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pathologicalreid · 28 days ago

Text

lock and key | s.r.

in which an act of violence - and subsequent serious injury - brings the truth to the surface and initiates a change

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: abduction, car accident, knife, stabbing, stabbing with knife, greek mythology, jareau!reader, rewrite of 8x12 "zugzwang" (just because maeve isn't here doesn't mean i'm letting spencer get by trauma-free), the girls who get it, get it, secret relationship, hospitals, not proofread, yes the zugzwang thing gets dropped but that's because it was never the kidnapper it was always the replicator, did i miss something probably but i can't see straight rn word count: 4.86k a/n: i rewrote this entire fic because i decided i didn't like it two hours before it was supposed to go up. and now here we are. almost 5k words later. it's 2:30 a.m. going back to my jareau!reader roots and rewriting an entire episode.

He frowned at the text that you’d just sent him. Just one word, a chess term. Spencer wasn’t entirely sure you knew what it meant, more so, he wasn’t sure why you’d text it to him at seven-thirty in the morning.

He’d expected you to beat him to the office this morning, knowing you left his apartment before the sun had the chance to rise so you could get a fresh change of clothes and repack your go bag. Your apartment was closer to Quantico, so it wasn’t presumptuous of him to assume you would make it there first.

Spencer stood corrected when he walked in, finding your desk completely devoid of your active presence. He looked around for you briefly, knowing you sometimes liked to catch up on sleep in JJ’s old liaison office when you were the first to arrive in the morning, but all he found was your sister, a scowl on her face while she spoke with Hotch in his office.

The two of them noticed him lurking, Hotch opening the door and nodding at him in greeting, “Let’s meet in the roundtable room, Garcia’s waiting for us.”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked, following them around the walkway to the briefing room, only receiving a shake of the head from JJ in response.

Penelope looked disturbed in a way that Spencer hadn’t seen her in years. That much made sense to him, the only reason Hotch would start a briefing before the rest of the team got here was if there was a case that matched the level of urgency. “This morning the FBI system was tripped because Y/N’s location was glitching. It flashed from Los Angeles to Moscow to Cancun until finally settling on an unmarked location somewhere in this general area.”

Spencer frowned, looking at the map that was being displayed on the screen in front of him, “That’s nearly eight hundred miles of ground to cover.”

Sighing, Garcia nodded, “Because of whatever the UnSub did to hack into the locator in her phone, we can’t get an accurate location. I’m working on refining it, but that could take hours.”

A pit settled in Spencer’s chest as he looked over at JJ, a dark, hollow look on her face as she stared at her phone. He couldn’t commiserate with her—nobody knew the two of you were even dating. “JJ,” Hotch spoke up, “You were the last person to see her before you left yesterday, did she say anything about going to meet someone or do anything?”

JJ blinked in confusion, “No, she didn’t tell me about any plans or…” Her voice trailed off, “I think she was seeing someone knew. She’s been acting different, being cagey about plans.”

Blake and Rossi walked into the bullpen, their arrival catching Hotch’s attention as he stepped out of the roundtable room to speak with them. Spencer followed, “Hotch.”

“I know, Reid,” he said, holding his hand up in a waiting gesture. Of course, he did, because in your tirade to hide your relationship from the general public, you had insisted on telling Hotch, wanting to get the HR paperwork out of the way.

Spencer sighed, the pit in his chest growing exponentially as he turned back into the roundtable room, slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Garcia, “I got a text this morning from Y/N,” he explained, his eyes following his teammates as they filtered into the room. “It came in after her phone’s location was hacked.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at Spencer, “Why would she text you first thing in the morning?”

He shrugged in response, “I’m not entirely sure,” he half-lied. “I do know what the word used in the message means. Zugzwang. It’s the term used in chess when a player realizes they’ll inevitably be checkmated.”

“When did the two of them break up?” Hotch asked, looking over at JJ for the answer to his question.

They were headed to speak with your ex-boyfriend, there was nothing they had found that would implicate him in your disappearance, but it was the best chance they had at a lead. Spencer bit his tongue to stop himself from revealing the answer.

JJ hummed, “A while ago, a year maybe? She didn’t really talk about it, one day, she just stopped bringing him up.”

Sixteen months, nearly to the date, it was a few days past at that point since the night you’d called Spencer in tears, needing him to pick you up from the same house that the SUV was pulling up to now. The two of you had been together for nearly a year, on and off again, before he finally snapped.

Some of the things he said to you were things that you’d never repeated, even to Spencer. Pulling into the driveway made him feel sick to his stomach as he recalled the way you cried in his apartment that night.

“Reid?” JJ’s voice broke through his reminiscence, she had already gotten out of the car, standing outside and waiting for Spencer to step out before the three of them approached the porch.

He reached into his pocket for his credentials, staying at the back of the pack while Hotch knocked on the door before pulling his badge out. Your ex-boyfriend opened the door, “Hello?” He was confused, rightfully so—it wasn’t every day that a group of FBI agents showed up at your front door. He eyed Hotch and JJ before he met Spencer’s eyes. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, “You.”

Hotch’s head snapped to the side, glaring at Spencer for a moment before facing forward, “Garrett Graves?” The Unit Chief’s voice was commanding, staring at your ex with a preconceived notion that your relationship had fallen apart because of him. He was the leader of the team, and he took any attack against the members of his team personally.

“Yes?” He said, obviously bewildered at the sight of the agents on his porch, “Where’s Y/N?”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, JJ looked up at Garrett, “That’s what we’d like to ask you.”

Spencer had to give him credit, Garrett looked absolutely stunned at your sister’s revelation, but nothing that Spencer knew about him led him to believe he’d act innocent if he was truly guilty. He had the personality type that would confess to the abduction but lead the BAU on a wild goose chase from an interrogation room.

No, the person who had you didn’t want to be caught, and he didn’t want the team to find you. This interview would be a waste of his time, there was absolutely no information about you that Garrett could provide. Spencer knew every important, esoteric detail about you—your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t have anything useful for him.

Garrett peered back at Spencer, “I’m sure anything you want to know, he can tell you,” he said, bitterness altering his tone.

Hotch looked over his shoulder to Spencer, “Why don’t you sit this one out?”

Ignoring the fact that he had just been told to kick rocks, Spencer retreated to the SUV, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the passenger door while JJ and Hotch were invited inside the house. He hoped you weren’t somewhere outside, the temperatures dropped to below freezing at night this time of year, and he didn’t remember you wearing a jacket when you left his apartment this morning.

Finally alone—away from your sister, at least—Spencer had a moment to process the reality of his situation. You were missing, likely abducted as a result of your job, and he didn’t even have an exact time to go off. His chest felt tight in a way it hadn’t in years, the sheer joy of knowing he had you in his life felt like it was fading away because he didn’t have you. He had no idea where you were, and for a brief moment, he considered the fact that the loss of you might kill him too.

You were the only one who knew how to bring him back down to earth anymore. Snapping him back to reality whenever he started to spiral.

This time, the sound of his phone ringing pulled him out of his Charybdis of fear, “Hello,” he answered the phone, holding the device to his ear as he pretended the last five minutes of thought had never happened.

“Hey, kid,” Derek greeted over the phone, an unavoidable solemn note in his voice. “Garcia managed to track down Y/N’s car, it’s down on a side street, it looks like she was avoiding the highway.”

Spencer looked down at his shoes, “The exit that she needs to take to get to her apartment closes for construction at night.” The explanation flew from his mouth before he could remember that he wasn’t supposed to know that, but his brain was moving at an altered pace right now, unable to think past anything other than finding you.

The other line was silent for a moment, “Right,” Derek said doubtfully. “It looks like someone rear-ended her,” he noted, the sound of cars rushing by cluing Spencer into the traffic.

“That time of night on that road it would’ve needed to be on purpose, there’s no reason to be following someone that closely on an empty street,” Spencer processed the information, pulling up a map in his head of the area where your car was. “So, it was a bump and grab,” Spencer thought aloud, it wasn’t a particularly sophisticated crime, but with all of the other evidence, he hadn’t expected it to be.

Morgan reaffirmed his suspicions, “I’m surprised she wasn’t more on edge that early in the morning. What do you think she was doing all the way out here anyway?”

His stomach churned; you had been leaving his apartment. It was his fault you had been out there at that time. “It was early, her inhibitions were down, she was probably tired,” he rambled off. “Besides, you heard JJ, she thinks she has a boyfriend,” he bit out.

“Uh huh,” Derek responded, “And what do you think about that?”

Leaning his head back, Spencer stared at the sky, “Did you find her phone? Was it in the car?”

There was no way Derek didn’t get why Spencer ignored his question, but he moved on anyway, “Yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s no sign of that text message.”

Another mystery to add to the plethora, Spencer closed his eyes and sighed, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Kid,” Derek said, stopping Spencer from hanging up, “Why did the text go to you and not JJ? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

Spencer paused, staring at the backs of his eyelids, “I’m not sure.” His answer, at least, was mostly truthful. It would make sense for the message to have gone to JJ, but JJ wouldn’t have understood the meaning.

That meant the person who sent the message likely knew about you and Spencer’s relationship, and that did very little to comfort him.

Helpless was not a term that Spencer liked to use to describe himself, but as the orange glow of the sunset sept into the BAU, he was beginning to feel that way. You were still missing, and with every passing moment, Spencer knew that the statistics grew increasingly bleak.

Stepping away from his computer monitor, Spencer made his way to the bathroom, he didn’t need to use it, but the silent hum of the fan was better than the constant chattering in the bullpen. Everyone imaginable had been pulled in on this case, everyone wanting to pitch in to find a missing FBI agent, but not for the first time, Spencer wished everyone would just shut up.

Turning on the tap, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed his face, focusing the cold water on his eyes, hoping they could hone his focus. He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it into his face as the door swung open, the familiar tapping of boots sounded from behind him until they stopped.

“You know, from my count, it’s been about eight months,” Rossi said, meeting Spencer’s eyes in the mirror, his hands in his pockets as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

Sighing, Spencer turned off the water, “Nine,” he corrected, foregoing his usual habit of providing more precise time frame. He wasn’t surprised that Rossi had it figured out, he always did, but still, he asked, “How did you figure it out?”

Rossi shrugged, watching as Spencer moved to throw away the paper towel, “I am very good at my job.”

Spencer laughed, a mixture between a laugh and a scoff as he looked in the mirror just to find that he still looked like a disaster. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he confessed, the first time he had let his desolation truly show to any member of the team.

“You’re gonna go back out there, and we are gonna do what we do best,” Rossi insisted, “We help the people who need us.”

Nodding, Spencer took a deep breath before heading back out to the bullpen, following Penelope through the glass doors as the technical analyst made her way over to JJ. It shouldn’t bother him that everyone went to JJ first, but it did, even though no one knew any better. “Does the last name Delphino mean anything to you?”

JJ frowned in response, “No, why—should it?”

His lips parted, not worrying about holding himself back, “Paul Delphino is the name of Y/N’s next-door neighbor.”

Garcia made a dinging noise, quickly moving on to continue her explanation, “Paul Delphino did not show up for work this morning. Why is this significant? His family, the Delphinos, owns a lot of commercial property in the DMV and a suspicious 911 call just came in from one of those properties stating that there’s a light on in a building that is slated for demolition tomorrow. The caller said they heard screaming coming from the building.”

Hotch looked around at the team, “Morgan contact SWAT. JJ, Morgan, you’re with me, Blake, Reid, with Rossi. Garcia, send the address to our phones.” Everyone was already moving as he distributed orders, heading to the elevator, and getting one step closer to you.

He’s been watching you for months. From the exact moment he moved into the apartment next to yours, Paul declared himself your soulmate. You recognized his name when you first met, and it came up in one of your late-night Wikipedia binges. Paul Delphino was a member of a disturbingly wealthy family, up until his parents disowned him for suspicious cash transactions.

Your head hurt like hell, drips of blood were encrusted along your hairline, and you were fairly convinced that you were dying. Your vision blurred around the edges when you followed the noise of your captor around the room with your eyes, your body slightly suspended in the air by your arms, standing on your tiptoes to prevent too much strain on your shoulders.

Seeking comfort in your memory, you remembered this morning, kissing your sleepy boyfriend as he tiredly asked you to stay, but you needed to go back to your own apartment. You told him you loved him, which was the truth, but you needed a morning with your things.

If needing a morning with your things led to an untimely demise, then at least the last thing you told Spencer was that you loved him.

Long, unending scratches ran down your arms and legs, they weren’t deep enough to scar, but as they scabbed over, they began to itch. Cuts and scrapes weren’t going to kill you, but the knife in your abdomen likely would.

You tried to keep yourself as still as possible, your personal experience with stab wounds was lackluster, but you knew that the blade could be preventing any further bleeding. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful that Paul couldn’t get it up, seeing as he elected to stab you for a sexual release.

The black of your t-shirt concealed any blood on your torso, so you weren’t sure exactly how much blood you’d lost, but judging by the way the world was losing its color, things weren’t looking good for you.

You breathed out slowly through your nose, watching Paul pace back and forth in front of you, faint lantern light being the only thing illuminating whatever hellscape you were in. “Paul,” you said, your voice nearly a gasp, “I need help.”

At this point, you had no idea what your plan was, seriously considering asking him to let you heal so that he could come back and stab you again in a few weeks. What else did you have to offer him? He scoffed in response, continuing his pacing until his steps faltered and he stalked over to you, causing you to flinch. “Did you call them?”

You groaned in pain, “Who the fuck could I have called?” You yelped like a wounded animal when he pulled the knife from your stomach.

He pointed the knife at your face, the metallic tang of your own blood filling your nostrils as you fought off a wave of nausea. “Why would you call the FBI on me?”

Tears flooded your eyes at his words. My sister’s here, you thought to yourself. Spencer’s here. “I didn’t,” you choked out, trying to remember how to breathe while you were dying.

Paul’s head snapped to look behind him, the rustling of SWAT and agents scaring him enough that he dropped the knife to the floor before taking off, leaving you alone in the room for someone to find.

Grunting, you tried to free your hands on your own, but you no longer had the physical strength to do anything except for hang. Tipping your head back in an attempt to keep your airway open, you called out, “JJ!”

You never thought the sight of your sister’s blonde ponytail would make tears run down your face, but as soon as she made her way into the room, saltwater left marks on your blood-stained face. “He went that way,” you jutted your head to the side, watching as the people in front of you stayed true to themselves. JJ ran off to chase Paul, and Spencer holstered his weapon to help you down.

“Hey,” he whispered, holding you while a SWAT member used a knife to undo your restraints, and Spencer caught you before your legs had a chance to give out.

You looked around the room, Morgan had gone with JJ to play cat and mouse, but Blake stayed behind with Spencer while they tried to get you sorted out. Everyone else would panic, announcing to the rest of the room that you were seemingly very slowly bleeding out would send the space into a frenzy, so you didn’t.

Spencer draped an FBI jacket over your shoulders, one of the spares that was kept in the SUVs.

“I need help,” you mumbled, your lips barely parting as you tried to save your strength to walk to an ambulance. “Spence,” you gasped, using your own hand to apply pressure to the wound.

He nodded, instinctively pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I know.” His voice was tight, and you hated yourself for doing this to him.

Groaning, you shook your head, “I’m bleeding,” you murmured, watching as realization set into his features, wavering between horror and determination, Spencer nodded at you.

“Reid?” Blake called after the two of you, now noticing the drops of blood that were where you were standing, now being tracked through the building by your shuffling footsteps.

Spencer didn’t answer her, his attention was entirely on you as he kept you upright, bringing you closer and closer to the flashing lights of the ambulance. The cold of the night burned your nose as the fresh air gave you a new sense of determination, matching Spencer’s. “I’m sorry,” you told him, but you weren’t sure he could even hear you as you approached the ambulance.

“You need to get her to a hospital,” Spencer insisted once the EMTs were in earshot, his chest heaving as your feet dragged more and more with every step. “Please,” he begged them, helping you onto a stretcher before hauling himself into the rig, a one-track mind thinking of nothing else other than getting you the help that you need.

Fifty-fifty were the odds that you gave yourself once you found a firm enough grasp on consciousness. There was a fifty percent chance you were going to open your eyes and be met with the harsh fluorescence of a hospital. There was a fifty percent chance that bastard Minos was going to send you straight to the Fields of Punishment.

You changed your bets once the scent of antiseptic burned your nostrils, you flinched at the smell, earning some soft shushing from the person on the other side of your eyelids. Sighing, you open your eyes just a sliver, “Hey, J,” you greeted her, your voice raspy from lack of use and probably a breathing tube.

Hospitals made your stomach churn, hunger and blood loss certainly contributed to the feeling as you tried to reorient yourself with the land of the living. “Hi, Ducky,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly, “You’re okay.”

Humming, you closed your eyes again, being awake in stages, “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” you murmured, smiling softly. “I feel like shit,” you groaned, trying to shift in the bed just to be met with a shooting pain in your abdomen. Pieces of the puzzle started coming back to you.

“The doctors said you were really lucky, the knife didn’t hit any organs or blood vessels,” he told you, giving you an update on your condition. Waking up in hospitals always gave you an odd feeling, being surrounded by a group of people who knew more about how you were doing than you did.

Frowning, you let your eyes flutter open, “Yeah, lucky,” you breathed. “That’s exactly how I feel right now.”

JJ smoothed some of your hair away from your forehead, “He’s dead, Ducky.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Did you shoot him?”

She shrugged slyly, “I let Morgan take the shot.”

That was a lie you let her get away with. If JJ had been the one to shoot Paul, there likely would’ve been an investigation opened because of your familial tie—Strauss would’ve had her hands all over that one. This way, there was no question about ethics. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, “I’m…” your voice trailed off as you noticed someone else in the corner of the room.

Following your gaze, JJ looked confused, “He hasn’t moved all night.” Spencer was almost comedically folded in a hospital chair, his wrist bent beneath his chin as he slept. “He rode with you to the hospital, and I’m not sure—”

“I’m in love with him,” you cut her off mid-sentence. You watched your sister’s confusion morph into shock as she looked from you to Spencer and back again. “Spencer and I have been dating for the last nine months, and we haven’t told anyone. It wasn’t because we wanted to keep anyone in the dark or because we didn’t want you to know, we just liked having something that was ours.”

Surprise was clear on her face while she searched her mind for clues into what you were telling her. You could tell she was thinking, you recognized her thinking face as well as you would if you were looking in a mirror. “You and Spencer?”

You nodded stiffly, moving your upper lip to adjust your nasal cannula, “Yeah. Me and Spencer.”

“So, when I tried to pin the two of you together last fall… you were already together?” She asked, recalling a night spent as a team at O��Keefe’s.

Giving her a lopsided smile, you held your hands out in mock surrender, “Yeah,” you echoed.

She just continued staring at you up until her phone rang, she apologized to you before picking it up, greeting Will over the phone, and stepping out into the hallway.

You tilted your head to the side, getting a better look at Spencer sleeping in the chair, “Spence,” you called out to him, remembering that you’re in a hospital and raising your voice is frowned upon, even as a patient. “Spencer,” you crooned, trying to wake him up without startling him.

He didn’t so much as budge, you tried again, but when he didn’t stir, you had to turn to violence.

With an aching arm, you grabbed a pen from the table attached to your hospital bed and flung it at him, gasping when the pen hit him in the head. His eyes opened, looking at you groggily as he stretched out his wrist.

“Hey,” he said, instantly over his irritation of being pelted with a BIC pen, “You’re up.” Spencer looked around the room noting no sign of your sister before he took her seat at your bedside, “You look good.”

You laughed slightly, the movement felt good spiritually, but physically it pulled at your stitches. “I look like shit,” you corrected him, you didn’t even need a mirror to know that.

Spencer smiled at you fondly, fingers carefully dancing along your hairline. His touch was tentative like he was afraid a single touch would break you, “You’ve certainly looked better,” he admitted.

The grin that bloomed on your face felt foreign after a day of pain, but it relieved you to stretch those muscles. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, noticing the way his hand faltered in its movements.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded you, not even sure which it he was referring to, he simply wanted to know you weren’t to blame for any of it.

You hummed, adjusting yourself on your pillows, “But I took advantage of you.”

In response, Spencer reached out a hand, placing the back of it on your forehead, checking for a fever as if you weren’t hooked up to a vital monitor.

Swatting his hand away, you looked at him solemnly, “No, I took advantage of your rational minds when I asked you for help outside of the warehouse. I made the decision to ask you because I knew you would help me first and panic second.”

“Honey,” Spencer said, gingerly moving strands of hair off of your forehead, “You are severely underestimating my abilities if you think I wasn’t panicking while I was helping you.”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, looking at him, “I wanna go home,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looked at you sadly, “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll bring you home and unpack the first load of your things in my place. You can sit on the couch and tell me where everything goes.”

“Spencer,” you said, gentle chide in your tone.

Your boyfriend hummed, “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you keep living in that apartment, did you?”

Honestly, you hadn’t had the time for the thought to cross your mind, but Spencer had always thought you lived in a bad part of town. He was right, of course, but this was a lot to digest all at once. “You don’t have to; I can just find a new apartment.”

He leaned over the bed, “It’s too late. I already asked Penelope to come over this weekend and help me go through my closet and dresser.”

“Did you tell her?” You asked him, reaching a hand up and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

Spencer shook his head, “No, but I suppose we’ll have to.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you raised your eyebrows, “Well, I told JJ.” You informed him of the fact that you’d abrogated the seal of silence on your relationship.

“Rossi knows,” he told you like it should’ve been news to you.

You shrugged, “He figured it out months ago. I thought you knew that.”

Your boyfriend frowned, “How would I have known that?”

“He profiled us, it’s like reverse profiling,” you explained.

Spencer chuckled softly, “You’re right, my mistake.” His brown eyes shimmered as he took your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

He never took his eyes off of you, watching you like a hawk at every moment—you weren’t even sure he was blinking properly. “What’s still bothering you?”

Shaking his head, he dismissed your question immediately. You felt safe with him, when your sister returned to the doorway, she faltered at the sight in front of her. Spencer was resting his head on your hospital bed, softly chatting to you about sea otters while your eyes fluttered shut.

Before you fell asleep, she raised her eyebrows and held up a thumbs up, asking if you were okay.

A brief nod in response was all you needed, smiling at her softly while she went back to her phone call.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober #jareau!reader

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ellecdc · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I've never done an ask before, so I'm sorry if it's not good. You don't have to do this if you don't want to, I won't care.

I just want something to do with Remus when it's near the full moon, like a day before, and he's just all protective of potter!reader and won't even James near her. Sorry if it's bad.

hi there! it's not a bad request at all! I'm actually such a sucker for this trope (as you probably all know from this, this and this), that I took this in a different direction to try and avoid rewriting the same plot again [though I happily would!] ALSO I made this background prongsfoot I'm sorry [no I'm not]

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader who cannot be contained [795 words]

CW: siblings, everyone loves Remus, possessive Remus, I'm still struggling a bit with writers block so hopefully this isn't too terrible!

“Jamie please, for the love of all that is good in this world, hide me.” You squealed as you held onto your brother's ankles in a death grip and peered up at him from beneath the table you were currently crouched under with what you hoped to be your best puppy dog expression.

“Why’re you hiding from your boyfriend this time, Trouble?” Sirius drawled as he bent down to peer at you from your brother's other side.

You made a desperate sound in the back of your throat that sounded suspiciously close to a whine.

“You know how he gets this close to the moon.” You hissed urgently; every second your brother was not handing you the invisibility cloak and map, a second closer you were to being locked up in the boys dormitory for the next foreseeable future.

Were there worse things to be than held captive by your sweet, doting, lovely boyfriend? Absolutely, there were.

But- “and what? You Potter’s can’t be contained?” Sirius teased, interrupting your internal dialogue. “Is that it?”

“You know that’s it, you sod!” You spat as you swatted at his calf, earning you a retaliatory kick from your brother.

“Oi! Just because you’re mad at your boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to be mean to mine.”

“I’m not mad at my boyfriend, Jamie, I-”

“Better not be,” your brother muttered peevishly. “Moony is a delight.”

You let out an indignant scoff and levelled him with as severe a glare as you could muster from your place under the table. “If you like him so much, why don’t you volunteer to be held captive for the next few nights?” You sneered.

James slammed his hands on the table top and bent himself nearly in half to glare right back at you. “Don’t tempt me, bug; Moony is a fine specimen of a man and one would be lucky to be shacked up with him.”

“I’m right here, Prongs.” Sirius sighed as he flipped to a new page of the Daily Prophet with a flourish.

“Was I wrong?” James asked in bemusement.

“Well…no, but I’m still sitting right here.”

“James, please.” You begged again.

“Is Remus even really that bad?” Lily asked from behind you, causing Sirius to scoff.

“You don’t know the half of it, Red.”

“He won’t even let James near me.” You explained tiredly, realising your mistake only when your response was met with silence.

“James… Fleamont… Potter, don’t you dare.”

“OI! REM!” He shouted over the Great Hall, and you launched yourself up at your brother from under the table - banged heads be damned - as you tackled him to the ground.

“You squealer, you are so dead!”

“Moony- ow, Merlin’s tits - deserves better than you!”

“James!” Remus scolded then as he simply lifted you from your place atop your brother. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“He’s horrid, Rem.” You pouted then, relishing in the disbelieving expression adorning James’ face.

“You witch; she-”

“James, grow up.” Remus muttered then, pulling you tight against his body.

“She was just hiding from you, Moony! She was trying to evade your- your… nesting tendencies!” He accused defensively, causing Remus to snort.

“As she does every month. Is that all?”

James made a desperate sound from the back of his throat as he looked at the two of you in disbelief. “You knew she was hiding from you?”

“Potter’s are notoriously difficult to keep contained and Remus is a smart bloke; it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, babe.” Sirius drawled from his place on the bench, still casually reading his newspaper as if his boyfriend hadn’t nearly been victimised by his own sister.

“Dove, you whacked your head hard… are you okay?” Remus murmured at you then, and you grimaced as you brought a hand to a point on your head that was starting to pulse a little bit.

“It really hurt, Moons; I think it’s gonna leave a bump.”

“Well yeah.” He cooed at you at the same time James muttered a petulant ‘good’.

“Jamie, I love you, but if you start a fight with Moony, you are on your own.”

“I’ll ice it for you in our dorm, yeah?” Remus whispered as he pressed a kiss to your hair beside the forming lump as everyone ignored their squawking friend, boyfriend, and brother.

And James had to watch from the stone floor of the Great Hall as you simply allowed Remus to guide you towards the exit by a gentle hand on the small of your back as you offered him a two-fingered salute behind you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” He screeched.

Sirius sighed as he finally turned his unimpressed gaze to James. “You should’ve given her the map and cloak, Jamie.”

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textmel8r · 6 months ago

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try.

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak.

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass.

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail.

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in.

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance.

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips.

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him.

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.”

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around.

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now.

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other.

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle.

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline.

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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rufflebuttercup · 6 months ago

Text

romance analysis unit | spencer reid

summary: you like spencer. spencer likes you. somehow, you're the only ones on the team who can't see it - and that calls for some BAU intervention.

a/n: i had a bit of an impulsive moment and decided to delete my old blog (vintagecarat) because i wanted a redo, so if you've seen a variation of this fic before, it’s not been stolen - i promise! this is my favourite x reader i've ever written, so i had to rewrite it, of course!

enjoy the fic, and have a fantastic day! <3 requests are open!

note(s): gn!reader & no pronouns used, mention of alcohol, mention of canon-typical violence, reader gets hurt, mentions of blood, one bed trope

word count: 5,173

One year, seven months and sixteen days. That's how long it had been since you'd started working at the BAU.

One year, seven months and nine days. That's how long it had been since you'd realized that you had a sickeningly huge crush on Spencer Reid.

It had been a long time since you'd had a crush. The last time had been in elementary school, and you'd been convinced that you were in love with the boy who sat two seats to the left of you in class. He’d gone on to marry your best friend and leave you with a broken heart. In hindsight, though, you were only five.

You'd fallen for people before, and you'd had a string of partners in the past, but it had been such a long time since you'd felt the way you did when you looked at Spencer. Seeing him smile made your heart thud erratically in your chest. Hearing him ramble made you smile in the giddiest and most euphoric way possible. Feeling his fingers brush against yours whenever he handed you your morning coffee made your brain turn to mush and left you unable to form a coherent sentence for at least ten minutes. You were trying your hardest to break that last habit, though.

Your crush on Spencer quickly became a topic that you knew you wanted to keep a secret from the rest of the team. The last thing you needed was all of your progress as the newest team member to be weighed down by a crush that made you blush and giggle like a child.

During a particularly wild night out with the team, though, your plan to keep your crush on Spencer a secret went flying out of the nearest window, along with any shred of dignity you had remaining after drinking one too many shots. It had been a miracle that Spencer hadn't been there at the exact moment the words spouted from your lips. At least you had your drunk self to thank for something, you supposed.

Penelope had been the first one you'd told. Definitely a foolish move on your part, but you were too drunk in the moment to make any logical decisions. Emily and JJ had gone to the bar to get more drinks - "another round of shots", Emily had screamed before dragging JJ away - leaving you and Penelope alone to guard the table in the corner. She was the one who'd brought up the conversation, and naturally, you'd followed along without a care in the world. If there was anything good to come of the situation, then it was the look on Penelope’s face. You wished you’d taken a picture of her expression as the words tumbled from your mouth.

Penelope couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and once she knew, it was only a matter of time before Emily and JJ knew. She’d screamed so loudly that you’d almost gotten kicked out of the bar for causing a disturbance.

"Place your bets," Emily had shouted over the pounding bass music, slamming a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, "How long until Garcia tells Morgan?"

It barely even took an hour. Emily ended up winning her own bet.

Derek had practically cornered you at your desk the next time he saw you in the bullpen, failing miserably to hide the smirk on his face as he showed you his phone and the babbling, completely unintelligible, texts from Penelope.

With the alcohol out of your system and the devastating hangover a painful memory, you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole. Maybe you could quit, or request a transfer, or simply disappear to the other side of the country and become a recluse in the wilderness. Wishful thinking, of course.

From that moment on, you noticed that the rest of the team was messing with you. You didn’t have any proof, but you were sure of it. You’d enter the conference room to find that the only seat remaining was next to Spencer. You’d find yourself paired up with Spencer more often during cases. You and Spencer would frequently be the last two members left in the bullpen at the end of the day.

It wasn't as if you particularly minded. You and Spencer were best friends. You had been from the moment you'd walked into the bullpen on your first day and immediately made a comment about the book he was reading. You were used to being around him more often than not, but it was a lot harder to act as if nothing had changed when you were on edge 90% of the time. You were always wondering if he knew anything about the crush you had on him, or if someone else was about to blurt out the secret that you were trying so desperately hard to keep hidden. You couldn't bring it up because you'd either out yourself or you'd be forced to have a conversation that you were sure would end in rejection.

It was an endless cycle, and you hated it.

You were in the bullpen with Dave, perched on the edge of your desk as he rattled off his famous carbonara recipe. You’d always wanted to be a better cook, and Dave had promised you that he'd teach you, even though he really didn't want you burning his kitchen down to the ground.

“Okay, so, do you add the cheese and the egg together, or separately?”

“You combine the egg first, and then you add the cheese.”

“Oh. Right. So…”

It was at that moment that Derek decided to sidle over to the conversation, perching himself on your desk beside you with an all-too familiar smirk on his face.

“Since when have you been interested in learning how to cook?” he gave you a not-so-subtle nudge.

You shot Derek a glare, “Derek. Don't.”

"Unless you were planning a date for pretty boy over there.”

He nodded his head in Spencer's direction, and you couldn't help but follow his eyes. It was automatic. The sight of Spencer pouring pretty much the entire jar of sugar into his coffee made you smile, but it was definitely an expression you wiped off your face when you heard Derek's laughter.

“I swear to God, Derek…”

“Guys,” JJ interrupted, entering the bullpen with a case file in hand, “We've got a case.”

“Is it bad?”

JJ simply grimaced.

“Of course it is,” you said with a sigh, hopping off your desk. Derek was still failing to hide his laughter beside you, and you swatted at him, “Shut up, Derek.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“You didn't have to.”

It didn’t surprise you at all to see that the seat beside Spencer was the only one available. As you slid into it, you caught Emily smirking at you from across the table, though she was clearly trying to hide it. You shook your head at her, though you couldn’t stop a tiny smile from ghosting over your lips as you focused your attention onto the case file in your hands.

ꨄ︎

It always seemed as though every case at the BAU was worse than the last one.

You’d all been called to a small town in Wyoming after a frantic call from the police department. Three victims had been found in the town’s frozen lake with anchors tied to their ankles to keep them below the surface. A fourth victim had gone missing, and there was no doubt that she’d end up like the others if she wasn’t found. It was a horrifying fact that everybody knew, but nobody wanted to admit.

It was later, almost 11 pm, and you were no closer to solving the case than you had been when you’d first arrived. It was as if the unsub was always three steps ahead of you, and it was frustratingly annoying. You’d spent a good portion of the afternoon scouring through decade old case files. The lead detective was convinced that it was related to a similar case that had happened in the 1990s. You hadn’t found any striking similarities between the two and you were beginning to wonder if there would be any at all. He was clutching at straws, desperately trying to close the case as quickly as possible. You couldn’t fault him for that.

Just as the words on the case file were beginning to blur into one large amalgamation, a gentle hand landed on your shoulder, “Hey,” JJ said, “We’re all heading to the hotel.”

“You go ahead,” you waved dismissively, stifling a yawn, “I’m going to finish looking over these files, and…”

“Hotch’s orders,” she cut you off, “You need a break. We all do.”

You looked to the doors of the precinct and saw the rest of the team ready to leave, muttering amongst themselves in a tired conversation. Aaron raised his eyebrows, almost expectantly, at you.

“Alright,” you didn’t bother trying to hide another yawn, “I’m coming.”

JJ smiled softly at you, almost dragging you to your feet because of how exhausted you were. It didn’t really feel as if your brain was in control of your body as you padded after her. You’d been so caught up in the details of the case that you hadn’t realized how tired you truly were. The sudden rush of air that hit you as you exited the building made you even drowsier.

“You look exhausted,” Spencer chuckled as he helped you into the SUV with a gentle hand on the small of your back that almost made you combust right then and there, "I've seen you tired, but this is another level."

You simply made a little grunt in response. You didn't have enough energy to come up with one of your usual witty comebacks. You clumsily collapsed into your seat, and you leaned your head back against the headrest as your eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn't too long of a drive to the hotel, but that didn't stop you from catching a quick power nap during the brief moment of peace. You couldn't get Spencer out of your head. Or, more specifically, that hand on the small of your back. He'd never touched you like that before. Ever. It was sending your brain spiraling, to be honest.

“We’re here,” Spencer’s voice filtered into your ear as he gently shook your shoulder, “Wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open, and you glanced to your left. After a moment, your eyes came back into focus, and it hit you that your head was leaning on Spencer’s shoulder, “Oh,” you quickly sat up, though you almost choked as the seat belt snapped you back against the seat, “Sorry.”

You were so very glad that most of the team weren’t in the same SUV as the two of you because they’d never let you hear the end of it. The only other person was Aaron, and as you caught his eye in the rearview mirror, you could tell that he was trying not to uncharacteristically laugh at you. You did your best to ignore him, which wasn’t exactly easy when your face began to burn with a familiar wave of heat that you’d grown accustomed to.

That chuckle of Spencer’s that you loved so much and made your heart do flip-flops in your chest echoed in your ears, “It’s fine. You clearly needed it. And I do make an excellent pillow.”

You snorted out a laugh, and you gave him a shove as you climbed out of the car beside him, “Shut up.”

The rest of the team were all waiting beside the front desk with their bags as you and Spencer entered. Even though you made sure to look in any other direction, you definitely saw the subtle smirks Derek and Emily were shooting you out of the corner of your eye.

Aaron finished his hushed conversation with the receptionist, and with a curt nod, he moved back over to the rest of the team with key cards in his hand, “They don’t have enough rooms for all of us. Looks like we’re doubling up.”

If Spencer noticed the subtle smirks and side glances from the rest of the team, he never mentioned them.

Instead, he nudged your shoulder, “We’re sharing, right?”

“Of course, we’re sharing. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you took the key card Aaron was holding out to you, and you couldn’t help but notice his lips twitching up into a tiny little-half smirk. You brushed it off, though, “I’m sleeping on the bed nearest the window this time.”

“That’s not fair,” Spencer followed you as you made your way to the elevator, “I like sleeping near the window.”

“No. Not happening. You slept near the window last time.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as the elevator shot up to your designated floor. Your eyes wandered around the small space, and you found yourself looking anywhere other than at Spencer. You weren’t an anxious person, and it wasn’t as if being alone with Spencer was a new thing to you, but your mind was racing. All because of that one small gesture. His hand on the small of your back. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, and you wished you could because it was making your cheeks burn.

“Even the elevators are fancy,” you muttered, casting a quick glance around the elevator’s plush and yet miniscule interior, “For a small town, they sure do have nice hotels.”

Things really were dire when you started making small talk. You were the type of person who could make a mountain out of a molehill with how much you talked. You almost rivaled Spencer with how much you could babble on. Small talk wasn’t your thing at all.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Hm?”

“You hate small talk,” Spencer said, and you bit back a laugh at that. It was as if you and Spencer were on the same wavelength sometimes, “And you’re picking at the hole in your sweater. You only ever do that when you’ve got something on your mind.”

You immediately glanced down at your hands, dropping them from your sweater as if it burned. You hadn’t even realized you’d been picking at the hole until Spencer mentioned it. You hadn’t even realized that there was a hole at all. Your bottom lip jutted out in a quick pout, “I love this sweater.”

Spencer chuckled at that, “So,” he continued, “You’re clearly nervous about something. And it’s not the case, because cases never make you nervous.”

“Really?” you said, a hint of laughter creeping into your tone, “You’re analyzing me?”

The elevator reached your floor, and the doors opened with a loud ding, “I’m not analyzing,” Spencer stepped out, “I’m simply making an astute observation.”

“Okay, well stop astutely observing me,” you followed after him, “Don’t worry. I’m fine. You know I’d tell you, “ it wasn’t necessarily a lie. Maybe you’d tell him. Eventually.

Spencer glanced back at you briefly as if he didn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth, but he never said anything. Instead, he took the keycard from you and held it against the lock, waiting for the light to turn green before pushing open the door, “Oh.”

“What?” you sidestepped around him, “Oh.”

There was only one bed. Sure, it was a double, but it was still tiny. It was in that moment that you decided perhaps becoming an unsub wouldn’t be a lost cause.

“I’ll take the couch.”

“I can sleep on the couch.”

You and Spencer finished your sentences at the same time, and you turned to look at each other. As soon as you locked eyes, you both started to laugh at the stupidity of the situation.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch either,” you argued, “It’ll kill your back, Spence. You’re way too tall.”

“It’s not fair on you, though. You’ll…” Spencer was about to argue some more, but he stopped when he saw the look on your face. Spencer couldn’t argue his way out of a wet paper bag - when it came to you, at least.

“Look, Spence. It’s fine,” you dropped your bag onto the couch before he could protest, “There. Easy. No harm done.”

Spencer frowned, but he reluctantly put his own bag on the bed, “Fine. We’re swapping tomorrow night, though,” he told you, almost ordering you, “You’re not sleeping on the couch the entire time we’re here.”

“Deal,” your lips curled up into a smile, and you sat down on the couch, “See. I told you I’d be sleeping near the window.”

Spencer laughed at that.

ꨄ︎

From your space on the couch, you could faintly see the glowing green alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. A strange commodity for a hotel room. It almost looked alien.

2:32 a.m.

You couldn’t sleep. You had a bad enough sleep schedule at the best of times, but the injury on your side was making things worse. It still burned, and if you gently put pressure on the area, you could still feel the deep wound through the layers of bandages.

You were almost three days into the case, and you’d finally had a solid lead. It had taken a lot of digging, but Penelope had discovered the unsub’s hunting ground; an old speakeasy hidden so deep in the town that nobody had been able to trace it. Since you were the closest in victimology, you’d agreed to go undercover to catch the unsub once and for all. All you’d ended up with was a knife embedded deep into your side as the unsub escaped once again.

You’d been in the hospital for hours after that. The knife had gone in so deep that it was close to catching something vital, and the doctors had told you that you were lucky to be alive. You’d spent most of that afternoon in a hospital bed, listening to the monotonous sound of beeping machines. After a concerned lecture from Aaron - he’d told you not to follow the unsub but you hadn’t exactly listened - you were bandaged up and sent on your way.

Spencer had told you to take the bed. He’d almost forced you into it at one point. But you��d seen the way he’d tried to discreetly stretch out his cramp throughout the day, and you were far too stubborn, so you refused his offer and tried to sleep on the couch for the night. It wasn’t working, though.

You huffed in pain, shifting uncomfortably in the hopes of finding a better position to sleep in. Every movement made your bandages rub against the wounded area. You finally thought you found a comfortable enough position and you tried to settle down, but then you felt a dampness seeping through your bandages, and you cursed under your breath.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, pulling your shirt up and surveying your body. Even in the darkness, you could see the dark spot where the blood had begun to soak through, “Goddamnit.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and tip-toed across the room. You didn’t want to wake Spencer, especially not in your current state. You kept a hand tightly pressed against your side as you slowly moved. You didn’t want to get blood on the carpet. The staff seemed lovely, and you didn’t want to ruin their day with your mess. Every single step made you wince as a sharp pain shot straight through your body, and your breaths came out as sharp little puffs of air.

A muffled noise from the bed caught your attention, and you saw Spencer begin to stir. He gently mumbled your name as he sat up and stared at you with bleary eyes, “What are you doing?” he looked you up and down, and then his eyes settled on the blood, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him, though you clearly weren’t, “I think the stitches came undone or something. It’s fine,” you tried to wave his worries off, “Go back to sleep.”

Spencer did the opposite. He clambered out of bed and turned on the light, lighting up the room so that you could both see each other clearly. Your heart started to thud a little faster when you saw that the shirt he was wearing to sleep in was a little undone towards the top. You’d never noticed that before.

“You’re not fine,” his eyes were laser focused on the blood as he took a step closer to you, “You’re bleeding.”

“Good observation skills, Spencer,” you laughed a little, though you grunted in pain as it aggravated the injury, “I told you, it’s fine. I’ll redress it, and…” you paused when you saw the look in his eyes. It was a look he’d never given you before, and it stole your breath for a moment.

“Let me see.”

“Spencer...”

“It’s obviously hurting you,” his sentence was almost demanding, and yet there was a soft and concerning tone to his voice, too, “Let me see it.”

You sighed. There was no way you could refuse when he spoke to you with that tone of voice. You gingerly lifted your shirt high enough for him to see it, “It looks worse than it is.”

Spencer gently pulled away the loose bandages and inspected the open wound, his eyes never leaving your body, “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “You’re not redressing it yourself, and you’re certainly not stitching yourself back up.”

You barely had a chance to respond before Spencer had darted into the bathroom, and he came out moments later with a roll of bandages the hospital had given you.

“Here. Sit,” he sat back down on the bed, and he patted the space beside him, “You’ll have to go back to hospital tomorrow. I’ll help you rebandage it for tonight,” his eyes darted between your own eyes and the blood that seemed to be pooling on your side, “Please.”

You hesitated for a moment, “Spencer…” there was no point in arguing with him, you knew that, and your wound hurt the longer it was left open, “Fine.”

You sat down beside Spencer, curling your legs up under you as you turned your back to him. Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, holding it up high enough so that it wasn’t dangling in the way. This wasn’t the first time that Spencer had patched you up after an injury in the field, but this was the first time where you were definitely feeling a little light-headed.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer’s voice was a gentle whisper against your ear. You hadn’t even realized that he was practically leaning his head on your shoulder, “Sorry.”

Spencer’s hands were so gentle on your skin that it was almost as if he wasn’t even touching you at all. The only indication that he was even helping you was the bandages around your torso since he wrapped them so tightly that they felt like a strangely comforting hug.

“There,” Spencer said, almost proudly, and he gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Done.”

You glanced down at your body before dropping your shirt. The wound didn’t even seem to hurt any more. You became very aware very quickly that Spencer’s hands hadn’t left your hips, “Thank you.”

You shuffled around until you were facing him, and when your eyes locked, it suddenly felt as if time had come to a standstill. That look was back in his eyes; the one that you’d never seen before that made you feel as though you were melting on the inside. You weren’t entirely sure what was racing faster; your heart or your mind.

And suddenly, before you could really comprehend your actions, your lips were on his. Your body acted before your brain could catch up. Your hands tugged slightly on the collar of his shirt as if you were trying to pull him closer to you. The kiss was tender, and yet it was so full of obvious desire. Warmth flooded your entire body as your stomach seemed to explode with swarms of butterflies. This was a moment you’d thought about for a long time, and once your brain caught up, you couldn’t quite comprehend that it was happening.

It may have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours. You pulled away, and it was only after you saw the startled expression on Spencer’s face and the faint blush that crept up his neck that you realized what you’d done, “Spence…” your mouth opened and closed, but now words came out for a good few seconds, “Spencer. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Your panicked babbling was cut off as Spencer pressed a quick kiss to your lips, “Shut up,” he smiled, and he pressed his index fingers where his lips had been moments ago, “Just shut up for a minute.”

If this were any other time, you’d be rather offended that he told you to shut up, and you’d keep talking. In this situation, however, you were happy to keep your mouth shut.

“You didn’t mean to, what? You didn’t mean to kiss me?”

“No. I mean… Yes, but also no, but…”

Spencer raised an eyebrow with a faint smirk, “I thought I told you to shut up.”

You pressed your lips together in a fine line, “Sorry.”

Spencer’s hands left your hips, and he took your hands in his own. He squeezed them gently, and his thumbs began tracing soft little circles onto your palms, “You kissed me.”

You were more than ready for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Spencer seemed to notice because his grip on your hands got a little tighter as if he knew you’d go run, “I’m glad you kissed me.”

There was no stopping the surprised squeak that escaped your lips, “What?!”

Spencer chuckled at that, and the pink blush had spread up to his cheeks, “I’m glad you kissed me,” he repeated, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“You… You…” your mouth was hanging open, and your eyes were wide. You must’ve looked like an absolute idiot, “You have…?”

“Of course, I did.”

This conversation was going in an entirely different direction to how you’d assumed it was. You’d never seen Spencer look or talk with so much affection before. Spencer said your name with so much love in his tone that it snapped you out of your shocked state, “I like you.”

For a single moment in time, it felt as if the world had stopped spinning. You simply stared, unable to do much of anything else except feel a sharp tug at your heart, “You… You do…?”

“Are you capable of putting a sentence together, or not?” Spencer laughed, and he interlaced his fingers with yours, “Yes, I do. A lot, actually,” he smiled at you, and there was a hint of teasing, “I might be a genius, but even the dumbest person in the room could figure you out right now.”

You cracked a smile, and your shocked expression gave way to a relieved and delighted one, “I really like you, too.”

“Do you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, and you never giggled. You knew this crush was childish, but this was on another level entirely.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you giggle.”

“I’m not giggling.”

“Oh, you absolutely are. You’ve always been a terrible liar,” Spencer grinned at you, and then his lips connected with yours.

The kiss seemed more affectionate than earlier, and a lot more passionate. Your hands wound around his neck, and his hands found a comfortable resting place on your waist. Your lips seemed to perfectly fit together like two puzzle pieces. It could’ve been seconds, or it could’ve been minutes. You weren’t entirely sure how long it had been, but you eventually pulled away from each other, and you were both a little breathless from the intensity. Intense was something you never expected from Spencer. You liked it, though.

You let your forehead rest against Spencer’s, “I hate to ruin the mood and everything, but…” your eyes flitted back and forth to the couch, “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore?”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer pulled you a little closer, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. Especially not now.”

“Good,” you curled into him as he pulled you closer to his side, letting your head rest against his chest with a gentle sigh, “The bed has better company.”

Spencer maneuvered the two of you until you were lying on the bed, and he tucked you that tiny bit closer into him. You’d imagined him hugging you plenty of times, but this felt better than any imagination could. He kissed the top of your head, and he ran a gentle hand up and down your back, “Sure does.”

ꨄ︎

“Penelope Garcia! I’m going to kill you!”

You stormed through the BAU and entered Penelope’s office, slamming the door open with such a bang that it made the walls shudder.

Penelope grinned as she spun around in her chair to face you, “Ah, my sweet angel,” she spoke with a beaming grin on her face, “Do you require my assistance?”

“You little…” you stepped a little closer, but it was hard to look even slightly threatening with a goofy grin on your face that you were trying to hide, “You gave me and Spencer the only room with a single bed?”

“I did no such thing.”

“I spoke to everyone else, Pen. Everyone else had a bed of their own.”

Penelope continued to smirk at you, not even trying to hide her laughter, “It worked, didn’t it? I haven’t seen you as happy as this in weeks.”

You faltered at that. She wasn’t wrong. Ever since you’d gotten back from Wyoming, you’d been happier than anyone had ever seen you. Of course, everyone knew about you and Spencer, and it didn’t take long for the good-natured teasing to pick straight back up, “Yeah. Okay. It worked, but…”

Penelope held up a manicured finger to cut you off, “Besides, my sweet,” she continued, leaning forward in her chair as if she had a secret to tell you, “I was the one who booked the rooms, yes, but I wasn’t the one who handed out the keys, was I?”

Another pause. The words slowly sunk in, and then your mouth dropped open in a mix of shock, humiliation, and a little bit of gratitude, “You… You don’t mean…”

Penelope grinned. She could practically see the gears turning in your head, and it made her laugh, “Oh, I mean exactly what you think I mean, my love.”

“Hotch set us up?!” you didn’t even wait for Penelope’s response. You turned on your heel and marched out of her office, leaving Penelope laughing to herself behind you, “Aaron Hotchner! I’m going to kill you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader

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6esiree · 7 months ago

Text

Getting Dared to Call Them Daddy Pt. 2

Summary: You get dared to call Vox and Adam daddy.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly NSFW, angst, canon death. Beware of Adam’s part. Idk how I wrote all that out of a game of truth of dare, but I did and I don’t feel like rewriting it </3. Anywho, MINORS DO NOT READ!!!

Vox:

You had a life outside of the Hazbin Hotel, working at the entertainment district in Pentagram City. The casino you were employed by wasn’t exclusive, per se, but it might as well have been as it was a hot spot for overlords and other high-profile individuals. That’s how you became acquainted with the Vees, even though your shifts didn’t coincide with their visits half of the time. Tonight was an exception, however, and Velvette was in a particularly good mood.

Well, it actually took a few cocktails to get her there, but you weren’t complaining. She took a seat at the bar and mindlessly scrolled on her phone, only opening up when the alcohol settled in—nothing unusual. You were mentally prepared to have her talk your ear off about shit you couldn’t care less about, but she proceeded to surprise you by asking if you’d like to play a game.

Truth or Dare, Velvette suggested, leaving you wondering if you’d heard her correctly. It was easy to forget that everyone in this damned afterlife was normal to some extent, even an overlord like her. When she quirked a brow at you, motioning ‘Well?’ with her hand, you shrugged and said yes, never anticipating that she’d take the game further than most people did.

Velvette asked you to go first, so you did, glad that she settled for truth. You sucked at this game, and the last thing you wanted to do was frustrate her as you pondered endlessly over a dare. Anyway, as you whipped up an old-fashioned cocktail for a patron, you hummed, asking her to tell you something interesting about Vox. The man was a mystery to you, only ever uttering pleasentries instead of engaging in an actual conversation with you.

Velvette sipped at her drink, rubbing her chin in contemplation before shrugging and ultimately telling you that he wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface. Vox was charismatic, yeah, but he was also weak. Blinking, you slid the cocktail to the patron, taking your money and shooing them away. Everyone knew that Vox valued his image, Velvette continued, and that he’d do anything to preserve the persona he had meticulously crafted since he manifested in Hell, but there were some things that were simply out of his control.

“What? Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but that’s kinda hard to believe,” You responded honestly, “What do you mean, ‘Out of his control’?”

“Trust me, he’s absolutely pathetic,” Velvette said, leaning over the counter to whisper to you, “Regarding the rest, you can find out yourself—that’s if you aren’t a pussycat, of course.”

You peered down at Velvette, knowing damn well that if you chose truth, she’d never let you live it down. Her fingers tapped expectantly against the counter, waiting for your response as you bided your time by cleaning the dirty glasses you had neglected earlier. Truthfully, you were afraid of what she’d make you do, but you eventually sighed and muttered dare.

“I knew you had it in you!” Velvette praised you before adding the next part. “Go and call him daddy, I dare you. You’ll see how he’ll crumble like that,” She snapped her fingers, “When a babe like you calls him daddy.”

You dropped your head and carded your hand through your hair, immediately regretting your decision. How the Hell would you get around to calling one of the most influential and powerful overlords daddy, exactly? As you raised your head to look at Velvette, you hoped that she had your back if he reacted poorly.

“What if he—“ You started, but then you were interrupted by one of your coworkers.

Velvette sat back down, annoyed, but also too drunk to complain. Anyway, they asked you to whip up some cocktails for the other two Vees, practically begging you to deliver it to them, too. When you quirked a brow at them, asking them why you should do their job as a waiter, they started to ramble on about how they had accidentally pissed off Valentino. Ah, fuck. Not like you’d say no anyway, especially considering what Velvette dared you to do.

Instead of giving them a verbal response, you waved your hand in dismissal, letting your coworker know that you had them covered. They thanked you profusely before scurrying off to tend to another table nearby, leaving you scowling as you got to work. Velvette watched you work your magic, assuring you that everything would be ‘Fiiineee,’ giggling when you rolled your eyes.

“Look, if I’m wrong—which I’m not—I got you covered,” Velvette added, watching you step out from your post behind the bar, drinks in hand. “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen the other half of you,” She gasped, but you ignored her.

You were so fucked—that’s the only thought that circulated your mind as you leisurely made your way to the VIP section. The bouncer at the entrance, a friend of yours, regarded you with curiosity when you stopped in front of him. ‘What’re you doing here?’ He inquired as he stepped aside to allow you access into the area, but you told him that you’d tell him later, feeling slightly anxious upon spotting Vox and Valentino.

The two overlords were lounging around on opposite ends of their booth, Valentino characteristically flocked by attractive sinners as pink smoke wafted around them, while Vox sat entirely alone, an annoyed look on his face as one claw tapped incessantly at the empty glass in his hand. As you approached them, you made sure to straighten your back and put on a friendly face.

“Hey! Uh, I got a Sazerac and a Lemon Drop here—whose is what?” You announced, holding out the drinks as you tried not to dissolve under everyone’s stares.

“Ah, I didn’t know you waited!” Valentino tilted his head, practically undressing you with his eyes, “The Lemon Drop es mío, cariño.”

Typical Valentino, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel uncomfortable by him. Unfortunately, you got used to his advances, the only one who could instill some semblance of uneasiness within you being Vox. He interacted with you the least out of the Vees, after all, but you never bothered wondering why until now.

“Apparently someone pissed you off?” You said, huffing as he enveloped your hand in his while handing him his cocktail.

“Don’t even remind me,” Valentino scoffed theatrically, “This establishment is full of idiotas—aside from you, of course. Say, you should wait for us from now on.”

Goosebumps littered your skin as you turned around to hand Vox his drink, realizing that he had been watching you the entire time, his eyes unashamedly following your every move. He didn’t shy away when you met his stare, either, which made you doubt Velvette’s words even more. Fucking Hell, why did you agree to play such a stupid game?

“Well, you’d have to talk to my boss about that, you know,” You continued the conversation, trying to quell the anxiety in your stomach. “The last thing anyone wants to do is pay someone two salaries.”

“Oh, cariño, I can easily arrange that,” Valentino chuckled, taking a sip from his cocktail, “Mm, yeah. I’ll definitely be talking to your boss tonight.”

And that was the end of your conversation with the moth, especially as his attention was stolen by one of the sinner’s next to him. Now that you had to face Vox, you never wanted to cease to exist more than ever. In fact, you hoped the next extermination would take you if things went wrong as you handed the man his Sazerac, his signature smile consuming most of his screen as he accepted it.

“Is everything alright with you?” Vox asked as his claws brushed against your knuckles, savoring the way you jumped at his touch, “You seem nervous, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment, watching how he took a sip from his drink. You would have recovered quickly if he hadn’t thrown a pet name at you, the way he uttered sweetheart with that voice of his making you feel slightly pathetic. But you had to get over yourself, especially because you could feel Velvette watching you from afar, waiting for you to do something.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine!” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “What about you?”

Vox blinked, confused. It was now or never, you guessed, taking a seat on his thigh and draping your legs over him. His body tensed underneath you, never anticipating that you’d do something so bold, but he didn’t push you off.

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be alright?” Vox asked after a few seconds had passed by.

When he didn’t protest to you being on his lap, you placed your hand on his chest, but it was mostly just to steady yourself. However, you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt under your palm.

“I don’t know—you look sort of pissed off, I guess?” You said, feeling how he tried to steady the rise and fall of his chest, the act fruitless as his heart rate gave him away. “Velvette’s at the bar, Val is…being Val, and you? Well,” You gestured to the free space around him, “Do I even have to say anything?”

Vox rolled his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slithered one of his arms around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned forward to place his drink on the table in the center of the booth. A gasp escaped your throat—you couldn’t remember the last time someone held you against them like this. He was making it challenging to maintain your composure, especially as his hold remained on you as he sunk back into his seat.

“Look, I’m usually here outside of my own volition, alright?” Vox finally said, his free hand moving along with his mouth.

You hummed, making sure that he heard you. His response was total bullshit, you thought. There was nobody paying enough attention to him to ensure that he stayed.

“How? You can come and go as you please.” You said, speaking without thinking, “Everyone is too busy doing their own thing to even care that you’re still here.”

Vox’s eyes widened as you said that, and for a moment, you feared that you had overstepped. You were never so openly blunt, not even with Velvette, and you got along with her quite decently. On the other hand, this was your first real interaction with the man, so you dearly hoped you hadn’t upset him.

“I—shit—I’m sorry,” You quickly said, “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—“

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’m upset, it’s only because you’re correct,” Vox interrupted you, his eyes relaxing as he gazed at you. “Now, it’s my turn to give you a hard pill to swallow—how can you apologize for being so blunt when you sat on my lap without my permission?”

You paled at his question.

“Hey, I asked you something first,” You quickly countered, which made Vox chuckle.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that we’re both here for the same reason,” Vox said, his free hand settling on your knee. “What do you think?”

If you had understood what Vox was implying, he was here for you. He tagged along with Velvette and Valentino to admire you from afar, and that baffled you, especially as he always appeared so confident, so eager to get what he wanted. Maybe that’s what Velvette meant when she told you that Vox wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface, however, you still had yet to figure out how that made him weak.

Anyway, while Vox was correct, it was only to a certain extent. You had never thought about the man in any other way besides superficially, only sticking around him because of what Velvette dared you to do; but now that Vox had you in his embrace, his claws flexing against your hipbone, you decided that he was starting to grow on you.

“Hm, I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of admitting that you’re right,” You replied slyly, leaning in so you were chest to chest with him.

Vox stared at you with a large, toothy grin, pleased by your words. As you peered down at him, all you could think about was how perfect of an opportunity this was to turn the tables on him.

“But you’re correct…daddy,” You whispered, reaching up to trail your finger across his screen.

As soon as you called him daddy, you felt Vox’s screen warm up under your touch—so that’s what made him weak, you thought as you observed the way his face fell at such a simple word. Truthfully, it was satisfying to witness such a powerful man dissolve underneath you, but the feeling was short-lived. You blinked, noticing the way Vox sat insanely still. You snapped your fingers in front of him to see if he would respond, but he didn’t. Ah, fuck.

“Uh, Vox?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hi? Hey? Helloooo? Vox!”

Again, he didn’t respond. But you only started to grow concerned when the rest of his body began to warm up. Vox had a TV for a head, so maybe you had caused him to overheat? Your suspicions were confirmed when his screen suddenly turned blue, the phrase, ‘A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems,’ on his screen, ‘The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Daddy.exe.’ Nothing could have prepared you for the way his length poked your leg, though.

And to make matters worse, the power went out. Great. Fucking great. Vox was hard and also temporarily out of order. At least Velvette was having fun, you thought as she howled in the background, somehow drowning out everyone else as they complained. You sighed, realizing that you couldn’t just get up off of his lap, not when you were shielding whatever dignity he had left.

So, you swiped the hat off of his head and fanned him to cool him down, even though your efforts were hardly making a difference. Meanwhile, you could hear your boss yelling in the background, ‘What the fuck happened to the power!?’ spotting her using the flashlight from the other end of the casino.

“The fuck is going on?” Valentino asked, standing up as he illuminated the area around you with his phone. “Vox, what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”

“One moment he was normal,” You said, still trying to cool him down, “And the next he blue screened.”

Valentino took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke over his shoulder before leaning down to look at Vox. You’d heard through the grapevine that his vision was shit, and it was apparent in the way he took his time reading one simple sentence with narrowed eyes.

“The…problem…seems…to be…caused…by the…following…file…Daddy.exe,” Valentino slowly read aloud.

You tried not to shrink under his gaze as he turned his attention to you.

“Well?” Valentino asked, quirking a brow at you as the power suddenly returned.

“I didn’t know he’d…do all that when I called him daddy,” You muttered, hoping you hadn’t pissed off the moth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it—I swear.”

Instead, Valentino tossed his head back, a hand on his chest as he laughed. “I can’t be mad at una cosita linda like you,” He said, petting your head.

Thank God, you mentally sighed.

Suddenly, you heard a ‘zzt!’ your head snapping to Vox. As his body jolted upwards and his face replaced the blue screen, you stilled your ministrations. Blinking, he looked at you with an undecipherable expression, seemingly recalling what happened. You quickly put his hat back on his head, opening your mouth to apologize; but then Velvette ran up to the booth, showing all of you how she got everything on video.

If you weren’t fucked before, you certainly were now, the way Vox turned to you and grabbed your jaw after she left communicating that. “As soon as your shift is over, you’re leaving with me,” He said, leaving no room for you to refuse. “Understood, sweetheart?” You nodded your head obediently, unaware of how he was going to destroy your insides later that night, forcing you to chant the word daddy as he did so.

Adam:

Ah, Adam. The first man alive. You had the displeasure of meeting him your first Extermination Day, and God, was he full of himself. It was satisfying dodging and escaping him, hearing how he cried out in disappointment when you sought refuge in the darkest crevices of Hell’s infrastructure. “Yeah, run away you fucking coward!” You heard his voice bounce off the brick walls, your hand over your mouth as you stifled your laughter. What a loser.

You continued to fuck around with Adam, though, taking advantage of his reckless fighting style. He hated how slinky you were, the way you effortlessly slipped away from his grasp when he thought he finally had you frustrating him. By the third extermination, you started to tease him, relishing in his poorly disguised groans—a meager ‘Fuck you’—as you brushed against him or touched his wings.

Adam could have killed you a long time ago, the first time you escaped his clutches being sheer luck; but he kept searching for you, locating you with ease despite the fact that you never lingered in one specific area. You were well aware of this, so when you, Angel Dust, and Cherri Bomb were drunkenly playing Truth or Dare the night before the Exorcists attacked the Hazbin Hotel, you let them in on your history with Adam.

Big mistake on your part, especially as Angel took advantage of this information to dare you to do something insanely stupid. “Dare ya to call him daddy,” he slurred, Cherri smacking her chest as she choked on her beer. “Are you trying to get them killed?” She asked between coughs. Your friendship with her was relatively new, but she liked you too much to see you go so quickly.

“Let’s see if you’ll remember tomorrow,” You rolled your eyes, but Angel was adamant that he would. “Hey, maybe we might be able to take him down if ya distract him.”

Angel didn’t forget, and for the first time since you arrived in Hell, you were afraid of what might happen. You couldn’t care less about the dare—the people you grew to love and care for were being directly targeted, and you didn’t want to lose them. If anything, the idea of calling Adam daddy only served to spur you on, even if it would ensure your death.

You stood alongside everybody else as the Exorcists poured into Hell from above, visibly gratified by the sight of so many sinners in one place. When Adam and Lute finally came into view, you made sure to wave at them with a smile. Lute was completely unaware of your past interactions, the scowl on her face a testament of that. Adam, on the other hand, looked oddly horrified.

You would only face him after Alastor’s shield was broken, having slain several Exorcists by then, the evidence plain all over your clothes. Adam was strangely unfazed by this, however, seemingly too busy being pissed off by your presence when he found you behind the hotel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam said as he spun you around, his grip on you piercing.

You heard the moment Adam landed near you, but you gave him the satisfaction of believing he had caught you unaware. Huffing, you shook his hand off of you, pushing him back with your foot. That pissed him off. It was easy dodging his attacks, though—too easy, you realized. You quirked a brow at him as the two of you practically danced around each other, creating the illusion that you were fighting.

“Fucking hello? Are you deaf?” Adam asked, swinging at you but completely missing.

“You might as well fight with the air,” You said, but then he knocked your spear out of your grip. No big deal, your hands would do. “Seriously, what do they teach you up in Heaven?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Adam said, lunging towards you in frustration. “Come over here, bitch—gotcha! Fucking finally!”

Never anticipating that he would pull such a stunt, Adam managed to tackle you to the ground. Fuck, he was heavy, but you’d find a way to escape his grasp. This is what you thought until he pinned your arms above your head, placing his legs on either side of you and caging your body underneath him. For the first time since he met you, you looked at him with fear. You were stuck.

“Shit, as hot as this is, it’s time for you to die, babe,” Adam said, but you knew he didn’t mean it—the second part, precisely.

“Why now?” You panted, your heart beating violently against your ribcage.

“What? What are you talking about?” Adam asked, his eyes widening as you bent your fingers to touch his hand, which were holding your wrists together. “Hey—what are you doing? Fucking stop that—“

“You could have killed me a long time ago, you know,” You interrupted him, forcing your body to relax in his grip in an attempt to appear genuine.

Adam had a big mouth—everybody knew that. He would curse at every opportunity, the words, ‘Fuck,’ ‘Shit,’ and ‘Bitch,’ consisting of most of his vocabulary. But as he looked down at you, completely at his mercy, he had nothing to say. Not even a meager insult.

“I—“ Adam said, but that was all he had to offer.

You closed your eyes and exhaled, opening them after a few seconds. Angel’s dare echoed in the back of your mind, and you knew that you could weaponize it, but you needed to wear Adam down a bit more, his body too tense for your liking.

“Before I die, can I at least…see how you look like?” You asked, hoping it would work.

“You’re already looking at me right now, what?” Adam shook his head.

Of course he misunderstood you.

“Behind the mask, I mean,” You specified, trying hard to be patient.

“Oh.”

“Please?”

Adam looked over his shoulder, clearly hesitant. The fact that he was considering your request was a good sign, however, excitement blooming in your chest. After a minute or so, he turned back to you, sighing in defeat.

“I, uh—fuck, fine!” Adam stuttered, readjusting his grip on your wrists so he could remove his mask with one hand. “Don’t move, or I’ll, uh, kill you! Yeah.”

You nodded obediently, secretly curious as to how he looked like. As he held your wrists together with one hand now, Adam looked over his shoulder again, making sure that nobody was paying attention to you two. When he was satisfied, he tentatively reached up to grab his mask, his stare never leaving you.

You couldn’t help but notice how Adam’s fingers trembled. He looked so vulnerable, and that made your stomach feel a bit funny. You wanted to call him pathetic, but the way he slowly revealed himself to you squashed that urge. As much as he sucked, he was still a person, you realized, especially when his mask landed next to your head.

Your eyes darted across his face, taking in each and every one of his features. If anybody asked you to guess what Adam, the first man alive, looked like, you would have replied with ethereal. But as you took in the sight before you, he was…average, with pale skin, hazel eyes, ash brown hair, and stubble decorating his chin. Still, he somehow managed to mesmerize you.

“Are you done, uh, looking?” Adam stammered, turning away from you.

He was growing self-conscious under your gaze, and that made you feel…bad? Oh no, why did you feel bad? You noticed the funny feeling in your stomach was only growing stronger, making you nauseous. You had no idea what it was, but if you remained underneath Adam for a second longer, you feared that you’d discover what it was.

But before you could shut down whatever this was, you had to indulge yourself first, being the sinner you were. You also justified it by convincing yourself that he hadn’t been worn down enough yet.

“Kiss me,” You said.

“What?” Adam blinked, completely caught off guard.

“I said kiss me—are you deaf?” You said, throwing back his insult from earlier.

“Now why the fuck would I—I don’t want to—that’s crazy—“ Adam struggled to form a coherent sentence, nervously laughing in between his words.

“Kiss me, daddy.”

His grip on your wrists immediately loosened, shocked. You had him right where you wanted him, retracting your arms from above your head with a practiced speed, seizing his collar and bringing him in for a kiss. Adam gasped against your lips, but that was the only form of protest he gave you. Before you knew it, he had one hand buried in your hair, the other on the small of your back with the sole purpose of joining your bodies.

It was supposed to be a quick kiss, but you allowed it to progress, enjoying the feeling of Adam’s hands desperately clawing at you. Meanwhile, all he could think about was how he couldn’t kill you anymore. He was addicted to the way your lips wetly smacked against one another, your hands glued to his face and his face only.

Your body was starting to heat up, and so was Adam’s, you realized. “Fuck,” You whimpered, feeling his length poking at your thigh. When he took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, his hand cupping the space between your thighs, your mind instantly went ‘Nope.’ You were in the middle of a battle, for fuck’s sake.

“Adam, we need to—“ You said, separating from the kiss, but he just dived right back in.

You grabbed his face, forcefully pulling him away from you. Adam peered down at you with rosy cheeks and bruised lips, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked absolutely blissed out, even as his hand remained in between your thighs, your head falling back with a moan as he started to massage you through your pants.

“Stop!” You cried, grabbing his wrist and squeezing him harder than you should have.

“Ow—what the fuck!” Adam whined, retracting his arm.

When he looked at you like a kicked puppy, you rolled your eyes and sat up.

“We are not going to fuck in the middle of…this! It’s not right,” You said, trying to snap him back to reality. “Look around you, Adam!” You gestured wildly, regret immediately replacing the arousal you previously felt.

“Fuck, I’m so selfish. What if my friends are dead? And I could have saved them if I weren’t so busy—“ You stopped rambling when you noticed the expression on Adam’s face.

He looked everything but apologetic, and God, did that piss you off. You quickly collected your spear from the ground and moved behind him, holding the weapon against his neck.

“Woah! Hey, babe! You don’t gotta do all that!” Adam panicked, his hands landing over yours, albeit putting no effort in pulling the spear away from his neck. “I’m sorry—you’re right—this is wrong and you—“

“Get up,” You demanded, kicking at his feet when he didn’t listen. “I said get up!”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Adam said, but he had to stop halfway into his ascent.

The man was taller than you, so there was no way he could stand up at his full height without risking getting choked.

“Hey, genius, I can’t get up without your fucking spear—“ He started, but then he felt the weapon abandon his throat.

“Get the fuck out of here,” You said, grabbing his arm and spinning him around.

“What?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed as he processed your question. “No, I’m not gonna leave. Do you have any fucking idea what just happened?”

You turned away from Adam, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You really hated yourself for what you were about to do, but it was the only way to get him to understand.

“So? Who cares,” You said.

“The fuck? I do, you stupid—ah, sorry, I’m not good at this kinda stuff,” Adam shook his head, frustrated. “But I…care, about you and whatever just happened.”

“I was only trying to save myself,” You said, but Adam wasn’t having any of it.

“Well, shit, you have a funny way of doing it,” Adam said, rounding you as he gauged your reaction. “Do you make googly eyes at every fucker who’s about to kill you, huh? Let them kiss you and touch you the way I just did?”

Screams pierced the sky, a reminder of everyone fighting right around the corner. You didn’t have the time to argue, especially as you thought about your friends, who were out there risking their lives while you were fucking around with Adam.

“I don’t want you, Adam. Okay? Get it through your fucking skull,” You lied through your teeth, seizing his collar and forcing him to look at you. “Look at what you and your dumbass army are doing! You’re slaughtering innocent souls that are fighting for a chance at redemption.”

Adam stuttered, a look of disbelief upon his face. While it pained you to see him that way, your words were exactly what he needed to hear. If you allowed anything else to happen between you two, you’d never be able to forgive yourself.

“But what right do you have when you’re here in Hell—“ Adam tried to counter, but you didn’t let him finish his sentence.

“I’m sorry, but you spared me out of your own goddamn selfishness, mercilessly killing other sinners because they weren’t me. I’m not special, and honestly, neither are you!” You continued, trying not to acquiesce as you heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You’re the Adam—so fucking what? I could never be with you, and you should’ve known that when all of your wives have left you.”

You bit your cheek as you pushed Adam away, trying not to apologize as his heart shattered into a million pieces before you. He could have killed you, but he didn’t, instead opting to watch you as you turned your back on him—just like everybody else he had ever loved. Little did you know that that would be the last time you saw Adam alive. “Did ya do it?” Angel joked as you observed his lifeless body, his face falling when you didn’t laugh. “Cause ya didn’t have to, but if ya did, uh, good job?” You eventually offered him a half-hearted nod. Hell had won, and Extermination Day had been cancelled, but you felt hollow as everyone brought you in for a celebratory hug.

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allywthsr · 7 months ago

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FIRST RACE WIN | (l.norris)

summary: Lando wins his first race

wordcount: 1k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none

notes: wrote this in 10 min, might delete later and rewrite it

Miami. The first thing that came to your mind was the heat and the money that this city had, but after tonight, this city will hold a different memory, the memory of your boyfriend winning his first Grand Prix.

You woke up in the morning with a burst of energy, Lando wasn’t as energetic, he crashed in the sprint, his qualifying wasn’t the best, and he didn’t expect anything big for today. He ate breakfast with slumped shoulders, every few seconds he let out a sigh, and you tried to get him into a better mood, but whatever you did, nothing helped.

“Today is the day for new opportunities”, that’s what you told him this morning, trying to get him excited.

If he had the opportunity to call in sick for work, he would’ve.

The race started, and it didn’t look the best for Lando, it annoyed him even more that Oscar had an even better start, not only was he one (sprint) race win ahead of him, but he also was chasing for p1 now, while Lando had to pass several cars to be close to him.

You sat in the garage, feeling the normal race jitters and crossing your fingers, you would always be proud of Lando, no matter what he did, but you had a good feeling for today.

The first laps were going by fast, Lando was fighting for every position, and Oscar was fighting for P1, after some more difficulties from Max, Oscar was racing to keep his leader position. You knew what Lando was thinking, how this would be a normal race if he got lucky, p3 and if he was even more lucky, maybe a p2, but not the real thing, Lando felt too disappointed in himself.

After the crash with Sargent, and Lando pitting during the safety car, you knew this would be it. Max was losing more and more time behind him, and couldn’t catch up with Lando. He was flying today, getting the fastest lap almost every time he crossed the finish line. The more laps passed, the more excited you got, holding hands with Jon, who stood next to you. When it was safe to say, that Max wouldn’t be able to catch Lando and overtake him, you were walking up and down through the garage, a TV camera was on you constantly, showing you on the screen how you nervously were trying to get rid of your nerves, but to your dismay, you didn’t.

During the last lap, you were watching the screen through your fingers, too scared that he would crash on the last meters. You’ve been in this position before, you don’t want to think about Sochi, but you were scared he was going to repeat this nightmare, thank god it wasn’t about to rain anytime soon.

When Lando crossed the finish line in P1, you fell to your knees with your hands in front of your face, crying. This was his dream, and you were so incredibly lucky to experience that dream with him.

Before you could continue to cry, Jon lifted you off the ground and dragged you up, hugging you tightly before running with you to where you would wait for Lando.

You stood behind that barricade and waited for your boyfriend to come get congratulated, you watched on the big screen how he got out of his car and you saw him take a deep breath. Carlos being the first to congratulate, was such a carlando thing, but now you couldn’t wait to be in his arms. Your tears were still rolling down your cheeks, and no matter how much effort you put into wiping them off your cheeks, new ones were coming by the second.

After what felt like days, you finally saw Lando running towards you.

You opened your arms and waited for the impact that was about to hit you, with the speed he was running at you. He closed his arms around you, and you did the same, squeezing him tightly and muttering: ‘congratulations’ over and over again. You heard him sobbing, he probably didn’t even realize what he had just done, he was shaking and when he lifted his head off your shoulder, his eyes were red and tears were spilling out of his eyes with no control, but you were no different.

You could wait for all the memes and pictures you were about to see on social media, you and Lando were crying messes, the kiss you shared after hugging for what felt like hours, tasted like tears and happiness. You couldn’t believe he was a race winner now.

His team celebrated him the perfect way, throwing him in the air and hugging him close. The hugs he shared with Zak and Andrea, warmed your heart, you knew how much he meant to these two and vice versa.

After the interviews where he thanked his family, but especially you, for always supporting him no matter what, he was driven to the podium, just like you and the rest of the McLaren team, you had to see him lifting that trophy.

When he came out running, even more tears spilled out of your eyes, you knew you were an emotional mess, and it would stay like this for the rest of the day. And the way Lando was wiping away the tears while listening to the British hymn, you knew he was no different, especially hearing the Lando chants from every direction, you all knew, this was long overdue.

He threw his trophy in the air, and you were scared he was going to break it, but he safely caught it and pointed to his heart and then at you. This was cheesy, but at this moment, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. He felt like the king of the world.

Popping the champagne was always your favorite part, and with the way Charles and Max were drenching him in the liquid, you knew you would be soaked in it too, after some more hugs, which followed immediately after he came down from the podium.

The rest of the day was spent partying and celebrating Lando and McLaren, you were incredibly proud of him and what he achieved today.

taglist: @millinorizz @jamieeboulos @loxbbg @noneofyourfbusinessworld @myownwritings

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #landonorriswin #miami gp 2024

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jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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burning hill | h.s

summary: in which a girl feels too afraid of commitment because of her past, and the boy who knows nothing of it, falls helplessly anyway.

cw: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

word count: approx 17k

| hhmm more coming of these 2 perhaps 🫵

ps: if u see any (!!!) around words or see random things in all caps, its cause that’s what i use to indicate (for myself in editing) italics/bold cause tumblr doesn’t save that i swear

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #hs1 #2016 harry #lhh #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #one direction #one direction smut #one direction imagine

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jiarkives · 5 months ago

Note

Azriel meets his mate who is a no nonsense female and isn’t dealing with the IC busy body bullshit. And azriel loves it cause he wants to be able to have something that is just his

He loves his brothers but they don’t know how to butt out of things. But his mate puts her foot down and lays down the law.

I need someone to stand up for him and take care of him.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — azriel’s mate does not take shit from anyone, not even the high lord.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — azriel (a court of thorns and roses)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — fluff ; written with fem!reader in mind

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — i loved the idea but i fear i didn’t write my thoughts well enough so i might rewrite this completely and i changed the plot a bit so yeah !! thank you for requesting !! 🤍

“Love? Where’d you go?” Your voice was soft and so was your touch as his eyes focused back on you. It was early in the morning and you were both still in bed, opting to spend your day lounging around to let him rest after his week-long mission with the Night Court’s general in Windhaven.

“It’s Rhys.” He sighed and you knew immediately what he wanted, your eyebrows furrowing as you sucked in a breath. “He needs my help with something regarding Autumn.”

“But you just got home last night,” you said. “Have you talked to him?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did he listen?”

“Well—”

That was all you needed to pull away from him and get off the bed, going straight into the bathroom.

“Wait, Dove.” He quickly followed after you, gently grabbing your wrist and turning you to face him. “It’s alright. It’s just a quick in and out. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I know you can handle it, but just because you can doesn’t mean you have to, especially not this soon,” you said firmly, giving him no room for arguments.

And that was how you found yourself barging into the High Lord’s study after knocking briefly with Azriel trailing after you quietly, causing both him and the High Lady to look up at you with confusion written all over their faces.

“Good morning, High Lord, High Lady,” you greeted politely, looking at them as you addressed them. “I heard about you wanting to send Azriel to deal with the Autumn Court, but if you aren’t aware, he just got home last night.”

“We are well aware.”

Azriel sucked in a breath at Rhysand’s response, his eyes widening as he shook his head at his brother as he attempted to get you to back off with a gentle touch of his hand and his shadows.

“Then why are you sending him to another mission so soon?” You crossed your arms, looking at Rhysand with an eyebrow raised. The corner of Feyre’s lips twitched into a smirk as she witnessed the scene before her.

“Well—”

However, you did not give him a chance to respond as you cut him off, “Well, you better find someone else to do it for him because he will be resting at home with no interruptions.”

“You do remember that I am your High Lord, right?”

At this point, Azriel had given up completely and let you take the reins, while Feyre watched in amusement as you grilled his mate on his seat.

“Alright then, High Lord, find someone else to deal with your shit in Autumn and let my mate rest,” you said, your tone firm and stern as you practically glared at him, no room for any arguments.

Rhysand could only gape as his widened eyes flitted over to Azriel, then to you before quickly clearing his throat as he composed himself, “Alright.” He relented. “Azriel may take the whole week off and rest with you. Then, I get the Night Court’s Shadowsinger back.”

“Good,” was the only thing you said before giving Feyre a polite nod, staring at Rhysand for a moment longer, and finally leaving the room, leaving the two of them alone with a smirking Azriel who looked proud (and aroused).

Azriel was not even surprised when his shadows left him and followed his mate out of Rhysand’s study.

“Sorry, brother.” He shrugged. “What the missus says goes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rhysand nodded with a grin, waving him off. “You go home and rest, brother. I’ll see you in a week.”

Azriel grinned and bowed slightly in goodbye before moving to leave the room.

“Wait,” Feyre spoke and Azriel immediately stopped and turned to face his High Lady. “Please tell your mate I’d love to introduce her to Nesta. I have a feeling they’d get along well.”

“I will.” Azriel nodded.

“Leave, brother, the scent of your arousal is starting to flood the room.”

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ julia writes about acotar !#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ julia writes about azriel !#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar x you #azriel x you #acotar x fem!reader #azriel x fem!reader #acotar x female!reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x mate!reader #mate!reader #acotar fluff #azriel fluff #acotar imagine #azriel imagine

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solxamber · 18 days ago

Text

Romance Clichés With: Vil Schoenheit

Cliché: The Airport (Dark Mirror?) Confession

Others: Leona ; Azul ; Kalim ; Idia ; Jamil ; Riddle

Vil had told you last week about his upcoming movie shoot in another country. He’d casually mentioned he'd be gone for a little while, which you’d taken in stride. After all, he was a famous actor—it wasn't like he was leaving forever. At least, that’s what you thought. But Rook had other ideas.

“Oh, mon ami,” Rook sighed dramatically the day before Vil’s departure, “how brave you are. Truly a testament to love, to be able to bear such a tragic farewell without shedding a single tear! Many would crumble under the thought of not seeing their beloved for years.”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite of your sandwich. “Years?”

Rook nodded, his eyes misting over, clearly lost in some inner poetic monologue. “Oui, it may well be years before we see Roi du Poison’s radiant visage again. Some might say he is embarking on an odyssey, one that will only return him to our shores once he’s ascended to an even greater pinnacle of fame.”

“Y-Years?” you echoed, a pit forming in your stomach.

“Bien sûr!” Rook leaned in, whispering with all the seriousness of a tragic romance novel. “In showbiz, a project could take ages—rewrites, reshoots, promotional tours... Why, he may even settle abroad to cultivate his craft.”

You dropped your sandwich, horror dawning as the words hit you with full force. Your mind went into overdrive. Vil... leaving? Maybe forever? You pictured months, even years of unanswered texts, long-distance video calls, and eventually, just fading away from each other’s lives.

You couldn’t take it! And if he was leaving, you had to make it clear that he’d be leaving someone who would do anything for him.

Which was why, mere minutes before Vil was set to leave, you were charging across campus, heart pounding and absolutely zero plan in mind.

He was standing in front of the Mirror of Darkness, his poise immaculate as always. His entourage surrounded him, but you were zeroed in on only one thing: making sure he knew you would sacrifice anything to keep him.

He was taking a few moments to pose with his usual elegance, utterly unaware that you were barreling toward him with all the grace of a charging rhinoceros.

“Vil!” you yelled, gaining speed as you neared him. He turned, brows raised just slightly before you flung yourself into his arms, nearly sending him toppling over.

“Please,” you blurted, “don’t go!”

Vil’s face softened, and he looked about to speak, but you were already mid-rant, words tumbling out in a fevered rush.

“Vil, I swear, I’ll change my entire skincare routine if you want! Every day, double cleanse, essence, eye cream—I’ll use every serum, sheet mask, and exfoliant you recommend.” You grabbed his hands, clutching them tightly. “And if it’s my diet, I’ll cut out carbs or sugar or whatever you want! I’ll even drink green juice, Vil!”

His eyes widened in something like amusement, but you didn’t give him a chance to interject.

“Please, just don’t leave forever. I don’t care how famous you get or how much international recognition comes your way, or how you’ll become the new face of high fashion—I’ll do anything. I love you, Vil. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Just. Stay."

Vil blinked, clearly stunned, but before you could spiral into another tirade, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, breathtaking kiss. It was enough to shut you up instantly, and when he finally pulled back, he looked at you with an exasperated but deeply affectionate smile.

“Darling,” he said, brushing a hand down your cheek with a chuckle, “I’m really only leaving for two weeks.”

“Oh.” You stared up at him, cheeks flushing red as his words sank in.

“Two weeks,” he repeated, laughing softly, and his face lit up in a way you’d never seen before—completely unguarded, genuinely amused, and utterly, hopelessly in love.

Your flustered mumbling was drowned out by his gentle laughter. “So… all that talk about green juice and sheet masks…” His chuckle turned into a full laugh, rich and uninhibited, echoing through the hall as a dozen phones captured the moment.

He gave you a lingering kiss, entirely unconcerned with the crowd, before pressing his forehead to yours. “You really thought I’d leave you forever?” he whispered, a teasing sparkle in his eye. “Oh, my sweet, melodramatic potato.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, hiding your face in his shoulder as your embarrassment finally caught up to you.

By the time he returned two weeks later, it was all anyone on campus could talk about. The candid video of him gazing at you, laugh lines softened, love written all over his face—it had gone viral. Even Vil was taken by surprise at how the internet had swooned over the whole scene, declaring you both the new “It Couple” of NRC.

And if Vil noticed the way his likes had outpaced Neige’s on Magicam, well, he wasn’t above a little bragging.

He’d make a show of it too, asking Mira each morning, “Who’s the most popular couple on Magicam?” And every time, he would grin, smugly satisfied with the answer.

And if anyone dared ask him how he got so much traction on his account lately, he’d just smile, gaze in your direction, and shrug with feigned innocence.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil

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sugarypinecones · 5 months ago

Note

a panic challenge is busted and having to avoid the cops with dodge… sneaking you into his bedroom while his mom and sister sleep… giving you a rodeo t-shirt to sleep in… maybe making the first move straight away… or maybe going to bed and then waking up a few hours later tangled together in his bed…

we were jet-set, bonnie and clyde — dodge mason x reader

warnings: SMUT(?) he never actually gets close enough but he gets.. pretty close, like cum in your pants close oops but i can do a pt2 i just kinda got confused and unsure how to really.. like do things idk and i kinda hate it but it took so much time and writing i feel bad if i scrapt it, mentions of reader living in texas obviously, reader has no real desire to win panic, whiny desperate dodge, idrk how to tag its late im tired, dayna interrupts without knowing

a/n: oh i love this actually. like actually love this. like im foaming at the mouth thinking about this actually. title from getaway car by taylor swift also, love u all and ty for the request!! 💐💐 also sucks esp the ending but like idk im down to rewrite the ending if not continue the tangled thing! just lmk if you actually wanted it and dont be afraid to leave other requests.

Living in Carp, Texas meant that there weren’t many fun things to do. You can only drive around an empty parking lot for so long before getting bored. So when the opportunity of playing Panic rises, you rise with it.

And surprisingly, you didn’t immediately get eliminated. In fact — you’ve somehow made it this far, round two, which.. you’re sure you’re going to fall to your death or just entirely not do it. And you were fine with that, truly. You had your fun.

Now it was time to focus on something a little bit more real – your chances of winning the pot were low, especially because of all that stuff last year, and because of Dodge Mason.

If you didn’t know what determination was before that boy, you definitely did now. It was hard not to see him and not see determination, especially after the first challenge. He didn’t have fear in his eyes when he did it, unlike any of the other contestants. He had something else.

You shift on the hood of the beat-up car, sighing as you look over your shoulder for any sign of your friends. It was hard to tell through the sea of people — some juniors who were eager to see the game, some graduates who refused to play, such and such.

Dodge’s eyes roamed over to you, taking in the way you fiddled with the bracelets on your wrists and the tight, nervous expression on your face. He knew what you were thinking — he could see it in your eyes. I don’t belong here.

He watched you look around for your friends and found himself wondering why you were alone. Why weren’t you with them?

He seems to recognize you from the first challenge, and when you meet his gaze, he raises a hand. A small smile follows, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling in return.

Something sparked in Dodge’s chest as your lips curled into a small smile — he hadn’t expected a smile in return. Nor had he expected your eyes to soften at the sight of him, or your cheeks to flush a pretty shade of pink.

Maybe he had more of a chance with you than he thought.

The sight of you smiling in return gives him just enough confidence to walk over, stopping in-front of you. It was slightly unnerving, but it felt nice. Exhilarating, even.

He smirked to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you — and just like that, his bravado returned.

“So,” he started, turning his head to the side to look down at you as he leaned against the car. “Here to root for me?”

Your gaze tilts to him, and you almost laughed. “No, I’m here to win.”

Dodge raised an eyebrow at your response, a scoff and chuckle of disbelief slipping between his lips. He turned around, leaning his hip against the hood of the car, the smirk never wavering from his face.

“Oh, really?” He said, cocking his head to the side. “You honestly think you stand a chance against me?”

He wasn’t sure where all this confidence was coming from - because if it were anyone else, he would’ve just been nodding along with simple responses by now.

You grin. “I know so.”

He let out a hearty laugh and shook his head.

“I’m serious!” You exclaim, although, you really aren’t. You planned to chicken out the second you got called on that death-trap of a beam, no way in hell are you risking your life just to possibly lose in the end.

“Yeah,” he begun, but you shook your head; letting laughs fall from your lips. “No, not really.” You grin up at him, and he acts surprised; but he kind of had a feeling from the start you wouldn’t actually go through with any of this.

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re backing out just like that?”

Your eyes catch on the flex of his muscles as his arms fold over his chest, before flickering back up to his face with a shrug. “I guess—“

You’re cut off by the sound of sirens approaching, closing your eyes as you let out a frustrated exhale. Playing panic was dangerous — watching it, even.

Dodge’s expression quickly turned serious as the sound of sirens filled the air. He immediately turned his head towards the noise, his muscles tense and eyes narrowing.

He quickly looked back over at you, silently cursing how distracted he had become from your presence. He should have been on guard — his focus needed to be on the task at hand, not on some cute girl.

“Cops,” he said lowly, looking back at the police cars approaching.

“Obviously,” you retort, sliding of the hood as you glance over your shoulder. There wasn’t really much places to scatter to, but –

Your train of thought is cut off by his hand on your wrist, pulling you along towards a patch of woods.

Dodge moved fast, tugging on your wrist and pulling you away from the car. He quickly led you towards a patch of woods nearby, trying to put as much distance between you and the cops before they got out of their cars.

He kept his grip on your hand as you ran, his fingers wrapped firmly around your wrist. They were rough — calloused from working on the farm and years of horseback riding.

As they made it into the safety of the trees, Dodge pulled you behind a large oak, pinning you against the trunk.

He quickly retracted, internally cursing himself for doing such. “Sorry, instinct,” he grumbles, although not angry towards you, god, not you.

“You lead a lot of girls away from cops?” You quip, fighting the urge to laugh to yourself.

Dodge let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

He’d somehow managed to pull you almost 500 yards within that span of three minutes.

“Yeah, all the time,” he replied sarcastically, his smirk returning as he leaned his shoulder against the tree next to you. “You’re the twenty-third one I’ve led this month alone.”

You roll your eyes, “How charming.”

Dodge chuckled at your eye roll, leaning closer to you and looking down at you. His smirk widened as he pushed himself off of the tree, turning to face you fully.

“Yeah, I’m a real charmer,” he joked, crossing his arms over his chest once more. He paused then, noticing how close he was to you.

He cleared his throat before speaking again, pulling away, partially in fear of scaring you, partially in fear he couldn’t stop himself from asking to kiss you. “So, uh… you got a ride home or something?”

Fuck. No you did not. You hadn’t actually accounted that part down — you came with your friend, who is currently nowhere to be found, if not currently in the back of a cop car.

“No.” You huffed, narrowing your gaze as you looked at him, “I was gonna crash at Natalie’s,” You said, trying to explain your situation, which wasn’t hard to understand to begin with. Came with a friend, planned to leave with a friend, currently 500 yards away from said friend’s car, can’t exactly account to go home, as you told her you were going to bed three hours ago.

Dodge’s eyebrows furrowed at your answer — not out of annoyance, but concern. He knew the cops would be searching everywhere, and you didn’t have a ride home.

He thought for a moment, weighing his options. He couldn’t leave you out here alone until the police left. It was too dangerous.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair again before speaking. “Alright,” he said, looking down at you. “You’re comin’ home with me, then.”

Your eyes widen, and you seem to swallow as you tilt your head forwards, perplexed. “What?”

Dodge raised an eyebrow at your reaction, his expression shifting to confusion. He was surprised that you seemed so shocked by his offer.

Although, he got it. You didn’t know him well — not outside of school at least. You had seem him a few times, sat by him in a few classes. Thought he was cute, too, but never would’ve admitted that.

“You need a place to stay for the night,” he explained, his eyes locked on yours. “And you sure as hell can’t stay here.”

He paused, eyeing you up and down before continuing. “So you’ll stay at my house. It’s not a big deal.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but quickly snapped it shut, knowing he was right. Spending the night in the woods with the cops searching was a recipe for disaster.

Going home would be even worse.

And yet… spending the night at his house still stirred something within you — anxiety, excitement, curiosity — you couldn’t tell.

“Okay,” You nod, eyes darting around. “Yeah.” You exhale, it was for the better. You weren’t gonna sleep on the side of the road, and you knew Dodge.. to an extent, enough to know he’s not gonna pull an axe on you in your sleep.

Dodge’s face morphed into a sly grin as you agreed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He knew he was probably going to regret this later — he’d never brought a girl to his house before, let alone a girl his mother didn’t approve of.

“Atta girl,” he said, lightly patting your shoulder before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go.”

Dodge stepped away from the protective cover of the trees, gesturing for you to follow him. The coast was clear for now, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

As you fell in step with him, he leaned down to your ear. “Just so you know,” he began in a low voice. “My mom doesn’t know you’re coming over. So.. don’t talk too loud when we get to the house, alright?”

You cock your head to the side, a slight laugh escaping under your breath. “Doesn’t know or isn’t okay?”

Dodge chuckled, shaking his head as he continued walking. “Both,” he answered, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

“She wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to have some girl she’s never met before spend the night out of nowhere.”

You nod, wondering why he’d offer in the first place then. He could’ve left you to get in trouble with your mom, left you to get eliminated, anything else.

“Is that your car?” You tilt your head forwards, breaking the silence that fell over the two teens, eyeing a white car.

Dodge followed your gaze, looking at the car you were eyeing. He nodded, a proud smile forming on his lips. “Yeah,” he said, a hint of boasting in his voice. “That’s her.”

You find it slightly funny that he’s gendered his car.

He quickly started towards the car, reaching it within a few long strides. He pulled the passenger side door open, motioning for you to get in. “C’mon.”

You almost hesitate — but, it’s not like you have another choice — or enough self control.

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the open door before climbing inside. You settled into the leather seat, shutting the door behind you, your stomach twisting with nervousness.

Dodge walked around to the driver’s side and got in, settling into the seat and buckling his seatbelt. He twisted the key in the ignition, the engine of the car coming to life with a low, rumbling purr.

He pulled out of the field and onto the road, navigating the deserted streets skillfully. You sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the low hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires.

Dodge glanced over at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how tense and quiet you seemed. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, I guess it’s just..” You trailed off, unsure of how to actually describe the feeling.

It wasn’t scary, but it was. You were almost excited, but you didn’t know him well. Any knowledgeable person would be wary, but god, was Dodge Mason cute.

“I don’t know.”

Dodge chuckled, a sympathetic scoff falling from his lips at your failed attempt at putting your feelings into words.

He could tell you were conflicted about all of this — going home with a guy you barely knew, spending the night in a home you’ve never been to before… he didn’t blame you.

He sighed, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah, I’m sure this isn’t how you planned to spend your night, huh?”

You scoff. “Who doesn’t plan to go home with a boy they barely know after cops raid them?”

He shook his head with a grin and looked over at you again, his eyes scanning over your features. Despite the absurdity of the situation, he couldn’t help the fluttery feeling in his chest as he looked at you.

You stayed silent for a moment, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the car window. The night was still and quiet, only the hum of the engine breaking the silence.

“Dodge?” You spoke up suddenly, your voice soft.

Dodge’s attention immediately went to you, his eyes flickering over to glance at you. “Yeah?” He responded, his tone just as quiet as yours.

You shifted in your seat, turning to face him. “Can I ask you something?” you inquired, your expression slightly serious.

Dodge raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in your demeanor. “Shoot,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

You paused for a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking. “Why did you offer to let me stay the night?”

The question had been weighing on your mind since the moment he suggested it. You knew he wasn’t exactly the most responsible or trustworthy person, yet he’d gone out of his way to offer you refuge at his home.

Dodge’s grip tightened around the steering wheel as you asked the question. He expected it, knowing it was bound to come up eventually, but he wasn’t exactly prepared to answer it fully.

The truth was simple — he found you attractive, intriguing, and he was drawn to you in a way he couldn’t explain. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud, not yet.

Instead, he shrugged nonchalantally. “Seemed like you needed a place to stay,” he responded, keeping his tone casual.

Your eyebrows furrowed, sensing the hint of evasion in his answer. You knew there was more to it than that, but you also knew it wasn’t your place to push him for the truth — especially given your options in the current moment.

You let out a sigh, leaning back in your seat and looking out the window again. The rest of the ride passed in silence, only broken by the sound of the engine and the occasional rumble of the road beneath the tires.

After a few minutes, Dodge finally pulled into a long gravel driveway, leading up to a house. The house was modest, but well-kept. Even in the dim light, you could make out the meticulously maintained garden and the freshly painted exterior.

He shifted the car into park and killed the engine, turning to look at you. “We’re here.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt and looked out the windshield, taking in the sight of the house. It was cozy, but not overly extravagant. It looked lived in — a home owned by a family who actually spent time here.

You let out a shaky breath, nerves starting to bubble up inside you once more. This was really happening. You were really going in there.

It wasn’t like regular nerves you’d had before. Not like panic, more like when you’re hanging out with a friend you’ve met for the first time — although, you technically know Dodge.

Dodge could sense the anxiety radiating from you, your nervousness evident in the way you fidgeted in your seat. He let out a low sigh, his eyes flickering over your features for a moment before speaking.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he reassured you, his voice soft. “My mom and sister are probably already asleep, so just stay quiet.”

You nodded, smiling. “Well, let’s go then. I’m tired.”

Dodge returned your smile with a nod of his own, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned his attention to unbuckling his seatbelt.

He pushed the driver’s side door open, the soft creak of the metal mixing with the sound of the crickets chirping in the night air. He got out of the car and shut the door, rounding the hood and opening your door for you.

You stepped out of the car, your shoes crunching on the gravel beneath them. You followed Dodge as he led the way to the front door, your eyes darting around nervously, taking in the surroundings.

He paused in front of the door and fumbled through his pockets, searching for his keys. After a moment, he fished them out and unlocked the door, pushing it open quietly.

He wasn’t exactly worried about making noise - his mom usually didn’t pay mind to him coming late. She figured he’d be home way later in any other circumstances, anyways.

As Dodge opened the door, a warm, inviting light spilled out from inside the house. You followed him inside, stepping into the entranceway and closing the door softly behind you.

The interior of the house was cozy and homey, with warm wood accents and comfortable furnishings. There was a sense of order and cleanliness, but it didn’t feel overly stiff or overly lived-in.

Dodge gestured for you to keep your shoes on, before nodding towards a hallway. “My room’s down there,” he whispered, indicating the direction of a long hallway to the left of the entryway.

You followed his gaze, looking down the hallway. You could see several doors lining the sides of the hallway, presumably leading to different rooms — bathrooms, bedrooms, and the like.

You looked back at Dodge, your heart rate increasing as you realized the implication of his words. His room. Where he sleeps. Where you’ll be sleeping, in close proximity to him.

Dodge noticed the look on your face, noticing the way your eyes widened slightly, betraying your thoughts. He chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension.

“Relax,” he whispered, his tone playful. “You’ll be fine. My room’s big enough for the both of us.”

You roll your eyes, “OK, cowboy.” You step into the open door, taking in the dimly-lit room. It wasn’t much. Just trophies, a wardrobe and a bed and small clutter around the room.

You liked it. You could get used to it.

Dodge chuckled at your nickname, following you into the room and shutting the door behind him. The atmosphere grew more intimate as you both entered the enclosed space, the faint smell of his cologne mingling with the scent of his laundry detergent.

He leaned against the wall, watching you look around with a slight smirk on his lips. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

You don’t take any convincing, and immediately flop down onto the bed, exhaling at the feel of the differing comfort in comparison to his car and old truck.

Dodge let out another chuckle as you flopped onto the bed, his eyes watching you sprawled out on his sheets. the sight amused him - you looked like a starfish on the soft material of the mattress.

He pushed away from the wall and walked across the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Comfy?” He teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah,” you hummed, a soft grin adorning your face. “although,” you sit up, glancing to him, “wish I would’ve known i’d be having a sleepover. All my stuff is in Nat’s car.”

Dodge chuckled, his eyes scanning over you as you sat up next to him. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for this either,” he retorted, a smirk still playing on his lips.

He thought for a moment, his gaze flicking towards the door and then back to you. “You can borrow something to sleep in, if you want.”

You nod vicariously, laughing. “I am not sleeping in this.”

Dodge chuckled, leaning back on his arms as he looked you up and down. He took in your outfit, noting how out of place it seemed in this setting.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly sleepwear,” he agreed, amusement in his voice. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering over your body before he spoke again. “I got some old T-shirts you can borrow.”

He stood up, walking over to the closet, before tossing a shirt your way. It was larger, but you could tell that it was his. It smelt faintly like him, and you can make the outlines out of a cracked pattern from an old rodeo.

You smiled up at him, appreciatively. “Thanks,” you said, placing the clothes down beside you. “Do you mind if I change here?”

Being caught by his sister or mom wasn’t exactly a want for you right now.

“Nope, go ahead,” he replied, leaning against the wall lazily. “I won’t look.”

You nodded, watching as his gaze shifts towards the closet, adjusting clothes.

You waste no time peeling the clothes off of you, pulling the T-shirt over your body as you exhale, and then pulling the old sweatpants over your body, tying them as tight as you could around your waist.

“Okay.” You said.

He quickly shook the thoughts away, clearing his throat. “You decent?” He asked, looking over at you.

“Yep.” You nod, shifting back on the bed some, “Oh,” you glance away, “you can change too, sorry.”

Dodge chuckled at your realization, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to you again.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you, reaching down and grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping in this, anyways.”

He pulled the fabric over his head and tossed it onto the floor, revealing his bare chest.

He knows how badly this could’ve ended - but, he was already here, and honestly the lack of sleep was beginning to make him more bold than he’d like to admit.

Your eyebrows raise, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you met his gaze.

Dodge noticed your reaction, his smirk widening as he caught your laugh. He chuckled in response, his eyes locked on yours.

“What?” He asked, his voice playful. “Never seen a guy shirtless before?”

You shake your head, blinking back shock. “I have,” you note, trying to pretend as if your eyes weren’t raking over his body.

“Just.. wasn’t expecting this.”

Her close proximity was intoxicating, the scent of her perfume filling his senses and clouding his thoughts.

He leaned in slightly, his face inches away from yours. His gaze flicked from your eyes to lips, the desire to kiss you overwhelming any logical thoughts in his mind.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Tell me you want this. Tell me to, and I will. But I need to hear you say it."

He leaned in further, his lips hovering just above yours, the gap between them practically non-existent.

"I want this," you admitted, barely audible.

Without another word, he closed the minimal gap between them, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

His hands moved from your cheek to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

But it wasn't just about physical need, you could sense. There was a sense of desperation in the way he held you, as if this moment was more than just a passing lust.

As the kiss deepened, Dodge backed you up against the bed, gently maneuvering you until you were trapped between him and the mattress.

His hands moved under your shirt, tracing a path up your bare skin, causing you to shiver against him.

Dodge trailed hot kisses down your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of burning desire in their wake. His hands roamed over your body, worshiping every inch of your bare skin.

His mouth returned to yours, claiming your lips in a passionate embrace. He rolled his hips against you, eliciting a gasp from your lips as the friction between your bodies intensified.

With a smooth movement, he pulled away from your lips and moved to your jawline, nipping and nibbling at the sensitive skin there.

“You have no idea,” he rasped, his voice low and ragged with desire, “how long I've wanted to do this.”

His hands moved from your hips to your thighs, gripping the flesh hard as he shifted between your legs.

Dodge took a few moments to admire the sight of you beneath him, your face flushed and lips swollen from his kisses. He couldn't get enough of you, the way you tasted, the way you felt beneath him.

He leaned down to capture your lips again, his hands roaming further up your thighs. His fingers toyed with the waistband of the sweatpants, the thought of going further crossing his mind.

Dodge broke the kiss, panting slightly as he looked down at you again.

“God,” he rasped, his gaze roaming over your flushed face and disheveled hair. “You’re so damn beautiful like this.”

He leaned back down, his breath hot against your ear. “I want you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “All of you. Right here. Right now.”

His lips moved to your neck, trailing hot kisses down your collarbone as his hands continued to wander over your body. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of the sweatpants, tracing patterns against your skin.

“Okay,” You nod, “okay,” you repeat softer.

Dodge's breath hitches at your agreement, his fingers stilling. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and relief.

"Yeah?" He asks, his voice slightly shaky. "You're sure?"

You nod, “I’m sure.”

Dodge's response is immediate, his mouth crashing back down onto yours in a passionate kiss. His hands move faster now, pushing down the sweatpants and discarding them onto the floor.

He positions himself back between your legs, his body pressing against yours as he kisses you hungrily. One of his thighs slides against you, causing you to gasp into the kiss.

Dodge takes advantage of your moment of surprise, his tongue slipping past your lips to explore your mouth. His hands roam over your bare thighs and hips, gripping the flesh tightly as he continues to move against you.

You can feel his hardness pressing against you, the evidence of his desire evident and urgent. He pulls away from the kiss, panting slightly, and looks down at you.

“God,” he mutters, his voice ragged and hoarse. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He shifts his hips, pressing against you more purposefully. The friction between your bodies causes him to let out a guttural groan, his head dropping down to bury in your neck.

He peppers your neck with kisses, his lips and teeth leaving behind a trail of marks and bites. He continues to rock his hips against you, the friction growing more and more intense as the seconds pass.

His hands roam over your body, mapping out every dip and curve with fervor. He's almost feverish in his touch, his need for you overwhelming his rational thoughts.

"I need," he gasps, his breath warm against your skin, "I need..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, instead moving to capture your lips in another bruising kiss. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as he increases the pace of his movements. The friction between your bodies is enough to send waves of pleasure through you, the feeling consuming your senses.

Dodge breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to see your face. He takes in the sight of you, hair mussed, eyes glazed over with desire, cheeks flushed with color.

He looks wrecked himself, his breathing labored and his body taut with tension. Every muscle in his body is pulled taught, as if he's holding back from completely letting go.

His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. He's on the edge, you can tell. But he's still holding back, still trying to control himself.

"I want... I need..." he pants, his words coming out in shuddering gasps. "I need to hear you say it. Tell me I can... tell me you want..."

He trails off, unable to finish his sentence. He's desperate, his need for you almost palpable in the air.

He know’s he’s gotten your permission beforehand, but he needs to be sure.

“Please.” You whine.

Dodge exhales a ragged breath at your response, the sound almost a moan. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body trembling with need.

"Thank god," he gasps, his voice cracking slightly. "Thank god."

He captures your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth hungrily. His hands move from your hips to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart as he positions himself against you.

The friction between your bodies is maddening now, the pleasure building with every movement. Dodge bucks his hips against you, causing you both to moan into the kiss.

He breaks the kiss again, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You feel so good," he whispers against your skin, his words sending shivers through your body. "So perfect, so goddamn perfect."

His hands roam over your body, touching and caressing every inch of exposed flesh. He's everywhere at once, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that spread through your body like wildfire.

You almost whine out at the lack of contact to your body as his hands travel to his belt.

Dodge's hands fumble with his jeans, the frantic motion a clear indicator of how desperately he needs you. He pushes the material down, kicking them off the edge of the bed with a hasty movement.

He's bare now, his body exposed and vulnerable in a way he rarely lets himself be. He positions himself back between your legs, bracing himself above you.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of you beneath him. You're flushed and trembling, your eyes glassy with desire. You can see his gaze flickering over your body, taking in every detail, every curve.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His hands grip your hips again, holding you in place as he rolls his own into you.

The friction between your bodies is enough to drive you both insane. Dodge lets out a guttural moan into the kiss, his grip on your hips tight enough to bruise.

He swears he could come at the sight of this alone, and he honestly might.

A rapid knock to his door stirs him out of his frenzy.

Dodge grunts in surprise, pulled out of his passionate haze by the interruption. He looks up at you, his eyes still dark with desire but confused by the sudden intrusion.

"What?" he asks, his voice slightly hoarse as he called out to his sister in the hallway. "What's wrong?"

“I can’t reach the cereal above the fridge.”

He rolled his eyes, huffing as he pulled your — his, sweatpants over his body.

He raises a finger, as if telling you to wait, and you nod, but you were asleep by the time he finished helping Dana.

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tune-on-in-folks · 1 month ago

Text

Day 11. Yet again I had to force myself to stop editing and rewriting this one. If things seem a little out of place, that's why. Haha. Something about the deer-man has me rewriting over and over. Anywhozle, enjoy a rut fic with the Radio Demon!

Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, deer!reader, p in v sex, top!Alastor, rut, heat, mating, kinda A/B/O because of that, creampie, chasing, blood consumption, marking, biting, reader is very confused. Word Count: 3,550

It was mid-October and the Hotel was alight with activity. Charlie had decided that the Hotel needed to be decorated from the highest floors to the ground-floor lobby. It was one of her latest plans to help with team-building. And who didn’t enjoy Halloween or decorating? Alastor had withdrawn himself from the activities, not giving a really solid reason to why. But since he often didn’t indulge in the activities of the Hotel, Charlie freed him from his duties as hotelier for the time being. And for once, Alastor was thankful to be free of work.

He had been in Hell for many years, so he was well aware that every year, around mid-October, his rut started. It was an unfortunate side effect of being a deer demon. Each season was different as well, sometimes the lust that his rut brought was easily manageable. Other times it nearly suffocated him. He refused to indulge in the primal urges of his body, never once, in all of his years in Hell, taking a mate. This year, he planned to do much of the same. Tuck himself away in his room, relieve the rut himself for as long as it would last, and be done with it.

He didn’t account for you.

You were a deer demon like him, which lent itself to a sort of camaraderie between the both of you. He enjoyed your presence more than he was willing to admit, and found himself caring for you. You softened his edges, made his heart skip a beat. You were intriguing, enchanting, you drew him in. You were a weakness that he refused to disclose to anyone, you included. Alastor knew you were fairly new to Hell, but hadn’t expected you to be clueless about your own nature. About what your very presence would do to him, come mid-October.

A few days ago, Alastor had started to avoid you. Which had hurt, even though you were certain it was unintentional on his part. He was busy, you knew that, and you couldn’t expect him to spend every waking moment listening to your silly stories. But how you missed him. You were thoroughly unaware why he was avoiding you. Unaware of why your very body seemed to crave his presence more than usual. You adored the Radio Demon. While most at the Hotel feared him, you sought him out, wanting to be near him. Everyone else avoided him, which meant he was typically always free for you to pester while helping him with tasks. Your feelings of wanting him near just intensified as mid-October rolled around. And you were starting to get annoyed that he was avoiding you. Your first thought was that he was busy, but then you started worrying that you had done something wrong, maybe insulted him accidentally. You were prepared to make it up to him.

You awoke early in the morning, sweat sticking your hair to your face and a low arousal building in your stomach. You didn’t think too much of it, having woken up much the same, the last few days. You were unaware that you were entering your first ever heat-cycle. So you got up, made sure you looked fairly presentable, and headed out of your room. It was extremely early, no one else was up. The Hotel was eerily quiet, but peaceful nonetheless. You made your way to Alastor’s bedroom, knowing that he rose before the sun most mornings. It was the perfect time to approach him. In the privacy of the early morning, you were certain you could speak to him about why he was avoiding you. You knew he was busy, but hoped he’d spare a moment for you, especially first thing in the morning.

You arrived at his door, raising your hand up to rap your knuckles gently against the wood. The sound was surprisingly loud in the quiet stillness that covered the Hotel. You wondered for a moment, if perhaps Alastor wasn’t up at all, if you should come back later. But then you heard shuffling, your ears twitching as they picked up the sound. The door opened a crack a moment later and Alastor appeared. You took in his appearance, feeling yourself blush at his level of undress. He was in pajamas, the shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his frame. It felt almost scandalous seeing his chest and stomach exposed when he typically wore layers. He froze, his smile straining as he took in your similar appearance. Shorts that were high above your knees, and a shirt that was cut much too low- exposing quite an expansive amount of your cleavage. He shifted forward, aware of your scent, the pheromones rolling off you in thick waves. At the same time he moved forward, your sharp nose picked up his scent. A mix of his cologne and something that was uniquely him. Just the whiff of him had more heat pooling between your legs. Much to your annoyance and confusion.

“May I help you, my dear?” His voice was hoarse, sounding strained as his claws dug into the edge of the door.

“I…” You begin, swallowing as more arousal flooded through you. “I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“Fine.” Was his curt reply, his ears pressed flat against his head as he struggled to maintain control with you so near.

You were in the beginning of your heat and here you were coming to his door, flaunting your scent around him. He had never once smelt something so enticing, something that had his cock twitching to life in an instant. His body craved release, craved to give into his rut. Into the primal side of his nature and breed, much to his annoyance. He was startled by how intense his rut got with you being so near. It was taking everything in him not to pull you into his room and fuck you against the door.

“Is that all?” He asks, moving to close the door.

“No, I wanted to speak to you actually.” You take a step forward, your eyes catching on the sweat on his brow, his typically perfect hair was messy.

A flash of concern runs through you, you wonder if he was getting unwell. You take another step forward, your body responding to his presence, to the scent rolling off him in thick waves. You didn’t understand why he smelt so good, better than usual. You didn’t understand why you were so wet, so aroused. Why you wanted Alastor to pin you against the wall and fuck you. You were completely clueless, banishing your thoughts as best you could. It wasn’t the first time such fantasies crossed your mind, so you thought nothing more of them.

“You look unwell, Alastor.” You say softly, reaching your hand up to brush against his forehead, his skin scalding beneath your touch.

He flinched at your touch, his hand grasping your wrist tightly, pulling it away. Guilt flooded you as you realized what you had done. You were typically so careful, being respectful of his boundaries, and never touching him without his express permission.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim, face flushed in embarrassment.

Your mind was torn between being apologetic and the distracting feeling of his hand encircling your wrist in warmth. Why did just a simple touch have more heat pooling between your thighs? You needed to get a grip on yourself before you did or said something embarrassing. Alastor’s lips pulled back into a slight snarl, his control over his body slipping. He yanks you closer to the door, closer to him.

“Ah! Al!” You object as he opens the door further, pulling you into his room.

The door slams shut behind you, the lock clicking a moment later. For the first time since you had met the Radio Demon, a cold fear runs through you as you tumble to the floor. You turn around, watching him approach you. His eyes were dark with a predatory look that had you shivering, arousal cutting through your fear.

“You wanted to speak to me, so speak!” He demands, his smile straining.

“I-Alastor, are you okay?” You ask, pushing yourself to your feet, concern for him overriding everything else.

Static picks up around him, the sound deafening as he attempts to control his instincts. “I’m beginning not to be. Pray tell, what are you bothering me for?”

You swallow nervously, ears pressing down against your head as discontent swirls in your stomach. You didn’t like his sharp tone or the fact that he was clearly very annoyed by your presence.

“You’ve been avoiding me. I wanted to know if I’ve done something wrong.” You finally whisper, looking away from him.

Alastor laughs, sounding almost gleeful. The sound startles you enough to look back at him.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He asks, voice strained, radio effect in full swing.

“What?” You ask, head tilting to the side in confusion. “What are you talking about? Have I done something wrong?”

He advances on you, each step full of intent. “My dear, I knew you were new to Hell, but not this new. Are you unaware of what season it is?”

Your brows furrow as you take a step back. “It’s October.”

He laughs again, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yes, my dear, it is. And what happens to deers in October?”

You frown. “They mate? What are you getting at?”

Alastor stops in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you against him. “You truly are clueless, my little doe.”

“What?” You ask slightly insulted.

“You.” He gestures to you as if that would explain everything. “My dear, are in heat.”

“I’m in what now?” You respond, head tilting in confusion once again.

He tilts your chin up with his thumb and pointer finger, correcting your head tilt. “Heat. You’re aroused right now, wanting, craving. Desperate and needy.”

You flush at his words, a bit embarrassed that he managed to see through you so easily. “H-how did you…?”

“Know?” He prompts, his mouth grazing against your lips teasingly. “Because my dear, I’m in the midst of my rut myself. And you smell divine.”

His lips brush against your neck, his nose bumping against your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut, your breath hitching at how close he is. With Alastor this close you can really smell his cologne and that musky scent beneath it. It does nothing but fan the flames rapidly building in your gut, your arousal growing. His hands find your hips, dragging you closer.

“Alastor?” You whisper, swallowing thickly as his mouth trails against your neck.

“Yes, my dear?” He asks softly, his tongue running along your sensitive skin.

You shiver at his touch, not having realized how feverish you felt until the touch of his mouth cooled your flushed skin.

“What’s happening to me?” you ask, a soft whimper falling from your lips as you pressed against him. “Why do I feel like this? Why do you make me feel like this?”

He chuckled, the sound low and baritone, sending more arousal pooling. “I told you, my dear. You’re in heat. Your body is craving a mate. To be taken, fucked, filled. Bred.”

You gasp, a soft, breathy moan falling from your lips as he kisses up your neck.

“And unfortunately for you, you came to me. So now I’m going to do just that.” He promises.

Your eyes flutter open at his words, at what that means for you. His words were not completely clicking yet, your arousal clouding the logical side of your mind.

“Alastor…” you breathe, meeting his gaze as he pulls back.

His eyes shone with an unnatural light, intensifying the reds and pinks. Alastor turns you around so that you’re facing the pocket dimension in his room, grinding his hips against your lower back. Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his erection.

He whispers in your ear, his breath fanning over the skin, making you feel both feverish and freezing all at once. “You’re going to run my dear. And when I catch you, I’m going to claim you as mine. Mate you.”

You feel Alastor take a step back, releasing his hold on you. You glance back at him, a mix of emotions warring within you. It was quickly becoming apparent that perhaps seeking Alastor out wasn’t such a grand idea. Especially when you didn’t exactly understand what was happening to you. Why you felt so feverish, why his scent alone was making you so aroused. He had mentioned deers and their mating season. It clicked in your mind then.

“I’m in heat?” You ask.

He meets your gaze, his smile softening despite the almost feral look in his eyes. “Yes, my little doe. An unfortunate side effect for us. A season you will go through every year around this time. Now do get running, you are wasting precious time.”

You face back towards the pocket dimension. The idea of running from Alastor, of him chasing you and catching you, was just making you more aroused.

Your feet moved on their own, propelling you forward as you set off. You tried to pace yourself, wondering just how long this chase could go on. You knew you wanted him to catch you, to pull you down into the mud of his bayou, and fuck you sensless. You took a shaky breath, turning abruptly to the left, weaving past trees, jumping over roots. You let the primal side of you take over, knowing your instincts would lead you when your logical mind was still grappling with the fact that you were in heat.

“Here I come, my little doe!” Alastor’s voice rang out, far too cheerful and full of promise.

His voice surrounds you, as though he was right behind you. You speed up, a thrill running through your entire body. Unfortunately for yourself, your body was quickly wearing down. You can feel yourself slowing, the adrenaline you'd started with faltering. At the sound of branches snapping underfoot, you glance behind you. You gasp, seeing Alastor closing the space between the both of you effortlessly. You were breathing hard, your muscles burning with the strain as you ran. Yet he barely seemed to be breaking a sweat. You look forward again, in enough time to barely avoid running straight into a tree. You stumble over a root, barely able to catch yourself. Your stumble is enough for Alastor to close the distance between you totally. He tackles you to the ground.

A fresh wave of adrenaline pumps through you, your body writhing beneath him as he pins you down. You attempt to kick his legs only for him to pin them beneath his. His knee spreads your legs, bumping right against your sensitive core. He pins your hands above your body, his face burying against your neck.

“Got you.” He whispers, rolling his hips against you.

You whine, the fight immediately leaving your body completely as desire replaces your adrenaline. Alastor shifts above you, his claws gliding seamlessly through your shorts and panties beneath. Your clothes fall from your frame in shreds, a gasp spilling from you. The cold, autumn air of the bayou fans over your hot core, only adding to your desire. He shreds your shirt next, his mouth finding yours as he frees his throbbing cock from his sweatpants. You moan as he nudges the throbbing tip of it against your entrance. Alastor sits back, running his cock through your slick folds, bumping into your clit.

“I’m going to mate you, my dear. Make you mine completely.” He presses the tip against your entrance again, rocking his hips forward.

You whimper as he nudges your entrance open, already stretching you with a delicious burn. You try to pry your hands free from his grip as he presses inside you. You wanted to grab ahold of him, to brace yourself as he began to enter you. He was thick and long, much bigger than you had ever taken before.

“Alastor!” You moan, thrashing against his hold. “You're so big!”

He smirks, his ego clearly being stroked, he leans down to capture your lips as he slid deeper inside you.

“That’s it my doe, you’re taking my cock so well. Just a little more to go.” He praises, continuing to push inch by inch inside you.

You gasp, your back arching in an attempt to pull away from him, while also rolling down onto his invading cock. “Too much! Alastor, it’s too much, you’re too big. You won’t fit!”

He chuckles, his mouth trailing kisses and nips all the way down your neck. “I assure you, darling. I’ll fit. And you-” He thrusts forward, raming in completely. “Will take me all.”

Another gasp falls from your lips, your hands twisting in his grasp as he bottoms out. His cock is pressed deep inside you, deeper than you thought was possible. His cock-head rests against your cervix, pressed right against it. His length feels impossibly hot, warming you from the inside out against the chill of the bayou. Alastor slowly withdraws his cock, leaving the tip inside, before he thrusts back into you. His hips snap against yours, causing you to cry out in both pain and pleasure. He repeats the movement, the time between each thrust shortening, until he’s fucking you hard and fast. The ground beneath the two of you depresses from your combined weight. Every thrust moves your body an inch or two away from him, only for Alastor to drag you back down against him. You moan loudly, cries filling the air and drowning out any sounds of the surrounding nature.

“That’s it.” He praises, “Taking me so well. You look absolutely darling on my cock, dear.”

Alastor drags your body up, shifting back on his haunches and bringing you up with him. The change in position allows him to fuck up into you, his cock sliding deeper. Breathless moans fell from your mouth, loud and wanton.

“Alastor-” You gasp, barely able to get out his name with how much pleasure you were feeling. “Please.”

He chuckles, twisting your hands beneath your back. It was unfair how unaffected he looked, as though he wasn’t also getting off to fucking you.

“What is it, my little doe?” He murmurs, pressing kiss after kiss against your neck, rubbing his scent against you.

“I’m so close-” You manage to say, eyes rolling back into your head as he bounces you on his cock.

Your body felt like it was on fire, every touch of his cooled you down while also stroking the arousal in your body. He presses forward, his pubic bone pressing against your clit with every thrust.

Alastor lowers his mouth to the crook of your neck, licking away the salty sweat of your skin. “Then cum for me.”

As though he had complete control over your body, your orgasm rips through you. You yell out loudly, your walls squeezing around his cock. Your release coats your thighs and his lower stomach. The sensation of your walls squeezing around his cock is too much for him. Alastor bites down on your shoulder harshly, drawing blood, marking you. He pulls you down onto his cock as he thrusts up into you, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside you. Hot ropes of cum spill into your waiting, fertile womb. Your body shivers at the intensity of your combined pleasure. Alastor keeps rolling against you, gently thrusting as he fucks his seed deeper inside you.

“Ah- Al-astor!” You whimper, your body overly sensitive to his every touch.

He slows to a stop, buried balls deep inside you, his teeth still deeply embedded in your shoulder. He pulls away, releasing your shoulder from his mouth. Fresh wells of blood spill from the wound that he quickly laps up. The image of him lapping up your blood, his face covered in it, while his cock was buried inside you, was sinful. You shivered involuntarily, his cock remaining hard inside you.

You swallow down another whimper and voice the question you were dreading asking. “How long does this last?”

Alastor meets your gaze, his expression softening. “The rut lasts about a month, and breeding you can last anywhere from forty-eight to seventy-two hours. But worry not, my dear, I’ll make sure your every need is taken care of for the entire month. You’re my mate now, after all.”

You feel your blood drain from your face as the length of time clicks in your mind. If that was the case then you and Alastor would be locked together for days on end. You adored him, but that was a lot.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” You whisper, your body already feeling sore from just one round with him.

He leans forward, capturing your mouth with his as he kisses you deeply. You can taste your blood on his tongue and are surprised by how much it turns you on. Alastor pulls away a moment later, resting his forehead against yours.

“Fret not, my little doe, you can.” He whispers, his voice dropping an octave lower than you were used to. “And you will.”

You shiver, you were in for a long month.

#Alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor x y/n smut #alastor x you smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #tuneonins kinktober #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #my writing #smut

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mononijikayu · 1 month ago

Text

boy, i, boy, i, boy, i know i know you got the feels — fushiguro megumi.

“You… want to be with me?” he repeated slowly, like he needed to say it out loud to make sure he understood. “Yes!” you said, more firmly this time. “I like you, Megumi. A lot!” For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. “What..what do you mean by like? Do you mean…like like…..or…” You looked at him confused. “But of course I like you, Megumi. You’re like my best friend!” He lowered his head. “I see.” When Gojo Satoru heard all about that, he laughed so hard he fell off a chair. Fushiguro Tsumiki was worried but Fushiguro Megumi just slapped his arm while he coughed for air.

Genre: Alternate Universe — Canon Convergence;

Warning/s: Romance, Love, Fluff, First Love, Faling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Feelings, Confessions, Anxiety, Self-Esteem, Awkwardness, Teasing, Sibling Relationship, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Humor, Protectiveness, Happy Ending, Teenage Angst, Young Love Is a Pain, Teenagers Going Through It, Sorcerer! Reader, Mild-Tsundere! Megumi, Mild-Tsundere! Reader, Gojo Satoru as a Brother;

Words: 7.8k words.

note: i wrote this maybe twice or thrice. i didn't like multiple drafts, so i kept rewriting. this was supposed to be more and more about the introspection of young people. i don't think i had that sort of phase. mine was pretty different. so i had to look into that feeling, like what would it feel like as a teenager to fall in love like this? anyway, i hope you enjoy this a lot. i love you all!!! <3

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IT WAS HARD TO EXIST THE WAY YOU WANTED. You feel like you’ve been like that all your life—too much. It doesn’t help that you were born a Gojo, like your brother. The expectations that came with the name were already heavy, but add that to everything else, and you stood out whether you wanted to or not.

You’ve always been taller—taller than the other girls in your class, taller than most of the boys too. It’s the kind of height that made you stick out awkwardly in photos, your limbs feeling too long, too noticeable, and like they never quite fit where they should.

And just as much, you were too loud. You were the kid who couldn’t sit still, who laughed too hard, and who spoke before thinking. You always had an opinion, a comment, or some joke to crack.

But while some people admired the confidence, others found it overwhelming. You’d hear them whisper about how you didn’t know how to take up less space, how you didn’t know when to stop talking. Even if they didn’t say it out loud, you could feel it—their exhaustion with your presence.

But none of their words mattered—not really. Because you never felt alone. Not when you had your brother. Satoru, with all his power and his cocky grin, had a way of making things lighter, easier. Like nothing in the world could ever bother you as long as he was there.

He always knew how to turn everything into a joke, how to lift the weight of the world off your shoulders like it was nothing. When people teased you for being too much, for being the loud Gojo girl who towered over everyone, he’d shrug it off like it was all beneath him. He never made you feel like you were too much for him.

With Satoru, it didn’t matter if you were awkward, clumsy, or too tall. He’d laugh with you, poke fun at your height like it was something to be proud of. And when people couldn’t handle you, when they stepped back because your energy was just a little too wild for them, Satoru was always there. He made you feel like the world was yours to take, that being "too much" was just another way of being more than enough.

Gojo Satoru was larger than life. He was the type who filled a room with his presence, never shy, never hesitant, always overflowing with energy. You followed in his wake, figuring that you’d grow up just like him—bold, confident, and, if you were lucky, a little ridiculous too.

People gravitated toward your brother, and you always figured they’d do the same with you, that you’d never feel small because you’d learned from the best how to be big, even if it wasn’t in the way you looked.

But of course, he had his own life too. And he was older than you. He had duties and dreams and hopes that he was going to chase after. Slowly but surely, you realized that your brother was not always going to be in your life.

You realized that he was going to live a life beyond you. He has to. And in the mind of a little girl, that had triggered some things. And you were inconsolable. You had never felt more distraught in your life.

“What are you even crying about?”

You had looked up, with your tear ridden blue eyes.

Blue–green gleams burned against your own orbs.

Then, there was Fushiguro Megumi.

Satoru had introduced you to him when you were both kids. It was a warm summer afternoon, and you remembered standing beside your brother, peeking curiously at the quiet boy who looked so out of place at your energetic, whirlwind of a home.

“This is Megumi, little sis.” Satoru had said, patting the boy’s head with a wide grin. “He’s going to stay with us for a while with his sister. Take care of him, okay?”

You remembered Megumi’s solemn face, those intense, dark eyes peering up at you with a mix of wariness and confusion. Something about him stuck with you right away. He wasn’t like Satoru at all.

Where your brother was loud, brash, and always moving like a force of nature, Megumi was quiet, reserved, and even a little distant. But in that stillness, there was a calm that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected. His presence was grounding, like he didn’t need to be loud to make an impact. The more time you spent around him, the more drawn in you became.

Even as a kid, you knew there was something special about him, something that made your heart skip in a way that confused you at first. He didn’t chase after attention like others did. He seemed comfortable being on the sidelines, watching quietly as if the chaos around him couldn’t reach him. And somehow, that pulled you in even more.

You’d find yourself watching him—whether it was during meals when he’d quietly pick at his food while Satoru jabbered on about nonsense, or when he’d curl up in a corner of the house, reading a book that looked too difficult for his age. You admired how steady he was, how he always seemed so unaffected by the noise and chaos that surrounded him.

One time, you even tried to mimic that calmness. You’d sat beside him in the living room, crossing your legs and folding your hands neatly in your lap, glancing over at him to see if he noticed. Megumi had looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“What… are you doing?”

“Trying to be calm.” you’d announced proudly, puffing your chest out a little. “Like you.”

He blinked at you, his serious expression almost comically puzzled. “Why?”

“Because you’re… cool!” you’d blurted out, cheeks heating up. “You’re, um, like a cat. Quiet and… mysterious.” Even back then, you were terrible at explaining yourself, but the words just tumbled out in your eagerness to be understood.

Megumi’s lips twitched, and you’d swear you saw the faintest hint of a smile. “A cat?” he echoed, looking almost amused.

“Yeah!” you’d nodded enthusiastically. “Cats don’t need to be loud or run around to be interesting. They just… are. Like you.”

He’d stared at you for a moment, then ducked his head, ears turning pink. “That’s… a weird thing to say.”

You’d deflated a little, afraid you’d embarrassed yourself, but then Megumi had quietly shifted a bit closer, still looking down at his book. “But… thanks.” he’d mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “I guess.”

That small, almost shy acknowledgment had made your heart swell with a warmth you didn’t quite understand. From then on, you found yourself seeking out his company more and more, content to sit beside him even if neither of you spoke much. Back then, it was simple. You just wanted to be near him, to be a part of that quiet space he seemed to create around himself.

But it wasn’t long before that simple admiration started to turn into something more. You’d catch yourself staring at him a little longer, noticing things like the way his eyes softened when he looked at you or how his hair would fall just a bit over his forehead, making you want to brush it away. Whenever Satoru teased him and made him blush, you felt an inexplicable urge to do something, anything, to make him smile instead.

Years later, that feeling only grew stronger, until it became impossible to ignore. And now, standing under the sakura trees, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest, you finally realized why. Megumi had always been special to you, in a way no one else ever could be. And the thought of telling him that was terrifying—but also, thrilling.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Hey, Megumi,” you called out softly, stepping closer to where he stood. He glanced up, surprised by the sound of your voice cutting through the silence. “Do you remember when I said you’re like a cat?”

Megumi frowned slightly, as if trying to recall, then gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Well…” You bit your lip, fighting the urge to look away. “I still think that. But I also think… you’re more than just that.”

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re…” You took a deep breath, the words coming out in a rush. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, Megumi. You’re kind, and you make me feel safe. And… and I want to be with you. Always.”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Megumi just stared at you, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You… want to be with me?” he repeated slowly, like he needed to say it out loud to make sure he understood.

“Yes!” you said, more firmly this time. “I like you, Megumi. A lot!”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. “What..what do you mean by like? Do you mean…like like…..or…”

You looked at him confused. “But of course I like you, Megumi. You’re like my best friend!”

He lowered his head. “I see.”

When Gojo Satoru heard all about that, he laughed so hard he fell off a chair. Fushiguro Tsumiki was worried but Fushiguro Megumi just slapped his arm while he coughed for air.

But as you grew older, those feelings started to change, become more complex, more uncertain. It wasn’t just a childhood crush anymore; it was something deeper. You found yourself thinking about Megumi in ways that left you feeling vulnerable, like there was a part of you that would always be reaching out to him, even if you weren’t sure he’d reach back.

It hits you suddenly;like lightning straight to your heart. You’re sitting on the couch with Megumi and your brother Satoru, casually chatting about nothing in particular, but every time Megumi glances your way, something flips inside you. It’s ridiculous, really, how just the smallest brush of his fingers against yours sends you spiraling.

You try to stay composed, but your mind is racing, wondering if he feels it too. Does his heart skip when your knees touch? Is he trying to steal glances at you the way you do when he’s not looking? Your thoughts swirl—Catching feels like butterflies—and it’s getting harder to focus on the conversation.

Satoru notices immediately, of course. The knowing smirk on his face is impossible to miss.

"Hey, you good?" he asks, voice laced with amusement. "You're looking kinda flushed. Maybe it's the heat—oh wait, maybe it's just Cupid."

You shoot him a glare, but the grin on his face only widens.

"Shut up." you mutter, crossing your arms, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “Focus on everything else except me.”

He leans in closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Ooooh, are you catching feels?" He snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "This is too good! I thought you were just spacing out, but nope, you're totally—boom-boom-boom from head to toe."

Megumi glances over, raising an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Before you can even attempt to answer, Satoru’s all over it, teasing mercilessly. "Oh, nothing! Just my dearest sister here having a bit of a heart-fluttering moment. But don’t worry, Megumi, she’s just having a moment. But boy, I know, boy I know, my sis has the feels!"

You want to disappear right then and there. Of course, Satoru would turn this into a full-blown spectacle. You manage to meet Megumi’s gaze, and to your surprise, there’s a slight flush on his cheeks too.

"Ignore him, okay?" Megumi says, voice calm but softer than usual. He smiles at you, for a moment. You could feel yourself getting hot. He was pretty when he smiled. Oh my god. “He’s just…annoying again.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Spoken like a child.”

It gives you a little hope, just enough to make you wonder if maybe—just maybe—his heart beats the same way.

But before you can dwell on that, Satoru’s voice cuts through the moment, "You’re both hopeless! Just admit it already. This is too entertaining."

You groan, burying your face in your hands, but there’s no denying it anymore. You’ve got all the feels, and Satoru isn’t about to let you forget it. “Shut up!”

“No!” He snickers back at you, tongue out.

“I’m telling mom about this!”

“Hey, don’t! Mom’s gonna yell at me!”

The doubt crept in slowly at first. You couldn’t help but notice how different you were from the girls Megumi seemed to glance at from time to time—small, delicate girls, the kind that looked like they belonged in some romantic movie. Girls who were easy to hold, easy to protect. Girls who fit perfectly into that image of what you thought a guy like Megumi might want.

It’s not like you’d caught him staring or anything, but you’d seen the way his eyes lingered on them, just for a second longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, but you noticed—of course, you noticed. And once you did, it was like a seed of doubt planted itself in your mind, growing roots and spreading.

You’re not like that. Not even close.

You’re too loud. Always have been. The kind of loudness that people notice before you even say a word. The one who laughs too hard at jokes, talks over people without meaning to, and fills every silence with something because you hate the quiet. Megumi, though? He thrives in the quiet. His calm, composed presence is so opposite to your own chaotic energy that it feels like a constant reminder of how you could never be his type.

And then there’s the height thing. You’re not sure why it bothers you so much, but it does. You’ve caught yourself slouching a little around him, trying to shrink yourself because standing next to Megumi, you feel like you’re towering over him. You feel awkward, too tall, like you’re out of place in his world of composed strength.

It’s silly, right? He’s not short, not by any means, but standing next to him? It feels like you take up too much space, like you’re the hurricane and he’s the calm in the storm. How could someone like that ever be into someone like you?

And it’s not just your height. It’s everything. You’re messy, clumsy, always blurting out what’s on your mind without thinking. Megumi’s quiet, reserved, the kind of guy who takes his time to process things, to consider every angle. Meanwhile, you’re tripping over your words, interrupting without meaning to, and trying way too hard to fill the silence when you know you should probably just shut up.

You groan inwardly, sinking further into the couch as Satoru continues to tease you, his voice still echoing in your head. "You’re totally catching feels, sis." he had said, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. And maybe to him, it is. But to you? It’s terrifying.

Because you know—you know—that you’re not the kind of person Megumi would go for. You’re not the small, delicate girl who looks like she stepped out of a dream. You’re loud, too tall, too much. And even if Megumi’s too polite to say anything, you can’t help but think that deep down, he’s got to notice it too.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been trying to ignore these feelings. They don’t make sense. How could they? You’re so different, and not in a way that balances out. More like in a way that makes you wonder what you’re even doing here, sitting next to him, pretending like you belong.

You risk a glance at Megumi. He’s focused on the TV, his usual thoughtful expression in place. He’s probably not even thinking about you, not the way you’re obsessing over every little detail. And why would he?

Guys like him don’t go for girls like you.

One evening, you found yourself sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balancing precariously on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling, sighing dramatically for the tenth time in five minutes.

Satoru, who was sitting at the dining table messing with his phone, finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Alright, what’s the deal? You’ve been sighing like you’re auditioning for a soap opera. You’ve been out of it for a while.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small laugh. “It’s nothing. It’s just… falling in love is so hard.”

Satoru’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh? Now we’re talking about love, huh?” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows like he was about to drop some great wisdom. “Who’s the unlucky guy? Is it Hibari Kyoya this time? Or….well…Jeon Jungkook?”

You groaned and buried your face in the couch pillow. “It’s not about one guy! It’s the whole process. It’s exhausting. Why can’t it just be easy?”

Satoru walked over and plopped down beside you, stealing a handful of your popcorn. “Easy? Love is supposed to be fun. I’m fun, and I’m great at love. What are you doing wrong? Tell big brother, little sis.”

You shot him a death glare, which only made him chuckle. “You make everything sound like a competition. I can’t exactly just… Gojo Satoru my way through love.”

“I mean, you could.” he said, popping a kernel into his mouth. “Have you tried being as charming as me?”

“Oh, please. I am charming!” you said, sitting up and throwing a piece of popcorn at him. “It’s just… ugh, you know what I mean. It’s like every time I like someone, they’re all obsessed with those cute, tiny, delicate girls. And then there’s me.” You gestured at your tall frame with both hands, adding a dramatic flair. “Loud, unignorable, tall-as-a-tree me. Freak of nature, if you will!”

Satoru snorted. “You make it sound like you’re a giraffe or something. And please, you’re hardly a freak of nature. I’m tall and petite all the same.”

“Sometimes it feels like it!” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Do you know how hard it is to casually lean on someone when they’re two heads shorter than you? I could break them!”

“Good point.” Satoru said with mock seriousness. “Being tall and fabulous is clearly a burden.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t patronize me, you’re not helping.”

Satoru laughed and patted your head like you were a puppy. “Come on, what’s wrong with being tall? It’s your thing. Own it. Besides, nothing you can do about Gojo genes. We are tall.”

You sighed again, this time more dramatically. “It’s not just the height, Satoru-nii. It’s everything! The girls guys like are all quiet and soft, and I’m like… a walking megaphone with legs for days.”

Satoru smirked. “First of all, you’re not a megaphone. Maybe a karaoke machine, at worst.”

You threw a cushion at him, but he ducked easily, still grinning. “And second of all,” he continued, “you’re focusing on the wrong stuff. Guys don’t just like small, quiet girls. That’s a myth. Trust me, you just need to find the guy who appreciates that you could easily dunk on him in basketball.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that image. “Oh yeah, super romantic. ‘Hey, babe, let me dunk on you real quick.’”

“Exactly!” Satoru said with a wink. “You’ve got to use what makes you awesome, not hide it. I mean, look at Meg—” He cut himself off, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You know, I thought I was gonna set it aside, maybe you’re too logical about things but….”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you instantly went into defense mode. “W–what about Megumi?”

“Nothing, nothing!” he said, holding up his hands innocently. “Just saying, he’s quiet, and you’re loud. Could be a good balance. You never know…”

You blushed furiously, tossing the rest of your popcorn at him. “Satoru-nii! He’s your student! I can’t just and someone under your care—ugh!”

Satoru laughed like this was the most entertaining thing he’d heard all week. “Hey, all I’m saying is, maybe you’re thinking about this whole ‘falling in love’ thing too hard. Maybe you’re already in love and just don’t know what to do about it. Or maybe….you just don’t want to talk about it, per se.”

You glared at him, but he kept going, grinning like a cat who had caught a mouse. “Besides, if Megumi ever needs someone to keep him grounded, who better than you? You’d definitely shake up his boring, quiet life. He likes color too, you know. He’s just…more somber about it. You know how he is!”

You groaned and flopped back down on the couch, hiding your face again. “I don’t even know if he likes me, okay? He’s probably never looked at me that way before or ever, and I’m just… me. What if he thinks I’m annoying?”

Satoru rolled his eyes dramatically. “Please. Everyone thinks you’re annoying, and they still like you.” He dodged another pillow you threw at him and continued, “Besides, Megumi doesn’t hang out with people unless he likes them. Have you ever seen him willingly spend time with anyone else besides me? Or Kugisaki or Itadori?”

You blinked. That was a good point. Megumi did spend a lot of time with you—more than with most other people. But still…

“You think so?” you mumbled, feeling a glimmer of hope creep in.

Satoru gave you a soft smile—an unusually sincere expression for him. “Yeah, I do. And even if he’s not into it right now, anyone who can’t appreciate you for who you are is an idiot. You’re a catch, even if you do throw pillows like a five-year-old.”

You snorted, wiping at your eyes. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Anytime, little sis!” Satoru said, leaning back and tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Now, if you’re done complaining, let’s figure out how you can subtly drop-kick your way into Megumi’s heart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “I’m not drop-kicking him.”

“Too bad. It would’ve been fun to watch.”

“You’re so annoying, I hate you.”

He grinned. “No you don’t!”

HE WISHED HE WASN’T SUCH A KLUTZ ABOUT THIS. Fushiguro Megumi sat there, staring at his phone screen, his thumb hovering over the “send” button like it was some kind of bomb he wasn’t ready to detonate.

He had typed the message about ten times, erased it nine, and now, here he was, sweating over the tenth. All he needed to do was press send. That’s it. Just one tap, and he’d finally take a step toward telling you how he really felt.

But, as usual, his mind spiraled with doubts.

What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if this ruins everything? What if she’s just being nice to me because of Satoru?

He groaned, running a hand over his face. Why was this so hard? He could face curses, fight dangerous opponents, and handle life-or-death situations without batting an eye. But when it came to you, his brain turned into a tangled mess of uncertainty.

His internal crisis was interrupted by a loud knock on his door.

“Fuuuuuuushiiiiiiiguuuuuuuuroooooo! You in there?” Yuji’s voice rang out cheerfully. Before Megumi could even respond, the door swung open, and Yuji and Nobara barged in, grinning like they had just walked in on something juicy.

“Wha—what are you two doing here?” Megumi stammered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket, hoping they hadn’t seen anything.

“Whatcha hiding?” Nobara asked immediately, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. She crossed her arms and gave him a look like she was about to crack a case wide open.

“Nothing.” Megumi said too quickly, which only made Yuji and Nobara more curious.

Yuji flopped onto the bed, making himself at home. “Come on, Fushiguro! You look like you were about to do something important.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Something to do with a girl maybe?”

Megumi felt the tips of his ears go red. “What? No! It’s nothing.”

“Oh my god, he’s blushing!” Nobara exclaimed, smirking like a cat who’d caught a mouse. She nudged Yuji. “You know what that means.”

Yuji nodded sagely. “Yup. It’s definitely about a girl.”

Nobara laughs. “Oh, but not just any girl! You know….Gojo–sensei’s sister?”

“Wait!” Yuji’s eyes widened as Megumi looked away, the blush turning even more bright. “Fushiguro? Gojo–sensei’s sister!?”

Megumi groaned, feeling his face heat up even more. He could never hide anything from these two. It was like they had some kind of embarrassing moment radar. “No, it’s not! Leave it alone already!”

“Aha……” Nobara’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s about Gojo Satoru’s sister, isn’t it? You’re so obvious about this!”

Megumi nearly choked on air. “Wha—no! I mean……” He trailed off, realizing that he was only digging himself deeper into a hole. “It’s not…It’s not what you think it is!”

“Oh my god, it is!” Nobara practically squealed. “You like her, don’t you?”

Yuji was grinning from ear to ear now, thoroughly enjoying Megumi’s suffering. “I knew it! You’re always all flustered around her.”

“I am not flustered. I am not….” Megumi muttered, looking away, which only made him look more flustered. “This is too much from you two!”

“Dude, you are so flustered, right now!” Yuji said, laughing. “It’s okay! You should just tell her how you feel.”

Megumi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Nobara asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You’re both into each other. I mean, she practically looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. What’s the problem?”

Megumi blinked, caught off guard. “She… does?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Duh. How are you this dense? It’s so obvious! She’s always laughing at your jokes, even when they’re not funny.”

“Hey!” Megumi protested weakly.

“And she’s always finding excuses to be around you,” Yuji added. “Plus, the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching? Come on, man, she’s into you.”

Megumi felt a flicker of hope, but his doubts crept back in. “But what if I’m wrong? What if I ruin things between us?”

Yuji and Nobara exchanged a look before turning back to him.

“Yo, Fushiguro!” Yuji said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can’t spend your whole life worrying about what ifs. Just tell her. Worst case, things get a little awkward, but knowing her, she won’t let that happen.”

Nobara nodded. “And honestly, with how close you two already are, I’d bet money that she’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

Megumi let their words sink in, the knot of anxiety in his chest loosening just a little. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was overthinking everything. After all, you’d been dropping hints for a while now, hadn’t you? The lingering glances, the way you always seemed to gravitate toward him in a room full of people…

He pulled his phone back out, staring at the unsent message again.

Yuji peeked over his shoulder. “Ooh, you were gonna text her? What’re you waiting for? Send it!”

Nobara nodded eagerly. “Do it, do it, do it!”

With a deep breath, Megumi finally pressed send.

“Hey. Are you free tomorrow? Let’s talk.”

He tossed his phone onto the bed and slumped back against the wall, exhaling like he’d just run a marathon.

Nobara grinned triumphantly. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Yeah.” Megumi muttered, though his heart was still racing. Now all he had to do was wait for your reply.

Yuji and Nobara, clearly pleased with themselves, exchanged a high-five. “Mission accomplished!” Yuji declared, grinning.

Megumi rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The moment Megumi pressed send, his stomach dropped. What had he just done? Now there was no going back. He couldn’t unsend the message, couldn’t take back the quiet confession it represented. All he could do was wait for your response.

Yuji and Nobara were still grinning like a pair of mischievous siblings who had just successfully pulled off a prank. Megumi, on the other hand, was wondering if he should just bury himself in his bed and never come out.

“So….....” Yuji leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. “What now? You think she’s gonna reply right away? Maybe she’s been waiting for this all along!”

Nobara snickered. “I bet she’s freaking out right now, staring at her phone like, ‘Oh my god, THE Fushiguro Megumi finally texted me to talk. What do I do?!’” She mimicked a dramatic swoon, nearly falling off the chair, which only made Yuji burst out laughing.

“Would you two stop?” Megumi groaned, pulling a pillow over his face in an attempt to block out their teasing. His ears were still burning, and the last thing he needed was them making it worse.

“Come on, man! This is exciting!” Yuji said, playfully tugging the pillow away. “You’ve probably been into her for ages! Didn’t you guys meet as kids? And now you’re finally doing something about it! You should be happy!”

Megumi peeked out from behind the pillow, his expression somewhere between annoyance and anxiety. “Yeah, or I could be about to make the most embarrassing mistake of my life.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Ugh, seriously? You’re not gonna make a mistake, Megumi. Trust me. That girl is totally into you.”

“Yeah. Pretty obvious to us.” Yuji added, “if you could see how she looks at you, you wouldn’t be worrying about this.”

Megumi hesitated, feeling a small flicker of hope again. Could it really be true? Did you look at him the same way he looked at you? He was usually pretty good at reading people, but when it came to you, his emotions seemed to get in the way, clouding his judgment.

His phone buzzed, and all three of them froze.

Yuji’s eyes widened. “That’s her, isn’t it?!”

Nobara practically lunged for the phone. “Open it, open it, open it!”

Megumi’s heart skipped a beat as he grabbed the phone, hands suddenly shaky. He unlocked it, and there it was—your reply.

Hey, yeah, I’m free tomorrow. What’s up?

It was simple, nothing out of the ordinary, but to Megumi, it felt like the weight of the world had just lifted off his shoulders. You didn’t sound nervous or weirded out. You just… replied. As if this was the most normal thing in the world.

He exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath.

“Well? What’d she say?” Nobara leaned in, practically on the edge of her seat.

“She said she’s free.” Megumi muttered, trying to sound casual, but the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Oh, look at him!” Yuji teased, nudging Megumi with his elbow. “He’s smiling! Megumi, man, you’re whipped.”

Megumi shot him a look. “I’m not whipped.”

“Yeah, you are.” Nobara said with a smirk. “And honestly? It’s kinda cute. I never thought I’d see the day when you, of all people, would get all flustered over a girl.”

Megumi rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Can you two go now?”

“Fine, fine.” Nobara stood up, stretching her arms above her head. “But remember, if you mess this up, we’re totally going to say, ‘I told you so.’”

Yuji chuckled, giving Megumi a thumbs-up as they headed for the door. “Good luck, lover boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Megumi grumbled, but there was no real bite to his words. He was too relieved, too nervous, and, if he was honest with himself, a little excited.

As the door closed behind them, Megumi sat back down on the bed, staring at your message. His heart was still racing, but this time, it wasn’t just from nerves. There was something else—hope. Maybe, just maybe, this would turn out okay.

He typed out a quick response.

Cool. Let’s meet after training? I want to talk.

And with that, he tossed the phone onto the bed again, burying his face in his hands.

What am I even going to say? He had no idea, but tomorrow was coming whether he was ready or not.

Little did he know, you were sitting in your room, staring at your own phone, your heart racing just as fast.

AND SO IT HAPPENED. It was a crisp, sunny afternoon when you found yourself standing under the canopy of sakura trees, the pale pink petals drifting lazily to the ground. Everything about the moment was making you feel queasy, like your stomach was doing flips. Why was this making you feel so sick? Why was your heart pounding like this? You could still feel the heat from your nervous sweat, which only made it worse. How is feeling so much love making you feel like you were going to die? You hated this. You really hated this.

Your elder brother, Satoru, had this knack for making every situation simultaneously better and worse. Walking beside you, he was grinning like he knew something you didn’t, that classic, cocky smirk plastered across his face.

“Good luck, little sis!” he teased, ruffling your hair like you were a kid. “I’m sure Megumi’s gonna love whatever awkward thing you’re about to say.”

You shot him a glare, your nerves bubbling up with his every word. “You’re not helping.”

“Who said I was trying to help?” He winked, clearly enjoying your suffering. You glared at him. “I’m just here for moral support... and to watch you squirm.”

“Thanks.” you muttered, the sarcasm dripping from your voice.

Satoru laughed, clapping you on the back. “Come on, it’s Megumi. He’s practically family. What’s the worst that could happen? He rejects you? Nah, you’ll be fine.”

you wished your brother didn’t have Infinity, just so you could land a good punch on him. Now, standing there, nerves making you feel like backing out entirely, you glanced at him one more time.

To your surprise, his teasing smirk faded, replaced with concern. "Hey, hey, don’t cry!" He waved his hands in front of you frantically. "I was joking! I didn’t mean to make you upset."

"It wasn’t funny!" you snapped, blinking rapidly as the threat of tears welled up. Why did he always have to push your buttons?

Satoru looked genuinely worried for a second, which was rare. "Okay, okay, listen..." His tone softened, a little less of that cocky edge. "If Megumi doesn’t like you back, that’s okay. There’s plenty of people who will love you better, alright? Genuinely."

You sniffed, still feeling that tight knot of anxiety in your chest. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it," he insisted, stepping closer and placing a hand on your shoulder. “Your good ol' big brother is one of them, okay? You’ll always be loved, doll. You’ve got me, forever. No one’s ever gonna change that.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but feeling a bit better, even if his logic was as goofy as always. "Still doesn’t make this any less terrifying, you know."

Satoru chuckled, ruffling your hair again. "Well, if all else fails, you can come hide behind me. Infinity’s good for that too, you know!"

By the time he finally left you alone, after throwing in one last, “Don’t mess it up, though!” you were already sweating. Actually sweating. Harder than ever before.

"Great. Just great." you grumbled to yourself, imagining all the possible ways this could go wrong. “Love sucks! This sucks!”

But sooner or later, you knew you would have to face it. And so you waited for Megumi. You waited patiently as you created stupid little scenarios in your head — things that shouldn’t even be.

And after about fifteen minutes, here you were, facing Fushiguro Megumi, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. He stood a few feet away, hands buried deep in his pockets, staring intently at the ground as though it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

Is he nervous too? you wondered. Somehow, that thought gave you the slightest sense of relief, but only for a fleeting moment. The truth was, you hadn’t been able to focus on anything since this morning, and now that you were actually standing in front of him, the anxiety was threatening to spill over.

Megumi’s hair, slightly ruffled by the breeze, caught your attention. His gaze remained fixed downward, his usual calm, almost brooding expression in place, but something about the way his shoulders were tense told you he wasn’t as composed as he seemed.

"I…" You started, your voice catching in your throat. Great, now you are losing your nerve.

Megumi’s eyes flickered toward you, his expression unreadable but curious. He waited, his silence urging you to continue, even though the words seemed to have tangled themselves up inside your head.

You tried again, taking a small breath, "I don’t really know how to say this without sounding like an idiot."

He shifted slightly, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “You’re not an idiot.” he said softly, though the hint of amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on you. “You aren’t one. Never…never have been.”

He looked… nervous? Which made you feel a little better, since you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe about five minutes ago.

Alright, you thought, trying to psych yourself up. You’re just going to confess. It’s simple. People do it all the time! You can do this. It’s Megumi—your Megumi.

Except now that you were actually standing in front of him, your brain decided to throw you a curveball. What if… what if he doesn’t like tall, petite girls?

You winced at the thought. Megumi was tall and handsome, and here you were, small, like a walking marshmallow. What if he preferred someone else, someone who needs his help? Does he like girls who seem to be more dependent on him? What if he liked girls with long, model-like legs? Wait, I don’t have those sort of legs! I have an athlete’s legs, but thinner! Oh my god…I, am I his type? Or worse, what if you were just a friend to him?

Before you knew it, words were tumbling out of your mouth.

“Um… Megumi?” you started, your voice way too high-pitched to sound cool. “There’s something I need to say.”

Megumi glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in that focused way he had. Your face felt like it was on fire. “Yeah?” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.

You hesitated, suddenly regretting every decision you’d made that day. But you couldn’t back out now. You were already knee-deep in awkwardness.

“I know I’m, like… not like all the other girls or anything. Not to mention, I'm loud and awkward and just....” You winced as you said it. You feel your cheeks getting redder by the second. “And maybe… maybe you like taller girls or maybe more chic girls? Like, you know, girls with long model legs who look good in anything. Or at least girls who don’t have to deal with….you know, I….I don’t know. But I just….”

Megumi blinked at you, his eyes widening slightly as the words sunk in. For a moment, you thought you’d really messed up—like he might just walk away or start laughing. But then, something unexpected happened.

His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he blurted, “W-What? No! That’s not— I don’t care about any of that!” His voice cracked slightly, and you could tell he was flustered. Megumi. Flustered. Your heart did a weird little flip at that.

“I like you… exactly how you are. I don’t care if you have…if you have athlete legs and not model legs.” he said, quieter this time, as if saying it any louder would somehow make it harder for him. His eyes darted to the side, but you could see the sincerity there. “I… don’t care if you’re short or tall or… whatever.” His blush deepened as he added, “You’re… perfect.”

It took a second for your brain to catch up to what he was saying. Wait—he thought you were perfect? Did you… did you hear that right?

You opened your mouth, but all you managed was a strangled, “Oh.” Which was, you know, super eloquent. Good job, me.

Megumi shifted on his feet, still avoiding your gaze. “I thought…” he started, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it, “that you didn’t like me because I’m… well, you know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand.

You stared at him, confused. “Because you’re… what?”

His expression was a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, like he really didn’t want to explain, but felt like he had to. “Because I’m… brooding. I’m not…I know I’m not the most fun of people to be around. And I just….I know it’s also hard to talk to me. And I'm way too quiet, I don't talk for hours sometimes.” he muttered. He cleared his throat and added. “I’m not exactly the most… open or easygoing person. I figured you’d probably want someone who’s more… fun.”

You blinked. “Fun? Megumi, you think I don’t like you because you’re… broody?”

He shrugged, still looking like he wanted to disappear into the nearest bush. “I mean… yeah.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Megumi’s eyes snapped back to you, looking completely baffled, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction at all.

“No way!” you said, still giggling as you wiped a tear from your eye. “That’s one of the things I like about you!”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Wait… what?”

“You’re serious and quiet!” you explained, your heart softening as you looked at him. “But you’re also kind. And you care so much about everyone, even if you don’t show it the way other people do. I think it’s…” you swallowed, suddenly shy again, “...really cute, actually.”

Megumi’s expression softened in a way that made your chest ache. He looked like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing but was too relieved to question it. "Oh."

"Yeah...."

“So… you like me?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant, like he was afraid the answer might change if he said it out loud.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “Yeah… I do.”

There was a beat of silence where neither of you moved, both too flustered to figure out what came next. The sakura petals continued to fall around you, and for a moment, it felt like you were in a scene straight out of a cheesy romance.

“And you… like me?” you ventured, your heart thumping hard.

Megumi looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, but you could see the tiniest smile playing on his lips. “Yeah.” he muttered. “A lot.”

You stood there for a while, both of you blushing like tomatoes, staring at anything but each other. But somehow, despite the awkwardness, it felt perfect—like you’d finally figured out what had been right in front of you all along.

“Maybe we should, um… go get something to eat?” you suggested, trying to break the tension before you spontaneously combusted from embarrassment.

“Yeah.” Megumi agreed, a little too quickly. “Food. Good idea.”

You started walking, side by side, still too nervous to hold hands or do anything couple-like, but grinning like idiots who’d finally realized how much you liked each other. You'll be okay, together.

epilogue

The café near Jujutsu High was cozy, with soft lighting and the faint hum of conversations from other patrons filling the space. Megumi and I sat across from each other, still awkward but smiling. The post-confession giddiness hadn’t worn off, and every now and then, our eyes would meet, followed by a quick blush and looking away.

I nervously poked at my dessert with my fork, stealing glances at Megumi, who was doing a pretty good job pretending to focus on his coffee. I should say something, I thought, but before I could open my mouth, a loud, familiar voice shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

"Well, well, well! What do we have here? My adorable little sister and Fushiguro Megumi! On a date! How cute!"

I whipped my head around, and there he was—Gojo Satoru, in all his obnoxiously tall, grinning glory, standing at the entrance of the café like he owned the place. His trademark sunglasses were perched on his nose, and he had his phone in hand, ready for whatever chaos he was about to unleash.

Megumi groaned and slouched down in his seat, his face flushing a deep shade of red. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, just taking a casual stroll around campus when I happened to spot you two. And, being the fantastic older brother I am, I couldn’t resist stopping by to see what’s going on."

I sighed, knowing full well this was about to get much worse. "Satoru-nii…please don’t."

But Gojo Satoru was already snapping pictures of us with his phone, zooming in obnoxiously on both of our embarrassed faces. “Oh, these are perfect. You both look so adorable! I can’t wait to send these to Yuji, Nobara, and the rest of the gang.”

Megumi’s hand shot up in protest. “Stop—”

Too late. Gojo Satoru’s fingers flew over his phone screen as he quickly shared the photos. I could already imagine the messages popping up in the group chat: Yuji losing his mind with excitement, Nobara teasing Megumi, and the second and third years chiming in with their own commentary.

“Satoru-nii!” I whisper-shouted, trying to keep my voice low enough not to draw the attention of the other café-goers. “You promised no embarrassing photos!”

Gojo just grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “Hey, you didn’t say anything about dates. Besides, this is for posterity. Your first date with the brooding Megumi! Awww, it’s like watching a baby deer trying to walk for the first time. My future brother in law and my sister’s first date! Oh this will be cute in the wedding powerpoint!”

Megumi looked like he wanted to crawl under the table, and honestly, I wasn’t too far behind. I glanced at him, feeling bad for dragging him into this chaos. “Gojo–sensei, we aren’t….That’s not—”

“Say cheese!”

But then, something unexpected happened. Maybe it was Gojo’s teasing, or maybe it was just the ridiculousness of the whole situation, but I felt a sudden surge of boldness. I scooted my chair a little closer to Megumi, leaned into him slightly, and—just to spite Satoru—rested my head on his shoulder.

Megumi stiffened at first, his body going rigid in surprise, but after a second, I felt him relax. He glanced down at me, and despite his still-flushed cheeks, there was a soft smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the way he subtly leaned into me in return spoke volumes.

Gojo, of course, gasped dramatically. “Ohhhh! Look at you two! All cozy now! This is too precious, I’m dying.”

“You’re gonna be dying for real if you don’t stop.” Megumi muttered, though he didn’t sound as angry as he usually did. He seemed…happy, even if he wouldn’t admit it. And honestly, that made me smile too.

Gojo, ever the drama queen, pretended to clutch his heart. “My little Megumi, all grown up and in love! My precious little sister, grown and down bad! This is truly a day to remember.” He took another picture, but at this point, I didn’t care. Neither did Megumi.

After what felt like an eternity of Gojo’s teasing, he finally waved us off with a laugh. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t think I’m letting this go anytime soon! I expect wedding invites, you hear me?”

He sauntered out of the café, phone still in hand, leaving us in peace once again.

I let out a long sigh of relief, finally able to relax. “I’m sorry about him. He’s… well, he’s Satoru.”

Megumi shook his head, still leaning into me a little. “It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.”

We sat there quietly for a moment, neither of us moving. Despite the embarrassment, I felt a sense of warmth spreading through my chest. Leaning into Megumi, feeling the weight of his shoulder against mine, it was nice. Comforting.

I looked up at him and saw that soft smile again. He wasn’t embarrassed anymore—he looked…content. Maybe even a little happy.

“You know.......” I said, my voice quiet, smiling. “I think this might be the best date ever.”

Megumi glanced down at me, and for the first time that day, he chuckled softly. “Yeah… I think so too.”

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