his hips into you ferally, sharp hip bones smacking aching bruises against the fat of your ass. Pressing you down with his entire body weight when-

“Oh- oh shit, all your f-fault. Fuck-” He half-collapses when he cums. Over and over in thick, stringy wads that gush into your very cervix. Sloshing around with each of his jackhammers, it paints your velvety walls with a dripping white coat. Again. And again. And again and again- “So jus- take it-”

Shit. 

Geto almost forgot how unfairly good it felt to have his achy cock milked by your cunt. Mustering up every shred of will to crack an eye open, he could spy the way your soppingly wet slit was overspilling with so much of his seed.

Licking his lips, he’s holding back a whimper.

And, truly, it was almost embarrassing the way that obscene sight was all it took for Geto’s once-softening cock to shoot up another few wispy ribbons of cum all over again. 

So much of it that he couldn’t control. 

Couldn’t even think of taming the way he was hiking up one powerful thigh onto the table to drive even more forcefully into you. Fingers curling almost painfully tightly around your throat to reel you into a filthy kiss of teeth and tongue. 

He has absolutely no shame wrapping his glossy lips around your tongue to suck. And even less at the way that honeyed taste of you is all it takes for him to shoot a well round of sputtering blanks into your pussy.

Chuckling tearily at those downturned, greedy eyes - shit, when did he even start crying? “A-aw look, you’ve interrupted the meeting, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 4th Nov. 10:01PM

“F-four days?” Choso’s swallowing a heavy gulp, burning face buried into the crook of your neck. And he can’t stop from heaving in deep inhales, from letting his mouth water. “-s’only been four days, baby?”

That cute, broken quiver in his tone has you tittering out a teasing giggle, something that only has his breath even more shortened. Brows knitting together when his hips just rut-

“Sorry.” your lovely boyfriend’s hiccuping, trembly fingers wrapping even tighter around your body. And he’s trying - scrambling - oh-so-desperately to stray his glassy gaze back onto the movie on-screen. He has to. He needs to or else he’s about to lose his fucking sanity. “Sorry didn’t hngh- didn’t mean to, jus’ ignore-”

But that’s when Choso’s breath hitches, when his large body wrecks with a violent shudder running down his spine. “Are you alright, Cho?”

Because oh, your taunting body was squirming up just right against the hefty girth of his swollen cock. Dragging your ass down the exact line of his sensitive slit in a way that has his hand grasping roughly onto your hips to make you stop-

“M’gonna ah- m’not gonna be able t-to do it, baby–” he’s pleading in a filthy kiss against your lips. Sucking. Begging. “Please- don’t-”

“Don’t what, Cho?”

Shit, that nickname has him hurling his hips forwards with a choked-up grunt. Seeing white-hot pleasure behind his eyes at every one of your smoothly swiveling gyrations, seeing you in all your dripping wet glory when he thumbs your drenched panties just to the side. 

“Shit.” he gasps, dewy eyes widening, breath turning feverish at your neck. “Shit shit shit- wh-why are you so-”

And Choso moans, he can’t even finish his sentence right now. Can’t do anything but tug down his too-tight gray sweatpants to glide a steamingly hot smear of precum down your slit. 

“So what- oh-” Your taunting mouth only drops further and further open when he’s dragging his achy cock down your cunt like he was addicted. Getting off to the way that your saturatedly wet pussy lips were coating him in a glossy sheen, sucking him up like you wanted-

“Just the tip.” 

It’s his little mantra.

Rasped out over and over into your open mouth, panted in every messy kiss of his reddened, fat head against your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Pretty pecks to French kisses..

“What was that–?” you’re batting your lashes, your hips meeting his messy cadence when his own speeds up. Keening at the sculpted leg being thrown over yours to angle his driving pistons more determinedly - desperately. 

With a low whine at the back of his throat, the curved tips of Choso’s fingers find their sultry way down to your clit. And he’s giving you a harsh tug at the very peak before sobbing, “Just want to put it in, baby- jus’ the tip- p-please-”

“Just the tip?”

The movie long-forgotten.

The resounding squelch! squelch! squelch! of skin on sodden skin rings louder in your ears, as do those tiny hitches in Choso’s pants. Words gurgled though those big, bulbous tears rolling down his cheek, “Please- can’t do it anymore. Ngh- wan’ to c-cum- can I cum inside?” Drooping, half-lidded eyes boring right into your bleary ones, “Please?”

And all you can do is nod.

All Choso can do is try not to lose his fucking mind just as soon as the thick circumference of his head is bullying past your swollen folds, feeding you inch after ragingly needy inch of his cock. 

All it takes for him to lose - because with the most broken of moans, you’re being stuffed snugly full with the sheer volume of Choso’s cum. With just the tip. And there’s so much of it, it’s like he hasn’t cum for years, sloshing to hit the very back of your womb, slopping around in a way that makes you shiver. 

Wrangling to slip out his cock the tiniest inch-

“No!” Choso gasps, eyes blowing wide almost comically. “No no no- wanted- inside- hngh-” His ruddy lower lip wobbles at the slow, sultry dribble of his potent seed down your inner thighs, glossing over his own hands when he’s smearing your sodden pussy lips stretched even wider. “Inside, baby–”

“O-oh my god-” your eyes can just barely crack open when two slender fingers slip into your slick entrance, plugging you staggeringly full as soon as he’s shoving you tight with the rest of his angry cock. Rock-hard length stretching your meshing cunt taut, the very tips of his fingers being jostled to the side of every spongy g-spot in your walls. “Cho- s’too full it won’t- won’t- ah-”

The sheer stimulation was maddening.

And Choso was drunk on your pretty moans. 

“Yes it will-” he’s babbling, syrupy saliva being drooled in a streaming wad right onto your lolling tongue. And with his free hand, he’s prying your pretty mouth shut. “Don’t- hngh- don’t sound so cute, baby s’gonna make me- oh-”

But you could already guess.

Because just the slightest note of your voice, the slightest grind of your hips to fuck back into his mindlessly messy cadence had him jolting inside you. Too-sensitive tip twitching out in honeyed ribbons of precum that drip down your walls.

Choso hisses with a sudden thwack! of his hefty balls kissing up against your cunt, gliding a hand underneath your thigh to pound into you languidly. Desperately. “Four days- shit- couldn’t make four days without this c-cute cunt-”

“Baby—” you’re huffing, your half-lucid eyes drifting away to the black screen. “The movie’s over.”

He huffs out a wet bout of laughter into your lips, nipping slightly at the very bottom one. “But I g-guess that doesn’t matter when I ah- already l-lost does it, baby?” Reeling out the sticky digits of his fingers, snapping at those delicate strings of cum and your sweet, sweet juices. He grins. “Because I already have four day t-to make up for-”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 7th Nov. 8:29PM

Times like this, the king of curses found himself on his knees. Times like this, he wanted to ruin you. 

“Awww, don’ be like that, woman-” he’s digging the rough dark claws on two hands onto the small of your back. Inhuman stretch wrenching you down, down, down that never-ending girth of his twin cocks. “Not when I’ve hngh- got you like this-”

But the only answer you’re giving him is another one of your stubborn pouts, brows scrunched together in a way that makes his tips twitch. Eagerly nudging up in a wet kiss against one of those sweet spots Sukuna knew would make you mewl.

Your lower lip wobbles with a whine, “M’ s-still mad at you, Kuna.”

Ah, he’d roll his eyes at your adorable antics but he knew that wouldn’t quite help his case. You’ve been like this ever since you’d joked about that little tradition humans did in November - and he took it seriously.

Too seriously, according to you, perhaps. With the way your devilish boyfriend was still fucking you into the decadent royal mattress - simply leaving you teasingly high and dry the mere moment he felt his orgasm coming. 

And now, the very actions had him groaning. Powerfully muscled hips staggering upwards to bob you slowly on his cocks, rearing his fat tips against your cervix, your g-spot, your cervix, your g-spot, your- “What more do you ngh, want, brat?”

It’s asked with a sudden sopping swat planted on your beading cunt, and Sukuna’s taking the opportunity to let his other tongue take over. A slow, lewd drag of those massive tastebuds down your throbbing clit. 

“I-I don’t ngh-” you’re moaning, and he already knows he’s winning. By the way your melty walls are cozying up even hotter around his thick cocks, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “-don’t know-”

“Awww–” The third of Sukuna’s big, beefy arms just can’t help but thread through one of your own, bringing it right up to his lips to leave a saccharine sweet kiss on the back of your hand. “My woman- my love-” One. Then another. And Another. “My queen, tell me what you want.”

Your tone cracks into a saturated whine when he ambushes a particularly sensitive part of your g-spot, drawing a wet glisten of precum down the side of your walls. Swelteringly hot. “W-want more-” Your trembly arms snake around his broad shoulders, digging into the smooth muscle. “-wan’ more, Kuna- hah- please-”

And who was Ryomen Sukuna to ever say no to you?

In just a few split-seconds, you’re being dragged right off of his bulging cocks. Throat just barely moving to whimper in disappointment, when Sukuna manhandles you to splay out pliantly on all fours on those silken sheets. 

Face buried into the mushy pillows, his cocks buried in your dripping cunt. 

“Shit-” he’s shuddering, heavy balls clenching at the newly sodden wave of slick that drools down your slit. And Sukuna can feel himself drool ever-so-slightly, hiding his burning face away in your neck. Thank fuck for doggy. “Is tha’s all you wanted, then–”

And every one of his surging thrusts have you plummeting further and further up the bed, gripping onto the mahogany headboard. He’s swiping down your thrumming clit, kissing a wet trail down your sluttily arched spine. 

You sob when his smacking hips turn bruising, your gummy walls stretched to your limits. “Y-you were so mean-”

“Mhm– so mean, baby.”

“M-made me so hngh- mad- never liked that ah- stupid challenge-”

Sukuna’s just snickering, flashes of white-hot pleasure sparking behind his eyes. Every time he’s milking himself on your tight pussy forcing him to hold back his whimpers, his gasps. One large set of his rough digits curling around your throat to haul you off of the bed, your head airy when he’s fucking each and every single thought out of your syrupy mind. “Don’ worry, my ah- spoiled brat. M’gonna fill up this oh fuuuck- cute cunt n’ there nothin’ you n’ any stupid challenge can do about it.”

Both of his rock-hard cocks were so messy, dragging out the sloppiest of slurps when he’s rummaging around your velvety insides. Spurts of wispy white precum staining down your sodden walls, making you gasp.

“M’so close-” You’re arched into the perfect bow for Sukuna to drag his lips down yours in a filthy kiss, humming darkly. “Gonna ah-”

Your pretty cunt has Sukuna chuckling, babbling out drunkenly. “So cum then- hah- why dontcha cum. Cum all over my cocks-” And he wants it. Needs it now, and shit- he’s never participating in this puny human custom ever again. Lazing out his second tongue to squelch an unapologetic pathway to your clit. Rolling. Sucking. “-go on then, woman. Show off f’me.”

And each one of his words were trembling with sheer desperation, cracking, even when you’re finally reaching your peak. Pound after pound. Every flick of his monstrous tongue drags you through your high, letting your toes curl.

With a sudden, hefty shudder, his cum-filled balls clench - and Sukuna’s finally cumming. Harder than he has in all his thousands of years. Harder than he ever thinks he could. 

You’re simply at the mercy of both weepy ends of his cocks when they burst out thick streams of his seed, reverberating the most filthiest of sounds that make your ears buzz. Doubly. And his balls smacking against your ass grow drippingly wetter, your poor pussy overspilling each of his steamingly hot ribbons of cum. 

“Fuck-” Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath, tears crinkling at the very ends of his eyes from how heavenly it felt having his stringy seed slosh against and between his jostling lengths. His hand feels for that inflationary bump where you’d been stuffed full, purring. “Did you take your pill?”

You blink, “N-no?”

“Good. Because m’suddenly wanting for an h-heir this Christmas.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 1st Nov. 12:17AM

Shit, he’s going to lose. Gojo’s musing with whatever’s left of his syrupy mind - or wait, was it even November, yet?

Ah, he can’t even remember. Can’t even think to do anything but piston the very cockhead of his needy length between your puffed-up pussy lips. Spreading apart your folds with an easy, glistening swipe. And he’s so half-lucid that Gojo giggles at the way your ready cunt is taking him in so well. 

“You’re mine-” Gojo’s panting out a feverish breath. Kissing your sopping wet cervix easily with each furious thrust, he’s spitting out a wet drawl of profanity into your lips. “M-mine, y’know that?”

“Toru–” Fuck, your cracking whine has Gojo’s glassy eyes veering into the back of his head. Murmuring out a vibrating groan. “S’jus’ hah- what’s gotten into you-”

And the strongest could babble about how seeing that newly appointed teacher at Jujutsu Tech churned his gears. He could tell you about how easy it is to conjure up a hollow purple when some bastard is making eyes at his wife. 

Especially in November of all days, when he’d finally said he was going to make it through the whole month. He has to.

But, no.

Instead, he’s crackling the very soft tips of his fingers with jujutsu. Pinching your clit ever-so-slightly–

“Fuck!” Your spine’s arching into such a delicious bow that has his mouth watering. His thoroughly sunken cock bursts out in a few dangerously wispy waves of precum that make him shutter a gasp. “U-using jujutsu’s not ngh- fair-”

“Fair?” he hiccups, nosing down the side of your neck. “Not fair is how hah- good this pretty pussy of yours f-feel, sweetheart.” And he’s rutting into you so sloppily, massaging down your elastic walls with each of his prominent veins. Over and over Gojo can feel himself losing his mind- “Shit- I think I-I’m the one that-”

You can’t even react.

Because in a split-second, Gojo’s splayed out all the way near the foot of the bed. Teleported.

Strong hands jostling your legs spread even further open, drool dripping down the side of his mouth when he just drinks in your essence, feverishly hot breath hovering over your quivering cunt. And that pathetic mewl barely out of your lips before-

“A-at least I can’t lose the ch-challenge way, heh-” Gojo’s lips move sultry and slow over your already thrumming clit, wrapping around so prettily to suck on the saturated beads of slick.

You can only keen, you can only thread your shaky fingers through his snow locks. Giving a harsh tug that does absolutely nothing to deter his messy make out with your cunt - if anything, your husband’s surging his face even deeper into his favorite heaven between your thighs. 

Nose meshing against the very tip top of your presoaked slit, dragging in a wet glide with every languid roll of his tongue into your sloppy entrance. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper-

He’s simpering out such a fucked-out smile on your pussy, long pinkish tongue lolling out to smear open your swollen folds. And all you can do is watch and watch as he’s slurping up syrupy stripes, slender fingers dancing their way dangerously up, up, up-

“Ah!” Your entire body wracks with a sudden surge of electricity - coming from the slender digits currently bullying their way into your slippery entrance. Gushing a thumb over your clit- “Toru what did I tell you about-”

“Ah, the jujutsu?” Gojo leans his head deliriously against part of your inner thigh, leaving a wet trail of bites. Hips mindlessly grinding down pathetically onto the plush mattress. Fuck. 

And he looked so pretty like this - gaze drooping so close-lidded that they were almost shut, blue eyes half-glowing, mouth all glossed over with a dripping wave of your sweet, sweet juices. With this, you’re gifted with another swat of his thumb over your sodden clit, slurring, “Can’t r-remember a thing–”

And then you’re cumming.

Toes curling, your hips jerking upwards into his ready hold, fisting painfully at Gojo’s hair. If it hurt then he didn’t show it. Anything but. Because he’s hiking his legs up into a seated position, your trembly thighs splayed out shamelessly on the muscles of his broad shoulders. 

Dragging and dragging you through your high with drippingly wet sucks on your clit, those drawing squelches ring in your ears and make you gasp. It was so filthy. 

But not as filthy as the way that Gojo’s head drops backwards with a wet whimper, his eyes firmly scrunched shut. “O-oh sweetheart I-” Bedroom lights flickering. 

And then nothing more is said as he just rips down the rest of his overpriced trousers until they were nothing but tatters hanging haphazardly around his slender waist. 

Jittery fingers immediately taking hold of his cock - his furiously cumming cock. From just eating out his girl. 

So reddish and weepy at the very thick tip of his, streaming out thick ribbon after ribbon of his seed that coats his fist a glossy white. You could see the way his hefty balls clenched, how his girthy shaft was twitching ferally in his fingers. 

He bares you with his drunken gaze, lightning bolting at the ends of his eyes. Kiss electric. Sucking on your tongue over and over - before shoving two of his dripping wet digits between your pretty lips. 

“There we- hngh- go don’t give a fuck about November-” You flinch when he smacks! his cock along your overworked clit. Circling the very edge of your entrance with his fat, sobbing tip. 

Coated such a creamy ring with his cum. His. 

Prattling, “Th-this is what my girl s’pposed to hah- look like. My girl.” And as soon as he sinks in just the barest of his bulbous head - the lights go out, in all of Tokyo. Soon, in all of Japan. “Heheh, doesn’t c-count that I lost no nut November if I can’t hngh- see it, right?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely NNN *evil laughs*

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fleurbly]

THE MAN IN THE WOODS

summary: a quiet walk home turns dark when the man who’s been watching finally steps out — blood on his hands, your name on his lips, and no plan to ever let you go.

warnings: non-con (subtle/psychological themes), dub-con, obsessive behaviour, stalking, violence/gore, murder/s, possessive character, blood, threats/intimadation, breeding kink

pairing: dark!remmick x reader 

w/c: 11k+

DNI IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TAGS, AND ARE UNDER 18

The Mississippi heat was sticking to you in a way that felt like it was just part of you now, like you couldn’t really shake it off. Thick, heavy, like the whole air was holding its breath. You were used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get to you some days — like today, when the sweat was rolling down your back, and your dress felt like it was clinging to you like a second skin. It had a way of making everything slow down. You could feel it in the way the hours dragged by. Nothing moved fast when it was this hot, not even the wind.

You had stayed later in town than you meant to, but it wasn’t unusual. You never minded, really. Mrs. Avery had needed your help with the post office, and then you ended up talking with Miss Harriet for a while, listening to her ramble about things that didn’t matter, but you liked listening anyway. It wasn’t until the sun was a sliver on the horizon that you realized how much time had passed. And, sure, you could’ve taken the main road back, but you preferred this one. The back road that led through the edge of the woods, where the trees felt like an old friend, and the sound of the insects buzzing was the only thing that kept you company. It was quieter that way.

The stories had been getting worse lately — things going missing, bodies turning up in strange places. You’d heard the talk. The whispers at the market, the older folks talking in hushed voices, the sudden stares you got when people thought you weren’t paying attention. But you didn’t feel scared, not exactly. You had walked this path for years, had heard the same stories told over and over again. People got lost, sometimes, and some of them never came back, but that was just life around here. Life, death, and everything in between.

You tried not to think about it too much, but as the last bit of daylight started to fade, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Not that it was anything new, really — not in the Delta. The woods were always full of strange sounds at night. Always full of shadows that seemed to stretch longer than they should. And the feeling? It had come before. Maybe just nerves. Maybe nothing at all. It didn’t matter. You kept walking. Your boots pressed into the soft earth, the sound muffled by the dampness in the air.

But tonight, the quiet was heavier. The trees seemed to close in a little more, their thick branches blocking out the last of the light, casting shadows that seemed to move when you weren’t looking. It was the kind of quiet that made you wonder if you were the only one walking this path. You couldn’t hear the birds, the usual buzz of crickets. Just silence. The deep kind that settled over everything and made you feel like you weren’t meant to be here.

You shook it off. Told yourself it was just the night playing tricks. You kept moving, turning the corner past the old fence where the wood had started to rot years ago. The same stretch of road you’d passed a hundred times. But as you stepped deeper into the woods, there was a shift in the air. The kind that made your stomach tighten just a little. The kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, like you were being watched, even though you couldn’t see anyone. You didn’t stop walking, but you did slow down, your senses sharp in a way they hadn’t been before.

And then, you saw him.

At first, it was just a figure. Tall. Broad-shouldered. He was standing in the shadows, like he belonged there, his back to you. And for a second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe you’d caught the wrong glimpse of something in the dimming light. But the longer you stared, the more you felt like there was no way he could’ve been anything but real. His presence didn’t make a sound. Didn’t stir the air around him like it should’ve. It was like he was... waiting. Standing perfectly still.

You almost turned around, almost told yourself you should’ve taken the main road after all. But you didn’t. You stood there for a beat too long, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t moving. Didn’t look like he was about to. But there was something in the way he stood, something about the way the trees almost seemed to part around him, that made you feel like he wasn’t just passing by. Like he was waiting for you to notice.

When he finally turned, you felt the air change, like a sudden shift in pressure. His eyes met yours.

It was like nothing else mattered. Like time stopped for just a second, just long enough for you to notice the way the fading sunlight seemed to catch in his hair, the way the shadows made his face almost too perfect, too sharp to be real. And that smile — not one you’d ever seen before. It wasn’t kind, exactly, but it wasn’t threatening either. Just... knowing. Like he had something figured out, something you weren’t meant to understand yet.

But you felt it, anyway. The tension, the slow, almost magnetic pull.

And then, just like that, the world shifted again.

You didn’t know it, but that moment would be the last time things would ever feel the same.

You should’ve walked away. Every instinct in you screamed to turn around, to leave, to put some distance between you and the man standing just a few steps away, the man whose presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. But still, you stood there, rooted in place, like something—some force—had decided it wasn’t going to let you go.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, and the quiet stretched between you like a taut wire. You didn’t know what you were waiting for, but it felt like the world had paused, holding its breath. His gaze never wavered, steady, almost calculating, like he was trying to read you in a way that made your heart pick up the pace.

Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth with a slow southern drawl. "Tell you what, darlin’... it’s mighty late for someone like you to be wanderin’ out here all alone." He stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the dirt, but the small movement felt like it took up more space than it should’ve. Like he was somehow pulling the air closer to him, drawing you into his orbit.

You hesitated, trying not to let the flutter in your chest show. "I’m fine," you said, the words coming out a little too fast. "I’ve done this walk a thousand times before."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. His eyes flickered down to your hands, clenched at your sides, then back up to your face. "A thousand times, huh?" His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Well, darlin’, you sure do make it sound easy."

You shifted on your feet, trying to shake the strange feeling creeping up your spine. "I don’t need anyone walking me home."

He didn’t miss a beat, his grin widening just a touch. "Oh, I reckon that’s your call." He took a slow step closer, his voice lowering just a little. "But I’ve been out here a long time, seen a lot of things. Some of ‘em don’t belong in these woods." His gaze sharpened, just for a second, and there was something else in his tone now. "Not to mention all the strange happenings lately. Folks keep goin’ missin’ around here. Real shame, that."

You froze, your breath catching. "What do you mean, strange happenings?" you asked, though you already knew. The disappearances. The bodies found scattered across these very woods. The whispers. Everyone had heard the rumors, but no one dared to speak too openly about it.

He leaned in just a fraction, like he was about to tell you a secret. "Oh, just... you know. Folks not comin’ home at night. Bodies turnin’ up in places they shouldn’t be. Nothin’ good about that." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Not safe out here these days, darlin’. You sure you’re alright walkin’ alone?"

You swallowed, the chill creeping up your spine. You knew what he was hinting at, what everyone was whispering behind closed doors. "I’m fine," you said, but it came out much less convincing than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "Sure you are, darlin’. But even the toughest of folks could use a little company when things go sideways. You sure you don’t want someone with you? Wouldn’t want you to join the list of folks who got... lost." He flashed a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something dangerous lurking behind the casualness.

You bristled. "I’m good," you shot back, though it sounded more like a plea than a declaration. "I don’t need anyone."

He chuckled, low and dark, but with an ease that didn’t match the words. "Well, darlin’, that’s up to you." He stepped a little closer, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "But I’ve got a feelin’ you might change your mind soon enough. After all, we both know how the story goes around here. Stranger things than gettin' lost happen in these woods." His smile was lazy, but there was an edge to it, something that made your pulse quicken.

A subtle threat hung in the air between you, yet there was still something oddly... comforting about him. Something about the way he was standing, the way he moved with such certainty, made you hesitate, even as every instinct screamed at you to get away.

He took another step closer, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper now. "I’ll walk you home," he said, as if it were already settled. "Wouldn’t want a lady like you to be out here alone with everything that’s been happenin’ around here lately."

You bit your lip, torn. A part of you wanted to refuse, to walk away from the situation entirely. But another part—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on—made you stay still. He was right, after all. The woods weren’t safe anymore.

Finally, you nodded, barely enough for him to notice. "Alright... fine," you muttered, hating how weak your voice sounded.

His smile widened, but it wasn’t kind. "Good choice, darlin’," he said, his voice soft yet steady, the kind of tone that carried an unspoken assurance. "Let’s get you home safe, then."

And with that, he fell into step beside you, his presence almost... comforting. The woods didn’t feel as suffocating anymore, the shadows not as dark. With him by your side, you felt less like you were walking into the unknown, and more like someone was guiding you through it. The path ahead didn’t seem so threatening, and for the first time tonight, you found yourself easing up just a little.

His steady stride kept time with yours, and even though you weren’t ready to fully trust him, there was something about the way he moved—something sure and quiet—that made it harder to keep your guard up. You had no idea where this would go, but for now, you weren’t alone, and that meant something.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, you finally saw the familiar outline of your home ahead. The warmth of the night still clung to you, but the oppressive quiet of the woods started to fade as you neared your doorstep. The walk had felt longer than usual, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each step, but you didn’t mind.

Remmick kept pace beside you, his presence a strange mix of comforting and unsettling, until finally, the gate to your yard came into view. He didn’t say anything as you reached it, but just before you stepped through, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You be careful out here, darlin’,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long, like he wanted to make sure you understood.

You nodded, feeling a shiver run down your spine, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the heat or something else. “I will,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a half-smile, the same knowing grin from before. “Good,” he said simply, then took a step back into the shadows. “See you ‘round… names Remmick by the way.”

You didn’t say your name— too worried, and it seemed like he noticed that to. You watched him disappear into the night before turning toward your door. With a hand that felt almost numb, you turned the handle and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the door shutting behind you making it feel like the night was over. But the weight of everything that had happened lingered, like it wasn’t really finished at all.

And just like that, you were home.

It started the night he left you at your gate.

You didn’t notice it right away. At first, it was subtle — an odd sensation, like the remnants of a conversation you couldn’t shake off, the kind that clung to you even after the words had ended. It wasn’t something that jumped out at you, not at first. Just the faintest trace of unease. You told yourself it was nothing — just the lingering tension of meeting someone like him in the woods, a man who had the unsettling ability to smile too easily, stand too still, and know just a little too much about you. You thought it was your mind playing tricks, a fleeting discomfort that would disappear with time.

You tried to sleep that night, but the feeling didn’t go away. It settled on your chest, heavy and suffocating, like something was watching you from the shadows. Like something was waiting. Every time you closed your eyes, it was there, lurking at the edges of your consciousness. The memory of his smile. His eyes, so steady, so calculating. It lingered in your mind like a flicker of a memory that hadn’t quite been made yet.

But it wasn’t just the first night that left its mark.

By the second night, it was worse.

The tightness in your chest had grown, a feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t sleep, not even in fits. The air in your bedroom had turned thick and suffocating, as though the very walls were closing in around you. It was too hot, too heavy, like trying to breathe through cloth. You tossed and turned, futilely opening windows to let in a breeze that never came, then closing them again when the humidity grew worse. You left the light on, hoping the soft glow would bring comfort, but it only reminded you of how much you wanted to turn it off, to surrender to the dark. You shut your eyes, only to open them again, staring at the shadows in the corners of your room, hoping they would stay still. Hoping the night would pass.

But the quiet was too loud. The stillness felt too alive.

You began checking the locks more frequently. Not just the back door, but the windows too, making sure they were secure. You even double-checked the small, unimportant things, like the kitchen cabinet, the pantry door. Anything that could have been moved. Anything that didn’t feel right. Still, no matter how many times you checked, the discomfort wouldn’t leave. You never saw anything. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

The heat, the oppressive Mississippi heat, didn’t help either. It pressed down on everything; the old wood of your porch, the dampness of your sheets, the sticky sweat that clung to your skin. The air felt like it had taken on a life of its own, moving sluggishly around you, crawling along your neck, down your spine. The weight of it made you feel like your skin was too tight, like there was something inside you, waiting to break free. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that had crawled under your skin and wouldn’t leave.

You needed to get out.

So you went to town, hoping for the relief of movement, the comfort of people. Just the sound of everyday life. The hustle of the bakery, the familiar gossip at the market. Anything that felt real. Anything that wasn’t this unshakable feeling of being watched.

It was late afternoon when you wandered past the bakery, the warm, golden sun sitting low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. The heat was just as bad as it had been the past few days, but you didn’t mind. Not much you could do about it anyway. The town had its usual lazy rhythm, with people moving in slow, deliberate motions, their faces slack with the weight of the air. But there was something in the air today. Something different. The usual hum of life felt muffled, drowned out by a strange stillness.

You didn’t mention your sleepless nights. You didn’t mention how you hadn’t been able to shake that feeling for the past three nights, that prickling sensation that had settled just beneath your skin, like someone was standing just behind you, breathing down your neck. You didn’t tell anyone about the dreams — not quite dreams, more like flickering images of a man standing at the end of your bed, silent, still, always watching, always smiling. But you weren’t ready to say anything. You didn’t want to sound crazy.

Maybe it was the heat. That’s what you told yourself as you stepped into the general store, grateful for the stale, cool air that rushed to meet you. But it didn’t quite reach your skin. Your thoughts kept wandering back to that night. To his smile. To the way his eyes had looked at you. Something about it had stuck. And it gnawed at you, quietly, as you ran your fingers over the shelves, distracted and restless.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice Jesse until you heard his voice.

“Hey. You alright?”

You looked up, startled, and saw him standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, his brow furrowed with concern.

You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he spoke. His presence, so casual and familiar, made you realize just how much you’d been on edge all day.

“I’m fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. “Just needed a few things.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, as though he could see right through your words. “You sure? You look a little… worn out.”

The comment made you laugh, but it was more out of discomfort than anything else. “Thanks,” you replied, trying to make light of it. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“I mean it,” he pressed, stepping closer with a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You didn’t respond. He wasn’t wrong. It had been days, maybe longer, since you’d gotten a full night of sleep. Since the night you met him.

“I’ve just been a little… off lately,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You could hear the hesitation in your voice, the way you were avoiding the truth.

Jesse took a step closer, his expression softening. “You know, you can talk to me if something’s bothering you. I don’t mind.”

You forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s nothing, really. Just one of those weeks.”

Jesse glanced out the window, squinting at the low-setting sun, its warm rays creeping between the buildings, casting long, golden streaks across the floor. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you wanted him to find.

“You heading home soon?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

You nodded, shifting on your feet. “Yeah. Just need to grab a few things.”

He glanced down at his watch, then looked up again. “You taking the long way home?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. The long way. The path you’d been avoiding in the past few days. The one you used to walk without a second thought, but now it felt different. Heavy. Haunted. You hesitated, trying to buy time.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice unsure.

Jesse didn’t push it, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. “Let me walk you,” he said after a beat, his tone firm but not forceful. “It’s getting late. And I don’t think you should be out there alone.”

His offer, simple as it was, sent a strange feeling through you. A part of you wanted to decline, to keep your distance, but another part — the part that had been feeling so exposed lately — welcomed the offer.

You wanted to refuse. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need anyone walking you home. That you could handle it. But when you opened your mouth, the words didn’t come out. Instead, you nodded slowly, your lips parting in a soft sigh. “Alright,” you said, the heaviness of the words settling on you. “I’d appreciate it.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with something else, something that lingered at the back of your throat. You hadn’t meant to invite him along, but now that he was here, it felt… necessary. His presence, quiet but steady, seemed to ease the tightness in your chest, even if only just a little.

The sun was already slipping behind the trees by the time you finished your shopping. The storefronts bled amber light onto the sidewalks, but the sky above was fading fast — from hazy gold to bruised purple. Jesse stayed close, trailing quietly beside you as you stepped outside, the air thick with heat and something else — something colder that you couldn’t name.

The walk began in silence.

People had retreated indoors. Porch lights flicked on. Insects buzzed around street lamps. The town folded itself inward for the night, leaving you and Jesse alone with the steady sound of your footsteps.

It didn’t take long for the streets to give way to the quieter, tree-lined path you always took home. Familiar, but not in a comforting way — not anymore. You kept your eyes ahead, not daring to glance too long at the shifting shapes in the woods just off the road.

Jesse walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

“How have you really been?” he asked after a stretch of silence. His tone was softer now, less casual than before — like he wasn’t just making conversation, like he actually wanted to know.

You hesitated. “I’ve had better weeks,” you admitted. It wasn’t a confession, not really, but it was more honest than what you’d been saying to everyone else.

He nodded slightly, like he understood something in your voice. “Thought so.”

You didn’t say anything else. Part of you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to explain it — the nights spent staring at the ceiling, the feeling of something in the room with you even when it was empty, the way you caught yourself checking over your shoulder like a nervous habit.

“I keep waking up,” you finally said. “Middle of the night. No reason. Just… wide awake and certain someone’s there.”

Jesse’s eyes shifted to you again, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought maybe it was just in my head at first. You know, stress or heat or something stupid. But it hasn’t stopped.”

“It started a few nights ago. After I walked home alone.” There it was — out loud. And now that it was, it felt heavier.

Jesse was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want to sound crazy.”

His voice came low. “You don’t.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Feels like I do.”

The trees thickened ahead, the stretch of road narrowing as the shadows crept in faster than the fading light. You could feel it again — that pressure at the base of your neck, the one that told you to run even when nothing was behind you. 

It was only another couple of minutes in silence, you walked a little faster without meaning to.

Jesse noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, “we’re almost there.”

You nodded, eyes still forward, heart picking up a beat. The path wasn’t long, but in the dark, it stretched out like something else entirely — like a hallway with no end. The wind stirred the branches above you, and for a second, it sounded too much like whispering.

“I don’t like this road,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Jesse didn’t answer right away. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “Never have.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him. “You used to live near here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, then hesitated. “Used to hear things out here at night. Long time ago.”

A shiver crept up your spine. “Like what?”

He paused. “Voices. Footsteps. Once I swore I saw someone just standing in the woods. But when I looked again, there was nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

The last bend came into view — the one that would lead to your driveway. You felt the pull of home, of safety, just out of reach.

You were almost home when Jesse’s voice finally faltered. The familiar turn onto the last stretch of road had come into view, and the trees around it began to lean in closer, their branches curling overhead like fingers. Fireflies blinked in the tall grass by the ditches, but even their glow felt dim against the dark swallowing the horizon.

“I can walk you the rest of the way,” Jesse had offered earlier, his voice low but steady. “It’s not a trouble.”

You’d turned to him, the hem of your sundress brushing your knees as a breeze picked up. You’d really looked at him — his brows furrowed, jaw tense in the fading light. It wasn’t just a polite offer. He meant it.

Still, you had hesitated. He had already stayed longer than he needed to, and he had farther to go. You didn’t want to keep him longer than necessary. Plus, you didn’t want to worry him — not when you weren’t even sure what you were afraid of.

“No,” you’d said softly, offering a faint smile. “That’s alright. You should head back before it gets too dark then it already is. I’m almost there.”

He’d held your gaze a beat longer, like he might argue, but eventually gave a slow nod. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He’d stepped back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his figure swallowed slowly by the darkening trees. The silence crept in behind him, not sudden, but steady — like water filling a room.

You’d taken a breath, glanced down the road toward home, and started walking again. The gravel shifted under your shoes, the sound oddly loud in the stillness. Your dress clung a little to your skin in the humid air. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. Somewhere nearby, an owl called once, then fell quiet.

Then, a scream.

It came from behind you, from the woods Jesse had just disappeared into. It wasn’t just a shout, not something startled or careless. It was deep, guttural — raw and sharp with an edge that made your blood run cold.

You froze. Turned. The trees stood still, unmoving, their shadows stretching like long fingers reaching into the dark.

Another scream ripped through the air, even more tortured than the last. It didn’t sound like Jesse, not in any way you’d ever heard him before. It was something else — something full of agony.

“Jesse?” you called, but your voice trembled and was lost in the thick night air. Too soft. Too quiet.

You waited, every second stretching out like hours. But there was nothing. No response.

And then it came again. A scream, this one louder than the others, piercing the silence in a way that felt like it was coming from everywhere. All around you. And then — silence.

The kind of silence that felt wrong. Thick. Heavy.

You stood there, frozen. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath came shallow. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run, but your feet wouldn’t move. The trees loomed like dark sentinels, the forest closing in on you with the weight of something terrible.

But it was just the night, right?

The sound of the woods shifted, a crack in the dark.

It wasn’t Jesse.

It couldn’t be.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, but eventually, you forced yourself to turn back toward your house. It was only a few more steps, and maybe if you just kept walking, you could ignore whatever was happening behind you.

But that wasn’t possible, was it?

You couldn’t stay out here in the dark. You needed to be inside. You needed safety. The front porch of your house was just a few steps away. Just a few more steps, and you’d be able to shut the door behind you, lock it, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But as your foot hit the first step of the porch, the sound you had been trying to ignore hit you again. This time it was your name being yelled.

It was Jesse’s voice, unmistakable.

The scream rang out with a desperation that cut through the night air like a blade. And it wasn’t just the tone of it, but the way it broke, jagged and guttural, that sent a wave of panic crashing through your body. The kind of panic that made your blood run cold. The way he said your name made your chest tighten with fear, like he was calling you for help — like he was begging.

You froze on the porch, your heart leaping into your throat. Your hands trembled, the grocery bags now slipping from your fingers and crashing to the floor in a mess of sound. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All that mattered was that sound. Jesse’s scream. His call.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, your legs shaking as you turned and sprinted back toward the woods. The weight of your steps seemed heavier now, the path to the trees long and endless, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was still out there — in the dark, in the woods, screaming for you.

The road seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, the trees swallowed you again. The sharp smell of the earth hit you, the wet grass, the cool air between the trunks a relief from the suffocating heat, but none of it felt real. Not anymore. All you could hear was the sound of your own ragged breath and the call of Jesse’s voice echoing through the woods, tearing at your chest.

“Jesse!” you screamed, your voice raw, but it was lost in the thick air, swallowed whole by the trees.

Your heart pounded in your ears, the panic rising like a wave, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Something deep inside you — something that you couldn’t explain, not even to yourself — refused to let you go back to the safety of your house. It was as if the woods were pulling you in, and Jesse’s voice was the only thing that mattered.

You pushed forward, running faster now, the distance between you and the last place you’d heard him scream growing shorter with every step. Every branch that scraped your skin, every twist of the undergrowth beneath your feet, felt like nothing. Nothing compared to the sound of his voice calling for you.

The woods stretched endlessly before you, dark and suffocating, but you didn’t stop running. Branches scratched at your arms, the hem of your sundress catching on underbrush, but the sting didn’t register. Your lungs burned with every breath. All you could hear was the fading echo of your name on Jesse’s voice, still ringing in your ears, raw and pleading.

“Jesse!” you screamed again, but it sounded smaller now, swallowed by the trees, useless.

You pushed deeper.

The dirt beneath your feet was damp, soft with recent rain, and your shoes slipped as you clambered down a slope you hadn’t noticed before. You caught yourself on a tree trunk, breath catching in your throat. The air had shifted — no longer just humid, but colder now. Wrong. You could feel it pressing in around you, thick and still.

And then — something.

A shape, low to the ground. Just ahead in the clearing.

You stumbled forward, one slow step at a time, heart beating like a war drum in your chest. And then the shape resolved. You saw the boots first. Familiar. Mud-caked. Still.

Your stomach dropped.

“Jesse?”

You crept closer, voice trembling.

He was there, lying on his side in the wet grass, the folds of his shirt soaked dark and heavy. His body was twisted, one arm outstretched, fingers curled into the earth as if he’d tried to hold on. But it was the angle of his neck — the way his head had fallen too far back — that told you something was horribly wrong.

You fell to your knees beside him.

“Jesse—” your voice cracked, catching in your throat as your eyes finally took in the full horror of it.

His throat — or what was left of it — had been torn open. Not cleanly. Not like a knife would do. This was rough, brutal. Something had ripped into him with teeth, shredded muscle and sinew, left bone exposed. Blood soaked the grass around him, still wet, still warm.

Your hands hovered uselessly above him, too afraid to touch, as if reaching out would make it real. His face was pale, lips parted slightly, eyes glassy — but open. Staring. Not at you. Not at anything.

A soft sob escaped your lips. The sound didn’t belong to you. None of this did. None of it could be real.

You backed away, slowly standing up. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Jesse, who had smiled at you only minutes ago. Jesse, who had offered to walk you home. Jesse, who had screamed your name like it was the last thing he’d ever say.

And it was.

You wiped at your face, not realizing you were crying until your hand came away wet. The stillness around you felt heavy now. A silence not of peace, but of something waiting.

Then — the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

Something was here.

You didn’t hear it move. You didn’t see it. But you felt it. A presence. Something wrong. Something watching.

You turned slowly.

The woods behind you were too dark, the tree trunks pressed too closely together. You couldn’t see anything — but that didn’t matter. You knew. The way your gut twisted, the way your skin prickled. You were not alone.

You didn’t move.

The woods held still around you, suffocating in their silence, and the cold that had crept in earlier now settled deep beneath your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze swept the trees, searching for whatever had stirred the air behind you. For a long second, there was nothing.

Then, from between the trunks — slow, deliberate — a figure stepped into view.

It was a man.

At first, the shape of him was just shadow and movement. But then the light shifted, and you saw his face.

Remmick.

Your breath left you in a soundless gasp.

It was him — the man who had walked you home just days ago, calm and courteous, his voice low and drawn with that rasp that curled at the edges of his words like smoke. The man who had said your name like it tasted sweet on his tongue. The man who, even then, had looked like he knew more than he let on.

He wasn’t breathing hard. Wasn’t flustered. His movements were slow, easy, almost casual.

Like he’d been here a while.

Watching.

His eyes found yours, and that same, familiar half-smile touched his mouth — the one that had seemed harmless once. Kind, even. Now it felt like a hook just beneath your skin.

“Well now,” he said, voice soft, coated in something you couldn’t name. “Ain’t you a sight.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even will your mouth to move. You felt frozen where you stood, just yards from Jesse’s lifeless body, the scent of blood still thick in your nose.

Remmick’s gaze drifted past you, to the place in the grass where Jesse lay twisted and ruined, and for a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change at all. No surprise. No horror. Nothing.

He already knew.

He took another step, the leaves rustling beneath his boots, you still couldn’t see him clearly.

“Didn’t mean to give you a fright, darlin’,” he said, slow and easy, like you were still back on that quiet walk home, like there wasn’t blood drying under his nails.

You swallowed hard, but the dryness in your mouth made it useless. “Remmick…”

It came out thinner than you wanted. A whisper. A question.

He looked at you again — really looked — and the softness behind his eyes shifted. Not cruel. Not angry. But something darker. Like he was peeling something back. Like whatever mask he wore had been slipping this whole time and he’d finally let it fall.

“I was hopin’ we’d see each other again,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Just didn’t think it’d be quite like this.”

Your knees locked. You couldn’t step back. Couldn’t flee. The woods behind you weren’t safety — they were a cage. You were stuck between Jesse’s body and Remmick’s bloody figure, the air too thick to breathe, your heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it.

He smiled again — slower this time. Warmer. Like he thought you might smile back.

“C’mon now,” he said, his voice dipping low, nearly fond. “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.” But your body knew better. It was screaming. And somewhere deep inside, so did you.

You stumbled backward, your breath hitching in your throat as he fully emerged from the shadows, parting the trees like they were nothing. The moonlight barely touched him, but that little bit was enough. You saw the blood first—thick, dark, and smeared across his shirt, soaking into the collar, dripping down his neck. It clung to him like a second skin, and his chin was streaked with it, as though he hadn’t cared enough to wipe it off.

The blood glistened, fresh and wet, a stark contrast against the black of the night, but it was the way it soaked into him that made you freeze. He looked like something else entirely. Something not quite human.

His eyes met yours, cold and unwavering, as if you were nothing more than a passing thought in his mind, and for the first time, you realized how wrong you were about him.

“What…” Your voice trembled, the word barely leaving your lips as you took a step back. Your hands were shaking, but you couldn’t look away from the blood that stained his clothes and most definitely staining him. “What are you?”

He stepped forward slowly, one foot in front of the other, parting the branches around him like he was walking through a world that had bent to his will.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm. Thick, like honey pouring over you, suffocating you.

“You ain’t askin’ the right question, dove,” he drawled, his Southern accent curling around every word, wrapping them up in something dangerous. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know how to yet.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps as you struggled to form a coherent thought.

“What did you do to Jesse?” You finally forced the words out, though they came out choked, angry. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Remmick’s gaze drifted behind you, toward the clearing, where Jesse’s body lay lifeless in the grass. His blood had soaked the ground, leaving a dark stain that was already beginning to sink into the earth. But Remmick didn’t seem to care. His eyes didn’t flicker toward the body with any kind of guilt.

He only looked back at you, and his voice was disturbingly quiet, though it was no less menacing.

“Somethin’ tried to take what’s mine,” he said, the words slow and deliberate. “And I don’t take kindly to that.”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing in on you like a heavy stone. “He didn’t try anything,” you spat, trying to back away, but your legs felt like they were made of jelly.

Remmick took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t matter. He touched you. Walked you home. Spoke your name like it belonged to him.”

Your heart stopped. You had a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something cold and dark was wrapping around you, slowly choking the breath from your lungs.

“That ain’t how this works.”

You swallowed hard. “You killed him,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, but it was a truth you couldn’t ignore. The horror of it swirled inside you, threatening to consume everything you knew.

Remmick didn’t deny it. His lips curled upward in a slow, almost affectionate smile.

“You’re a monster,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but it was enough to make his smile falter, if only for a fraction of a second.

He took a step closer, the blood on his shirt now darkened to a sickening rust color. His hands were covered too, but they were still steady, his posture calm as if he hadn’t just committed an atrocity.

“I ain’t like the things out here,” he said, his voice low and rough, his drawl thicker now, like he was speaking through smoke. “But I ain’t human, neither. Not in the way you think.”

You stepped back again, your chest heaving, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave. You had to get away. You had to run, but your feet wouldn’t obey you. Your legs felt like they were cemented to the ground.

“But I meant it when I called you mine,” he added, his voice almost reverent.

A chill ran through your spine as you tried to process his words. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but the words felt heavy. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Maybe regret. Maybe something else. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I know you better than anyone ever could,” he said softly, stepping closer still. “Better than the man who thought he could take you home. Better than anyone who thought they could walk beside you. I was watchin’ over you long before he ever came around, long before you even known it.”

You recoiled from his words, his presence, everything about him. This wasn’t protection. This wasn’t love. This was obsession. The kind that made your blood run cold and your skin crawl.

“I saw you,” he continued, his voice lower now, like he was telling a secret only you were meant to hear. “When you were walkin’ home from town, your eyes down, not a soul beside you. I saw you. I was there. I always was.”

He took another step closer, his gaze moving lower, his eyes lingering on the hem of your sundress, the curve of your trembling hands.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” he murmured. “Seein’ you, walkin’ in those woods, all alone. You smelled like summer, like innocence. And I had to fight every instinct not to touch you. Not to ruin you right then and there. But I thought to myself, ‘It’s okay Remmick, you can wait abit longer, you’ve always been waiting for her’.”

You felt a sickening twist in your stomach. The weight of his words hit you like a punch, but the most horrifying part wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it — as if this had been a slow, inevitable fate, and you were always meant to be his.

“You’re not—” You choked on the words, trying to push back against the terror crawling up your throat. “You’re not in love with me. You’re obsessed. There’s a difference.”

He smirked, the corners of his mouth curving upward in something twisted. It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t love. It was something far darker, more primal.

“That’s right,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m obsessed with you. And I always will be. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.”

You backed away, the sickening feeling of his presence pressing in on you, suffocating you. But the moment you did, he stepped closer again, the distance between you closing like the jaws of a trap.

“Once something belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice dark with an unholy promise, “it stays mine.”

Something inside you snapped at that moment, causing you to run. The woods swallowed your footsteps the way a mouth swallows breath — quiet and final. Your legs screamed to keep running, but the moment your foot snagged on a root slick with mud, the world tilted sideways. You hit the ground hard, palms slapping the earth, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

You turned over, gasping, scrambling backward on your hands. Bark bit into your spine as you hit a tree.

And he was already there.

Remmick stepped into view with the slow ease of something that had never needed to run. The moon cast a dull sheen on the blood across his throat, his chest, soaking deep into the collar of his shirt. It clung to him like it belonged there. His eyes caught the light in a way that didn’t look real.

You tried to speak, “Remmick—” but he didn’t let you.

“I was always there,” he said, voice low and almost reverent. “You just didn’t look.”

He stepped closer. The crunch of his boots against leaves felt louder than your breath.

“Every night you took that path, I was in the trees. When the sun dipped low and you walked with your head down, hummin’ those little nothin’ songs to yourself, I was already watchin’. Behind the brush. Under the dark.”

You shook your head. “I never—”

“You didn’t see me,” he cut you off sharply. “Couldn’t. Not in the day. I ain’t allowed in the morning. That’s not when I exist.”

He said it like a fact. Like a rule carved into his bones.

“But night?” His voice deepened, and his gaze swept over you. “Night belongs to me.”

You pushed back farther against the bark, digging your nails into the dirt, into anything. “You’re sick.”

He smiled. It wasn’t human.

“I watched you sleep,” he whispered. “Window cracked just enough. Dreamless, like you were waitin’ for somethin’. For me.”

“No—”

“You left the light on some nights. Like you wanted someone to see. All that bare skin under those thin blankets—”

“Stop.”

He crouched then, too close. His knees sank into the wet ground inches from your feet. His voice dropped into something hushed and awful.

“You finally saw me, that day in the woods. First time our eyes met, I could’ve torn the world open right then. You in that little dress, do you know how hard it was not to touch you? Not to drag you off the trail and make you understand what you were?”

You stared at him, horror swelling thick in your throat.

“You don’t know me,” you said, voice shaking.

His smile widened, teeth a little too sharp. “But I do. You don’t get it yet — what we are. But you will.”

“I’ll never be yours,” you hissed.

He leaned in until his bloodstained collar nearly brushed your knees. His breath was warm — wrong — as he spoke.

“You already were,” he murmured. “From the first time I I saw you while ago, under moonlight. I ain’t let anything touch you since.”

You tried to push yourself up — tried to find space, air, anything — but he rose when you did. Not fast. Just… deliberate.

“You think Jesse died ‘cause he was bad?” he asked, tilting his head. “He died ‘cause he thought he had a right to you. Thought speakin’ your name made it his to say.”

He stepped toward you again.

“But that name?” His voice was a blade now. “That name only ever sounded right in my mouth.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Somehow, your feet found the ground beneath you. Somehow, you scrambled up from the roots and mud, your palms bleeding, your knees buckling. But you ran — faster than before, your breath ragged, every heartbeat screaming get away, get away, get away.

The trees blurred around you, branches whipping at your face and arms, but nothing could slow you down now. Not the cold sweat that soaked your dress. Not the taste of blood in your mouth from where you’d bitten your tongue.

Not even his voice behind you.

“Run, dove,” he called, smooth and syrup-thick. “Go on. I like when you run.”

You didn’t dare look back. Every fiber of your being pulsed with one command: move.

But he was faster.

You didn’t hear him coming. You didn’t even feel the ground change — one second you were upright, the next you were jerked backward so hard your scream died in your throat.

Pain bloomed hot across your scalp.

His hand was tangled in your hair, yanking you off balance. You hit the earth again, your knees skidding against gravel and moss as he pulled you back into him, the back of your head nearly colliding with his chest.

He crouched behind you now, crouched low like a wolf over a carcass, his breath brushing your cheek.

“I said run, didn’t I?” he murmured, voice mock-gentle as his grip tightened. “But we both know you were never gonna make it back to that little porch light. That door was never gonna open for you again.”

You struggled, clawed at his arm, but he only laughed — low and breathy and too calm.

“Don’t,” he warned, his lips grazing your ear now. “You’re gonna make me hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.”

His other hand slid to your throat — not squeezing, not yet — just resting there. Like he was measuring something. Like he owned it.

“I’ve been good,” he went on, voice fraying at the edges now. “So good. Watching. Waiting. Keeping things away from you. But you keep runnin’ from me like I’m the danger.”

He yanked your head back again, forcing you to look up at the trees, at the stars barely visible between them.

“I’m the reason you’re still breathin’. Ain’t no one else ever gonna love you like I do, dove. They don’t even see you. Not really.”

“I’m not yours,” you choked out, voice raw.

He growled — a low, inhuman sound that vibrated against your back.

“You are,” he snapped, fingers tightening in your hair. “You been mine. From the minute you stepped into my woods. From the second you smiled at the trees like they were friends.”

You twisted beneath him, trying to throw him off, but his body was all heat and weight and blood.

“You’re sick,” you spat, and this time, it shook him. He went quiet. Still.

Then, quietly, coldly; “So be it.”

The air crackled with a sudden shift. The playful menace in his voice vanished, replaced by something sharp and dangerous. His hand tightened in your hair, not just holding you, but possessively, painfully. The fingers at your throat flexed, a subtle warning that sent a fresh wave of panic through you.

He shifted, his weight pressing more fully against your back, pinning you to the rough ground. The scent of damp earth and pine needles mingled with his own darker, muskier smell, overwhelming you. You could feel the tremor that ran through his body, a tightly leashed fury that threatened to break free.

"Sick?" he repeated, the word a low growl against your ear. "Is that what you think?"

He released your hair, and for a desperate moment, you thought you might be free. But then his hands were on your shoulders, his grip like iron as he rolled you over onto your back. The sudden movement stole your breath, and you stared up at him, his face a shadow against the faint starlight. His eyes, though, burned with an intensity that pierced the darkness.

He loomed over you, his knees bracketing your hips, effectively trapping you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw power that emanated from his still form. Your chest heaved, and the taste of blood in your mouth seemed to intensify with your fear.

One of his hands left your shoulder, tracing a slow, deliberate path down your arm. His touch, despite the underlying threat, sent a shiver down your spine. It was possessive, claiming, like he was mapping the contours of his territory.

"You think this is sickness?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, like stone scraping against stone. His fingers reached your wrist, his thumb pressing against your racing pulse. "This…need? This hunger I feel when I look at you?"

His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there for a long, breathless moment. You tried to pull away, to twist beneath him, but his weight held you firmly in place. The gravel dug into your back, a stark reminder of your vulnerability.

"Tell me," he breathed, his face dipping closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Tell me you don't feel it too. Even a little flicker?"

His eyes searched yours, demanding a truth you were terrified to acknowledge. The fear was still there, a cold knot in your stomach, but beneath it, something else stirred – a primal awareness of his nearness, the undeniable intensity in his gaze. The woods, the cold, the fear, all seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in the suffocating darkness.

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a confession. You didn't answer, couldn't answer, trapped between fear and a strange, unwelcome curiosity. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours captive. He lowered his head, his breath warm against your lips. You could feel the subtle shift in his body, a tightening of muscles, a coiled energy that promised a release you both dreaded and, perhaps, secretly craved.

His hand, still on your wrist, tightened again, his thumb tracing the delicate bones. It was a possessive gesture, a claim. The air thrummed with unspoken desires, a silent battle waged between predator and prey, between fear and a burgeoning, forbidden attraction.

He paused, a hair's breadth from your mouth, giving you one last chance to speak, to deny the connection that seemed to crackle between you. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the oppressive silence.

"No?" he whispered, his voice rough with a barely contained passion. "Then I'll show you."

His lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you. It was a tentative beginning, a question asked with skin instead of words. He waited, as if gauging your reaction, giving you a chance to pull away, to end it. But you didn't.

His hand, having found the hem of your dress, continued its slow ascent. The fabric whispered against your skin, each inch a deliberate exploration. His breath grew warm against your neck as his touch finally reached the top of your thigh.

He paused there, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine. You clenched your legs slightly, a reflexive attempt to guard yourself, but his touch remained, a possessive claim.

His mouth left your neck, and you felt his breath moving lower, tracing a hot path down your throat. He lingered at the hollow of your collarbone, pressing a soft kiss there before continuing his descent.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he shifted, his weight pressing more firmly against yours. The hard ridge of his arousal against your thigh was an undeniable reminder of his intent.

His lips continued their downward journey, past your stomach, lower still, until you felt his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where your underwear began. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of fear and a strange, unsettling anticipation.

His hands, which had been on your thighs, now moved to the hem of your dress once again, bunching the fabric higher to allow him more access. You felt the cool night air on your exposed skin as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there, sending a wave of heat through you.

He moved again, his kisses tracing a path closer to the edge of your underwear, each touch a deliberate tease. You could feel the tension building within you, a confusing mix of apprehension and a burgeoning, forbidden awareness. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin as he nuzzled closer, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear. The thin fabric offered little resistance as he slowly, deliberately, eased them down.

The sensation was jarring, exposing a part of you that felt intensely vulnerable under his predatory gaze. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clenching into fists against the damp earth. The sounds of the forest seemed to fade, replaced by the frantic pounding of your own heart.

He paused in his task, as if sensing your heightened distress. You could feel his gaze on you, a heavy, possessive weight. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and the raw anticipation of what was to come.

Then, with a final, gentle tug, the last barrier was gone. You felt the cool air envelop you completely, a stark and undeniable exposure. His breath hitched again, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your thigh.

He lowered his head further, and you braced yourself, every nerve ending screaming in a mixture of fear and a terrifying, undeniable curiosity. You felt the brush of his lips against your bare skin, a soft, tentative exploration that sent a shiver through your entire body.

His kisses became more insistent, tracing a slow deliberate path, once again to your inner thigh, closer and closer to the most vulnerable part of you. Each touch was a brand, a claim, stripping away not just the physical barrier but also your sense of control. 

The anticipation alone was a brutal kind of pleasure, a tightening coil in your belly that had nothing to do with wanting. Then, the invasion. Slow, deliberate, and impossibly intimate as he slid his tongue inside.

A sound escaped you, a delicate moan ripped from your throat against your will. It wasn't a sound of pleasure, not the soft sigh you might offer in a moment of genuine intimacy. This was something else entirely – a strangled gasp of shock, a raw expression of vulnerability laid bare. It echoed in the stillness of the woods, a testament to his violation. Your body betrayed you with its involuntary response, a stark reminder of your helplessness under his relentless advance. 

His tongue continued its relentless exploration, and he finally lifted his head, his eyes dark and possessive as he stared down at you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips, a cruel anticipation that made your stomach clench.

"Your sweet little cunt tastes like pure heaven, darlin'." He lowered his head again, his breath hot and wet against your most sensitive flesh. "Sweeter than any blood I ever craved, honey."

He pressed closer, his tongue delving deeper, and a strangled sound was torn from your throat, a mortifying mix of revulsion and a shameful flicker of sensation you couldn't control. "You got no idea what you do to me, dove," he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire. "Makes a man… wanna forget his own damn name."

His fingers digged into your hips, holding you captive as his mouth continued its brutal assault. "Every little taste of you is drivin' me wild," he groaned, the words punctuated by wet, insistent sounds that echoed in the stillness of the woods. "You're gonna be screamin' my name before this night's through, you hear me?"

He shifted his angle, his tongue finding a particularly sensitive spot, and a sharp gasp escaped you, a sound that disgusted you even as it seemed to please him. "That's it, sugar," he breathed, his voice low and guttural. "Beg for it. Say my name when you’re comin’. " 

"Remmick—" The sound that tore from your throat was a raw, involuntary plea, a shameful testament to the sensations he was dragging from you. Your hands, clenched moments ago in protest, now fisted in dark hair, your grip tightening as a wave of heat washed through you. 

Your hips lifted slightly off the cold earth, a movement you couldn't control, a sickening surrender to the intimacy he was forcing upon you. The wood sounds faded, replaced by the wet, insistent rhythm of his mouth and your own ragged breaths. A strange, dizzying lightness bloomed in your head, a horrifying disconnect between the violation and the undeniable physical response blooming within you.

"That's it, dove," he rasped against you, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel it, don't you? Feel what you do to me." His fingers dug deeper into your hips, anchoring you as his ministrations grew more demanding, more relentless. The delicate dance of his tongue was now a possessive claiming, stripping away the last vestiges of your resistance. 

A moan, deeper and more resonant this time, escaped your lips, a sound that horrified you even as it seemed to fuel him. It wasn't a moan of desire, but one of pure, unadulterated sensation, a body reacting against your will. The high, as you called it, was a dizzying loss of control, a shameful betrayal of your own boundaries.

He finally lifted his head, the wet sounds ceasing, and a thick, carnal quiet filled the woods. His dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, he looked at your flushed face, a look of pure lust. A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips as he watched the lingering shudders that still wracked your body.

“Sweet little cunt got you all worked up, ain’t it dove?” he rasped, his voice a low, heavy with lust. 

He suddenly shifted, his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you higher, “Gonna feel me stretch you open and fill you up proper. You gonna be milkin’ my shaft so nice, darlin’.”

The head of his erection pressed insistently against your slick folds, a thick, undeniable presence. His eyes were burning into you as he fully shifted you, slowly and deliberately stretching you open, so you were sitting atop him— his back against a tree, supporting him.

“That’s it.” His eyes were feral, demanding, and the raw, possessive hunger in his gaze was a palpable thing.

The stretching sensation was intense, an unfamiliar pressure that made you gasp. "Remmick—it's… it's too much," you choked out, your hands gripping his shoulders, your knuckles white. The unfamiliar fullness was overwhelming, bordering on painful.

He stilled for a moment, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "Tight little thing, ain't you?" he murmured, his voice a low, almost impressed rumble. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs pressing into your flesh. "You're okay, darlin'. Just gotta relax for me."

Despite your choked plea, he didn't withdraw. Instead, he began to guide you, his hands firm on your hips, initiating a slow, rocking motion. "Easy now," he instructed, his voice softening slightly, though the possessive edge remained. "Just follow my lead."

The movement was awkward at first, the unfamiliar friction and fullness making you tense. You could feel him deep inside you with each downward slide, a stark and undeniable invasion. "It hurts," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

"Shhh," he soothed, his gaze unwavering. "Just gotta get you used to me, sweet thing. You'll open up. Trust me, dove. This is gonna feel real good soon." He continued to guide your hips, the rhythm becoming slightly faster, more insistent. You could feel the heat building between your bodies, a strange and unwelcome warmth spreading through you despite your discomfort. His low groans filled the night air, a stark contrast to your own shallow, unsteady breaths.

The awkward, uncomfortable rhythm continued, each downward slide a raw reminder of the unwelcome intrusion. You clenched your jaw, trying to breathe through the ache, your hands still tight on his shoulders. "Remmick," you gasped, the word catching in your throat, "it still—"

He cut you off with a low growl, his hands tight on your hips, pushing you down a little further. "Gotta ride it out," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Just gotta loosen up for me. Feel how good this could be if you just let go."

The rubbing began to burn, a rough feeling mixed with the deep ache inside. You tried to slow him down, to find a way that hurt less, but his hands on your hips called the shots, a steady push and pull that left you gasping for air.

But then, little by little, something started to change. As that initial tightness started to give way, a different feeling poked through. The deep ache started to shift, the rubbing making a strange, almost hypnotic beat. A small sound slipped from your lips, not quite a cry anymore.

He seemed to feel it, his movements getting a little smoother, like he knew what he was doing. His low groans got louder, and you could feel his body shaking a little underneath you. A weird heat started low in your belly, still mixed with that ache, but with a tiny spark of something else.

Towards the end of his guiding, when the rhythm felt more steady, a different kind of breath caught in your throat. The hurt hadn't gone away completely, but it was tangled up with a strange, almost overwhelming feeling in your body. A soft moan slipped out, surprising even you. The tightness in your shoulders started to ease, your hands in his hair weren't so tight anymore. The night air still felt cold on your skin, but the heat between you was real now, a slow, unwelcome fire starting to burn.

His breath hitched in his throat, a rough sound against your ear. "That's it, dove," he growled, his hands still firm on your hips, guiding your movements. "Feel that heat building? Feel me gettin' nice and deep inside you."

He shifted beneath you, his hips bucking harder now, meeting your rhythm. "That's right," he rasped, his voice thick with a raw hunger. "That sweet little pussy is grippin' me good."

His hands slid up your sides, "You feel me pumpin' inside you, baby?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense. "Gonna fill you up real good. Gonna breed you nice and deep, make you all round with my baby."

He leaned up slightly, his lips grazing your ear. "You gonna be screamin' my name, breathin' heavy, wantin' nothin' but this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna plant my seed deep inside you, make you carry my mark."

His hands squeezed your sides, urging you to move faster. "Beg for it," he urged, his voice rough with lust. 

A moan escaped your lips, a sound you barely recognized as your own. The heat between your bodies intensified, a suffocating pressure that demanded release. Your head fell forward, your hair falling over your face as a wave of intense sensation washed over you.

"Please…" The word was barely a whisper, a broken plea torn from your throat.

"Please what, darlin'?" he urged, his voice low and demanding. 

Tears welled in your eyes, a confusing mix of shame and a desperate need for the relentless pressure to cease, yet also… to continue. "Please… more," you choked out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

A triumphant smirk stretched across his lips. "More of this, sweet thing?" he growled, his hips bucking harder, deeper. "You want me to fill you up good? You want my seed inside you?"

Another groan escaped you, followed by a soft, broken sob. The line between fear and a terrifying, undeniable desire blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of overwhelming sensation. "Yes," you finally whispered, the word a shameful admission of the power he held over your body. 

As the intense waves of sensation began to crest within you, your grip on his shoulders tightened, your body instinctively clenching around him. A series of involuntary gasps escaped your lips, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that was now intertwined with the lingering fear.

"Yeah, that's it, darlin'," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his own movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. "Milk me good, sweet thing. Squeeze me tight."

He bucked his hips upwards with a deep groan, his head falling back, his jaw clenched. "Feel that, dove?" he rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Feel how close I am? You're gonna pull it all outta me."

The pressure inside you intensified, building to an almost unbearable peak. Soon after he followed you, after a few more harsh and deep thrusts, you felt the hot, thick pulse of his release deep inside you, a claim.

As you both finally came down after a few minutes, you still stayed sat atop him, chest rising, the warmth of your skin clashing with the cold bite of the earth beneath you.

Remmick didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you.

Then, slowly, he leaned in close — so close his breath brushed your cheek — and whispered, low and calm:

“I should’ve taken you the first time I saw you.”

He brushed your hair back away from your face, lips barely grazing your temple.

“But I waited. Now you’ll never leave me again.”

His words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. You felt them settle in your bones — heavy, inescapable.

Because truly, he was inescapable. 

[shegetsburned]

Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻

LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.

.angst/fluff.

• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv! • — content. their reaction to your life being threatened. • — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.

satoru gojo

₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.

a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.

he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.

nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.

it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.

you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.

you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.

the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.

after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.

his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.

still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.

“satoru..”

he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.

“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.

you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.

satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.

kento nanami

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.

when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.

he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.

you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.

therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.

he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.

once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.

you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.

his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.

without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.

“let her go.”

the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.

this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.

“kento..”

that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.

it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.

“mine.”

you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.

“my love..”

kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.

he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.

losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.

this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.

suguru geto

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.

these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.

being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.

when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.

with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.

when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.

when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.

under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.

you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.

seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.

suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.

when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.

“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”

the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.

“pathetic.”

he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.

after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.

after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.

“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”

on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.

when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.

“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”

suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.

you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.

he could’ve burned the world for you.

toji fushiguro

₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.

basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.

your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?

tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.

after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.

you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.

you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.

your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.

but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.

several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.

it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.

unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.

you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.

toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”

he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.

despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.

his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.

“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.

thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.

carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.

with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”

but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[dexteri0us]

i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter

summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."

w/c: around 5k

a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)

You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.  

Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.

You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy:  I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.

You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.

“Can I help?”

“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.

You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.

“I could make you something to eat…”

Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.  

“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”

“I said no.”  

You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.

“Do you want–”

He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”

Finally. Bait taken.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.

You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.

His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”

You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.

“Who’s them?”

Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.

He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.

“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”  

Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.

His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.

He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.

Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.

The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.

Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.

Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.

What the fuck?

He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.

“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.

Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.

He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.  

“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.

You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.   

The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.

Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.

He was in the mood. And it hit you.

He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.

“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”

His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.

“Not today.”

“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.  

“Drop it.”

“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”

The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

That was easier than you thought.

“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.

“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”

Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.

“You really want to test that theory?”

You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.

The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.

Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.

“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”

Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!

“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”

“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”

And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.

“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.

Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.

Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.

Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.

“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”

You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.

Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.

“Listen to yourself. So messy.”

Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.

Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.

“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”

The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please, can I come?”

“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.

Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.

Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.

The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.

Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.

“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.

Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.

Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.

One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.

Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.

He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.

You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.

He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.

“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.

You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“You think you can?”

The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.

 “You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.

“Let go of the headboard.”

Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.

For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.

Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.

You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.

Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.

His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.

Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.

He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.

You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.

Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.

But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.

“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.

Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.

With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.

“Oh, and your hands only.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

His face dropped again.

“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”

You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.

“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.

He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.

“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”

“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.

“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”

You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.

He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.

“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”

“It kinda has.”

He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.

a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[dearlenore]

POPULAR • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: you and spencer finally go on the long-awaited date after the team successfully catches the unsub. Unsure of where to take a girl like you—elegant, charming, and effortlessly captivating—he turns to his coworkers for advice. Unfortunately, they’re just as stumped as he is. Defeated, he decided to take you out for a walk around a nearby town where you’re right at home.

PAIRING: fem!bimbo!reader x spencer

tags: reader is hyper feminine, season10!spencer, reader wears makeup, reader is a little dumb but smart academically, reader is Glinda inspired, use of y/n a few times (sorry!!)

a/n: editor is NOT busy I’m so excited!!

w/c: 1.5k

part 1

SPENCER FLIPPED THROUGH the files mindlessly until a familiar name caught his eye. His curiosity got the better of him as he opened it, scanning the contents. His brows lifted slightly as he read over your academic record—pristine, not a single flaw. Perfect grades, an exhaustive list of extracurriculars, leadership positions, volunteer work—each achievement more impressive than the last.

“Whatcha looking at, kid?” Rossi asked, raising a brow as he peered over Spencer’s shoulder.

“Just some files…” Spencer muttered, resting his chin in his palm.

“Y/N, huh? Trying to get some intel for your date?” Rossi snickered.

“Not exactly, I’m just… impressed.” Spencer shrugged, but the growing crowd around him suggested he wasn’t the only one.

“Holy shit…” Rossi mumbled, pulling the file closer.

“Does she sleep?” Emily asked, tilting her head.

“I’d guess no…” JJ added, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Valedictorian, a dozen honors societies, student government president and theater lead?” Emily read aloud. “That’s not even fair.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile to himself. Of course, you were extraordinary—he had already known that. But seeing the team’s reactions only solidified it.

Morgan chuckled. “Alright, genius, now you really gotta step it up. Where do you even take a girl like that on a date?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Spencer had spent days thinking about it, but the more he learned about you, the more complicated it seemed. He needed to find somewhere that fit all sides of you—your elegance, your ambition, your love for the finer things but also your playful, lighthearted nature.

“Maybe a high-end restaurant?” JJ suggested.

“No, too predictable,” Emily said. “She probably gets taken to those all the time.”

“She likes theater, maybe a Broadway show?” Rossi offered.

“I don’t know…” Spencer tapped his fingers against the table, deep in thought. A traditional date wouldn’t do. You needed something special, something unique.

Then, it clicked.

He straightened up, a small smile forming as the perfect idea came to him.

A few days later, Spencer stood outside your sorority house, fidgeting with the bouquet of pure pink peonies in his hands. He had done extensive research—peonies symbolized romance, admiration, and prosperity, all of which seemed fitting. Still, his nerves wouldn’t settle. He adjusted his sweater vest for the tenth time, tapping his foot against the pavement.

Then the door swung open, and whatever thoughts he had vanished completely.

You stood there, looking like a literal dream—perfect hair, perfect makeup, a perfectly coordinated outfit that made it seem like you had just stepped out of a magazine. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curled into an effortless smile.

“Oh my gosh, you brought me flowers? That is so sweet, Spencie!” You beamed, taking the bouquet with an excited little squeal. “They’re pink! Did you know pink is, like, my favorite color? Well, second favorite, but like, it totally depends on the day—sometimes it’s first! Oh, and peonies? Ugh, you’re so thoughtful.”

Spencer flushed at the nickname but managed a small smile. “I, um, I did research.”

“Of course you did, you’re like a super genius right? I’m pretty smart myself,” you giggled, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, you gasped. “Oh! I got you something too!”

Before he could even react, you spun on your heel and disappeared back inside, only to return moments later with a bouquet of books, tied neatly with a very large pink ribbon.

“I bought a bunch of books I don’t think you’ve read,” you explained, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you handed them to him.

Spencer raised a brow, inspecting the titles as you walked toward his car together.

“Like… Twilight.” You smirked.

He stopped in his tracks. “I told you I hadn’t read that yet, I thought you guessed when picking them out.”

“Hey! The rest are, like, actual guesses…” you pouted dramatically, sliding into the passenger seat.

Spencer sighed but couldn’t help smiling as he carefully placed the books in the back before getting into the car.

The drive was filled with your excited chatter about everything from your nail appointment (“Look at this shade! It’s called ‘Strawberry Milk,’ isn’t that just darling?”) to a very serious debate about whether cupcakes or cake pops were the superior dessert. Spencer found himself completely captivated by the way you spoke, even if half of it was tangents that had nothing to do with each other.

When he finally pulled into a quiet field lined with endless rows of tulips, you gasped dramatically.

“A tulip garden?” you squealed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Spencer smiled, relieved that he had chosen well. “You love flowers, and tulips symbolize happiness and love, so I thought—”

“Oh my gosh, I love it!” you interrupted, clapping your hands together. “This is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”

You immediately grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the colorful rows of tulips, practically skipping as you twirled between them. Spencer couldn’t help but watch in amusement as you carefully examined each flower, dramatically debating which ones suited your “vibe” the most.

“Pick some with me!” you demanded, holding out a pair of shears the garden provided.

Spencer hesitated. “I don’t usually—”

“Spencieee,” you pouted, fluttering your lashes. “Come on! It’s a date not a…I don’t have a clever fun but you get the point!”

He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “Fine.”

By the time you were satisfied with your selection, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the field. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better, you spotted a row of food trucks parked near the entrance.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Street food! We have to get something!”

Spencer barely had time to respond before you grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the trucks. You gasped dramatically at every menu, unable to decide what you wanted until you finally settled on something completely impulsive.

“Thai food truck food is to die for! I could eat it all day for weeks! Here, try this,” you insisted, holding out a bite of your food.

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “I don’t know, I’m pretty loyal to order” He laughed, taking a bite of his own food

“Spencie,” you pouted again, lower lip jutting out just enough to be dangerous.

He sighed but leaned in, taking a bite. To his surprise, it was actually good.

You clapped excitedly. “See?! You have to trust me more.”

By the time you both settled onto a picnic blanket with your tulips beside you, you were sharing a plate of sweet crepes from a small dessert stand.

“This,” you sighed happily, resting your head on his shoulder, “was literally the best first date ever.” You smiled as you wiped a bit of cream from his lip.

Spencer looked down at you, watching as you absentmindedly kicked your feet, a content smile on your lips.

“Yeah…” he murmured, his own smile growing. “I think so too.”

The jet hummed softly as the team settled in for the flight back home. Spencer sat with his book open, but he wasn’t reading. Not really. He could still hear your laughter, still see the way your eyes lit up at the tulip garden, still feel the warmth of your head resting on his shoulder.

“So… how’d it go, Romeo?” Rossi smirked from across the aisle, swirling his glass of scotch.

Spencer blinked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Huh?”

Emily leaned in, grinning. “Your date. The one you spent days researching.”

JJ and Derek turned their heads from their conversation, both of them looking far too eager for his liking.

Spencer cleared his throat, flipping the page of his book despite not having read the last one. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Penelope gasped, clutching her chest. “You take the most glamorous, sparkliest girl we’ve ever met on a date and all you have to say is nice?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” he admitted, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “She was… herself. Very, um… enthusiastic.”

“That’s an understatement,” Emily snorted.

“She brought me a bouquet of books,” Spencer added, finally looking up. “That was… unexpected.”

JJ smiled. “That’s actually really cute.”

“Oh! Oh! Where’d you take her?” Penelope asked excitedly, leaning forward towards the computer camera.

Spencer hesitated before answering. “A tulip garden.”

There was a beat of silence before Rossi whistled. “Not bad, kid. Classy.”

“And food trucks,” he added, as if the whole thing needed more context.

“Oh my god,” Penelope practically melted. “Did you feed each other?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but the small, almost fond smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

“I think,” Rossi mused, taking a sip of his drink, “this might actually be good for you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but as he looked back down at his book, he realized he was still smiling. Twilight was a really…really bad book.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Filthier Flat-Pack Thoughts

18+ MDNI pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone) warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me) word count: 5.6k ✧ masterlist

You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?

So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.

He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.

Feel better soon, sunshine!!!

Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.

You just needed one more day.

One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.

You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.

And you had mostly succeeded.

Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.

That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.

You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

It was fine.

You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?

By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.

Garcia picked up on the second ring.

“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”

You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”

“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”

Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.

You froze.

“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.

Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.

“Well? Who is it? Spill.”

Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.

“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.

Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.

You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

He just watched you, which was almost worse.

You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.

But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.

“Can we sit?”

His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.

You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.

A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.

"Yeah."

Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.

He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.

And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sit, angel."

It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.

A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.

You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”

Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.

“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”

“But –”

“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”

His brows furrowed. “Right?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."

The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.

“Is that what you think?”

You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.

Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”

The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.

His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.

And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -

“I did want it.”

The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.

“Then…why –”

“Because you deserved better than that.”

His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.

“Hotch –”

“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”

That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.

“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.

And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”

He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.

“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.

He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.

Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.

"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."

He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.

Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.

And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

You were sure. So damn sure.

You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.

And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”

You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.

Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.

But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.

And then he moved.

Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.

“That’s a very pretty mirror.”

Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.

“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”

A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.

“Hm, sweet angel?”

You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.

“Did you do it after I left?”

Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”

That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”

A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.

“Did you start from here?”

You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.

“Or did you start with your thighs?”

You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.

The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.

Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.

“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”

You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.

You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.

“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.

“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”

Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.

“Look at yourself.”

You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.

“What do you see, angel?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.

“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”

Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.

“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”

His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.

A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”

Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.

You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”

Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

“Aaron –”

“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.

Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again. 

“How was that, angel?”

He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.

“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”

Your stomach tensed.

Fuck.

He was trying to kill you.

His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.

Waited.

Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.

The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.

“Not the bed.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.

“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”

Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.

And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.

That bastard smirked.

Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.

You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.

And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.

A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.

He chuckled.

“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.

He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.

“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”

Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.

And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.

But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.

A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”

“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.

The click of his belt buckle.

Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.

He took his time.

Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.

His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.

Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.

You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.

It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.

"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”

The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.

“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.

He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.

“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”

His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.

A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.

His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.

A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.

You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.

"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"

You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.  

And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.

He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.

“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”

Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."

You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.

His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.

His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.

Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.

You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”

His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.

You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"

“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”

You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”

“Is that so?”

You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”

His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.

“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”

“You’d fire me?”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

dividers by cafekitsune

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[no-144444]

the grid: confesses!

Day 30 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Riccardo, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen

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Oscar Piastri: someone is dense…

Your dad was busy showing you the strategy plan, one of the many perks of being Zak Brown’s daughter. You’d been working in the paddock for over a year, working as one of Lando’s main mechanics, but your dad still liked to show you the plan for the day. He would’ve probably preferred you to be into the marketing / strategy side of F1 since there’s less of a chance of you getting run over in the pitlane if you’re not in the pitlane, but the heart wants what the heart wants and it wanted to be a mechanic, more specifically, a front jackman. 

“Y/n!” Lando all but jumped on your back. “Osc wants to talk to you.”

Oscar Piastri. You had been flirting with him for months. A week ago you gave up and stopped, just being friendly with him instead, since he clearly wasn’t interested. 

“Where is he?” you asked, shoving him off your back. 

“Driver’s room,” he shrugged. “Where else would he be?”

Oscar was a very big fan of sleeping in his driver’s room before a race, of course he’d be in there. 

You made your way to the McLaren motorhome and knocked on his door. He opened it, looking flushed and shirtless. 

“Hi,” you smiled. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I did- do. I do,” he nodded awkwardly. “Come in,” he opened the door enough for you to come in. 

“Thank you,” you said, trying to not stare at him too hard. “What’s up?”

“Are you mad at me?” he asked immediately. 

You were taken aback, shocked that Oscar would ever be that direct. “No, why?”

“You’ve been… weird this week.” 

“Oh! That!” you chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve just stopped flirting with you.”

His face fell. “What?”

“I stopped flirting with you?” you answered again. 

“W-why? When were you flirting with me?” he asked, looking increasingly stressed. 

“Why what? Why was I flirting with you?” You questioned. “Because I have a crush on you. I’ve been flirting with you since my first day.” 

He sighed and put his face in his hands.

“You haven’t exactly reciprocated so I stopped. I just kind of assumed that you weren’t interested, which is fine, by the way,” you explained. “We’re great friends, I’m happy with that.”

“I’m so fucking dense,” he cursed. 

You chuckled. “What?”

“I obviously like you back,” he looked back up. “I thought you were just being nice.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m just as nice and touchy with Lando, of course,” you said sarcastically. “You really are dense.” 

He shook his head. “I haven’t completely fucked this up yet, have I?”

You shook your head. “No,” you pressed your lips to his, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Not yet.” 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. “Thank you,” he pressed his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You chuckled. What a dork. 

Your dork. 

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Lando Norris: years of pining… 

He watched as you once again, came in from a date crying. You two had lived together since you’d finished college and moved to Monaco to start your new job (and be closer to Lando), and he watched as you tried and failed with the Monaco dating scene. 

“I fucking hate men!” you cried as he held you in his arms. It had gone the same way it had all the other times, you’d come in crying, Lando would sit with you and order food, holding you and listening as you vented about this asshole guy. Honestly, it made him want to hunt them down and kill them with his bare hands, but he settled for being the kind best friend, biding his time until he could finally tell you. 

“We suck,” he chuckled, agreeing. 

“I just want a fucking normal, nice guy. Is that too much to ask for?” you groaned in frustration. 

“Well, I’m right here,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. You were silent. He was silent. You both froze. The air in the room was much too thick. 

“You mean that?” you asked, your eyes wide and staring into his. He nodded, too nervous to verbally respond. 

“What guy wouldn’t? You’re perfect,” he finally whispered out. He felt how your heart beat sped up. 

Then your lips were on his and he knew he was a goner. 

You were perfect. And now, you were his. 

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Lewis Hamilton: eavesdropping…

“I’m fucking in love with her, and she doesn’t even look my way,” Lewis groaned, laying back on the couch. 

Never in a million years did George ever think that he’d be sitting in his hero’s drivers room with him, giving him relationship advice. 

“She looks at you plenty,” he shrugged. “But she’s usually giving out to you.”

Lewis shot him an unimpressed look. “Thanks.” 

George laughed. “Just ask her out!”

Lewis groaned again. Y/n Wolff. Toto’s princess. You were untouchable. You were a genius. You were beautiful, inside and out. “She hates me.”

“I don’t,” you said plainly. 

Both of the men shot straight up, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“I actually quite like you Lewis,” you added with a smile. “You should try asking me out sometime.” 

George did everything in his power to not laugh, but he failed and burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

Lewis just nodded, much too embarrassed to speak. 

“My dad wants you George,” you told him, actually fulfilling the reason you had come to their drivers rooms. “See you both on the grid.” 

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George Russell: upfront 

George stood awkwardly at your door. He was finally going to do it, he was going to ask you out.

“George!” you smiled, pulling him into a hug. “You’re back.”

George was your neighbour, a very kind neighbour. He was obsessed with you. You were so kind, so funny, so beautiful. He had befriended you out of pure friendliness, he wanted to be a good neighbour (and he was on the HOA (Home Owners Association) of the building). Those quick conversations in the hall had turned into a monthly dinner night, and small dinner dates whenever he was in Monaco. 

“I am,” he smiled, hugging you back. 

You led him in, the smell of your cooking already making him salivate, but he had a question to ask first. 

“I’d like to take you out on a date sometime. A real date,” he said confidently, though he didn’t feel like it.

Your face broke out into a bright smile. “I’d like that too.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Good.” 

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Alex Albon: awkward blind date…

You sat across from Tucker, the guy your friend was ‘so sure’ you’d be interested in, with a shocked expression. There was no way he actually said what he just said, right? 

“Y’know what I mean?” he chuckled at his own ‘joke’. 

“No. I don’t,” you gritted out. “I think I’m going to go now, please don’t call me.” 

You got up to leave, but he grabbed your arm, stopping you. 

“Where would you be going?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. 

“Get off her,” a British voice demanded. Behind you were now 3 men, the 3 men you had begged to not stalk your date, but now you were pretty happy they were there. Behind you stood Alex, George, and Fernando. 

“And what are you going to do about it? She’s my girlfriend-”

“No I’m fucking not,” you seethed. “Get off me, prick,” you elbowed him in the face and got your arm free, speeding out of the restaurant and handing the waitress a large tip. You turned to the 3 men, scoffed and started walking off down the street. 

Alex followed behind you as George and Fernando hung back. 

“I know you’re mad-” he started. 

“Yeah Alex! I’m fucking pissed! I ask you to leave me alone for fucking once. To trust me once. And you can’t even do that!” you shouted. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Y/n, you don’t understand-”

“Understand what?!” you shouted, finally stopping in the street. “Understand that you don’t trust me-?!”

“That I’m in love with you!” he shouted. 

You froze. “If you’re joking-”

“Why the fuck would I joke about that?” 

You nodded. “It would be a pretty shitty thing to joke about.”

“I’m not joking!”

“I know!” you chuckled. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He blushed. “I…”

He gave up and kissed you again. 

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Daniel Riccardo: drunk. He’s drunk. 

You somehow got him into his own bed, but, as per usual, he started begging you to join him, calling you his ‘personal teddy bear’. 

“Y/N!” he whined. “I’m hot!” 

“Take off the covers,” you instructed, chuckling at his drunken state. 

“You want me to take off my clothes?” he smirked as you rolled your eyes.

“Daniel,” you warned. 

“Y/n,” he matched your tone. “Come on! We’d be so hot together! You’re gorgeous and smart and you look really good when you roll your eyes, and I always make you roll your eyes! It’s a win-win!” 

You chuckled. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love!” he corrected. “Come on baby, give me a chance.”

You couldn’t even tell if he was joking anymore. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

“And I can kiss you now,” he decided and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You couldn’t taste any alcohol on him. None at all. 

“You liar!” you pulled away, laughing. He laughed too, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I needed to gauge your reaction,” he laughed. “Seems to me you agree.” 

You shook your head, laughing, but kissed him again all the same. 

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Charles LeClerc: quite the charmer (not). 

You rolled your eyes as Charles walked into the room. He was such a charmer. That’s what your mother called him anyway. Being the sister of Carlos Sainz, you grew up in the shadows which meant you were always a little different from your family. The main point being the fact that you drove on 2 wheels instead of 4, like everyone else. A MotoGP winner, that’s what you were. And as much as your parents pretended to like it, you know they would’ve preferred you pick a safer mode of racing, like horse racing or something boring. 

“Y/n!” Charles cheered. 

And then there was the Charles problem. Your parents were set on the idea of Charles LeClerc having a crush on you, and you having a crush on him. You thought he was nice, good looking enough, and kind, but you didn’t like like him, did you? No. Definitely not. And him like liking you back? Impossible. 

“Charles!” your mother smiled. “It’s so good to see you!”

He exchanged pleasantries with her for a few moments, then finally turned his attention to you. 

“Y/n, how are you?” he smiled. 

“Good thanks, you?” you asked, your tone short. 

“Good. I was wondering if we could talk,” he nervously fidgeted with his hands. 

“We are talking,” you pointed out. 

He rolled his eyes. “Somewhere private.” 

“Ok?” you questioned, following him to his drivers room. 

“I like you a lot, like, a lot, a lot, but Carlos will never ever let me ask you out. I just wanted to tell you just so you know why I am stand-off-ish. It is because of-” 

He stopped talking because you had started kissing him. Maybe you did like him… just a little bit. 

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Max Verstappen: upfront, awkward, unapologetic. 

Y’know those people that just never learnt manners or social cues? Yeah, that was Max. Your friends had looked at you in horror when you brought him into the group, shocked that you’d ever start a friendship with someone as awkward and socially unintelligent as him. It’s not that Max wasn’t social intelligent, he just didn’t give a fuck. If one of your other guy-friends (the ones that all thought they had a chance with you) starts talking or (god-forbid) touching you? Max is in there, getting between you two as soon as humanly possible. He clings to you like a fucking leech, and makes sure the others know it. 

When you told them he had asked you out, not one of the girls was surprised. Of course, you’d said yes, and of course, you were ecstatic. 

At the next get-together, Brad (one of your asshole guy-friends) asked him how he did it. 

“I just asked her,” he gritted out. “She said yes, I took her out and we’ve been together since.” 

Brad shook his head, chuckling. “She’s not easy to pin down.” 

“She is when she wants you,” he smirked, making eye contact with you out on the dance floor. 

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi@linnygirl09@lanadelray1989@teamnovalak@gleeblegnarp

[luvjunie]

— trust who?

pairing: e-42!miles x 1610!fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of death, yandere?miles

summary: you were taken from him a year ago, and now it seems the universe has given him a chance to do things differently— and this time, he’s not letting you go. no matter what. wc: 1,648

a/n: i got a lil carried away w this one won’t lie, lol. i love this song, and i put a little twist on it to match the plot. song lyrics are in small, bold italics

🎧: Not You Too - drake (ft. chris brown)

“trust- trust who? trust me and i can set you free. left your man came straight to me you the real mvp, my love.“

dimmed hues of red lights spotted your vision as you came to, eyelids heavy as they peeled apart to reveal the room you assumed would be the setting of your demise. your head snapped up when you finally regained consciousness completely, fright-riddled eyes darting around to scout out an escape plan. but just as you went to move, you heard chains clink from above as your body swayed, and realized you couldn’t. you looked down to find your legs bound by rope, as well as your hands, as well as the rest of your body to a firm, stuffed sack.

feet dangling from the ground, you let your head fall back against the punching bag, defeated, and settled for your only remaining option. “help!” you yelled, voice rasped and weak. “help!” you tried again.

“don’t bother, can’t hear a thing down here.”

an artificial, robotic voice sounded from above, warranting your eyes to meet a masked man who resided on a high beam, crouched in place, watching you. how long had he been there?

he jumped down, catching himself and effortlessly hanging from one arm before his sneakers met the steel floor. they were untied, you noticed.

fear permeated your entire being as he strolled over to you, a semblance of uneasiness coursing through your veins, pumping into your blood and rendering your spine straight as the ominous figure stopped just in front of you.

“ple—please, i don’t know why i’m here,” the words tumbled out in a broken heap of suffocated, stifled sobs as tears welled in your eyes.

“shh, it’s okay,” he shushed you, a hand reaching out to gently pinch your chin, lifting your head back up after it’d fallen. his touch was delicate, like he was scared he’d break you.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mi vida. i’d never hurt you… you know that.” the voice distorter cut out, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes fluttering over every inch of this strange mask. it reminded you of a ventilation mask you’d seen in miles’ room once, a mask used to protect your lungs from the fumes of spray paint.

as if your mind were working against you, you found yourself… calmer than you were just a few seconds ago, and even more confused. why did the voice sound so familiar?

something wasn’t right.

“who— who are you?” you gulped.

“you don’t remember me?” the shield over his face pulled back, the quiet sound of mechanical whirring as it revealed his face drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ear drums.

here stood your boyfriend in front of you, the same features, but… different. his entire demeanor had shifted since you had last seen him just prior to whatever time it was now, to something sinister. his hair was longer, pulled back and braided. an accent, almost resemblant of his mother’s lingered on the tip of his tongue, dripping within the words he spoke. his face was harder, etched and carved like the weight of the world had chipped at it piece by piece, only to settle on his shoulders, leaving him with no time for himself.

this couldn’t be right.

“miles?” you choked out, mouth gaping to find your voice. “w-why… what am I—you’re, you… but different? what is this? where am i?”

a puff of air shot through his nostrils, his best effort at a laugh as a small, smile lifted the corner of his lips, braids gliding over his shoulders when his head tilted to the side.

“you came back to me, mi amor. and god…you’re even more beautiful than i remembered.” he breathed, eyes flickering with sorrow for just a moment as they studied your face, a moment that was almost too brief for you to catch.

when he’d encountered you and his counterpart on the roof with his uncle, he swore his prayers had been answered. somehow, someway you’d been brought back to him— the pain of witnessing the bullet that pierced through your chest that fateful night just a year ago drifted from his mind, and replaced itself with the all consuming, peaceful, sleeping image of you the minute he’d picked you up and cradled you in his arms. it pained him to inject you with the needle to sedate you, but he had no other choice, he could never truly hurt you. no, he would never do that.

“i missed you so much.”

“first time in a long time hurtin' deeply inside”

the hand sporting his mechanical gauntlet lifted towards you, fingers bending so the claws wouldn’t scrape your skin as he let the cold metal brush against the swell of your cheek. the sound of the steel joints ticking made you flinch, chest stuttering for breaths you couldn’t keep within your overworked lungs as you turned away from him.

you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes, when all he’s ever wanted to do was keep you safe, to protect you, to make you feel comforted and secure. and he failed at that before, he knows that, but he’s ready this time. he’d been given a second chance, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“it’s me, hermosa… it’s okay, you know me. just trust me, and i can set you free, and then we can be together. just like old times.” his brows furrowed, his tone one of sincerity as he assured you, but it did nothing for your racing heart.

“trust—“ you sputtered, voice wavering when you spoke. “trust who? you? how can i when you have me tied up like this?!” you balked, your bewilderment such a stark contrast from his bleak, seemingly unmoving disposition.

“yeah… i’m real sorry ‘bout that. uncle aaron made me, so i tried not to make ‘em too tight. you know something like this would never, ever be my idea.”

you shook your head, was this some kind of sick joke? why wasn’t he understanding a single word that was coming from your mouth?

you grew frustrated, time was not on your side, and honestly you were getting tired of this game.

“i don’t know anything about you, i don’t even know who you are. you might have his face, and—and his body,” you looked him up and down. “but you… you are not my miles.”

he felt a pang in his chest, the words you uttered, the way you said ‘my miles’, as if he wasn’t right here, as if he wasn’t right in front of you. the version of himself he’d buried in the ground with you just last year wanted to jump out and yell at you, plead with you, anything to make you see he could be just like your miles, because he was your miles.

“oh,” he pulled the skin of his cheek between his teeth as he turned away with an agitated nod, extending his arm out to point towards your miles, who was still unconscious, chin dropped to his chest as he hung from another punching bag.

“him?” his voice raised in volume and broke apart with desperation, a humorless chuckle unintentionally escaping his trembling lips. “what’s the difference? huh? tell me.” he demanded, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain his composure, staring deep into the eyes of the girl who would’ve burned the whole world down with him if he asked. the girl who was in his grasp, right in this moment, yet still so far from his reach— reserved for the one who had everything that belonged to him.

your head whipped to where he pointed, and the moment your eyes landed on your boyfriend your blood ran cold, a pained gasp rippling your chest. “miles! oh god, please!” you called out for him as you struggled against your restraints, his counterpart interrupting you by blocking your line of your view with his body.

“cálmate,” he hummed, “he’s fine, just unconscious. i’m not cruel. is that how you remember me, mamí?” he questioned, voice bleeding with hurt.

your gaze drifted over to your miles again, hope swelling within you when you heard him groan.

“no, no, princesa. don’t look at him, look at me.” he urged.

he didn’t understand. you always used to say you would love him in every universe, that you’d find him in every lifetime, what happened to that?

“please, we need to get home, if we don’t… he won’t be able to save his father, he—he’ll die. you have to understand.” you pleaded, the tears finally bubbling over your waterline, streamlining down your cheeks.

“you are home! it’s me, mi amor, i’m right here. what about everything we went through?” he asked tenderly, voice full of hurt and eyes still soaking in the slight difference in your features. he was too distracted by the fact that the girl he thought he’d never see again, was right here in front of him to even try and comprehend what you were trying to say. “please, don’t cry. you know i hate seeing you cry.”

nothing else seemed to be working, so you settled for empathizing with him. he was still miles, after all, different universe or not, he was still the same person deep down. and from the way he was looking at you, love flowing from the eyes that held so much anguish within them, you knew some version of you had loved him, too. in the same way you loved your own.

“look, i’m sure i-“ you stopped to correct yourself, “she, loved you, but i’m not her. i’m not from here, and i’m sorry she’s gone, and i’m sorry you have to live with this pain, but, please… you have to let me go.” your tone was forbearing, words teetering off into a hushed plea, your lingering apprehension threatening to tear through the seam of your heartfelt spiel.

“let you go?”

you nodded tentatively.

he moved closer to you, to unbound you from this elevated prison, you assumed. because maybe, just maybe you’d managed to get through to him.

but this wasn’t your universe, and this… this was not your miles.

for the first time in your entirety of knowing miles morales, you felt your heart stop— and not in the way that brought a flurry of warmed, passioned butterflies to flutter within you— but in a way that invited his words to settle like ice in your bones, allowed panic and dread to inhabit your senses, clutching you in a selfish grasp of resentment that had no intentions of letting you go— you realized, as this time, his gloveless hand swiped away yet another tear you hadn’t even noticed you’d shed.

“why would i do that?”

“I've given you enough time. hurtin' deeply inside.“

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

©luvjunie 2023

[mapiforpresident]

Its Always Been You

alexia x reader

~~~

The stadium lights cast a soft glow over the pitch as you and Alexia jogged toward the center circle. Training had ended hours ago, but the two of you lingered, just like you had so many times before. The empty stands echoed with the faint sounds of your laughter as you passed the ball back and forth, the simplicity of it grounding you in a way few things could.

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. You and Alexia, side by side, growing up in the small fields of Mollet del Vallès, dreaming of someday making it big. You’d shared everything—trophies, heartbreaks, and countless late-night talks under the stars about life and love. But it wasn’t until this past year that you truly understood how much she meant to you.

"Still got it," Alexia teased, nudging the ball toward you with a grin.

"Always," you replied, stopping it effortlessly under your foot. "But you’re slowing down, old lady."

Alexia laughed, rolling her eyes. "I’m six months older than you. Don’t push your luck."

You smirked, but the familiar ease between you made your chest ache. You weren’t sure when it started—this shift in your feelings for her—but now it was undeniable. The way her laugh lit up your world. The way her eyes held yours a second too long. The way being around her felt like coming home.

“Remember when we were kids and used to stay out here until it was too dark to see the ball?” she asked, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

You nodded. “Your mom would come yelling, telling us to get inside before we caught a cold.”

“She always thought you were the bad influence.”

“Me? You’re the one who insisted on practicing corners for hours,” you shot back.

Alexia shrugged, her smile turning softer. “Maybe. But look where we are now.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything stilled. Time, space, the years you’d spent as teammates, friends—everything came rushing back. You thought about all the people you’d dated, all the moments you’d tried to fill the void that only she could seem to occupy. It had taken you thirty years to realize it, but Alexia had been right there all along.

The silence stretched too long, so you nudged the ball toward her and said, “How about a little one-on-one? Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Alexia grinned, accepting the challenge. You both fell into the rhythm of the drill, laughter mixing with the sound of your feet pounding the turf. She was quick, as always, and for a second, you forgot about the feelings bubbling beneath the surface. You were just two players, pushing each other like you’d done your whole lives.

Then you lunged to steal the ball, and your foot caught hers. Alexia stumbled, and before you could stop your momentum, you fell on top of her.

“Lex! Are you okay?” you asked, heart pounding as you scrambled to brace yourself, your hands on either side of her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, laughing breathlessly. Her hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady you.

You looked down, your faces only inches apart, and froze. Her eyes met yours, wide and glinting under the lights. Time seemed to stand still. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath you, her warmth radiating against you in the cool night air.

“Y/N…” she said softly, her voice almost trembling.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you leaned in. Your lips brushed hers, tentative at first, as if you were testing the waters. But the moment her mouth moved against yours, the hesitation melted away. You kissed her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth, pouring years of unspoken emotions into that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and so was hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or an explanation.

“I—” you started, but Alexia’s hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… was that real? Because I’ve been dreaming about it for a while.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You have?”

Alexia nodded, her hand still resting on your face. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, more disbelief than humor. “Are you kidding? Lex, you’ve been my whole world. I just— I didn’t realize it until recently.”

She smiled then, a slow, breathtaking smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “I guess we’ve been wasting a lot of time, huh?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But we’ve got forever now.”

She nodded, her forehead pressing against yours as she whispered, “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll hold me close,” she murmured. “Don’t let me go.”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “I promise.”

The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, tangled together in the center circle under the Barcelona sky. For the first time in your life, everything felt exactly as it should.

~~~

requests are open especially for:

Patri x reader x Pina

Alexia x reader

Mapi x Ingrid x reader

Lena Oberdorf

[1982grapejuiceblues]

Change Of Plans

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Stranger Lanes Part 1

Summary: Y/N just got dumped. By text. Her boyfriend left her for Claire—her coworker, her friend, and the girl who helped plan their summer group trip. Now Claire and Ben are sharing a car to the lake house. Y/N? She’s stuck riding with Harry—Claire’s freshly dumped, emotionally unavailable ex. They’ve barely spoken. They don’t even like each other. And they’re about to spend twelve hours trapped in a car together. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. But then again… nothing ever does.

A/N: I just came up with this (in my opinion) very cute story idea because its finally SPRING (although it feels so much more like summer) and I was really feeling those end of school, summer vibes. So here is my second story, Stranger Lanes! I'll be alternating between posting for this story and The Wrong Pitch (my other series) each day. I hope you guys love teacher!Harry because thats who we're getting today. He's grumpy, quiet, broody, and everything we could ever dream of. Hope you guys love him as much as I do!

Warnings: Off-page infidelity / betrayal (Y/N’s partner cheats with a friend) | Breakup fallout and emotional processing | Anxiety, emotional withdrawal, and dissociation | References to emotional repression (in others and self) | Passive-aggressive group dynamics | Alcohol use (coping, casual context) | One (1) sarcastic mention of wanting to “die in Indiana” | Dry humor layered over grief

Word Count: 1.7K

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It started with a text.

Not a fight.

Not a conversation.

Not even a slowly decaying vibe.

Just a text. Dry. Colorless. Utterly insufficient.

Hey. I think it’s only fair I’m honest with you. Claire and I are seeing each other. We didn’t plan it.

Y/N read it once. Then again. Then a third time, more slowly—like it might morph into something less ridiculous if she squinted hard enough.

It didn’t.

She stood in the middle of her kitchen, one hand gripping the fridge door like it was holding her upright. The glow of the fridge light spilled across her feet and the tile in soft gold, humming like it was trying to fill the silence. It didn’t.

She hadn’t even taken her shoes off yet.

Ben.

Ben had sent that.

Ben, her boyfriend of three years.

Ben, who alphabetized their spice rack.

Ben, who had built her a bookshelf for her birthday and painted it teal because it “felt like a happy color.”

Ben, who had Claire saved in his phone as “Claire 🌱” because, apparently, she was “good with plants.”

Y/N closed the fridge door slowly and let her phone slide facedown onto the counter.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t throw anything.

She didn’t cry. That would’ve made sense.

Instead, she opened the freezer, took out the pint of overpriced salted caramel gelato she’d been saving for “a bad day,” and stared at it like it had betrayed her too.

Claire.

She leaned against the counter. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed them.

Claire.

As in Harry’s girlfriend Claire.

As in district golden girl, perennial staff lounge contributor, fake-humble about her sourdough starter Claire.

Claire who had cried on Y/N’s shoulder at the end-of-year cookout two weeks ago because Harry was “distant” and “always reading alone when she just wanted to connect.”

Claire who had helped plan the lake trip. Who made the group spreadsheets. Who told Y/N—literally, word for word—that she “was lucky to have someone like Ben. He’s so emotionally available.”

Y/N laughed. Once. Short and dry, like a cough in a church pew.

She put the gelato back in the freezer.

-

She didn’t text back. She didn’t call.

She sat on the edge of her bed, in the tank top she’d taught summer school in, and stared at her laundry pile like it might have answers.

Her phone buzzed again.

I’m sorry

That was it. No period. No elaboration. Just two words that sounded more like a receipt than a confession.

She powered her phone off. Not because she was angry. But because she couldn’t bear to watch the read receipts play chicken with her rage.

-

The next morning, she packed a bag.

Not dramatically. Not even thoughtfully. She just started folding things—loose sleep shorts, that one bra that still held its shape, the tank top with the bleach stain she usually saved for movie nights—and shoved them into a weekender tote like she was running from a hurricane. Which, in a way, she was.

She left Ben’s keys on the counter. Took her spare set. Didn’t lock the door behind her.

-

Her sister opened the door in a charcoal gray face mask and one of those oversized sweatshirts that read PROPERTY OF NO ONE across the chest.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “It happened?”

Y/N nodded.

“Claire?” Her sister had heard about Claire. Or more specifically, “Claire 🌱”.

Y/N nodded again.

Her sister stepped aside like a bouncer. “Come in. Do you want wine or revenge?”

Y/N dropped her bag in the hallway. “What kind of wine?”

-

She stayed for three nights. Then five. Then seven.

She didn’t go back to their apartment—not once. Ben texted a few times, but the messages were all logistical. Do you want the basil plant? Are the insurance papers in the drawer? Should I grab your blender too?

She didn’t answer. He Venmo’d her $300 without a note. She transferred it to savings and blocked his number.

Her sister didn’t ask questions. She made breakfast-for-dinner three times and gave her the better half of the couch, and only once did she gently ask if Y/N wanted to talk about it.

“I think I will,” Y/N said. “Later.”

It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t soon.

-

She spent most of her days scrolling—TikTok, Pinterest, Zillow like she could manifest a life somewhere coastal. She read three chapters of a novel before putting it down and flipping to something trashier. She started a letter to Ben and then deleted it. She started a letter to Claire and imagined reading it aloud into a hairbrush like she was Nikki Minaj mic’d at the VMAs.

None of it helped. But it filled the time.

-

The summer trip loomed.

The group chat still pinged daily—mostly Claire, ironically. She sent weather updates and playlists and matching merch links (“Isn’t this cute for a group pic??”) like she hadn’t detonated the entire social dynamic of the group with her soft little garden-gloved hands.

Y/N didn’t mute the chat. She just watched.

Every so often, someone—usually Ali—would DM her privately and say something like “you’re still coming, right?” or “we can totally make it chill, like totally separate spaces, no drama.”

She didn’t respond. Not because she was ghosting. Just because there wasn’t an answer that didn’t sound like she was lying to herself.

-

On day nine, her sister brought in the mail and tossed a catalog onto the couch.

It landed next to Y/N with a heavy thwap. A furniture store ad. The front read:

CHANGE STARTS HERE.

Y/N stared at it for a full minute.

Then she said, “Ali’s gonna call, isn’t she?”

-

It happened at 9:17 p.m., which already felt like a hostile time for unsolicited optimism.

Y/N was on the couch again, wearing the same sweatshirt she’d claimed from her sister’s closet five days ago and scrolling through Instagram like she was watching someone else’s life. Weddings. Beach trips. Dogs on paddle boards.

Her legs were half-asleep under a blanket she didn’t remember pulling over herself. Her phone was warm in her palm. She had just watched an entire video of someone organizing a pantry with acrylic bins and was about to rewatch it when her screen lit up with a name she both loved and feared:

Ali 🌙

Y/N stared at it.

Her thumb hovered.

Then she accepted the call and held the phone to her ear with the energy of someone walking into a trap.

“Please tell me you’re not calling to ask if I’ve forgiven them.”

“No,” Ali said immediately. “God, no. I’m not insane.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Then what.”

“I have an idea.”

“Ali.”

“A solution.”

“Ali.”

“You have to hear it.”

“I truly do not.”

“You do,” she insisted. “Because it’s genius. It’s fate. It’s actually so perfect, I think the universe is throwing you a bone.”

“Is it a bone or is it a grenade?”

“Okay, so—”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head back against the couch. “Start over. From the top. Slowly.”

Ali exhaled dramatically. “Fine. You know how you were supposed to drive up to the lake house with Ben.”

Y/N stayed silent.

“And now you are, obviously, not doing that because Ben is… dead to us.”

Still silent.

“Well, Harry was supposed to drive up with Claire.”

Ah. There it was.

“And now he’s not. Because Claire is, you know, Ben’s rebound wife.”

“I’m going to vomit,” Y/N muttered.

Ali ignored her. “So now Harry has a car. You need a ride. He needs a co-pilot. You don’t want to drive alone. See where I’m going with this?”

Y/N was silent for a long time.

Then: “I’ve spoken to him twice.”

“Three times.”

“Ali.”

“I think he said you had a nice voice once.”

“He asked if I had a pen.”

Ali was undeterred. “He’s quiet. But he’s not mean. And he said he’s still going.”

“You already asked him?”

“Maybe.”

“Ali.”

“I mean. Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

“I swear he didn’t even sound annoyed! He was just like, ‘sure, whatever.’ That’s practically a love letter from Harry.”

Y/N groaned again and pulled the blanket over her face.

“Just—think about it,” Ali added. “It’s a long drive. You can listen to audiobooks. Or just put in your headphones and ignore him. It doesn’t have to be bonding. It can be… logistical.”

“Like co-parenting a twelve-hour road trip.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N peeked out from under the blanket. “He said yes?”

“Yes. Kind of. I think. I texted and he replied ‘fine.’”

“Wow. I feel so cherished.”

Ali snorted. “He’s just… not a words guy.”

“What is he then?”

“A scowl guy. A hoodie guy. A tragic poetry guy.”

“Oh god.”

“You’re gonna have a great time.”

“I’m going to die in Indiana.”

Ali paused. “Okay but if you do, at least make it look like an accident. Don’t ruin the vibe of the trip.”

-

The worst part wasn’t that she was considering it. The worst part was that it made sense.

She didn’t want to rent a car. She didn’t want to fly and pretend she wasn’t terrified of turbulence. She didn’t want to miss the trip entirely, because Claire and Ben didn’t get to take that from her too.

And Harry, despite being barely more than a moody silhouette in the hallway during staff meetings, wasn’t a serial killer. As far as she knew.

She pulled up his contact in her phone. She’d never texted him before. His name was just Harry Styles, no emoji, no notes. A blank profile image. He was, in every way, a placeholder.

She stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then typed:

Ali says you’re okay with driving together. Is that real or was she hallucinating from heat exhaustion?

The dots appeared almost immediately.

It’s real.

Y/N squinted at the screen.

I can pick you up Saturday at 7?

Seven. In the morning. On a Saturday. Before she had coffee.

Was he trying to make her hate him?

Seven AM???

It’s a twelve-hour drive.

I’m aware of the concept of distance, Harry.

Good. I’ll bring coffee.

She paused.

That was… civil. Almost human.

What kind of coffee?

Black.

Are you trying to make this as miserable as possible?

Do you take yours with glitter and oat milk?

Y/N smirked.

I take it with hope and joy, actually.

Cool. I’ll bring despair and an aux cord.

She let out a sound that surprised her—a laugh, small and sharp, like she hadn’t remembered what it felt like to make one.

Then she replied:

Fine. But no true crime podcasts unless I pick them.

Deal.

[justasecretflower]

🥀Hello, I saw you’re eyeless Jack Dating before he was sacrificed. If you wouldn’t mind could you do Toby Rogers- before He went coo coo for cocoa puffs and Slenderman basically stole him. 😭😂 Please and thank you hope you have a good day. 🤍

I LOVE THIS REQUEST SM🤍

🥀- Dating Ticci Toby! Before he became a proxy!

~fluff, set before the accident:)

I won’t be able to post everyday, sadly. Since I’m starting school I’m also gonna start cooking club, national honour society then tennis:(. But please keep requesting I will not stop posting completely:).

____________________________________________

- you noticed Toby’s golden heart at first, how much he got bullied, everything in his life, yet he remained to have a soft expression.

- At first, he thought you were pranking him when you gave him the note, your cheeks flush. But when he looked at the note and thought it was a prank he didn’t miss the hurt on your face.

________________________________________

Toby’s dark hazel eyes scan the note, some tics jerking his neck and making him restart reading the note. Thinking it’s some sick joke, as if anyone like you would like anyone like him, his eyes narrow and he practically spits at you. “L- Let me guess. T-this was a sick joke w-wasn’t it?” He says seriously, his tics making him stutter a bit but his tone remained hurt, aggravated, and angry, all of the bullying he received callousing his heart and making him firmly believe that no one would even spare him a second glance. Your eyes fill with hurt and your stomach plunges from rejection, a little embarrassed and let down your voice shakes. “No it’s not. I really like you.” Toby softened a bit at your tone but then hardened again “you don’t know me.” You were fed up. Can’t he see you actually like him for him? “But I want to.” Toby’s mouth shuts and he shoves his hands in his pockets of his black hoodie and nods. “I’ll have my sister pick you up so we can go to the movies or something Friday..” he says reluctantly, still a little convinced that you wouldn’t ever like him.

_________________________________________

- his sister, Lyra, was absolutely glowing when you entered the car, sticking her hand out almost immediately and smiling widely, no one had taken her brother out before, not even giving him respect. So she was over the moon.

- you talked with Lyra a bit, and then turned your attention towards Toby, who was looking at you with softest, most affectionate filled earthy green eyes ever. Sparkling gently. It was like he lit up when he finally realised you were serious, not only serious but getting along with his sister.

- during the movie, you tried very very slowly to grab his hand. He immediately tensed and gasped a tiny bit. But only 20 minutes later he reached out, first with his pinky and then his whole, shaky, scarred hand.

- when you intertwined your fingers, Toby was convinced he never felt more happy, he didn’t even watch the rest of the movie, he was focused on you.

-how your features glowed in the dim light, how you smiled during a happy moment, or gently did your [enter your nervous fidget.] when a tense part came up.

____________________________________________

-when he’s tired of everything going on in his house he’ll bike ride or walk over to your house and taps on the window just to hold you.

- he’ll pull your waist in with his arms and bury his face in your shoulder. Gently kissing it sweetly mumbling “my y/n”

-genuinely wants to cry of happy tears whenever you defend him from bullies.

- finger tip kisses.

-while you two are sitting across from each other in somewhere public, or holding each other in the quiet night, he lifts your intertwined hands, frees your hand and gently kisses your fingertips.

-he can’t really buy you any gifts but he certainly makes you tiny doodles on sticky notes to put in your locker or room.

- his eyes got misty when you first told him you loved him.

-you got him a gold heart locket with your picture in it and yourself one with his picture. He never takes it off and kisses it whenever he misses you.

-late night talks on the rooftop, stargazing, after he ran to your house again in the middle of the night.

-You’re his angel; his light, the love of his life. He can’t stop the thoughts of running away with you whenever he looks at your pretty smile or hears your heavenly laugh.

- “My sweet y/n” “my y/n” “Angel”

-your first kiss is when you two were stargazing, the sweetest, most affectionate kiss ever. Putting your foreheads together first, lacing your fingers, then finally meeting for a soft kiss.

-he runs to you if he sees you in the hallways.

-so, in theory…Toby..💪

____________________________________________

Thanks for reading! I love all of your requests btw🤍.

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[anxiousnerdwritings]

Yan!Severus Snape vs Yan!Sirius Black w/Slytherin!Reader (platonic/romantic)

(Based off this concept)

Part 1: Severus Snape

There wasn’t a single soul that Severus truly cared for other than Lily and he couldn’t fathom anyone even coming close to her in his mind. But he had a change of heart when you came into his life.

In the beginning you had just been another face in the crowd at Hogwarts, but you were in the same house as him, he knew that much. Other than that he didn’t give you much mind, he was too caught up with Lily after all. It hadn’t been till after his fallout with her that he genuinely remembers any interaction with you. It had been during one of the many times James and his idiotic friends had seeked him out and made a fool out of him that he remembers truly noticing you.

You had come to his defense, or rather his rescue really but he’d never admit it even to this day. You threw a few jinxes their way and had them running for the hills, he couldn’t remember ever laughing as much as he had when remembering that moment, if ever. Not only did you humiliate them like they had done to him countless times but the things you said about them after they ran off were just too good to forget.

Of course he had waited until he was all alone before allowing himself a fit of laughter and a small half smile at the events that he’d witnessed. You didn’t look like much, he’d be honest, but you really gave James and Sirius especially a good jinxing. Since that day, Severus had made much more of an effort to pay attention to you.

After everything, you hadn’t mentioned anything from that day. You hadn’t even really interacted with Severus again. He was grateful of that but a small part of him wished or rather hoped that you would have talked to him, even just a measly ‘hello’. But it was for the best, at least that’s what he told himself at first.

Eventually, Severus had started unconsciously scouring the common room for you, it if wasn’t the common room then it was the sea of students making their ways through the halls. It went on a while before he actually caught himself doing it. By the time he had, Severus had already taken to walking closer to you when going to classes or even sitting nearer to you in the dining hall. He never strayed too close for comfort or for you to notice but close enough for him. The more he did it and the longer he got away with it, the bolder he got. Soon enough it became routine following you around, whether it was the library or quidditch practice, Severus was always around wherever you were. It was pretty easy given being part of the same house. It would have been even easier if you two were in the same dorm as well but he didn’t mind just waiting for you in the common room.

He’s completely thrown for a loop when one day you confront him about his behavior. He was under the impression that he had been very subtle in his endeavors, that was his mistake. You deserved much more credit then he first thought, you were a fellow snake after all. Severus did have every intention of talking to you eventually but he wanted to get a feel for who you were before he did invest himself fully into being more than mere housemates or even acquaintances. He wanted to know what you were all about, what he would be getting himself into before taking the plunge. That was reasonable, wasn’t it? He can’t really put his finger on the exact reason why he was acting the way he was. He had only recently caught himself doing it at all but he supposed there had to have been an answer, he just didn’t know what it was yet.

Honestly, Severus would be completely taken aback once he’s realized what he’s been doing all this time, finally settling in exactly how long he’s been sticking just a little too close to you. Why was he acting like this? This certainly wasn’t the norm for him, at least not regarding someone who wasn’t Lily. Was that it? Was he just using you as a replacement for Lily? Or was it something more than that? Did he genuinely want a, dare he say, friendship with you? Was he really willing to open himself up to someone else like that? Well, it had to be something like that otherwise why would he bother doing everything that he was. Even if it was ‘unconsciously’.

From then, Severus and you had become more openly acquainted with one another. He wasn’t quite ready to call you a friend yet, hell he probably never would, at least not vocally and out in the open. But in his mind that’s exactly what you were. You were his friend, a real friend. You weren’t like the other Slytherins, your interactions weren’t based off appearances, status, or anything of that sort. It was easy for him to be around you, unlike everyone else. He didn’t have to pretend or put in any unnecessary effort, something he was quite appreciative of. You didn’t ask anything of him, you didn’t expect anything of him and it was nice.

He wasn’t exactly the talkative type early on and even later he still wasn’t but he talked more in your company than he ever did with anyone else and that was definitely saying something. Even with Lily. And he could speak about whatever when he was with you, even if you didn’t necessarily agree with him, but you didn’t have to and that’s one of the biggest things he found himself enjoying in your friendship acquaintanceship. Neither of you had to agree with the other to be friends, you didn’t have to exactly be on the same page to still be around one another.

After getting to be around you more openly, Severus had truly grown accustomed to it. It became more of a discomfort and oddity for him not to be near your side on the rare occasions he wasn’t. And he despised it. It made him feel vulnerable and left out in the open. But he could tolerate it, for a time. But the second he was able to reclaim his place near you again he was back to feeling content. It hadn’t really been made apparent to him just how much he detested other people around you; talking to you, having your attention on them. Even if they were merely standing or sitting near you without so much as taking up any of your time or energy. He didn’t know why, he didn’t even really know how long that had become an issue in the first place but it very much so was and now he was well aware of it.

Severus especially had a hard time when it came to students from other houses taking up your time and attention. He could be tolerable towards his fellow Slytherins (to an extent) but when it came to anyone, especially the Gryffindors, something deep inside him would make itself known. Particularly regarding a certain few, especially a certain pureblood mutt.

Severus couldn’t believe how long it had taken him to pick up on it but it was right there in front of him. It seemed as though that fateful day you had defended him and garnered his attention, you also piqued the attention of someone else. Someone much more annoying and infuriatingly stubborn.

[dearlenore]

NOW OR NEVER. / T.BRADFORD / SUMMARY - Life is too short for Tim Bradford to not propose..

PAIRING: police!reader x tim bradford / w/c: 1.3k / comfort

a/n: this was such a cute request tysm! / anon’s request here

The weight of the black velvet box burned a hole in Tim’s pocket. He had carried it for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. Waiting for the right time to ask the person he loved to be his fiancée. To spend the rest of their lives together.

It wasn’t nerves that had stopped him. It wasn’t doubt, either. Tim Bradford was a decisive man. He didn’t hesitate when making tactical decisions in the field, and he certainly wasn’t hesitating now. He wanted you. A future with you.

The two of you had been dating for almost a year, and every moment had reinforced that you were the person he wanted by his side. The laughter, the stolen glances, the way you challenged him, called him out on his stubbornness, the way you made him feel like more than just a cop with a tough exterior—it was everything.

So why was he waiting?

Maybe it was because every time he saw you curled up in his hoodie, or laughing at one of his dry jokes, or patching up a scrape he barely noticed from work, he thought, I want this moment to last forever.

He wanted it to be special. He wanted to make sure that when he asked, it was in a moment that reflected just how much he loved you.

He just didn’t know that life had other plans.

Half an hour had passed and Tim was anxiously waiting for you, the soft candle glow only serving to make him more anxious.

You were supposed to meet Tim at a small , lowkey restaurant you’d both fallen in love with downtown. It wasn’t fancy but it was yours. A place where it was just you and him.

Your last text to him wasn’t out of the ordinary either.

Hate to keep ya waiting prince charming, finishing some paperwork , wait for me xoxo

But you’d never shown up.

He sat at the table, checking his watch every few minutes. He tried to push down the nagging feeling creeping up his spine. You were always punctual. Maybe you hit traffic. Maybe you forgot something and had to go back home. Maybe—

Then his phone rang.

“Hello?” He answered, expecting it to be someone from work. Perhaps an update or maybe even you.

“Bradford.” Grey’s voice was tense. “Is y/n with you?”

His heart skipped a beat. “I- I thought she was at work, I’ve been waiting here for 45 minutes.” He glanced down at his watch.

There was a pause.

“Her car is in the parking lot but she left 25 minutes ago and she won’t answer the phone.”

For a moment there was a ringing in his ears, a familiar panic that he’d experienced far too many times. Tim was already standing, throwing cash onto the table as he strode out the door. “I’m on my way.”

By the time he reached the station, his worst fears were creeping in like a slow poison. Your phone was going straight to voicemail. There were no signs of struggle in the parking lot, but your keys were on the ground next to the driver’s side door.

He knew what this meant.

You hadn’t just left. Someone had taken you.

The squad hit the ground running.

Angela and Nyla took lead on digital tracking, while Lucy and Aaron combed through surveillance. Tim paced like a caged animal in the conference room, the ring burning a hole in his jacket.

“She was fine this morning,” Lucy said quietly, her voice cracking. “We got coffee. She was talking about getting a dog. Said you were finally ready.”

Tim nodded, throat too tight to answer. The thought of you—your voice, your laugh, your warmth—ripped something raw inside him.

He was going to propose. Tonight. That wasn’t supposed to be a last chance.

Two days.

That’s how long it took before a break came through—a security cam from a gas station on the outskirts of the city. You. Disoriented. Hurried. A man behind you, hand on your arm.

Tim didn’t wait. He and Angela were out the door in seconds, sirens blaring.

They found the shack twenty minutes later. Deep in an overgrown lot behind an abandoned gas station. A rusted padlock, a sliver of movement inside.

Tim nearly tore the door off the hinges.

And there you were.

Huddled in a corner, blood dried at your temple, eyes glassy with exhaustion. But alive.

“Y/N!” he breathed, voice breaking as he crossed the room and pulled you into him, arms trembling.

Your fingers fisted in his jacket. “Tim…”

“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Back at the hospital, the doctor said you’d be okay.

Bruised, shaken, a minor concussion. Nothing permanent. But the fear—Tim could still feel it in his bones.

You kept looking at him like you weren’t sure he was real. Like maybe he’d vanish if you blinked too long.

So he stayed. Sat beside your bed, held your hand through the night. He didn’t say much—didn’t trust his voice—but he kissed your knuckles every few minutes like a prayer.

It was 4:13 AM when you finally spoke. Quiet. Raw.

“You were gonna propose, weren’t you?”

Tim froze.

Your eyes met his, searching. Not angry. Just tired.

“I saw the ring,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Before they grabbed me. It fell out of your jacket at the precinct. I was going to pretend I didn’t notice.”

Tim exhaled slowly. Ran a hand over his face.

“I was,” he said. “Yeah. That night.”

A long pause. Then: “You still want to?”

The breath whooshed out of him like a punch. “What?”

Your fingers laced with his. Tight. “I don’t want to waste time, Tim. I don’t want to go another night wondering if the last thing I ever said to you was sarcastic.”

He choked out a laugh. “It probably was.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t have the ring. It was still in his locker, where it had been since everything went to hell.

But that didn’t matter.

Tim leaned forward, forehead resting gently against yours. His hands trembled as he cupped your face.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

You blinked, startled.

“I don’t have the ring right now,” he said, “and this isn’t how I wanted to do it, but I’m not waiting another damn second. Life’s too short. Too unpredictable. I almost lost you, and I can’t—I won’t let that happen again without making sure you know how serious I am.”

“Tim—”

“I want forever with you,” he said hoarsely. “Even if forever’s messy and hard and sometimes terrifying. I want it anyway. With you.”

Silence. Then a soft, tearful laugh from your lips.

“You really are a dork.”

He smiled. “Is that a yes?”

You pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like salt and survival and the rest of your life.

The official proposal happened a week later.

You were curled up on the couch in one of his LAPD hoodies, (despite having your own) your legs over his, your head resting on his chest. The scar at your temple was still visible, but healing. And Tim—he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for the small velvet box.

You looked up. “Tim…”

“This time, I’m doing it right.”

He opened the box. Your breath caught.

“I’ve fought bad guys, cartels, and two very angry raccoons in a trash can, but nothing’s ever scared me like almost losing you,” he said. “Marry me, Y/N. Please.”

You kissed him again. “I already said yes.”

“Say it again.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know weather boy.”

[hcsiqs]

Kate being drunk and getting all shy w reader until its time for them to go home and she finds out that reader is her gf and just gets starstruck☹️

| my girl

• pairing: drunk!kate martin x fem! reader

• summary: ^^

• warnings: alcohol lol

i’m obsessed with this idea omg

The entire Iowa team was out celebrating after their win against LSU, over the moon about beating them in Elite Eight.

Kate was had just finished another drink, no one having an idea what number she was at now because of how many she had thrown back. You had kept an eye on her the entire time, but were letting her enjoy herself with her teammates as you stood off to the side talking to Caitlin’s girlfriend for most of the night.

But what you hadn’t realized is how absolutely drunk the blonde was. She had barely came up to you the entire night, which was different from her usual clingy and touchy drunk self. And every time she did come up to you she was shy and her cheeks were bright red.

As you were sat down sipping on a fruity drink while talking to Caitlin’s girlfriend about whatever it was, the Iowa team was encouraging Kate to go talk to you. Most of them dead about the fact that she had seemed to forgotten that y’all were dating and that she had already been through the whole ‘crush’ phase with you.

“Just go!” Jada encouraged with a slight shove as giggles left her lips. Your back was still turned away from the team, not seeing the interaction go down.

“No!” Kate argued back, terrified of your rejection. Plus she knew that she would completely shut down just due to your absolute beauty.

“Dude!” Jada dragged the word out before giving a final shove, making the blonde end up right behind you.

But then you felt someone tap on your shoulder, causing you to turn around. You were relieved when it was just your beautiful girlfriend standing there, but you noticed her avoiding eye contact, something she was usually good with unless she was nervous.

“Hi,” she smiled giving a small wave, “I’m Kate,” she introduced herself to you. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re really pretty,” her words slurred together as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Thank you,” you let out a small laugh, “Don’t know how my girlfriend would feel about you saying that though,” you smiled playing along with her drunken forgetfulness.

“Oh!” her face turned as red as a tomato in that moment, “I’m sorry, so sorry!” she apologized quickly. You could tell she was now completely taken over by nerves as she still stayed looking at you. After a couple of seconds your girlfriend walked back, seeming as though she had been defeated because you were already taken but then only a minute or two later Gabbie and Jada were using all their body strength to push the blonde back over to you.

“Hi,” you smiled at the girl in front of you, taking in her flushed appearance.

“Hi,” she tucked her hair behind her ears, as her eyes found a home looking down at her shoes. You hoped up from your seat so that were now standing in front of her.

“I’m ready to go back to the hotel baby,” you wrapped your arms around the girls torso, bringing her into a hug. Kates arms didn’t wrap around you though. They only ghosted your back, unsure how to respond in this situation.

“Shouldn’t you go back with your girlfriend?” she asked, utter confusion in her voice. And that’s when you realized this wasn’t a joke and she was so drunk she had forgot you two were together and wanted ti flirt but was too shy.

“Kate you are my girlfriend,” you laughed, placing your chin against her chest so you could look up at her.

“What?” her jaw practically dropped. Her blue eyes searching your entire face in all its perfection. “‘m so lucky,” her lips formed into the brightest smile.

“Come on let’s go back to the room,” you pulled out of the hug and reached for her hand. You said bye to everyone, but Kate was solely focused on you and the way you moved. Her large hands had now found their familiar place on your hips as you guided her out the bar.

Once the cold air hit the two of you she placed a kiss on your forehead, her earlier shyness disappearing. “I can’t believe you’re my girlfriend! Like—you’re dating me? That’s so crazy!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way she was so excited to be yours.

“You’re just so pretty. I can’t believe it,” her words were slurred, but that didn’t make it mean any less.

“You’re pretty,” you smiled back at her before going on your toes to leave a simple kiss on her temple.

“You’re my girlfriend,” she giggled and then continued repeating the word ‘girlfriend’ over and over again, never getting enough of it.

allies corner

i hope this lived up to ur expectations!! but this plot is so cutie patootie eeeeee