#i confronted him about it and he said he was just going to keep them as a backup just in case | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wwinterwitch · 2 months ago

Text

friendly introductions – bucky barnes

summary: bucky unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, and he's brought a few people with him

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (ft. the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.4k

tags: thunderbolts* shenanigans, spoilers here and there obvs, slight miscommunication, big happy dysfunctional family in the making, google translator was used for the russian words (sorry), kissing, little bit of angst and little bit of fluff

notes: i just saw the movie yesterday and as soon as i got back home i decided to write this, which is loosely connected to this fic i posted recently. i just loved the thunderbolts* so much they mean the entire world to me right now. perhaps more fics are coming in the future because i have lots of ideas!!! as always, i hope you enjoy

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 1 (not strictly necessary to read this one tho) | next part

“Sorry for such short notice,” Bucky mutters as soon as you open the door for him and the rest of the entire group. You could tell he’s been having a pretty rough time just by looking at him. Hair messy, frowning more than usual, dirty clothing and a cut on his left cheek. The rest of the people he’s with don’t look any better. It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out they’ve been in some kind of combat and, most likely, they didn’t come on top.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassure him, leaving the door open until every single one of them were inside your apartment, closing it behind them. “Can I ask what happened?”

“We…uh, got our ass kicked, basically,” he replies, sounding quite exhausted.

You take a second to look at the group. Unfamiliar faces of people you could only assume are in the superhero/villain/whatever business. There’s a blonde woman who immediately leans against one of the walls of your living room, trying to get some sort of rest after the fight. The other woman stays by the entrance and you can’t help but admire how cool her suit is. There’s algo a guy in a red suit and he looks absolutely huge and terrifying, but the smile he sends your way with the silly little wave he makes as you make eye contact gives you the impression that he might not be as intimidating as you initially thought.

And then, your eyes focus on the other person in the room.

“You,” is all you say, your voice sounding anything but welcoming.

Everyone turns to look at Walker, who offers you an awkward smile. “Yeah, hi.”

“You two know each other?” the blonde one asks.

“Unfortunately,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the guy at all times. You know enough about John Walker to be stupid enough to let him out of your sight. “Listen, I don’t know what just happened to you guys, but in case Bucky hasn’t warned you already, you can’t trust this piece of shit.”

Noticing you’re starting to get a little heated by his presence, Bucky wraps an arm around your waist from behind, just in case you decide to go over him and confront him for everything that has happened in the past. “It’s okay. He’s here to help.”

You turn to look at him like he just said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life, but he simply stares back at you with a serious expression, nodding as if to emphasize on his previous statement, trying to let you know you can actually trust the guy. When you turn back to look at Walker, he raises both hands in the air as a sign to further prove that he’s harmless.

“I’ll be keeping an eye out,” you warn him, pointing your finger at him.

“That’s fair,” he nods.

“Whoa, she’s feisty!” you hear the excited voice of the guy in the red suit as he lets out a short chuckle. “I like her already!”

You feel Bucky’s grip around your waist tightening. “We’re just here to get some cover and figure out our next move.”

Suddenly remembering the fact that all these strangers are standing in various spots in your living room, you get away from Bucky to walk over to your couch. “Oh, so sorry! What a terrible host,” you attempt to joke a little in hopes of lightening the mood, quickly removing your laptop and various papers scattered across your couch. “Please, take a seat!”

None of them move at first, but they eventually accept the invitation and walk towards your couch to sit down. All except Walker, who decides to stay in the same spot he’s been since he entered your apartment. Not like you care, so you just let him stand there on his own.

A few awkward introductions later and you already know everyone. Alexei, Ava and Yelena. One a total stranger and the others slightly familiar to you due to them being related to Natasha. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name out loud, though. If you struggle to think about her without bursting out crying, you can’t even imagine what it would be like for her dad and sister. Last thing you want is to cause them any discomfort.

“And how exactly do you know each other?” Yelena asks you and Bucky after you introduce yourself to them too.

“Former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Bucky replies before you can say anything, and you can’t help but turn to look at him with a slightly confused expression. “We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

Friends. Sure. Whatever. If that’s what he wants to call it…

After what happened last time you were in D.C., Bucky was constantly making trips to New York to visit you. You’re not officially dating, but it’s established that you’re exclusive. Long distance isn’t ideal, but you’ve made it work so far. Probably the happiest months of your life. But now…you hear him introducing you as his friend. It’s not really a big deal. Technically you are friends? It shouldn’t affect you as much as it does, but…you’re internally fuming right now.

Still, you decide not to say anything regarding that. He’s always been quite a reserved person, so perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to share that information with them just yet. “Can I get you anything to drink?” you decide to ask, looking at everyone else.

“We’re not-”

“I’m sure a glass of water won’t kill anybody,” you say, immediately cutting Bucky off.

There’s a brief silence before Ava speaks. “I’ll have a glass of water. Thank you.”

You look at Yelena as she shortly nods before you focus on Alexei. “Do you perhaps have something else other than water?”

“Dad,” Yelena warns him.

You ignore that short interaction. “Something like what?”

“Like vodka,” he replies simply, like it’s a normal request. Perhaps the russian accent and the fact that he does look like a walking Soviet propaganda adds context to it.

“Dad!” Yelena repeats herself, this time in a louder voice, before hiding her face in her hands. The scene of her getting embarrassed by her dad’s behavior is actually hilarious.

“Two glasses of water and one glass of vodka, got it.” Then it was time to acknowledge Walker again. Even when you deeply hate the guy, you still want to be polite. “Do you want anything?”

“Uh…just water,” he mutters, still unsure on how to really talk to you. It’s ironic how quiet he is right now, considering he had a hard time shutting his mouth when you first met him. “Thank you.”

You offer the group a smile before excusing yourself to go to your kitchen, leaving them momentarily alone. Bucky was about to speak, wanting to initiate a debate on what their plan is going to be to fight against someone as powerful and seemingly invincible as Sentry, but Yelena speaks before he does.

“Now, would you mind telling us how you really know each other?”

Bucky looks immediately confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know I was trained to be a spy since I was very little.”

“Surely you don’t say it enough,” Walker mutters, earning an unamused look from her.

“That must really bother you, Mr. I-was-in-the-military,” Ava chimes in, rolling her eyes.

Ignoring both of them, Yelena decides to continue. “I’m very good at reading people, Bucky. She almost wanted to punch you in the face when you said you two were friends, which let’s me know the comment upset her,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Why is that?”

“Ah! That’s your lover!” Alexei comments with pleasant surprise.

“And you didn’t introduce her as your girlfriend?” Ava says shortly after, giving him a disapproving look. “No wonder she would want to punch you in the face.”

“Yeah, that’s not cool, man,” Walker agrees from his spot in the living room.

Alexei’s cheerfulness dries down, nodding. “I agree. It’s not very nice.”

Bucky scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest in a defensive manner. He couldn’t believe these people were judging him over something he thought was meaningless. It was just a way to keep his private life private. Why should they know he’s dating anybody? They’re not his friends to be sharing information like that with them. And it’s not like they’re ever going to see you again anyway. Why is this such a big deal?

“Whoever I date or don’t date it’s not your business,” he simply replies.

Ava scoffs this time. “Don’t bring us to your girlfriend’s flat then.”

“When did you guys became a thing?” Walker asks this time, looking like he's thinking back on it in hopes of remembering any indication that might've gave it away.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, getting more and more exasperated. “We barely got out of that fight against Valentina’s experiment and it’s a matter of time before we have to face him again. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Oh, Bucky,” Yelena shakes her head in a condescending manner. “You’re right, we do not care about your lovelife. Thinking about it makes me sick, actually. But she looked really hurt by what you said, so perhaps you should go talk to her and make things right.”

The other three agreed with Yelena almost immediately, and Bucky just stood there looking at them in disbelief because why are they giving him their input on his relationship? Why is Yelena giving him advice? Why are they getting involved in Bucky’s personal life?

But instead of arguing, he decides to listen to them and heads towards the kitchen. He walks in just in time to see you pouring Alexei an entire glass of vodka as he requested, the other three glasses of water already filled.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” you say nonchalantly, like what Yelena said about you wanting to punch him in the face was just something she misread in your body language. You surely don’t look like you're thinking about violence right now. “Could you help me with the drinks, please?”

Perhaps Yelena was wrong, but just in case she wasn’t, he decided to ask about it. “Are you okay?”

You let out a quick and confused chuckle as you store away the almost finished bottle of vodka. “Why would I not be okay? If you’re asking because you brought them here, I think they’re actually very nice…aside from Walker, of course.”

“No, I mean…the way I introduced you to them,” he says in a soft voice, walking closer to you. “I probably shouldn’t have said you were my friend.”

There’s a brief pause between you, until you’re eventually shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” he insists, standing right before you as he grabs your hands in his. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate a little before eventually giving in. “I mean, you can’t expect me to be thrilled to hear you introduce me to a bunch of people as just your friend.”

Bucky sighs. Yelena was right. “I’m so sorry,” he says almost immediately, giving your hands a light squeeze. “I just met these people and I highly doubt we’ll keep in touch after this. I didn’t want to share that information with them. We’re not exactly…close like that,” he explains himself, looking genuinely sorry for what he said. “I should’ve considered how that would make you feel, or at least tried to explain why I did it as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to hurt you or downplay what we have.”

You can tell he’s genuinely sorry, understanding his reasoning behind it. Perhaps you forgot to put into perspective the fact that they’re just super people Bucky has been forced to work with. Not necessarily friends. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Bucky nods, but he still looks absolutely defeated. “I feel terrible,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You let go of his hands, wrapping your arms around his neck instead. “It’s okay, babe,” you repeat, offering him a soft smile to let him know you forgive him. “I understand you didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with them.”

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

“You’re not obligated to disclose anything with anyone if you don’t feel like it,” you say, just to remind him to do whatever it feels right to him. “But I’m glad we had this conversation to hear each other’s perspective.”

He nods again, still uncertain. You lean in to give him a reassuring kiss before deciding to move away from him to get back to the living room with the rest. He hands the glasses of water to Walker and Yelena, while you hand the other glasses to Ava and Alexei.

The last one takes a big gulp of his glass, letting out a growl of approval. “Smirnoff! Not that Absolut der’mo!”

“I adore him,” you say to Bucky, letting out a quick chuckle as you watch the guy drink the entire glass of vodka in less than two seconds.

“It’ll pass, trust me,” he mutters back to you.

You gently hit his arm as a way of telling him to not be rude, immediately focusing on the cut on his cheek, dried blood around the wound. “I should clean that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry, Bucky,” you insist, patting his shoulder before pointing to one of the two chairs at your small dinner table. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

You excuse yourself to go find the first-aid kit to clean the wound on his face. By the time you get back, the group has already started discussing some sort of strategy regarding some ‘Sentry’ person you don’t know absolutely anything about. Perhaps you’ll ask Bucky to give you a proper update on what the hell this whole thing is all about next time you’re alone.

As obedient as ever, Bucky was already sitting on one of the chairs you previously pointed at before leaving, so you walked over to him to attend to his injury. Even if it was a small, almost insignificant little cut, you wanted to take care of him in any capacity you could.

You were gladly surprised when you feel one of his arms wrapping around you, keeping you close as you stand next to him cleaning the dry blood with a small cotton ball before disinfecting the area, finishing it off with a small bandage above the cut.

The whole entire time you took care of Bucky’s wound, the group was talking about their strategy. Just listening to them was enough to figure out why Bucky didn’t think they’d stay in touch once it’s time to part ways. More than half of their interactions are more bickering than actual communication. They clash almost constantly and they don’t seem to agree on much. They’re quite honestly a complete mess. But still...even when it’s difficult to see how a group like this could work, they oddly do. There’s just something about them. Perhaps they’re the prime example of how opposites tend to work together perfectly.

“Done,” you whisper to him, not warning to interrupt their conversation.

“Thanks, doll,” he whispers back, giving you a smile.

After a few more minutes of planning, it was finally time for them to get back out there in hopes to put an end to the threat that seems to loom over New York (and perhaps the entire world). You accompany them to the door, all of them saying their goodbyes to you.

“Thanks for letting us hide here,” Yelena says with a polite smile, offering her hand for a handshake as a way to further prove her gratitude.

“Oh, it’s really nothing. I’m glad I was able to help out,” you reply, accepting her handshake. “And…you know, good luck. You probably don’t need it, obviously, but just in case…”

“You’re adorable,” Ava comments with a smirk, patting your shoulder as her way of saying goodbye.

Alexei doesn’t even say anything. He just straight up walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground as he gives you a tight hug. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you pat his back as a way of returning the hug, hearing how Yelena and Bucky are frantically telling him to put you down immediately.

The three of them are already outside your apartment and it’s time to face Walker. He just says a quick “thank you” before walking towards the others that wait for Bucky in the hallway, knowing you probably don’t even want to address him. For now, you decide not to say anything to him. If you do see each other again, perhaps then you’ll try to figure out if you can look past the awful things he has done.

Now Bucky is the one who stands before you and all you can do is hug him as tight as you possibly can, almost not wanting to let him go. You know he’ll be fine. You know he’ll come back to you. But still, you can’t ignore the knot forming at the pit of your stomach, anxiety and fear consuming you at the thought of something happening to him.

He senses how you feel, hugging you back just as tight. “Please be safe,” he whispers.

You break the hug, looking up at him. “I should be telling you that.”

The comment makes him smile softly because it sounds like you're reprimanding him for what he just said. Immediately after, he's placing a hand at the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, still as anxious as you were before. The fact that you still don’t fully know what they’re up against makes your situation worse. If it’s anything remotely similar to an Avenger-like threat, you have plenty of reasons to be afraid. “Just…just take care, please.”

“I will,” he replies, giving you a kiss so sweet and gentle that it practically takes your breath away. He knows you’re worried like never before and he wants to make sure he’s able to give you as much reassurance as he possibly can.

After a few more seconds of him just looking back at you with a soft smile on his face, he moves back from you, knowing he has to leave already.

“Promise you’ll be back soon,” you blurt out as he’s leaving your apartment, still fighting the urge to just yank him back into the apartment to keep him from going back out there.

“I promise you I’ll be back, darling,” he says without any hesitation, knowing he’ll do anything he possibly can to keep his word.

Finally, he closes the door of your apartment, leaving you all alone in there as you try to calm yourself down until everything is back to normal again and he’s here with you. Until he’s back in the safety of the arms of the person he cares most about in this entire world.

You focus on the four empty glasses, the lingering presence of everyone, the trail of dirt their boots left on the floor, the chair Bucky was sitting on just seconds ago...you can only hope they stay safe. Meanwhile, you decide to clean up the living room as a way of distracting yourself.

On the other side of the door, Bucky is turning to look at the group, rolling his eyes when he sees all of them grinning and nodding their hands in approval after witnessing him being so lovey-dovey with you, discovering a sight of him they probably didn’t even know existed.

“Not a single word,” Bucky warns them, immediately walking in between them to get to the elevator.

“What? We can’t say you two looked disgustingly cute back there?” Yelena jokes as she follows after him.

"Who knew that was hiding beneath all that...grumpiness," Ava comments right after.

“I said not a single word,” he repeats, trying to act like he wasn’t feeling terribly embarrassed right now. Or like he didn't find the teasing slightly entertaining. Just slightly.

“I mean, you did look cute,” Walker agrees.

“So cute!” Yelena emphasizes.

Alexei wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, much to his discomfort. “That was adorable. You, my friend, had the eyes of love looking at your zhenshchina!”

“And you had to make it weird,” Ava mutters after Alexei’s comment, just as the elevator doors are closing.

translations: der'mo (shit), zhenshchina (woman). again, i apologize if the translation is wrong, i don't speak russian

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #mcu x reader #thuderbolts* x reader #thunderbolts x reader

6K notes · View notes

buckysleftbicep · 1 month ago

Text

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.��

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

3K notes · View notes

jackalhadrurusluvr · 1 year ago

Text

repeating my therapists words in my head like the bike message in pokemon

#i am not responsible for other people #i am not responsible for their actions or feelings i am not in control of that #if its not in my control then i need to take a step back and accept that #tw drugs #soooooooooooo my dad picked up the op of the iods. which he was addicted to for about a decade and stopped a decade ago #like if he had gotten them when the hospital offered it to him it would be whatever yk because he has suffered burns #but he said no at the hospital and stressed that he wouldnt take that poison again #his words idk anything about them #and now that we're talking about weaning him off of his gabapentin (what hes been taking for pain)#he picks them up dawg you say youre not in pain enough to take regular old medicine anymore #i am quite so very stressed about it. our genepool is very heavy on addictions and yk my mom never stopped so i Experienced it #and of course i Experienced it as a child but i dont remember any of my childhood #but i would really rather my father not get addicted to them again i think that would be really quite terrible #i confronted him about it and he said he was just going to keep them as a backup just in case #like ofc i dont want my dad to be in pain. but he cant just say hes feeling really good and then pick them up #because that sets off the “he just wants to use them for Using them” alarm in my head #but i am not in control of him i cant control his actions i tried my best and now whatever happens happens i guess #trying very hard not to freak out very hard right now (everything in my body wants to have a cheeky panic attack and/or spiral)#have no close friends/friends i feel like i can just vent to for freesies is kind of a nightmare #i miss my Friends i miss my Friends i wish i could tell them my situation and just feel like i am Supported and Cared For #being lonely is all fun and games until bad things are happening in your life and you have no one to distract you or help you

1 note · View note

moonlightwritingf1 · 3 months ago

Text

Just a Picture | LN4

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ After four days of silence, Y/N was drowning in heartbreak, replaying the fight that started it all—a photo of Lando in a club, looking far too close to another girl. It triggered every insecurity she'd tried to bury, and when she confronted him, things spiraled—accusations, shouting, even a panicked flinch that neither of them could forget. Then he showed up at her apartment, looking just as wrecked as she felt, desperate to explain, desperate not to lose her.

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 10k

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampie?, slow sex, lots of 'I love you's

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° author's note ━━━━━━━ I guess this can be part 2 to The One He Couldn't Let Go if you squint a bit.

Based on this request.

It was late afternoon. Y/N was in her apartment, the dark clouds outside mirroring the storm brewing in her thoughts. She paced across the polished hardwood floor, arms folded tightly over her chest, her posture radiating tension. The living area—modern décor, a minimalist gray couch, glass coffee table, and tall bookshelves filled with novels—felt both too big and too small all at once.

Her phone lay face-down on the dining table, silent for the past three days. Not a single call from him since that explosive argument. She glanced at it again, half-hoping it would light up, but it remained still. She bit her lower lip, trying not to let the swirl of angst devour her. The image from that damned photo online had replayed in her head non-stop. Just a random snapshot—but enough to trigger months of tension that had been quietly building between them.

A year ago, when she first met Lando, she had never imagined she could be standing in this place—both physically, in her apartment, and emotionally, consumed by heartbreak so intense that it threatened to break her from the inside. And yet, she remembered how it all started. He had breezed into her life, courtesy of a mutual friend, with that mischievous grin and those unexpectedly soft, bright eyes that seemed to look right through her. At first, she’d tried to keep her distance. He was a playboy, or so all the rumors said. She had read the articles, seen the gossip, heard the stories from random acquaintances who claimed they knew him. She doubted he was the type to stay faithful. She doubted he was the type to take relationships seriously, given all that she’d heard about his partying, about the way he used to message random girls on Instagram. It was the exact opposite of everything she wanted or needed.

Yet he had pursued her relentlessly. Flowers would show up at her apartment every week—delicate bouquets of roses, peonies, lilies. Expensive gifts, random text messages in the middle of the day just to say he was thinking of her. He found out about her favorite authors and sent her limited-edition books. He discovered her love for certain designer bags and surprised her with them, even though she told him a hundred times that she didn’t want him to waste money on her. She had tried to play hard to get; she had shut him down over and over, telling him that she wasn’t convinced, that he’d break her heart. She had tried to remind herself that once upon a time he had been in a relationship, still rumored to be cheating, going to clubs, and partying with random women. All the gossip. All the pictures. She didn’t want that kind of heartbreak. She believed he would revert to his old ways at any moment.

But then, five months ago, she finally gave in. Five months that had begun the strangest, most wonderful, and most complicated relationship she had ever experienced. From that moment, everything between them had been intense, nearly suffocating in its passion, overshadowed by her lingering doubts and his determination to prove her wrong. Every kiss felt like a confession of how badly he wanted her to trust him. Every time he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she glimpsed in his eyes a silent plea that she believed in him. And slowly, she had begun to let her guard down. She let him in further than she had let anyone before.

That is, until four days ago, when her phone blew up with messages and notifications from mutual friends, from acquaintances who had seen it on social media: a photograph of Lando in a club with an unknown girl pressed very close to him. The angle of the camera made it look suggestive, as if he were leaning down into her ear, or maybe even nuzzling her neck. The girl’s arm was around his shoulders, and it looked like she was whispering intimately to him. The moment Y/N saw it, her stomach dropped. She hadn’t known rage so pure, not since childhood memories that she tried to bury. And in that moment, every single doubt she’d ever had about him came roaring back. She confronted him that night in her apartment, the memory of that confrontation still burned into the walls.

–

Four Nights Ago – The Fight

The moment Lando stepped into her living room, Y/N’s hands were shaking from anger. She had texted him: We need to talk. Now. And he’d come over immediately, wearing an expression of anxiety mixed with confusion. He must have known the rumors were swirling online.

“What the hell is that?” she demanded, pointing her phone at him, screen displaying the offending photograph. She didn’t realize she was almost yelling from the get-go. “Care to explain, Lando?”

He swallowed hard. His cheeks reddened. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or guilt or both. “It’s… nothing,” he said, raising his palms defensively. “That picture—God, I didn’t even know someone snapped that. It’s not what it looks like.”

Her words came out in a hot rush, unfiltered. “Oh, it’s not? Because it looks like you’re cozying up to some random girl at a club—just like the old days, right?” She breathed in sharply, unable to stop the venom streaming out. “I knew it. I always knew you’d go back to your old ways sooner or later.”

He stepped closer, frustration written on his face. “I wasn’t cozying up to her. She was a friend of a friend. I was leaning down to hear what she was saying because the music was too loud. That’s it. It’s a stupid camera angle.”

“Camera angle,” she repeated mockingly. “Right. Always an excuse. You act like I don’t know you have this… this history. Messaging random girls. Sleeping around. Even when you were with someone, the rumors said—”

“Rumors!” he interjected, voice cracking with frustration. “They were just rumors! I told you a hundred times, I never cheated on anyone. If I had a reputation for partying, it was because I was young, going to clubs, sure, but I wasn’t hooking up with every girl who came near me. And I’m sure as hell not hooking up with them now!”

Her face twisted with anger she couldn’t contain. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You know how insecure I already feel. You know what I’ve been through, Lando!” Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry. “You should’ve been more careful. You should have thought about how that picture would look. How it would make me feel.”

He ran a hand through his curls, agitated. “For God’s sake, Y/N, I can’t control every photo or every rumor. I’m an F1 driver. People take pictures. I’m sorry that it happened, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure. Just like you never did anything wrong all those other times you got plastered with groups of girls, right? God, how am I supposed to believe you, Lando?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. She could see him holding back his own anger. “Because,” he replied in a voice that trembled with repressed fury, “I’ve been bending over backward for months trying to prove to you that I’m not that guy. Do you think I spend all this time showering you with gifts, messages, and time, just so I can go out and hook up with random girls? That’s not me anymore!”

he shook her head, her voice laced with contempt that came from the deepest pit of her insecurities. “We can never know for sure, can we? God, I can’t stand the idea that I let you in, and you do something like this.”

He took another step toward her, eyes flashing. “Don’t put this all on me. You came into this relationship—if we can call it that—assuming the worst about me. I’m always on trial with you, Y/N. You never truly trust me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, if you want my trust, then don’t get photographed cuddling with random girls!”

He breathed heavily, exasperation rolling off him. “I told you, it wasn’t cuddling. And I can’t believe you’d think I would cheat on you. After everything we’ve shared.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, hearts pounding, both of them caught in the throes of powerful, conflicting emotions. Then she lifted her chin, refusing to budge. “Get out,” she said quietly, but her tone was menacing in its finality.

He froze. “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

She shook her head. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill again. “Get. Out. Now.”

Lando’s expression turned furious and wounded. “Fine,” he spat. “If you won’t even listen to me, what the hell am I supposed to do?” In his frustration, he flung his arm up, wanting to run his hand through his hair, but in that split second, it looked like his hand was coming toward her in a fast, menacing way.

She recoiled instantly, a panicked flinch, arms defensively curling toward her face, eyes wide in fear. A rush of adrenaline spiked through her. It was so fast, so involuntary, as if a primal reflex told her that he was about to hit her.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a haunting sorrow. “Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You think… you think I would—?”

She just stared at him, still trembling. She hated that her body had interpreted his movement as a threat. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, guilt mixing with the cocktail of fury and heartbreak in her chest. “I— I just… you moved so fast.”

He took a shaky step backward, heartbreak contorting his features. “I would never lay a hand on you,” he said, voice trembling. “How could you even think—?”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks burning with shame. But the anger was still there, too, overshadowing everything. “Just get out,” she repeated.

He stared at her for a few long seconds, pain written on every line of his face. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, storming out of the apartment. She heard the door slam behind him. It left her standing alone in the silent living room, her heart pounding loud enough that she thought it might burst through her chest. She sank onto the couch, tears finally spilling.

–

The Four Days of Silence

Now she was on day four without a call, text, or anything from Lando. At first, she’d been so angry she told herself she wouldn’t care if he never reached out again. But after the first 24 hours, the doubts crawled in. Had she overreacted? Was that truly just an innocent picture? She battled with herself over and over, replaying the confrontation in her head, fixating on the moment he raised his arm to push his hair back—how she flinched, how his eyes turned to raw agony.

Guilt ate away at her. Yet the betrayal—and the fear that he was still that same playboy—remained. She wasn’t sure she could handle being with someone who always had rumors swirling around. It was making her question everything.

But she also missed him. Terribly. She missed his laugh, that boyish grin in the morning when he’d wake up next to her, the way he’d wrap his arms around her waist from behind while she was doing something mundane like making coffee. She missed how he would gently brush his fingertips down her cheek while watching TV, how he was always so enthusiastic about introducing her to his friends—well, the few times she’d let herself be around his circle. She missed that warmth and attention, how being with him made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Late into the nights, she lay awake in her bed, staring at the city lights, tears wet on her cheeks, imagining him in Monaco or at his family’s home, maybe even with that unknown girl. The worst part was that she realized, in her chest, that she truly loved him. A truth she had tried to ignore because acknowledging it made her feel so vulnerable.

She hated herself for flinching, for letting him see that she thought he could physically harm her. She knew enough about him by now to know he wasn’t violent. That flash of panic had come from a dark place in her mind, shaped by her insecurities. She didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her for that. Or if she could ever forgive him for being so careless in that photo.

Day three passed. Then day four. She was pushing through work, eyes rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, snapping at her coworkers who asked too many questions, trying to bury herself in spreadsheets and emails.

–

The Afternoon of the Fourth Day

She had just gotten back to her apartment after another draining day at the office. She kicked off her heels by the front door, passing the large mirror in the entrance hallway. She lingered a moment, studying her reflection—searching for something she could never quite name. She tried to straighten her shoulders, to seem more composed than she felt, but the familiar ache of doubt had already settled in.

She always worried that Lando, with his flirty ways and well-known preference for a certain type, would eventually look at her and realize she wasn’t enough. It hurt that she cared so deeply about this. She hated that she cared. She wanted to be that fierce girl who didn’t need anyone’s validation. But with him, she felt so out of control sometimes—like all the confidence she’d tried to build kept slipping through her fingers the moment he smiled at someone else.

Letting out a shaky breath, she headed to her bedroom, planning to change into something more comfortable, maybe sweatpants and an oversized tee. She rounded the corner into her living room—and froze.

Lando was there, standing by the window, looking out across the glittering skyline of London. He had his luggage next to him, as if he had come straight from the airport or something. Her heart jumped to her throat. Anger, relief, love, and pain swirled inside her so violently that she couldn’t even speak for a moment.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, eyes meeting hers. She saw the exhaustion on his face, the shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days either. His hair was disheveled, the curls an unruly mess, and he wore a fitted black hoodie and gray joggers. Under normal circumstances, the sight of him might have made her breath catch with desire, but now, there was only tension.

They stared at each other in silence. Her eyes filled with tears again. She loathed that she cried so easily these days. “How did you get in?” she finally managed, her voice cold.

“I still have the key,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t ask for it back.”

She swallowed. Right. She hadn’t. Maybe that was a subconscious sign she wanted him to return. “You can’t just barge in here.”

“I didn’t know how else to see you,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. I kept sending messages the first two days, you never replied. I got scared you’d blocked me, or that you never wanted to see me again.”

She scoffed, though hearing he’d tried to call made her guilt spike. She had left her phone on silent, or face-down, ignoring the messages—convinced she had to remain strong. “And so you decided to ambush me at home?”

He clenched his jaw, taking a step forward. “I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, Y/N. It’s been killing me.” He paused, searching her face with a mixture of desperation and anger. “I’m sorry for everything. But you have to understand, that picture—it was nothing. And I hate that you believed otherwise. It feels like you don’t trust me at all.”

“Because you’ve given me reasons to doubt,” she snapped, tears threatening to spill once more. “I’ve seen the rumors, the pictures, the girls you used to be with. I can’t— I don’t know how to handle it. It hurts to even think about. I can’t stand the idea of being compared to those bikini-model types you used to party with.”

His eyes widened. “Compared to them? Y/N, I’ve never once compared you to anyone. I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I made mistakes in my past. I slept around. I partied. But that was before. This last year has changed me, especially these five months with you.” He paused, voice trembling, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Her throat was tight. She exhaled slowly, all the anger and hurt rising again. “Then why did that picture look so—so intimate?”

He rubbed his face. “I was talking to that girl. She was leaning in because the music was loud. I wasn’t even there for long. I’d gone out with some mates, had a few drinks, and left early. I swear to you, I wasn’t flirting or anything close to that.”

She folded her arms protectively, glowering. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

He looked at her with a heartbreak so profound that her stomach twisted. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “Because it’s true.”

She stared at the floor, tension coursing through her. The silence pressed down on them. She recalled the image of his arm moving up four nights ago, the absolute terror she felt, that flicker of fear that he might hurt her physically. She forced her eyes up to his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, voice catching. “For thinking you’d hit me.”

His face contorted with anguish. “That… that moment,” he said, voice shaking, “I can’t even describe how it felt to see you flinch like that. Like you believed I could do something so horrible.”

She sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “I just—I don’t know what came over me. It was a reflex. But everything else I meant. I can’t stand the way you have these shady pictures circulating. The rumors. And I hate feeling like I’m one in a long line of random women in your life. It eats me alive.”

His eyes were red, and he seemed to hold himself back from crossing the room to comfort her. “You’re not just another woman,” he said, voice brimming with emotion. “I would never see you that way. I love you, damn it. Don’t you get it? You’re everything to me.”

She swallowed, her heart thumping so loud it filled her ears. “You say that,” she answered raggedly, “but it’s so easy to say. What if you get bored, or you find someone else, or you want someone who wears skimpier clothes—someone who has the perfect body or an easier attitude?”

He scoffed softly, a pained look crossing his face. “Skimpier clothes? You think I care about that? Y/N, I love you for you. You can wear a shapeless potato sack, and I’d still think you’re breathtaking.” He licked his lips, stepping closer, but still leaving a couple feet of space, as if cautious not to invade her bubble if she didn’t want it. “I don’t want any other woman. I want you. I hate that all these rumors, these illusions, keep driving a wedge between us.”

She turned away, crossing to the couch. She rested her palms on the back of it, trying to steady her breathing, trying not to let the tears fall. “I can’t… forget. When I see pictures like that, it’s like a knife to the chest.”

He came up behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. Very gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I could erase my past. I wish I could protect you from seeing that photo. But I can’t. All I can do is promise you I wasn’t cheating, nor do I ever want to.”

Anger still simmered beneath her skin, but she also felt the longing, the deep ache to reconcile with him. She wanted to lash out, to blame him, but she was so damn tired of fighting herself and him. She turned around slowly, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” she asked hoarsely, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up earlier?”

He inhaled sharply. “I tried calling. When you didn’t answer, I was worried you’d blocked me or that you needed space. I also needed to cool down. After how we yelled at each other, I— I was afraid you wouldn’t even look at me.” A trembling laugh escaped him. “I didn’t want to drive you further away. But last night, I realized I couldn’t handle another hour without trying to see you. So I packed my bag and flew here this morning.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fresh tears running down. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her tone was heartbreakingly vulnerable, betraying how she felt the exact opposite.

He grimaced, eyes moist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

For a moment, she couldn’t respond. She just stared at him through the haze of tears. Something inside her cracked wide open—the dam that had been holding in all the emotion. In one swift motion, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. She felt his heart hammering beneath her cheek.

He hesitated only a split second before he crushed her against him, his arms wrapping around her waist so tightly as if he was afraid she’d slip away at any moment. The tears she’d been holding back poured out, and she felt his body shaking too. They stood there, locked in an embrace that trembled with raw anguish.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate that you made me doubt you,” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. “And I hate that I’m so insecure. But most of all, I hate that… I can’t let you go.” She let out a choked sob, closing her eyes. “I love you too. And it hurts so bad because I’m scared you’ll destroy me someday.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’d rather die than hurt you,” he said, voice cracking with sincerity. “I’d rather die than lose you.”

The tension and heartbreak in the air shifted palpably, turning into a different kind of electricity. They pulled back just enough to look at each other, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Their faces were inches apart, breath intermingling. Then, wordlessly, as if drawn by a magnetic force, their lips collided in a fierce, desperate kiss.

She tasted salt from her tears as he kissed her, but the urgency in the press of his mouth overwhelmed her senses. Her hands slid up around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls. He held her face between his palms as though she were something delicate—yet the kiss itself was anything but gentle. It was raw, intense, filled with the pent-up longing of four days of agony and an entire relationship’s worth of insecurities.

They broke apart for a brief moment, gasping for air, foreheads touching as they tried to form words. But no words came. Only that frantic hunger to feel close after so many days of pain and confusion. They resumed kissing, deeper this time, tongues and teeth clashing, breath ragged. She moaned softly against his mouth, her body igniting with the need to be consumed by him.

“Bedroom,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak. His eyes were dark with longing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She grabbed his hand and led him down the short hallway. The moment they entered her bedroom, the tension redoubled. Even the air felt charged. The blinds were half-drawn, letting in the golden glow of the late-afternoon sun. The duvet on her bed was slightly disheveled, and she had thrown some clothes on it earlier that morning. The entire room smelled like her faint vanilla perfume and the leftover anxiety of the last few days.

She turned to face him, breath quivering. He reached for her face, cupping her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, still rimmed with leftover hurt. She reached for his hoodie, and he helped yank it off, tossing it aside. The next second, he was kissing her again, guiding her toward the bed. He peeled off her blouse, his hands shaking with the intensity of the moment, exposing her skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His lips moved down her jaw, her neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh there, drawing out soft gasps. Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his joggers, pulling them down. Every movement was frantic, desperate, as if they both knew that making up like this was both a healing and a reaffirmation of what they meant to each other.

She sank onto the bed, and he followed, settling above her. Their mouths found each other again in a searing kiss, tongues dancing as their bodies pressed together. She could feel his heart beating wildly. She let her hands roam over his torso, savoring the warmth of his skin, the muscle that flexed beneath her palms. He groaned into her mouth, his voice husky with need.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed. He lowered his head to kiss down her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. “I was going crazy not hearing your voice.”

She arched against him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by how much she had missed him too. Her nails lightly raked his shoulders. “Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Don’t leave me like that.”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. The raw emotion in his eyes almost made her dizzy. “Never,” he promised, and he sealed the vow with a slow, deep kiss.

Their hands explored every inch of exposed skin, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies as though it had been years rather than mere days. Slowly, carefully, they stripped away the barriers of clothes. Each article of clothing fell to the floor or was pushed aside on the bed, along with the tensions and fears that had weighed on them. He caressed her curves, pressing gentle kisses to her hip, her waist, then trailing his lips up to her neck. She whimpered softly, allowing herself to be lost in the sensations.

He loomed above her, completely naked, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment. His hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he moved up her body again. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, hot and desperate, as if he were trying to make up for every second of the four days they’d spent apart. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his unruly curls, pulling him closer, as though she could fuse them together and never let him go again.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips didn’t stray far. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her temples, each press of his mouth a silent apology, a promise, a plea. His breath was warm against her skin as he trailed kisses down her jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her head fell back against the pillows, her body arching instinctively toward him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he kissed across her collarbone, his hands moving down to her shoulders to steady her. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of fire across her chest. He lingered there, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his breath hitching as if he were savoring her. She could feel his hunger, his desperation, and it mirrored her own. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He sucked gently at first, teasing her, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until she was squirming beneath him. Then he sucked harder, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. She could feel the heat pooling low in her stomach, her body responding to him as it always did, as if it were wired to crave him and him alone. His fingers found her other breast, kneading and teasing, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

“Lando,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything that had happened between them hanging in the air. But then he leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss, and all the tension, all the doubt, melted away, replaced by an all-consuming need.

This time, when he pulled back, his hands moved to her hips, lifting her slightly so he could slide further down the bed. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake, and she shuddered, her hands clutching at the sheets. He kissed her hips, her thighs, his breath warm against her skin, and then his mouth was on her again, sucking and teasing, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily, and he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still as he continued to worship her with his mouth, his tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh until she was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Lando didn’t lift his head, not yet. His hands tightened on her hips as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to trace the slick, sensitive folds of her pussy. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, and she whimpered, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He could taste her, her arousal, her need, and it drove him wild. He loved her like this, so open, so vulnerable, so completely his. His tongue delved deeper, exploring her, savoring her, and she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot. “I could taste you forever.” His voice was rough, dripping with desire, and it sent a shiver up her spine. He pulled back slightly, his lips closing around her clit, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She arched off the bed, her moans echoing through the room, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with her. “You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I fucking love your pussy, Y/N. I love how you writhe for me, how you moan for me.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping inside her, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He held her steady, his hands firm on her hips, as he drank her in, every sound, every taste, every shudder of her body.

He loved this—he lived for this. The way she fell apart for him, the way her breath hitched and her cries grew louder, the way she trembled when he touched her just right. He loved the way she moaned his name, the way she clutched at the sheets, the way she surrendered to him completely. He loved knowing that he could make her feel this good, that he could bring her to the edge and push her over, that he could make her his in every possible way.

His tongue flicked over her clit again, faster this time, more insistent, and her moans turned into desperate cries. “Lando—please—I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He sucked her clit into his mouth, his tongue working her relentlessly, and she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing, her hands clawing at the sheets. He didn’t let up, drinking in every drop of her release, until she was panting, her body limp and trembling.

He finally lifted his head, his lips wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough. He crawled up her body, his hands framing her face as he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. “I love making you feel good,” he murmured against her mouth. “I love hearing you moan, feeling you shake, watching you fall apart for me.”

She reached for him, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I love it when you worship me like that, when you make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters.” Her eyes were soft, filled with adoration, and he kissed her again, gently this time, savoring the way she melted into him.

“You are the only thing that matters,” he said, his voice low and earnest. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you—your body, your mind, your soul. I love making you feel good, I love hearing you moan, I love watching you come. I love you.”

She smiled, a slow, sweet smile that made his heart ache. “I love you too,” she whispered. She pulled him down, her lips finding his, and they kissed, slow and deep, their bodies pressed together, their hearts beating in sync. For the first time in days, the world felt right again.

He pulled away from her lips reluctantly, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing between them as he hovered above her. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “I can’t wait anymore.” His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he guided her closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

But she shook her head, her eyes filled with need, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you in my mouth first. Please, Lando. Let me taste you.”

He groaned, his head falling back as he fought for control. “Fuck, Y/N—I want to be in you. I’ve been waiting for this for days.”

Her hands slid down his chest, her nails lightly scratching his skin as she moved lower, her fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He hissed at the touch, his hips jerking forward instinctively. “I know,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “But I need this. I need to feel you in my mouth. Let me, please. I’ll make it good for you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire and frustration. She was begging him, her voice dripping with need, and he couldn’t deny her. Not when she looked up at him like that—with those pleading eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, his resolve crumbling. “Just—just for a minute. Then I’m inside you.”

She didn’t waste another second. Lando lay back on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly as she positioned herself between his legs. His cock was already leaking precum, the tip glistening, and she could feel him twitch in her hand as she stroked him slowly. She licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight of him, at the thought of tasting him, of feeling him on her tongue.

Without hesitation, without teasing, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groaned loudly, his hands fisting in the sheets as she sucked him deep, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. One hand rested on his inner thigh, her fingers digging into his skin, while the other stroked the base of his cock in time with her movements.

She looked up at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, her lips stretched around his length. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger—was almost too much for him. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him, sending jolts of pleasure racing down his spine.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough with arousal. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you? You’re such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a fucking slut for my dick.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop. She loved when he talked dirty to her, when he called her his slut, his good girl. It made her feel wanted, desired, and it only made her suck him harder, her movements becoming more desperate, more eager. Her hand moved from his inner thigh to his balls, her fingers gently massaging them as she continued to suck him, her lips and tongue working him relentlessly.

She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, could taste the saltiness of his precum on her tongue, and it only made her want him more. She loved the way he felt in her mouth, the way he filled her, the way he made her feel so alive, so connected to him. She loved the way he moaned her name, the way his hands tightened in the sheets as he tried to hold himself back. She loved the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with desire, his breath hitching as she sucked him.

For Lando, it was almost too much. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger, her hand stroking him, her fingers massaging his balls—was driving him wild. He loved seeing her like this, so turned on, so eager for him. It made him feel powerful, desired, and it made him want to give her everything she begged for. He loved the way she looked at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He loved the way she moaned around him, the way her body trembled with need. She was his, and he loved every fucking second of it.

But he couldn’t let himself come—not yet. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight, wet pussy around him as he spilled himself deep inside her. He gently pushed her away, his hands trembling as he gripped her shoulders. “Enough,” he said, his voice rough with need. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

She pulled back, her lips swollen, her breathing ragged, her eyes filled with longing. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved with purpose, gripping her hips firmly as he manhandled her onto her back again, her body sinking into the mattress. She gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for him as he positioned himself above her, his weight pressing her into the bed. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, brimming with something deeper than desire—something raw, emotional, and unspoken. He hovered for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, before he shifted, guiding himself toward her entrance.

She felt the tip of him brush against her, hot and insistent, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. He paused, his hands framing her face as he leaned down, his forehead pressing against hers. She could feel the tremble in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to control the primal urge to claim her. His breath mingled with hers, shaky and uneven, as he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

And then, slowly, achingly slow, he entered her. She felt every inch of him as he pushed inside, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both overwhelming and electrifying. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that made her head spin—it was the way he looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression a mix of reverence and desperation. It felt like he wasn’t just entering her body; he was reclaiming her heart, her soul, every piece of her that had been fractured by distance and doubt.

For Lando, the moment was equally intense. The warmth of her body enveloped him, tight and welcoming, and he groaned, his head falling forward as he fought to keep his movements slow, controlled. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, and it made him ache with a need that went far beyond physical. He wanted to lose himself in her, to drown in the way she felt around him, but more than that, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. How he’d do anything to keep her, to protect her, to make her feel cherished.

He stayed inside her, not moving, his body flush against hers, their breaths mingling as they stared into each other’s eyes. The stillness was charged, electric, as if the world had paused just for them. She could feel him twitching inside her, the way his body seemed to throb with the effort of holding back, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands clutching at his back. “Please… move. I need you.”

But he shook his head, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to take my time with you. I want to show you how much I love you, Y/N. How much you mean to me.” His words were soft, tender, but there was a fire behind them that made her heart race. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss, his tongue exploring hers as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m yours. Always.” His voice broke on the last word, and she could feel the sincerity in it, the weight of his promise. It was as if he were trying to pour every ounce of his love, his devotion, into that one moment.

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. “I missed you so much. Please, Lando… don’t let go.”

He kissed her again, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands roaming her body with a reverence that made her heart ache. He worshiped her with his touch, his lips, his words, as if every inch of her were sacred. His hands slid down her sides, smoothing over her skin, before he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to him instinctively.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips were warm, his breath hot against her skin, and she shivered, her hands tightening in his hair. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a patience that made her ache.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice pleading, her hands tugging at his hair. “Please… I need you. I need you to move.”

But he shook his head again, his hands sliding down to her hips, gripping her firmly as he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “I’m not going to rush this,” he said, his voice steady despite the fire burning in his gaze. “I want to make this last. I want to make you feel how much I love you, Y/N. How much I’ve missed you.”

His words were a balm to her soul, soothing the raw edges of her heart, but they also made her ache with need. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, twitching with every breath, and it was maddening to have him so close, so still. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hips lifting slightly in an attempt to get him to move. “Please, Lando… I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel good.”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at her words, but he held himself back, his hands tightening on her hips. “I will,” he promised, his voice rough with desire. “But not yet. I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer, but he stayed still, his eyes locked on hers, his expression filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She loved this side of him—the way he could be so soft, so gentle, even in moments of intense passion. It made her feel cherished, adored, and it made her love him even more.

Finally, he began to move, his hips rocking against hers in slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was maddening, each movement drawing a soft cry from her lips as she writhed beneath him. He kept his pace slow, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands moving to cup her face as he leaned down to kiss her again. His lips were warm, his tongue exploring hers in a way that made her head spin, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

For her, the slow, deliberate movements were both agonizing and intoxicating. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, filling her completely, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. She wanted more—needed more—but he held back, his movements controlled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

For Lando, the slow pace was equally intense. He could feel her around him, tight and warm, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from losing himself in her. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last, to show her how much she meant to him. He wanted to worship her, to make her feel loved, cherished, adored. And he knew that the only way to do that was to take his time, to draw out every second, to make her feel every ounce of his love.

He kissed her again, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deep rhythm that matched the pace of his thrusts. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m never letting you go.”

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with a desperation that mirrored his own. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept his pace slow, deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady as he continued to worship her with his body, his touch, his words. He kept kissing her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders, his lips lingering on every inch of her skin as if he were trying to memorize her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he were trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I never will.”

She moaned, her hands clutching at his back as she arched into his touch, her body responding to him instinctively. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts was driving her wild, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Please… I’m so close.”

He kissed her again, his movements never faltering as he held himself above her, his eyes locked on hers. “Let go, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

And with those words, she shattered, her body convulsing as she clung to him, her cries muffled against his chest. He held her through it, his thrusts never faltering as he continued to drive her over the edge, his own release building steadily until he could no longer hold back. With a low groan, he pressed his face into her neck, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his breath hot against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling as they held onto each other. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the weight of everything they had shared, everything they had overcome.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking down at her with an aching tenderness she had never seen so plainly before. He brushed damp hair off her forehead, trailing a thumb across her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice a low rasp in the hush of the room. “I love you so much. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

She exhaled shakily, caressing the side of his face. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “I got so consumed by anger and jealousy. I should have let you explain calmly. And I… I should never have doubted that you’d raise a hand to me.”

He shook his head, kissing her temple. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your fears come from a real place. I just want to do better for you. I never want you to think I could hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

She stared up into his eyes, seeing the layers of heartbreak there. “Don’t do anything that makes me doubt you again, Lando. Please,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t take this kind of fight again.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I promise,” he said. “And if something comes up—pictures, rumors, anything—please talk to me before letting it build up in your head. I’ll tell you everything.”

She nodded, tears threatening once more, but they didn’t spill. “Okay,” she agreed softly.

They settled into a quiet embrace, his arm draped over her waist, her head on his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, each beat reassuring her that he was here and that he wasn’t letting go. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in pink and orange hues that filtered into the room. For a time, neither of them spoke, letting the warmth of each other’s bodies and the lingering afterglow of their fierce coupling do the talking.

Eventually, their breathing evened out, and Lando shifted to lie on his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at her fully. She blushed slightly, tugging the sheets up to cover herself, though he’d already seen every inch. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her lips felt tender from the rough kisses.

He reached out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Don’t,” she mumbled. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he insisted. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Your body, your face, your heart… it’s all incredible to me.”

“Stop flattering me,” she murmured, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. His genuine admiration always made her heart skip a beat.

He gave her a half-smile, though there was still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “We have to talk, you know,” he said softly. “We can’t just… pretend the argument didn’t happen.”

She nodded, the smile fading as she remembered the fiery fight. “I know.”

He took a deep breath, shifting closer so their foreheads nearly touched. “I hate that my past makes you feel insecure. But it’s my past. I can’t change it, no matter how badly I wish I could.” He placed a hand gently on her hip. “I need you to understand that I’m not that guy anymore. Maybe I was reckless before, a little shallow. But I’m not the same person I was a year or two years ago.”

She chewed her lip, eyes drifting to where her hand lay over his on the bed. “I guess a part of me thinks that once a player, always a player,” she admitted. “Like, if you’ve done it once, you’ll do it again. But I know that’s not fair. People can change.”

His fingers squeezed hers lightly. “I don’t want anyone else. I know you might find it hard to believe, but it’s true. I’m not going to ruin this for some random stranger in a club.” He paused, voice growing thick with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I love your fierceness, your shy smiles, your sarcastic quips, how you refuse to let me pay for everything even though I want to spoil you. I love the way you get all excited about a new book or a new recipe you learned. I love your body, every curve, every inch, how it feels like you were made to fit in my arms.”

She drew in a shaky breath, tears gathering again. “Lando…”

He nodded, blinking back his own moisture. “So trust me, please. Talk to me if you feel suspicious. Don’t bottle it up until it explodes. Because I can’t go another four days like this. It was pure hell.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry I shut you out,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And I’ll… I’ll try. I don’t want to go through this either. I just need reassurance. Because my insecurities are… they’re crippling sometimes. Seeing that picture brought back every fear I had.”

He cupped her cheek gently. “I get it. And I’ll do my best to reassure you. Always.”

They shared a tender kiss, a silent pact to communicate better, to lean on each other instead of letting the fear linger. After a few more minutes of hushed conversation, she excused herself to use the bathroom, to freshen up.

Stepping into the attached en-suite, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair in wild mess. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to calm the roiling emotions. She felt lighter somehow, as if her chest wasn’t as constricted. He was here, in her home, in her bed, and they’d just poured out so many painful feelings. But they’d also reconnected intimately, forging a new bond in the midst of all the anguish.

Yet a small flicker of doubt still lingered. She wondered if she could truly accept the rumors that might come in the future—pictures of him with fans, random girls in clubs, or women who found him attractive. He was an F1 driver, he was famous, and she couldn’t shield him from the outside world. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if she truly loved him, and if he truly loved her, they would find a way through it.

When she returned, dressed in a fresh tee and shorts, she found him sitting on her bed, having pulled on his boxers. The bedside lamp was on, illuminating the curve of his shoulders, the slight slump as he stared at his phone. He looked up the moment she stepped in.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, noticing his phone in his hand.

He grimaced. “Max and a couple of the other guys are freaking out because I went off the grid. I told them I needed time to sort this out.”

She nodded, crossing to the bed, settling beside him. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize for that. They were worried, but now that I told them I’m with you, they’re pretty much leaving me alone.”

She reached for his phone, pressing the lock button so the screen went dark, then set it aside on the nightstand. “You’re here with me now,” she said quietly. “Focus on that.”

He exhaled, nodding. Then his eyes flickered to the faint bruise on her wrist, a small mark she’d gotten from accidentally knocking her hand against a table the day before. She saw him stare with concern. “What’s that?”

She glanced at it. “Oh, that’s nothing. I bumped into something at work. I’m clumsy.”

He lightly brushed his thumb over the bruise, then lifted her hand and kissed the spot gently. The tender gesture made her chest tighten. His gaze moved up to hers, intense. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “for scaring you the other night. I haven’t gotten that out of my head. The way you flinched…”

A wave of guilt crashed over her. “Lando, I said I’m sorry. It’s not you—it’s my own fear. I just reacted.”

“But the fact that you could even think I’d—” He exhaled unsteadily, closing his eyes. “I promise I’ll never move that way again. I’ll be mindful. I don’t want to trigger that reflex or make you think—”

She slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “No. Don’t change how you move or exist in the world,” she whispered, voice thick with regret. “It was my own trauma or fear or something. But I know you’d never do that to me, logically. My body just panicked.”

He nodded, holding her close. “Okay,” he said softly. “But if you ever feel scared, tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel safe.”

They stayed like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other on the bed, the soft glow of the lamp creating a cocoon of intimacy. She felt his heartbeat slow as he relaxed in her arms, his breathing growing calmer. She gently stroked the back of his neck, and he exhaled against her shoulder.

Finally, she drew back slightly, looking into his face. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

He shook his head, giving her a wry smile. “No. I came straight here from the airport, then… all this happened.”

She offered a small smile in return. “I’ll order us takeout. Thai or pizza?”

He shrugged. “Anything you like. Though I’m kind of craving noodles.”

She nodded, picking up her phone from the nightstand, scrolling through her food delivery apps. Within minutes, she placed an order for a selection of Thai dishes. Then she set her phone aside again.

Lando let out a soft chuckle. “I can’t believe we went from screaming at each other to ordering noodles. My head’s spinning.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster.” Her features turned somber as she looked at him. “Do you regret coming here?”

He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Not in the slightest. I want to fix things with you more than anything.”

A gentle silence fell over them, broken only by the hum of the city outside. She cuddled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Despite the leftover ache, a sense of relief washed over her. He was here. They were together, speaking, touching, and trying to heal.

2K notes · View notes

ghostsprincess · 9 months ago

Text

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being such a gentleman when your boyfriend is an ass....

warning: domestic abuse, adult language

💀

You were mortified that it happened at work this time...

Your boyfriend was a brute of a man, made worse over the months by drinking alone at night while you bartended to help pay down your student debts from several years ago. He got a little rough with you, but only when he was plastered. And you forgave him, because he was decent the rest of the time.

But suddenly you had to start coming to the pub to pull pints with a little extra makeup on your face. The random patrons out for a casual drink wouldn't have noticed, but your regular boys did. You only knew them by Ghost and Soap. They were military and mean looking, but they laughed together like teenage schoolmates. It was always a good night when they sat at the bar, but you could often feel their eyes on you.

"Y' alright, love?" Ghost asked the first night you wore extra eye makeup and a bright red lipstick.

"Yes," you told him, not meeting his eyes. Your face hurt. Your boyfriend had slapped you two days ago. Your skin was puffy and bruised, and you were embarrassed and afraid to move out, so you stayed. "You boys need another round?"

They left you a sizable tip. They always did.

The next time you saw them, your lip was split open, and you were desperate for a way out of the mess your life had turned into. Trying to hide your face while you mixed drinks was a chore, and as soon as Ghost and Soap arrived, you knew it was useless.

When Soap disappeared toward the washrooms, Ghost leaned across the bar, his hulking shoulders taking up more than their fair of space, making you smile slightly. His voice was deep and soft, but his words made you shiver and freeze with your hand on a pint glass. "Y' know, a pretty little thing like you belongs on a pedestal. A man should touch you with reverence."

You stared at him silently as his eyes tracked the mark on your lip. When Soap returned, you didn't charge them a cent for their drink, but they tipped you well anyway.

When a confrontation happened at the bar, tears stung your eyes, and you wanted to hide. Your boyfriend was drunk and angry, and tonight he beckoned you from behind the bar to a dark corner near the hallway where he could have some privacy while he berated you and roughed you up.

"Please," you begged, running your hands nervously on your shirt. "Just go home. I'll be off work in an hour."

"How many of them have you fucked?"

"What?" you gasped, thinking he'd finally lost it. "What are you talking about? I need to get back to work."

He pushed you up against the wall with his other hand on your jaw. "How many of the men here tonight have you fucked?" His thumb brushed the spot on your lip that was nearly healed, and you flinched. "You have the guiltiest expression. So, tell me how much of a slut you've been. As your boyfriend, I need to keep you in line."

Then he was being hauled away from you as your legs shook. With wide eyes, you watched Ghost's massive bicep wrap around his neck like it was nothing. "Y' alright, love?" he asked you softly, and you nodded without saying a word. Then his face darkened, and his voice was an angry snarl as he told your boyfriend, "Ya' been relieved of your duties."

"The fuck?" he responded from his headlock, gasping for air.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' prick don't even know military protocol." Then he raised his voice a little louder. "I said, ya' been relieved of your duties. I'll take over from here."

Somehow, you found your voice. "Take over?"

Ghost's face softened again when he looked at you there against the narrow hallway wall. "With the boyfriend duties," he told you while Soap dragged your ex-boyfriend toward the exit. "Sound good, love?"

He was holding out his big paw of a hand, palm facing up, and you knew he'd be incapable of using it to hurt you. The softness in his gaze right now and every time he looked at you was proof enough of that. You didn't respond, but you smiled as you slid your hand into his grasp.

"That'll do for now," he grunted.

That was the night you came to know him as Simon.

💀

Part two

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x you #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost imagine #call of duty #ghost riley #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghostsprincess

6K notes · View notes

trusweethrt · 5 months ago

Text

— ୨ৎ panties to the side

summary: teasing rafe with the lingerie he gifted you so much during your valentines date, he snaps and bends you over the counter in a restaurant bathroom.

content warnings: not proofread. contains smut, mdni. rafe's (very canon) obsession with lace. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. public sex. implications of almost being caught at the end. lmk if i missed anyway <3

authors note: very excited about valentines day if you couldn't tell. a little pissed cause why is it so hard to find cute valentines pics?! ( •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) anywaysss, enjoy!!

it was all his fault—or at least that's how you viewed it. he had left you all alone for several weeks to go on some stupid trip to Morocco that he wouldn't give up the smallest detail about. and it's not like you could easily satisfy yourself either; rafe meant it when he said nothing and no one could compare to him. not to mention all of your toys that mysteriously went missing the day he left. so of course you'd be a little extra needy the day he came back.

rafe was trying to be patient with you—he really was. but you kept leaning over in that tight sexy low cut red dress, purposely putting your perfect tits on full display for him; and they way he'd catch you eye fucking him whenever you thought he wasn't looking made him want to rip that dress off of you in front of everyone.

the worst part is how infuriatingly coy you've been acting all night whenever he'd try to confront you; casually brushing it off as him being dirty minded.

“rafe.” you drawl, looking up from the menu and finding rafe starring at your exposed cleavage for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. his tongue instinctively sticks out to lick his lips, eyes darting up to meet yours before he clears his throat, leaning back in his seat. he was already unashamedly hard under the table, not at all bothering to hide it. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i need to go to the bathroom n touch up my makeup. tell the waiter i want the chicken marsala when they come over, ‘kay?” you murmured, already standing from your seat and grabbing your purse. “alright,” rafe hummed, calling after you “hurry back, yeah?”

“uh huh.” you nod curtly, trying to fight smirk on your face as you purposely let your tube of lip gloss slip from your bag. all so you could bend over and pick it up on your way to the bathroom, causing your tiny dress to ride up, exposing the swell of your ass to him, clad in the red lacy panties he had surprised you with this morning—the ones he specifically told you to save for tonight.

that's all it took for rafe to snap and confirm you knew exactly what you've been doing all night.

he shot up from his seat, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the marble floors as he hasted to the women's bathroom, swinging the door open, eliciting gasps from both you and the other two women at the sinks.

“you two get the hell out.” rafe grunted, already moving behind you to press his hand to the small of your back, bending you over the counter as the women hurriedly grab their things and leave the bathroom.

“can't fuckin take you anywhere, hm?” his hands travel down, lifting the bottom of your dress, bunching it around your waist. “mmh, just couldn't wait til later.” you respond softly, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties to pull them down, only to have rafe grip your wrists and place your hands onto the counter in front of you. “nah, keep em on. bought them for a reason, yeah?”

the rattle of his belt being undone fills the bathroom, the sound of his zipper unfastening following soon after. he slides his pants along with his boxers down in one swift movement, letting them fall to his ankles, revealing his hard and throbbing cock; the tip flushed with beads of precum dripping down the shaft.

he pulls his tongue between his teeth as he uses one hand to hook his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, the material of the lace rubbing against your sensitive bud, making a soft whimper leave your mouth. “ah, yeah—fuck—look at that. all fuckin wet just by me sitting there. tsk tsk, you've gotten nastier since i've been gone, yeah?” he groans, eyes fixed on the way your juices are saturating your panties. “damn, baby...i love these panties on you..so pretty. gonna order you ten more when we get home, alright?” you could tell how true that statement was by the way his fingers ran over the lace, admiring the delicate pattern against your skin with an intense stare.

rafe ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rubbing his flushed tip through your puffy drenched folds before easily sliding into your drooling cunt. “o-oh my gosh” you mewl, hands gripping the counter as his cock slides in and out of you in quick, deep strokes; your gummy walls clenching around him every time he brushes against your cervix. “fuuck.” rafe groaned, jaw going slack as he grabbed onto the fabric of your panties, pulling you back into him to meet his thrust “grippin me so fuckin good.”

“bet this is all you were think’n about, huh? you knew what you were doing all night, baby. you just needed this cock, hm?” rafe murmured, watching you through the mirror—the way your glossed lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure, eyes fluttering whenever his angle would change ever so slightly.

“mmhm.” you reply in a whine, your grip on the counter tightening as you bite down on your already swollen lips, trying to keep your moans and whimpers from being heard by anyone behind the door. “shit, that all you can say? got’cha all speechless already.” a strangled moan leaves you in response, your mind becoming cloudy and overwhelmed as his thumb presses to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on the throbbing bud.

“r-rafe...” you whimper as your legs start trembling and your eyes squeeze shut. rafe groans softly, feeling you start to clench around him. “mmh i know, i know,” he murmured, the speed of both his hips and thumb increasing. “you gonna cum, yeah? go on, baby...lemme have it.”

your eyes roll back as the coil in your stomach finally snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as your orgasm washes over you. rafe continues his thrusts as your cunt flutters around him, your body slumping over the counter as he helps you ride out your climax.

the way you squeezed around him pushed rafe over the edge, jaw going slack as his cock twitches inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls. “fuuck.” he moans as his eyes flutter shut briefly before they open again, watching you through the mirror. leisurely, his movements fade until he eventually comes to a halt, his breathing ragged.

leaning forward, rafe plants a few kisses on your trembling body, opening his mouth to speak before he's interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

shit.

taglist 🪽: : @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @milamilkie @ch6rm

2K notes · View notes

chaepink · 2 years ago

Note

can u make headcannons on sub!yan’s tendencies in the relationship?

also can i be 🉑 or 🌝 anon?

dating sub!yandere boys hcs ♡

sub!yandere boys when they date you.

wc: 1.1k+ words | masterlist

dom!fem!reader, unhealthy relationship, mention of killing/murder, both sfw and nsfw!, mention of feminization, bondage

note: yes you can be 🌝 anon!

— your yandere would be possessive of you, even more compared to when you two were just friends

— well, you thought you two were just friends. he already assumed you two were together sometime earlier during his friendship with you

— he would do anything for you in order to make sure you're happy and safe

— a friend of yours is getting too touchy with you? well the next day that friend is ignoring you and when you confront them, they look at you scared and quickly scurry away from you. did your yandere do something to them? surely not

— a weird guy keeps following you around your neighborhood? well a couple of days later you see on the news that his body has been found near a river and weirdly enough, you havent seen your yandere on the days before the guy's death

— you complain to your yandere about how a teacher gave you a bad grade on something you worked so hard on? suddenly your grade changes to a A and that same exact teacher suddenly resigns from the school

— he'll try his best to know where you are most of the time and try to follow you back home to make sure you're safe (though its really obvious, you don't acknowledge him so he thinks he's actually doing something)

— but no matter how scary and possessive they are of you, they just want to be good for you, really

— its almost as if they're a puppy for you, always there for your beck and call

— give them a simple command and they'll do it immediately, no questions asked

— ask them to buy you a snack from the nearest store? he'll return back with a bagful of others that he thought you would like

— they're super clingy and always want to be near you

— somehow they manage to have the same exact classes that you have and at the same time. maybe you guys are just lucky? little do you know that your yandere hacked into the principal's computer to change his schedule to fit with yours

— if you're sick, they would immediately fetch you some medicine and make so many bowls of your favorite soup that you're not sure you could finish them all

— they would be so sad when you're sick cause that means they can't be as close as they usually are with you :(

— in bed, nothing changes at all. rather, he becomes even more infatuated with you

— they're still so good and obedient for you, always following your commands. its cute

— like what i said with him doing it with no hesitation, your yandere is eager to do what you say

— tell him to get on his knees? say less as he's already doing so, staring up at you with such innocent eyes

— tell him to open his mouth for you to stick your fingers inside? he opens wide and sticks out his tongue in such a sinful manner, hazy eyes absolutely begging you to make him choke on your fingers as drool drips down his chin

— order him to suck your strap and get it all wet? he's quick to get in between your legs and get his hands on the fake dick, his mouth going straight to bobbing it up and down and gagging as it hits the back of his throat. he'll try to subtly grind his hard on against your foot without you noticing but you do anyways but he's being a good boy so you allow it

— and oh my god is he so shameless in public

— no hesitation in telling you what he wants you to do to him when there are people around

— you'll be at brunch with some of your friends and suddenly you'll feel a hot breath on your ear, such sinful words coming soon after

"im wearing lingerie under my clothes, your favorite set too. wouldn't you like to just ruin me right here and now? make me cry and look so pretty while you show everyone im yours?"

— safe to say that you immediately dragged him to the family bathroom and fingered him until he was gripping onto you for dear life, begging and crying out for you to stop and take pity on him (he's lying about wanting you to stop)

— when you're out with errands or just at work, he'll take such sinful pictures of himself to send to you randomly

— the pictures would include his legs spread out, a obvious bulge in his underwear, and something adorning his body whether its lingerie, a maid outfit, or rope that's tied so tightly on him

— if he's feeling like teasing you even more, he'll send whimpering audios that beg you to come home and fuck him and if you listen close enough, you'll hear some wet noises that let you know that he's masturbating

"f-fuck, [name] come back s-soon, please? i-i miss you so much! i- ah! i-im wearing your favorite outfit right now! i'll be a g-good ngh boy waiting for you ♡"

— itll end up with you rushing home after you're finished to fuck him dumb in that outfit, making it stained with his tears and cum

— he knows you can't really get him pregnant but your yandere just loves those straps with cum in them that you can just shoot inside him whenever you're fucking him fast and rough

— that'll make his eyes roll back and head throw backwards as he lets out such a loud mewl at the feeling of your fake cum filling him up

— and afterwards he'll tease you by using his fingers to push the cum thats gushing out of his hole back in before licking his fingers

— although your yandere is a good boy for you most of the time, theres times where he's a brat

— he'll talk back to you whenever you command him to do something or cum without permission

— but just some long edging or overstimulation will break him and turn him into a sobbing mess

— tying his hands to the headboard and keeping his legs spread apart whilst a vibrator is inside him on the highest setting is his favorite punishment

— your yandere thinks you don't know that since you do it all the time but you actually do know it, you just love the way his face is stained with his drool and tears while his chest and the sheets underneath him is covered in his cum afterwards

— such a slut but we love him for it

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

13K notes · View notes

mariasont · 3 months ago

Text

Sugar, Spice, Spencer's Advice - S.R

everyone expects spencer reid to fall for purely intellectual types, but what they don't know is your ability to remember his rambling lessons and your diligent googled research makes him feel irrationally turned on

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader warnings: established relationship, some suggestive content, brief mention of food-play (non-graphic, discussion only), spencer being protective, fluff af, spencer's negative outlook on sugar/food (super brief), teasing/banter, flustered spence wc: 1.4k request: here!

You’re happily licking at your ice cream cone, eyes soft with uncomplicated happiness, and Spencer thinks he’s becoming entirely too familiar with this feeling. It’s habitual. To observe you is like revisiting his favorite passage in a beloved book, each time discovering nuances he’s missed before.

He’d given in the instant your expression had turned imploring — big, pleading eyes, soft pout — your most effective weapon. Spencer has abandoned all pretense that he can resist your nightly sugar-driven rituals.

He’d pondered briefly the psychological undercurrents of your craving, but each theory usually ends up dissolving when he’s confronted by the smile you give him when he caves.

His attention drifts back just as your feet land on the dashboard. Spencer half-smiles at the sight of those slip-ons, your comfy choice through the entire day of painfully predictable romance movies. He was pretty sure he lost the plot somewhere around hour two — another mistaken identity plot twist, seriously? — but keeping track of said plot wasn’t really the point anyway.

He’d watch paint dry if it meant hearing you laugh like that, but thankfully you usually pick slightly better entertainment. Usually.

Spencer reaches over instinctively, his hand finding its place on your thigh, patting twice for good measure.

“Hey, feet off the dash, please,” he says. “Airbags deploy faster than you think, and personally, I’m pretty attached to the current arrangement of your features.”

His mind trips over the calculation against the embarrassment of sounding like an overbearing parent. He’s not even your husband yet. Yet.

But you immediately drop your feet without complaint, settling into a position that looks decidedly safer. Spencer breathes a little easier. He gives your thigh a grateful squeeze, his thumb brushing back and forth just once in a wordless thank you.

You tuck your legs beneath you, body angled toward him, elbow planted on the center console, cheek resting in your palm.

“My face appreciates you looking out for it,” you tease gently. “Always looking out for me actually. Is there anything else I do that’s, like, secretly super dangerous?”

Spencer’s eyes catch yours, and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting his hand from your thigh to sweep his thumb along the edge of your mouth, collecting the vanilla ice cream that’s smeared there. “As far as dangerous decisions go, I’d say your habit of leaving candles burning unattended ranks pretty high. One of these days you’re going to burn the whole place down, sweetheart.”

“But you said most fires from candles happen because of flammable stuff near them, not just leaving them burning,” you remind him sweetly, nose wrinkling with affection. “So really, as long as I keep things away from my candles, I’m totally safe. And I always listen to you about that.”

His heart flutters with messy pride and affection that makes him feel embarrassingly sentimental. Sure, conversations about Marcel Proust or string theory aren’t exactly your cup of tea (he’s pretty sure you’d turn your nose up at the mere thought), but there’s this distinctly genuine and wonderful way you navigate the world.

You absorb everything he says — half-formed ideas, scattered facts, fleeting memories — in a way that weirdly puts eidetic memories to shame.

It’s dizzying, actually, the way you’re smiling at him right now, effortlessly beautiful and clearly unaware that he’s suddenly acutely conscious of how his pulse is pounding.

He loves you, he knows he does, deeply, and apparently by the way his face flushes hot and his breathing quickens, he’s more turned on by your quiet brilliance than he ever expected.

“Okay, so candles are covered,” he says with mock seriousness, “but what about all my advice on not talking to strangers or, I don’t know, not accepting free candy from mysterious vans? Are those making the cut too?”

“Come on, Spencer, you taught me better than that,” you say proudly. “I know all about risk assessment now, if someone seems sketchy or pushes too hard, it’s probably a danger sign. And,” you add with a satisfied smile, “that’s why you’re the only one allowed to take me for sweets. Want a bite?”

Spencer eyes the melting ice cream warily, the overly sweet scent doing nothing to tempt him, it’s essentially frozen sugar, after all, objectively terrible for him. The mental list of reasons to politely decline is endless.

But the knowledge that your lips have just been there sets off a chain reaction, desire eclipsing logic. Suddenly, he’s more than willing to abandon nutritional morals for the vague promise of an indirect kiss. Though, admittedly, he would much rather prefer the direct approach. But he’s fairly certain that running into a telephone pole would rank even higher risk wise than unattended candles or dashboard hazards.

So, instead, he ducks his head, taking a careful bite, instantly regretting it when the sticky sweet cold paints his cheek.

Your giggles ripple, making him smile sheepishly as you shift closer. He expects your thumb, mirroring his earlier gesture, but then your lips brush against his cheek, your tongue catching the vanilla drip. Every ounce of rationality deserts him into one helplessly smitten mess.

“You know, saliva actually cleans better than wiping,” you announce thoughtfully. “So, you’re welcome, Spence.”

He’s half certain he’s never mentioned anything about saliva enzymes, but then again, he’s so thoroughly distracted by you most of the time he might’ve. It sounds exactly the kind of oddly specific detail he’d share.

“Okay,” he manages, unable to suppress a smile. “Where exactly did you learn that one?”

“I googled it.” You tilt your head. “Like, I thought food-play might be fun to try with you?” You shrug lightly, expression utterly innocent as if discussing something far less suggestive. “But then all these articles said it can get kinda gross and messy, and honestly, Spencer, I realized you’d probably just stress about germs and clean-up, and there’s no way I’d enjoy it if you weren’t totally relaxed and happy.”

Of all the things he anticipated you might say tonight, casually mentioning food play research was not on the list. It lands like a dropped grenade, exploding into fragments of thoughts he cannot possibly hope to piece together.

His cheeks burn hot as images — sticky and indecent images — flood his mind without permission. Vanilla dripping slowly down your collarbone, lips parted in invitation, eyes sparkling with that innocent curiosity he adores.

But beneath this sudden rush of desire lies something even softer because he can almost see it — your earnest expression as you scroll through webpages, considering all the possible complications, all the ways he might react.

Spencer’s chest aches in a way he can’t pinpoint, a vulnerability spreading through him that he rarely allows himself to feel. He’s not used to people taking such gentle care of his anxieties, treating his quirks as something precious rather than burdensome. A small, quiet part of him wonders if he deserves this kind of thoughtfulness, this careful, intentional love you offer without hesitation. He wants to believe it, wants to let himself trust it completely, but the tender astonishment that grips him right now makes it hard to think straight.

“You know, angel, next time just come straight to me, okay? I promise my answers are better, and less traumatizing, than whatever you’ll find online.”

“Well, don’t blame me when you start getting texts at two a.m. about my random questions.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you. “I think we both know that if my phone goes off at two a.m., you’re probably not looking for statistics.”

You smile at that.

“I mean, yeah, probably,” you concede. “But honestly, Spence, I did read this thing about late-night dopamine spikes or whatever and —,”

He doesn’t think. He can’t think. The moment the car is in park, his body moves on its own, leaning across the console, hands gently cupping your face as he silences your adorable scientific ramble. He’s never felt such urgency, such an intense, overwhelming need to kiss someone as he does right now. It’s impulsive, reckless, completely out of character, and yet he feels no regret. Only relief. Only you.

For once in his analytical life, Spencer lets instinct win, savoring your lips and the small, surprised sound you make against him. He hopes you hear in his kiss everything he can’t yet put into words.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #dr reid #doctor spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #🌺 maria writes

2K notes · View notes

pomegranate-eater · 3 months ago

Text

➤𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒚 — what yandere them do (to you) after catching you in the act of masturbating. [part two with other characters]

jing yuan, sunday, dr. ratio, phainon, luocha.

contents: afab reader, yandere, dub-con/non-con, forced relationship, masturbation, forced masturbation, grinding, Penacony Sunday, fingering, mentions of addiction to pornography, humping, dildo usage. not suitable for minors.

JING YUAN

Coming home, Jing Yuan was ready to deal with another load of small troubles thrown at him by you — the discomfort around him you try to hide when he spends time with you, likely another portion of you asking him to let you go, or you expressing your anger at him he’d usually just wait through before he can talk to you like you two are civilized people.

To his surprise, what he came home to was nothing from the list of your typical behavior he could typically easily predict. Because as he approached the bedroom where you were hidden inside, what he heard was strangled, high-pitched sounds, that desperately tried to stay muffled but couldn’t. To Jing Yuan, the bigger shock aspect was from the usage of his name blended inside the profanities.

He had to close his eyes and press his forehead against the door, his mind swirling with confusion and being much more strained. You pleasuring yourself within the same house was one thing, you doing that with him on your mind was the most shocking here. He attempted to rationalize it with you being so pent up from everything going on in your life, and the attachment that had developed between you two involuntarily to you, as only this would make a sense to a smart man like him eventually; which didn’t mean he wasn’t now affected by the confrontation physically as well.

He wanted to be there, making your current fantasies come true.

Yet, for now, he decided to give you space. He couldn’t interfere and make you feel as if you have no privacy, and risk your hatred growing even more. Retiring to his own business, he decided he would tackle down the issue once you’ve blown off some steam.

You left your room some time later, washed, hoping that you were secretive enough with your behavior, especially after having washed and changed your clothes.

The hot water from the shower made you thirsty, so you found yourself in the kitchen. When you placed the empty glass down on the counter, right before you’d turn around to leave, you felt Jing Yuan grab and hold you from behind. Your body tense, you immediately protested, “What the hell are you doing, Jing Yuan? Let me go!”

“Shh…” he whispered, and kissed your nape gently. “You’re so pent up lately, aren’t you?” The words inspired panic in you, making you wonder if he knows as his words suspiciously covered with what you’ve just done.

“Of course I’m pent up, if you put me in situation-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” That was enough for you to know he knows.

“You— you were eavesdropping on me?” you said, mortified by the fact. You tried to move away again but he didn’t let you, keeping you pinned between him and the counter.

“I promise it was by an accident. You must have not heard me enter the house, but there’s nothing to be embarrassed about in any case…” he made his voice to be even lower, if that’s even possible with its natural vocal range, meant to seduce and entice you. And then, when he ground against you from behind, the leftover sparks of arousal after your self-pleasure were ignited.

“S-stop,” you whimpered out, biting on your tongue to not let any more shameful sounds. Despite Jing Yuan keeping you here, he’s never really crossed any bigger line when it came to touching you, so him taking advantage of your bodily situation was new to you — he was using your constitution against you to have you cornered like this.

“Stop?” he repeated with a confusion sounding so real you couldn’t tell if he was that good at acting, and kissed your neck again. “Halt what? Me only trying to help you?”

He painted himself as a good lover, and while you knew better, the body wanted what it wanted and couldn’t handle any more tension to be stored.

So when he ground against you once more enough to force out a first moan, it was hard to push him away again. Jing Yuan didn't pause his grinds against your pussy from behind, making you stain freshly washed underwear you have just put on as you were wet from the stimulation, again. "That's it... doesn't this feel good? Isn't this much better when you're not fighting me, hm?" he teased gently, followed by his grunt when you pushed yourself back at him, and for a moment, you thought of yourself as just his lover with nothing to fear.

When he deemed you as someone who succumbed to this stimulation enough, your desperation having been weaponized against you successfully to this strategic man, he asked, "Should we take this to the bedroom?"

SUNDAY

The passage of time in the dreamscape sometimes played with you and your body, leaving it unclear to yoy about how long until that dreadful point of Sunday’s reunion with you arrives.

Not to mention, you felt as if your body was on another level of sensitivity here — you didn’t take the changes well, and even soulglad hasn’t helped… for some reason. Sunday’s tuning that was offered to you daily didn’t work either, and any questions about the failure would lead to him stating you’re the more difficult case he needs more time in order to heal — that much he has promised you with chivalry.

The sensitivity made its manifestation in different forms, but the most humiliating and self-depreciating was the arousing effect of your trouble. Your body was as taut as a bowstring, ready to snap if you don’t ease yourself.

Your legs spread under the silk bedsheets, the only form of coverage in case Sunday walks in any moment, the fingers worked aggressively on making you build up pleasure. And while it felt good, the buildup wasn’t coming proportionately fast enough to how high your desire was, only creating a frustrating ache as a result — you were crying from the torture at this point.

Then, everything was ruined when Sunday has finally returned. You had to quickly situate your hands on your sides to not form any suspicious outlines under the duvet, yet none of your efforts mattered if your entire state has exposed your mischief.

Sunday stood in the doorway, the expression flustered matching yours, as he tried to form the most respectful response he could for your predicament. “Ah… my apologies, it seems I caught you in a rather unfortunate for you moment…”

To your series of misfortunes, he didn’t leave to give you some privacy and time to gather yourself. He even dared to step inside and walk towards you.

The dear caught in headlights, you could only squeak out in distress, “Sunday, please, give me a moment!” But he instead sat down on the edge of your bed and captured the hand under the sheets, the one that was the culprit of your arousal, and revealed it to the air. It was still wet, glistening from the slick of your pussy — and you being forced to witness it was way too degrading, as if there was something wrong with you doing this to yourself; even if it was normal. “There’s no need to be ashamed,” he said softly, despite the shyness at the confrontation with these sort of things he wasn’t used to as a chaste man himself… that is, outside of his thoughts about you. “It’s only… a human nature, the physiology of a human body to have those needs… needs that need a relief. Do you wish for me to help you with that?” he offered, as if it nothing but a benevolent gesture.

“No!” you were ready to yank your hand away from his gloved one, but his grip on your wrist was stronger. “Sunday, just let me be!”

He either didn’t hear you, or ignored you on purpose to further push his narrative onto you; instead, he unpeeled the duvet off of your body. Mortified, you froze at the sudden exposure. You weren’t naked, as all you did when masturbating was dive your hand into your pants, but it’s the fact that you were guessing what he was about to do that made you scared here.

Suddenly, your body wasn’t cooperating either — it didn’t move as Sunday removed his own gloves and then pulled down your pants along with your underwear. Instead, it swum in now bigger waves of arousal, the negative and protesting emotions buried under the desperate need. What was real in terms of you actually wanting this or if it was the ploy created by his harmony abilities was now unable to be pinpointed; yet the only thing that mattered was how releasing it was to feel his fingers dip inside — two already went in with an ease.

“S-Sunday…” you moaned out, your hips jerking along his skilled thrust, knowing what spots to attack.

“See? I am only helping my dove. You should relax, and let me take care of everything.” He leaned in to press the kiss on your forehead, and looking down at your face, he smiled softly — the curve of his lips not matching the fervor in the golden eyes.

DR. RATIO

“It is rather uncultured to reach for pornography as a tool of relief, love,” the stern voice scolded you from behind, and you almost fell off of the Veritas’s desk chair. You were a small bulgar when have broken into his office, just to access the computer here and watch porn videos. Having been stuck with this man for months, it was constantly driving you insane, you were caught in a need for release of your frustrations somewhere… and before you’d ended up with him, you already were a victim of porno addiction as a way of dealing with your everyday problems. Your own thoughts weren’t satisfactory enough to make you cum undone.

Watching porn could have been faked to look as if happening for a different reason, maybe by pretending you were trying to pull a prank on him in a form of leaving an unsavory history in his web browser; but touching yourself to what was playing on the screen — you couldn’t lie to Veritas.

“I…” your voice trembled, wanting to cry from the shame.

“Save it,” he sighed and dragged you away from the room. You found yourself seated on the bed of the bedroom you had a displeasure sharing with him, and he was on the opposite of you — standing with his arms crossed. You sensed a big talk coming.

“I don’t think I should have to tell you how excessive pornography affects both brain and sexual relationships, and yet here I am. Do you seriously have no clue how to pleasure your own body without using deplorable methods?”

He had no right to tell you what to do, he had no right to shame you when he has forced you in this situation, and yet, you found yourself feeling disgusting and guilty.

“I know… it’s stronger than me,” the words barely left your throat, making you wonder why the hell are you even explaining yourself to him.

“Of course a fool like you would retract from responsibility with such a convenient excuse,” his tone was disappointed. “No matter. The part of my mission is teaching fools, and teaching you should be not any more difficult.”

Hearing ‘teaching’, the connotation of the word made you think of receiving punishment… a possibility so scary you looked at him with pleading.

“I don’t mean a discipline, thought you clearly lack some self-control. I meant teaching you how to pleasure yourself, without having to reach for awful videos that have nothing to do with a real pleasure or intimacy.” That, was perhaps, even scarier.

Before you’d react, Veritas was already lifting up your shirt. “Wait-”

“No stopping. We need to take advantage of your body still being in a state of arousal.”

He didn’t touch you, however — instead, he started to instruct you. “Touch your chest.”

“What?” you said, stunned.

“Don’t make me repeat yourself, unless you want me to tie you down and do it for you.” The threat was enough to make your fingers wander around the area, and tease the nipple. Yet, it wasn’t enough; not when you weren’t given an exposure to two other people fucking…. Something he noticed, or rather anticipated considering your well-known to him addiction.

“If your imagination is failing you, think of me doing this to you,” he proposed with a smirk, and you squirmed at the idea. Despite your dislike towards Veritas, him being the only person around, one so attractive, made you separate his person from his body.

With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see the satisfaction painted all over his face. He stepped closer to you, and leaned down to whisper to your ear. “Now… put your hand between your thighs.”

Each step you took next, he was now the one verbally envisioning the ideas of what you two could be doing together, as you couldn’t think anymore.

PHAINON

Stupid, handsome, gentle Phainon — you wanted to blame him for the way you were currently humping his pillow between your thighs, too invested in grinding your clit against the fluffy mass to even consider staying in tact with your surroundings. You couldn’t curb your hunger for the orgasms you forced yourself to be deprived of anytime Phainon offered you some.

Yes, he’s been trying to initiate sex with you many, many times, each time being so soft and gentle you were starting to believe you were the bad person here; more cruel than when rejecting someone so perfect — but even if you’ve been managing to stop him the last moment (and he was respectful enough to stop), the buildup from small touches and kisses remained and has kept growing into gigantic pressure, that now was threatening to break you. You were relieving that pressure, but the worry it will never be enough compared to having him fuck you clouded your satisfaction.

“Phainon… please…”

Right when you were about to hit the clit orgasm, strong yet nowhere near enough to have cut it okay, the door to the room opened with a swing, the chirpy voice announcing its presence and then cracking into a fluster. “I’m sorry for returning so late, I had to— oh, that’s unexpected…”

Your head snapped to look at Phainon and you quickly abandoned the pillow, sitting up on your knees, and you threw it at him. “What happened to knocking on the door, Phainon!” you yelled, both petrified and embarrassed.

The fact the pillow was stained hit you only after you threw it. “Wait, give it back—” you begged with panic, as you saw it hit his face. But Phainon held onto it, his eyes darting between you and the item. The smell of your arousal was gamy on the pillow, and provoked his nose as a testimony of what you were doing when he wasn’t here.

“This is what I was referring to, my love,” was the first thing he said, with an odd elation in his voice. When you noticed the mutual excitement on his face, you knew you were screwed.

“Phainon, don’t—” you pleaded as you saw him approach you. He continued, “You reject me, just because of some pride and stubbornness, yet your body is begging me and reveling the truth.”

“But do not fret,” he reassured, and lifted you up into his arms, to which you yelped, “Now I know it’s not a matter of waiting for your approval, only giving you a slight push.” You were then placed on his hips, straddling his form lying on your bed.

“P-Phainon, seriously—” you let out, shaken up, but she shushed you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, really.”

He grabbed your hands to hold in the air as some resemblance of intimacy, even if for you the handlebars you desperately need to hold onto, and started to rock onto you from below — his pants onto your bare pussy. The friction was worse than that of a pillow; the relevance was not due to the difference in material — it was about how deliberate his movements were, perfected, and the fact that it was his physical form giving you the relief.

No more yearning needed.

The pleasure hit you immediately and that ruined orgasm was back in a matter of just few seconds, as you screamed silently — that’s how pent up you were for weeks. When you collapsed on front of him, despite the shock in his eyes, Phainon wrapped his arms around you and spoke softly, “Seems I was correct. Yet I doubt it’s enough, so…” after few rubs on your back, he was humping you again, this time chest to chest; letting out moans himself.

“I don’t think this is the only thing you want, it’s impossible, but we’ll take it step by step each day, until we get to the final act…” he promised, followed by the kiss so mad to finally relieve his own old tensions.

LUOCHA

“Mens sana in corpore sano” is what Luocha would notoriously refer to whenever, out of your distress, refused to eat something given to you or weren’t eager to go on longer walks when mad at him, no matter if he mercifully offered it to you, as he knew staying inside all day wouldn’t do you any good — you were forced to travel and move constantly to keep up with his ‘merchant’ life, but walk among nature would always have a different effect on your unrest.

The words were simple, “a healthy mind in a healthy body”, signaling you can never be mentally stable (in your situation especially) if you don’t take care of your own body first.

That was easy to be understood by you literaly, it’s just that applying the rule to the reality wasn’t any easy. What sane soul would be able to function in black and white terms based on the rule, when the stress of situation was the last thing to make them stick to the self-discipline?

The biggest mock was thrown at you when one day, Luocha has gifted you a toy. A sex toy, to be specific, in a shape of a male penis. Not too long, not too girthy; but it wasn’t the size that mattered — only the weird gesture behind the gift. He didn’t tease you about your embarrassment that day, only instructed you about how sexual pleasure might be cathartic to you and help you stay calm — in his medic manner.

You, naturally, have rejected the gift. Which didn’t mean your mind wouldn’t wander to it sometimes, in moments of biggest anxiety… when he wasn’t there to avoid the risk of him intelligently catching your mind wandering somewhere. Upon many months of stress provoked by his presence, you eventually relented and gave into indulgence.

The dildo was now being furiously pumped into your pussy by your own hand, as you chased third orgasm of the day. Involuntarily to you, your mind kept entertaining thoughts of Luocha, that beautiful man with his lush locks and kind green eyes. Sometimes, when his hand touched your back, you could cry from how soft and gentle it was; contradictory of what he could truly do to another person.

Too distracted by the heat in your belly, you let the risqué thoughts take their place, and fantasized it’s his cock fucking you like this.

“L-Luocha… please, I need more!” you moaned, lost in the perversion of your own mind.

“Yes?” he replied, and it took you very long seconds to realize the answer wasn’t imaginary but real, actually registered by your ears. Your hand stopped and abandoned the dildo that remained hilariously inside, your pussy clenching with pressure on the toy to not let it slip out.

“You bastard!” you yelled, mad at him for not knocking on the door. “You should have knocked!”

“I did. You must have not heard it,” he exclaimed, frustratingly phlegmatic in his form standing casually. You couldn’t verify the validity of his claim as you truly have been too busy with pleasure to have heard anything.

Your voice was stuck in your throat when he approached you and sat down on your bed, his walk not giving you enough time to form any logical argument to why he still should be turning around to leave your room. Before you could kick yourself away from him, the gloved hand grabbed onto the dildo and shoved it deeper inside. Your grasped onto the sheets under you, and you jerked your body back with a gasp, totally not expecting this move.

“This way, you should reach a better angle, if you want to maximize the pleasure, my dear.”

Seeing the stun look on your face, stuck in limbo of questioning whether you should stop him or let him do as he pleases, he encouraged, “Are you not going to continue? I guess I have to lend a helping hand to my patient…”

Your legs trembled as he resumed your actions, now reflecting them as he did it for you; except with a skill much more worthy of praise, not one of a person too wretched in animal desperation to not be so messy. The dildo was thrusted into your sensitive walls slowly, squelched around your excessive wetness; but the tip was angled to hit that golden spot. “Luocha, stop…” you barely managed to beg, but both of you knew it’s futile.

“Now, now, don’t be so shy. We’ve discussed this before, haven’t we? A healthy body, a healthy mind. And if you do well, I promise to further relieve you with something much more… substantial,” he said with a small smile, but the jubilance in his eyes at your loss of inhibitions spoke of not a single innocent intention he will manifest when inside of you.

2K notes · View notes

kjhbsies · 3 months ago

Text

Multo

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter— charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #marauders #james potter

1K notes · View notes

mytherapyisreading14 · 2 months ago

Text

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

Part 2

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it.

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #post prison reid #professor reid #professor x student

974 notes · View notes

flwrkid14 · 6 months ago

Text

Tim and Danny: The Couple That Could Have Been

Tim Drake and Danny Fenton weren’t just Gotham’s it couple—they were the couple.

Tim, the poised and brilliant CEO, and Danny, the charismatic streamer with a chaotic streak, were the kind of pair that inspired faith in love. Their relationship was public but never performative. The candid photos, the impromptu livestreams where Danny would drag Tim into the frame to tease him about his “ridiculously expensive suits,” the way Tim would smile when he thought no one was looking—it all seemed so real, so untouchable.

For years, they were inseparable, the picture of what love should look like. And Gotham believed in them. People joked that they’d be together in every timeline, every universe, because how could they not be? They were made for each other.

So when Danny uploaded a new video one unassuming Tuesday, everyone thought they knew what was coming.

The engagement announcement.

Danny’s setup was different this time—gone were the familiar vibrant backgrounds and playful chaos. The walls were bare, his face somber, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard.

“Tim and I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “We’ve decided to go our separate ways.”

What?

No, that couldn’t be right.

This was Tim and Danny. The couple everyone was convinced would make it through anything. The couple people joked would find each other in every timeline, every universe, because it was always them.

But Danny kept talking, his voice trembling as he explained—without really explaining—that they couldn’t make it work. No details, no messy drama, just a quiet goodbye that left everyone feeling like the air had been stolen from the room.

———

The Batfamily found out the same way everyone else did—through Danny’s video. They hadn’t even realized anything was wrong. The last time they saw Tim and Danny together, they’d been the same as always: teasing, bantering, comfortable in each other’s presence.

Bruce was the first to confront Tim about it, cornering him in the Manor with that familiar stern frown.

“Tim, what happened?”

Tim didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know either.

Danny had been the one to end it. One day they were fine—perfect, even—and the next, he was breaking up with Tim over coffee, quiet and somber, like he was grieving something Tim couldn’t see.

“I just… we can’t,” Danny had said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Tim. I love you. I’ll always love you. But we can’t keep doing this.”

And that was it. No further explanation.

Now, Tim was left packing up his things from the apartment they’d shared, trying to piece together what went wrong. Danny was on the other side of the room, just as quiet, boxing up his own belongings. They didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The space between them had never felt so vast.

“I love you,” Danny had said, his voice breaking. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t… we can’t keep doing this.”

And just like that, it was over.

And Danny? Danny knew exactly why.

———

Danny Fenton was a coward.

He’d gone to Clockwork for help after the first heartbreak, unable to bear the thought of living in a world without Tim Drake. He couldn’t undo the pain of losing Tim to the Justice League’s doomed mission, but he could relive the good years.

Clockwork had hesitated.

“This is dangerous, Daniel,” he warned, but Danny didn’t care. He didn’t want to forget Tim. He didn’t want to move on.

So Clockwork granted him his wish.

Again and again, Danny went back. Every time their relationship reached the point of no return—where Tim’s inevitable death loomed on the horizon—Danny would break up with him, retreat to Clockwork, and start over. He couldn’t bear to see Tim die, not again.

But the cycle wasn’t perfect. The cracks showed with each repetition. Danny’s breakups became harder to explain, his excuses more transparent. He could see the hurt in Tim’s eyes, the way his walls went up higher and higher with every iteration.

And still, Danny went back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he couldn’t let go.

———

This time, though, it was different.

This time, as he packed his things, Danny felt the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like never before. Tim wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even questioning it anymore.

He just looked tired.

And Danny hated himself for being the reason why.

The world moved on, but Gotham felt the loss of Tim and Danny like a phantom limb.

The bats watched Tim retreat further into himself, his work becoming his sole focus, an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else. They wanted answers, but Tim wouldn’t give them. And Danny? Danny disappeared from Gotham entirely, his absence leaving a wound that never seemed to heal. Maybe that’s why Tim would find himself on that mission, before Danny's loop restarted everything again—caught in the endless cycle of fate, unaware of how close he was to losing it all for good.

Clockwork didn’t say anything when Danny returned again, his face pale and his hands shaking. He just stared at Danny with quiet pity, his form shifting through time as if he were trying to decide what version of himself could make Danny stop.

“You can’t keep doing this, Daniel,” Clockwork said softly.

Danny didn’t answer.

Because he knew he’d be back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he’d rather relive the heartbreak a thousand times than face another world where Tim Drake was gone for good.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #brain dead #dead tired #dc x dp #batfam #inevitable tragedy #unbreakable cycle #time loops #doomed love #time travel au #soulmates

2K notes · View notes

wafflefries13 · 7 months ago

Text

Home is Where Our Heart Is (Yandere Twisted Wonderland X Reader)

Summary: There's a rumor going around that Crowley found a way to send you back to your original world, and, well, the boys aren't taking the news well.

AN: First time writing yandere stuff. I originally wanted to have this out near Halloween to keep with scary stuff, but as long as it gets done eventually, right?

Cros-posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Warnings: Can be read as romantic or platonic, possessive and obsessive behavior, spying, conspiring to poison, fighting - physical and verbal, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

“There’s something important I want to tell you guys,” (Y/N) said.

Ace and Deuce lifted their heads to look at her. The four of them, (Y/N), Grim, Ace, and Deuce, were all huddled together on the floor of the alchemy classroom, heads bent low as they worked on untangling long threads of manticore mane hair, the most recent punishment from Professor Crewel for some misdemeanor they probably deserved but still complained about.

“What’s up?” Ace asked. He grinned wickedly. “Did you fall through another rotten part of the floor at Ramshackle and need saving again?”

(Y/N) scowled as she swatted him with the back of her hand, without any real malice behind it. “No, and shut up. Maybe I won’t tell you.”

“Ignore him,” Deuce said, picking at a particularly stubborn knot. “What’s up?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Actually, now might not be the best time.”

“Is it that thing you were talking to Crowley about?” Grim asked, gnawing at the hair. “Pah! Gross.”

“Keep that out of your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been. And yeah, that. Now that I’m thinking about it, though, it might just be easier to tell everyone all at once.”

Ace and Deuce looked at each other. “Everything okay?” Deuce asked slowly.

(Y/N) shook her head. “Oh, yeah, fine. Just kind of important, I think. And I’d rather do it all at once. Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Actually, I think I’m going to have a big dinner this weekend, invite everyone over. Ease the blow, maybe.” She chuckled mirthlessly at a joke only she knew.

Ace and Deuce looked at each other again, jaws tense and rising panic building behind their eyes. Their minds raced in tandem, putting together the puzzle pieces of the piecemeal information (Y/N) had told them. Something important involving Crowley, something she would want to keep on the down low until she was able to confront everyone at the same time. The Headmage himself didn’t really seem to carry especially important information. Considering all the work and responsibilities he dumped on (Y/N), they often wondered what exactly he even did at Night Raven College. But there was one thing he had supposedly been focused on since the beginning of the school year: finding a way to send (Y/N) back to her original world. But that couldn’t be it, right? There was no way the bird brain had actually mastered interdimensional magical travel, right? And, even if he had, there was no way (Y/N) was actually just going to up and leave, right?

Right?

The room was quiet for just a beat too long as the two Heartsabyul first years communicated silently. (Y/N) looked back up, her eyebrows scrunched together in worry. She opened her mouth to say something, but Ace cut her off with his signature troublemaker smirk and said, “Ooh, so mysterious. You sure you don’t need saving again? You have that bad habit of throwing yourself in danger every chance you get.”

With that, the tension was broken. (Y/N) swatted at Ace again, laughing. They chatted aimlessly as they continued their tedious work. But, the moment (Y/N) lowered her head to pull tangled hair from Grim’s claws, Ace and Deuce looked at each other again, faces set and serious. An agreement passed between them. They were going to need help.

~~~

“But did she say she was leaving?” Jack asked, voice tight but trying to remain calm.

Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Ortho, and Sebek were in the quad near the wishing well. Other students milled around, going to clubs or studying, their voices drifting meaninglessly around the small group. Epel was pacing, fists balled at his sides, gnawing at his lower lip. Ortho stared, unmoving in that way that reminded people that he was in fact made of metal and wires and not flesh and blood. Sebek was standing soldier straight with his chin up. His mouth was pulled down in a frown, but that was so often his standard expression that only someone who knew him well would be able to see the actual distress on his face. Jack’s foot tapped restlessly, hands clasped together so tight his knuckles were turning bloodless.

“No,” Deuce said. “Not specifically. But what else would she be talking about, you know? We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“But we don’t know anything for certain,” Jack said. “Maybe we-”

“This is bullshit!” Epel shouted. Several students walking by startled, hurrying away with their heads down. His accent came out strong. “She’s just gonna up and leave? After everything? Everything we’ve done and been through? Did none of it matter? Does she not even care about us?”

Deuce winced. “I mean, I guess she misses home-”

“We’re her home!” Ace hissed. “Epel’s right. She doesn't belong back there, whatever that place is.” Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair and tugging. “Well, what are we supposed to do? Keep her here?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Sebek said. The others turned to him. He was looking off in the distance, eyes unfocused. When he felt their gaze, he turned back to them, blinking twice and clearing his throat. “Ahem, I only mean that Lord Malleus has grown rather fond of (Y/N) these past few months, for whatever reason. As his retainer, I couldn’t bear his distress if such a close friend were to vanish with no way of contacting them.”

“Lord Malleus,” Ace said. “Sure.”

“I would anticipate that the Prefect's absence would cause a rise of at least 75% in stress levels at Night Raven College. Accompanying this would also be an increased chance of Overblot by a minimum of 35%.” Ortho put a hand to his temple as his eyes flashed with calculations. “40%. 43%. 50%. 60%.”

“Right, right, we get it,” Epel said.

“Alright, we just need to think this through for a second,” Deuce said, standing and holding up his hands. “We can just explain, right? (Y/N)’s a good person, she’ll hear us out. We’ll just explain why we’re worried and, and…”

“And what?” Epel said. “You think we can somehow convince her to stay here?”

“Prefect (Y/N) technically doesn't exist in this world,” Ortho said. “She has no records outside of Night Raven College, no citizenship or birth certificate. Outside of the Night Raven College campus, she’s not even a ghost.”

“So,” Sebek said, eyes going glazed over again. “It would be simple for her to disappear from the rest of the world.”

A heavy silence fell over them. Immediately, everyone’s mind went to the same place, formulating a plan with the same end goal. Their hearts began racing as they started conjuring up ideas and methods of execution, solutions for technical problems that might arise. (Y/N)’s reaction to these plans didn’t particularly matter at the moment. After all, it would all be worth it in the end, right?

“Okay, wait, hang on,” Jack said, trying to quiet his racing thoughts and the dark places they were going. “We - we need to think this through. It’s not like we can just kidnap her or anything.” “You’re right,” Deuce said. “We’ll need help. If we want to pull this off we need resources.”

“We’ll need people to back us up,” Ace agreed. “Getting her somewhere in the first place is the easy part, but we wouldn’t want to scare her for too long, you know? If we can convince her we know best it’d be easier in the long run, right?”

“Lord Malleus has access to many fine manors in the Briar Valley,” Sebek said.

“All the way to the Briar Valley?” Epel said. “Isn’t that place still hostile against humans? We can go to Harveston, it’s in the middle of the mountains. My uncle has a hunting lodge out there, it’d be perfect.”

“The Isle of Woe is also an isolated location,” Ortho said. “And it would be much easier to keep (Y/N) under surveillance.”

“Wait!” The others went silent, watching Jack.

“Jack,” Ace said. “We’re either all in this together or not at all. Come on, how many times have we needed to save (Y/N)? How many times has she had to save us?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Would you really be okay with never seeing her again?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes shut tight. They waited with bated breath for him to speak. Finally, he sighed. “Leona has resources. He has people, power, money. And I know he would want to know about this too. We’ll need other people to help with this. If she just suddenly vanished without warning I can think of several people who would look into it. And if they find out we planned something without them it would just make things more difficult.”

The others smiled, relieved that one of the hardest people to convince was unequivocally on board.

“Okay, so,” Ace said, clapping his hands. “We need a plan. Anyone have a good idea?”

The others were quiet, the holes in their initial imagination growing bigger and bigger.

“Well, no,” Deuce said. “But I know someone who might.”

~~~

The atmosphere in Octavinelle always walked the tightrope between cool and calming and cutthroat and calculating, but maybe that had more to do with the first year's previous experience than the actual building.

“Well, well, well,” Azul said smugly, leaning back in the plush chair in his office. “I didn’t expect to see you both back here so soon.”

Ace and Deuce squirmed in their seats, trying, and failing, to look nonplussed by the looming Jade and Floyd.

“Of course,” Azul continued. “I’m more than happy to assist any poor, unfortunate soul who should need my help. For the right price, of course. But, well, we’ve been through so much together, I’ll even give you a discount! What can the Monstro Lounge do for you today, boys?”

Ace cleared his throat, warily eyeing Floyd’s wide grin. “Actually, there’s something we could do for you.”

Azul raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

“We think (Y/N) is going back to her world,” Deuce spit out, cracking under pressure. “We have a plan, well, kind of a plan, we’re coming up with ideas, but we know she’d be better here, happier here, we just need time to convince her, you know? So we, Ace and me and the other first years, we’re wanting to keep her here, maybe not at NRC but somewhere, until we can convince her, make her see reason. And we thought, we know you guys like her too so we thought you would want to help or-”

“Shrimpy’s leaving?” Floyd said. His face was scrunched in confusion. Even Jade looked surprised, wide eyes and hand curled in front of his mouth. Azul had visibly paled, so much so that they worried he might faint.

“I-” Azul’s voice cracked.

“That’s quite the rumor,” Jade said, covering for Azul. “I could see it being very damaging if it was spread around in malice.”

“It’s not a rumor,” Ace said. “She basically told us yesterday.”

“Shrimpy’s leaving?” Floyd repeated. His face flashed from confusion to hurt to anger. Without a word, he snapped up, stalking to the door. He threw it open so hard it cracked against the wall leaving an indent from the knob in the plaster.

“Floyd!” Jade called after him.

“No!” The other twin snapped. He barreled through the Mostro Lounge, patrons and waiters jumping out of his way with wide and appropriately afraid eyes.

“Floyd, wait!”

“No!”

The others caught up with Floyd halfway to the mirror portal to the main campus. Jade caught Floyd by the elbow, ducking in a practiced way when Floyd’s other elbow swung back.

“No!” Floyd shouted again. “She’s not leaving! You’re lying!”

“See?” Ace said, waving his hand in Floyd’s direction. “You don’t want her to leave either! But no one’s going to like it if you just go up there and start freaking her out!”

“We’re telling everyone,” Deuce continued. “Well, not everyone, but the people important, you know? We’re planning a meeting to figure this out. We can’t let (Y/N) leave. We can’t.”

Floyd had calmed down enough that there wasn’t an immediate danger of a fight, but he was still seething. Jade still kept a tight grip on his brother’s arm, but it was more to anchor himself than keep Floyd from sprinting away again.

“A plan,” Azul said. “You need a plan. Or, perhaps, a certain magical way to prevent (Y/N) from doing something… inadvisable.”

“Yes, exactly,” Deuce said.

“We know it might be hard to get (Y/N) to sign one of your contracts given what’s happened before,” Ace said, giving Azul the side eye.

“But we need every resource we can pull together,” Deuce finished. “We’re setting up a meeting tomorrow. We can count on you guys being there, right?”

The three merpeople looked at each other. Unspoken conversation passed between them, the benefit of having known each other for the majority of their lives.

“I’ll start drafting a contract immediately,” Azul said, golden light flourishing around his hand as he kicked up his signature spell.

“I do believe there are certain species of mushroom in the nearby forest that could induce temporary paralysis,” Jade said, smiling slyly. “It might be worth it to have the Mountain Lovers Club take an unplanned execution.”

“Hey, if nothing else,” Floyd said. “I’d love to give Shrimpy a big squeeze.”

~~~

A pair of Pomefiore students were walking down the hall of their dorm, mindlessly chatting. They both froze as they heard a scream, followed by a loud crash. They crept to one of the sitting rooms, nudging the door open just enough to peek inside.

Vil, their fearless, elegant, always poised house warden screamed again. He picked up a vase, at least one hundred years old and filled with beautiful hard to cultivate lilies, and threw it against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. Reclining in one of the plush purple velvet chairs was the vice house warden Rook. His posture didn’t betray any concern or stress at Vil’s outburst, but the smile stretched across his face caused shivers to run down the spines of the two observers. Rook was tightly holding an arrow, his quiver at his side, tapping the sharper than usual point. Epel stood off to one side. He was hunched over, something that usually would have earned a scolding from Vil. He was carving an apple with single-minded determination, stabbing the soft flesh and discarding pieces with a flick of the wrist. Somehow, the stillness from the rambunctious farm boy who would jump at any chance to throw down was even more intimidating than if he was coming at them fists swinging.

The two students looked at each other before quietly closing the door behind them and rushing from the scene. Knowing the penchant for chaos NRC students had, whatever was going on was way beyond their pay grade.

Vil roared again, unending a long coffee table. It flipped twice before landing upside down, the papers and decorations on top fluttering in disarray. Vil took heaving breaths, facing a vanity on one side of the room, tightly gripping its sides as his nails carved tiny divots into the soft wood. He took one last deep breath, straightening and smoothing out his hair. He turned around, only a slight red flush any indication he was in distress.

“Alright,” He said. “Rook, my book.”

Rook jumped up, retrieving an intricately decorated purple and gold tome from where it had fallen. He handed it to Vil like a supplicant offering a sacrifice to a vengeful god, head slightly bowed and hands outstretched.

“What are you looking for?” Epel asked.

“I’ll know when I see it,” Vil said, not looking up. He flipped through the vellum pages. “A sleeping potion would be a temporary solution, at least as an easy way to secure her to another place. An Iron Stake spell is a possibility, but that would only secure her to one specific place and cause illness if she left the designated area, so that would be too restrictive. A potion to induce Hanahaki. If we can convince her she has a magical based illness, then she would need to stay somewhere she could receive magical treatment.”

“We were wanting to gather everyone in one place,” Epel said. “To come up with ideas.”

Vil scoffed. “As if half of those fools can even look farther than their own nose. I don’t trust anyone else to treat this issue with the delicate hand it needs.”

“Perhaps,” Rook said smoothly. “But we must consider that our dear Trickster has made a place in the hearts of many others. And while your methods would obviously be far superior and much more beautiful, we can’t discount the interference of well meaning interlopers.” Rook gave Epel a wink as he skillfully directed Vil into cooperation.

“Hmm,” Vil hummed, snapping the book shut. “Unfortunately, you have a point. Very well. Epel, we will attend this conclave. If nothing else than to emphasize that we know what’s best for (Y/N), despite what those uncultured miscreants might think.”

Epel set his apple down, stabbing his knife upright. He grinned wickedly. “Absolutely, House Warden.”

~~~

Jamil was cooking. Which, in itself, wasn’t that unusual. Jamil cooked all the time. Special meals for Kalim to ensure nothing was tampered with, feasts for the almost weekly Scarabia parties, just to have something other than the repetitive cafeteria fair. But whatever Jamil was doing now caused the gathered Scarabia students to stay out of the kitchen, watching in concern from their hiding places around the door.

Jamil was staring straight ahead, not paying attention to the incredibly sharp knife in his hand. He methodically chopped fruits and vegetables, not paying any attention that they were already in minuscule cubes, juices dripping down the counter to pool at his feet. A pot on the stove was close to boiling over. Even the fridge had been left open, cold air escaping into the warm room.

“Hey, what’s up?” Kalim asked, seeing his dorm mates crowded around the kitchen entrance. He sniffed the air and smiled. “Ooh, Jamil is cooking something good! Are you all waiting for it to be ready?”

“Uh, House Warden?” One of the students said tentatively. “I think you should check on Vice House Warden Jamil. He seems…”

“Stressed?” Someone offered.

“Distracted,” Another said.

“About to Overblot again,” A third muttered under their breath. The boys around him shushed him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see what’s up!” Kalim said cheerfully. He waved them away, coming into the kitchen with the same happy-go-lucky free spirit he did everything with, not noticing the warry looks the departing students gave him. “Jamil!” He greeted, slapping Jamil’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

Jamil barely flinched, still looking at something in the far distance only he could see. “(Y/N) is leaving.”

“Hmm? Do we have a vacation coming up?”

“No, she’s leaving.”

Kalim’s smile started to falter. “Is she transferring or something? Like to Nobel Bell College?”

“No.” Jamil slammed the knife down, lodging in the cutting board. “She’s leaving. Leaving Night Raven College, leaving Sage’s Island, leaving Twisted Wonderland, leaving m-” He cut himself off. With a sharp pull, he yanked the knife out of the board, sliding over a sweet potato to dice. “She’s going back to her world. Crowley must have found a way. Ace and Floyd told me at basketball practice today. They’re organizing some sort of meeting with the others to talk about it. Whatever good that will do.”

“Oh.” Kalim blinked, thinking. “That… would be bad.”

Jamil laughed dourly. “That’s an understatement.”

Kamil smiled again. “Well, that’s fine. You can fix that easy, right?” Jamil stopped, turning to Kalim with a quizzical look. Kalim tapped his temple next to his eye. “You know, with your unique magic! You can just tell her not to leave, like you did with me.” He didn’t say it with any malice, not blaming Jamil for their past misadventure.

“I…”

“Oh, come on,” Kalim said, jumping up and coming over to Jamil, leaning against the counter and plucking at the desiccated food. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of it. I know Snake Whisper doesn't last for too long, but if we bring her to one of the Asim chateaus, you know, maybe in the middle of the Scalding Sands desert, you can just recast it whenever, right? Oh, unless that wears you out too much. I bet we can find another way to keep her around while you recover though!” Kalim popped a date in his mouth nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just suggested kidnapping and hypnotizing their friend for an undetermined period of time.

“You…” Jamil started, trailing off. He laughed, shaking his head. He turned down the stove on the boiling pot, scrapping the chopped vegetables into a bowl, and kicked the fridge door closed. “Well, if I have your permission, then who am I to argue?”

Kalim just smiled, eating another date.

~~~

Idia was typing so fast his hands were practically a blur. On his multi-monitor computer setup, footage from the multiple hidden cameras around campus zoomed by as he searched for specific information. He gnawed on his thumb nail.

“And you’re sure she said that?” He asked Ortho, resting in his charging station. “The Bird Brain found a way for her to go back-” He almost said ‘home,’ but that word didn’t feel right when talking about you. This was your home now, right? It was. It had to be. “Back to her original world?”

“Prefect (Y/N) was speaking to Ace Trapolla and Deuce Spade, so I didn’t hear her exact wording or was able to monitor her vitals for evidence of deception,” Ortho said. “But she had invited us and the others involved in the various Overblot incidents to dinner this Saturday, which aligns with the announcement they said she wanted to make.”

Idia kept clicking, following (Y/N)’s movements the day before she dropped a bombshell on Ace and Deuce. The world sped by at 10x speed on the screen. Idia’s hair sparked with red and orange as his concern, rage, and betrayal simmered underneath the surface.

He slowed the replay speed down as (Y/N) approached the Headmage’s office, meeting Crowley outside the door. There wasn’t any audio, Idia cursed himself for not installing that feature ahead of time. (Y/N) indicated the office and Crowley held the doors open for her with a flourish. He cursed again that he hadn’t managed to sneak any cameras in the office.

Idia sped up the footage again, scrambling when (Y/N) and Crowley left the office only a few minutes later. He would have thought a conversation about her possible return would have taken a lot longer. Crowley dramatically mimed wiping a tear from his masked eye, shaking her hand with both of his. As they were speaking, Professor Trein and Professor Crewel both walked up. Crowley waved them over, animatedly speaking to them, waving at (Y/N). Crewel patted her head while Trein gave her a warm smile and nod. Idia could just read Crewel’s lips as he said, “Good luck, pup.”

‘Good luck’? Why would she need good luck? She had all the luck she needed if she stayed here. How else would you explain all of the incidents that had happened all year while still escaping unscathed? You would only lose that luck if you went somewhere else, somewhere far, too far, away.

Idia bashed his hands against his keyboard, his fire-like hair engulfed in red, hitting the keys to pause the video. The video had stopped on a shot of her face, smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners, hand up in a silent goodbye.

No, not goodbye. Not if he could help it.

“Ortho,” Idia said. “Send a message to Mom and Dad. We’ll need a guest room set up.”

~~~

“And you told Azul before me?!” Riddle raged.

Ace and Deuce cringed back, subconsciously guarding their throats in case Riddle unleashed his unique magic.

The two first years had corralled Riddle, Trey, and Cater in one of the tea rooms at the Heatslabyul dorm. While Riddle had already started the impromptu meeting annoyed, there were rules for setting an assembly, priorities quickly shifted.

“Riddle,” Trey said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. “Would you want (Y/N) to see you like this?”

Riddle flinched back at Trey’s statement. He forced his shoulders to relax, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “One, two, three,” He began counting. “What’s he doing?” Deuce whispered.

“Counting,” Riddle said, voice still steely. “To try and calm my nerves so I don’t do something you’ll regret!”

“Don’t you mean ‘something I’ll regret’?” Ace asked. Deuce glared at him.

Riddle smiled coldly. “Yes, you will regret it.”

“Cater?” Deuce asked. The ginger-haired boy was humming tunelessly, tapping on his phone what a vacant look on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Cater said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because (Y/N) might be leaving and we’ll never see or hear from her ever again?”

Cater only stared at him, blinking, eyes lost in a thousand yard stare. He suddenly perked up. “Oh! That reminds me. (Y/N) and I were going to go to the Glass Slipper Gala this summer! It’s pretty much impossible to get tickets to the actual event, obvi, but there are all these side parties where people dress up for the theme that year. Totally Magicamable and sups adorbs.” He lifted his phone and took a selfie, retreating back into his own world as he kept tapping on the screen.

“I… think he might be in denial,” Trey sighed. “It is a big change, I suppose.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Ace said, spreading his hands. “It doesn't have to be! When we meet up with everyone tomorrow night-”

“Everyone?” Trey asked. “The more people involved in this, the more likely it is to get out of control. Especially with the, uh, strong personalities we have here.”

“So,” Ace said. “That’s why we’re telling you guys now. We’re obviously the best people to handle this. Sure, we let the other dorms think they’re in control, but that’s only the first part of the plan. You got to appeal to their egos, you know? And after that…”

“We swoop in with Heatslabuyl style and save the day!” Deuce finished.

“We all know she likes us best, anyway,” Ace said, leaning back with a confident grin. “And if we ‘save’ her from whatever those guys have planned, say we need to lay low for a while…”

“Then she not only depends on us,” Trey said, picking up the thread. “But she’ll also feel indebted to us.”

“And if anyone else tries to swoop in and make a nuisance of themselves,” Riddle continued. “She’ll be hesitant to trust anyone from the outside.”

“What’s that saying?” Deuce asked. “A gilded cage is still gilded?”

“Not exactly,” Trey said. “But, I’ll admit, it has the making of a good plan.”

Riddle humphed, hands on his hips. “Well, then, we don’t have very long. We need a strategy going into this meeting. Here,” He arranged parts of the tea set around the table, assigning each of them to one of their cabal. “We can use this to start visualizing a scenario.”

“Maybe we can wear matching outfits,” Cater said dreamily, still off in his own world.

~~~

Leona leaned back against the tree, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes closed. “So?” He said. His tail twitched restlessly beside him, the only sign of agitation.

Jack frowned. “So? So (Y/N) might be leaving and never coming back. We have to do something about this.”

“So, if she wants to go and throw away everything she has here, everyone who cares about her, everything she’s built, fine, go ahead. No skin off my nose.”

Ruggie’s ears were flat back against his head. “You’re such a liar.”

Leona cracked one eye open, glaring. “What was that?”

Ruggie jumped to his feet, gnashing his teeth. “Don’t just sit there and pretend you don’t care! Don’t act like this isn’t your fault! You act so laissez-faire all the time, like you don’t care about anyone or anything. You just push people away, you’ve pushed her away! And now we’re all paying for your inferiority complex!”

Leona lunged at Ruggie so fast Jack’s eyes couldn’t even track it. One second they were a yard apart, Leona pouting with not a care in the world, Ruggie standing, fists clenched tightly at his side. The next they were tumbling over each other, Ruggie snapping his teeth at Leona’s obviously superior strength as the House Warden held him down. Jack watched in shock, torn between wanting to pull them apart and respect for his seniors.

Leona pushed Ruggie face first into the dirt. Ruggie still snarled, letting out short breathed barks like an angry cackle. Leona hefted him up by the back of his shirt, biting down hard on the scruff of Ruggie’s neck. Ruggie immediately went limp, like a rag doll in the hands of a petulant child. Leona dropped him, standing over his still body and huffing hard.

“You,” He hissed. “Don’t get to challenge me. You don’t get to tell me how I’m meant to react. You have no idea how I feel, about her or anything else.”

Ruggie looked over his shoulder, glaring daggers, but said nothing.

“I-” Jack started. His voice caught in his throat in a lump at the withering look Leona gave him. “I told the others you would be able to help. No one is doubting you’re a good leader,” His eyes cut to Ruggie on the floor, who scowled but said nothing. “We all know it. We also all know you care a lot more than you pretend to. You’re clever, an amazing strategist, and you have abilities and resources none of us could dream of. Be honest with yourself. After everything that’s happened, after your Overblot, would you really be fine with (Y/N) disappearing?”

“And do you really want Malleus scooping her up? You know he will.” Ruggie mumbled.

Leona stalked around the glade, ears back and tail thrashing. He ground his teeth, fangs cutting into his lower lip. He roared, hand striking out, claws raking across a tree to leave deep gashes. He huffed, straightening and turning around. With little effort, he picked Ruggie up by the back of his vest and set him on his feet.

He looked at the two of them, face set in determination. “Alright. (Y/N)’s not going anywhere.”

~~~

The sky around the Diasomnia dorm cracked with green lightning. Students ran for cover, dodging torrents of hail, sleet, and needle-like rain. Dark clouds swirled around the spiky towers of the dorm, threatening to turn into tornados.

Silver, Sebek, and Lilia trailed behind Malleus, futilely trying to catch up with his long strides. Lilia hopped up and quickly flew in front of the dragon prince.

“Now, just a moment, Malleus,” Lilia pleaded, hands up.

Malleus evaporated in a cascade of green sparks, reappearing several feet behind Lilia, continuing his determined march without a pause in his step. Lilia sighed and rolled his eyes, catching back up with the two knights in training.

“We don’t know for sure if she’s leaving,” Silver said, trying to act as a voice of reason.

“What other conclusions would you draw from that?” Sebek snapped. “His majesty deserves to have every piece of available information to make the best decision for all involved.”

“Which is why we need to slow down and think things through.”

“Are you doubting Lord Malleus’s desition making skills in the time of crisis?”

“She shall be kept in the highest room in the tallest tower deep in the heart of Briar Valley,” Malleus said, almost to himself. “I’ll lock her in shackles of gold, give her a collar of diamonds and pearls, line her cage with velvet. No one shall take my child of man from my side, be it herself or any one else.”

They looked at each other, quickening their step.

Just as Malleus was reaching for the front door, ready to burst through to the mirror room, Lilia jumped in front of him, arms splayed wide. “Hold it!” He shouted. “Hold everything!” Malleus frowned, crossing his arms and glaring. Lilia put a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath. “Honestly, I can’t keep up with you young ones anymore.”

“I suggest you think carefully about what you say next, old man,” Malleus said coldly.

“And I suggest you think carefully about the consequences of your actions, not to mention those around you. Really, do you think any of us want to see (Y/N) leave? Of course not. That’s why Sebek came to tell you in the first place. He trusts you enough to know you would be able to deftly handle the situation. And if you would stop to think for a moment, you would realize marching up to Ramshackle, spells blazing, would only create a rift between you and our dear Prefect, yes?” Malleus pressed his lips together, obviously still annoyed at the interruption, but understanding Lilia’s perspective. “As the future ruler of the Briar Valley, you need to learn how to handle matters with finesse as well as brutality. You don’t want to show (Y/N) a darker side of yourself, right? She already thinks the world of you, we all know that, don’t we, boys?” Lilia motioned Silver and Sebek, who nodded. “Simply telling her what you want and expecting no resistance might, well, damage her option of you, however misguided she might be.”

“She is misguided,” Malleus said. “And a wayward subject needs a firm hand to direct them.”

“But (Y/N) isn’t a subject,” Silver interjected. He had to stop himself from physically taking a step back at the sudden heat of Malleus’s gaze. “At least, not yet. It’s like… Frogs. Remember, Father?”

“Frogs? Oh, yes! How clever, Silver!” Lilia said, clapping his hands. “If you put a frog in a pot of water and slowly turn up the heat underneath it, the frog won’t realize the water is boiling until it’s too late.”

“So, acclimation?” Malleus said.

“Exactly!” Sebek said. “That was our original plan! We keep her here just long enough to convince her this is the best place to be. And, of course, who wouldn’t want to stay in your glorious presents, Lord Malleus?”

Lightning continued to crackle across the sky, but the deluge had reduced to a mild thunderstorm.

“I will not lose her.”

“Of course not! None of us want to, we would never dream of it!” Lilia said.

Malleus closed his eyes in thought for a moment before turning to Silver and Sebek. He called their names and they stood at attention. “I have a list of ingredients I need before this… meeting. I trust you will be able to procure them for me quickly.” He manifested paper and a quill pen from the air, the list writing itself midair before tearing in half and splitting between the two knights. They left with a salute.

As they went to search, Lilia hummed, floating next to Malleus. “That is quite the potion you want to brew.”

“Reassurance and reinforcement,” Malleus said. “In case someone wants to try and make things difficult for us. After all, dragons are naturally jealous creatures.”

~~~

They congregated in the House Warden’s meeting room under cover of night. It was all cloak and dagger, literally in some cases. Tensions were high, the atmosphere in the room could have been cut with a knife. The House Warden’s took their seats around the round table, the others standing dutifully behind them.

Everyone looked at each other with suspicion. Why should they have any say with what happened to (Y/N)? They weren’t as close to her, didn’t deserve her as much as the other party. They would only hurt her in the end. ‘No, our plan is the best,’ Each group thought. Although they had originally arranged to create one master plan with every dorm involved, the meeting quickly descended into shouting voices, a cacophony of accusations, declarations, and split tensions.

The din only subsided briefly when the door to the meeting room was opened. Sebek and Silver both held one door open for Malleus to stride through, looking for all the world like the crown prince he was. Lilia floated behind him, giving a small wave as they entered.

“Oh, dear,” Lilia said. “I hope we’re not too late.”

“Not at all,” Riddle said through clenched teeth. “We were just discussing what we should do at the dinner tomorrow when (Y/M) makes her announcement.”

“There is no discussion,” Azul said. “We need to make a move before that! I’ve drafted a contract that would-”

“Again with your contracts,” Jamil interrupted. “And how exactly are you planning on getting her to sign it? She’s not as easy to trick as some more gullible people.”

“Hey!” Ace shouted. “Don’t act so high and mighty! Everyone on campus knows that we’re her best friends!” “That’s right!” Deuce said. “We only brought you all in as a courtesy. We should be the ones who decide what happens next!”

Arguments broke out again, everyone talking over each other, spells aching to be slung.

Malleus took his seat and watched the growing chaos. He swept his eyes over the tables, taking in the faces of all involved. For a moment, he was touched. You had truly ingrained yourself in the lives of everyone present in such a short amount of time. They were all willing to do so much for you, risk everything, all for your benefit. And you didn’t even realize it.

But, of course, his love was the purest of them all.

Cooly, Malleus plucked a vial from his front pocket, setting it on the table without a word. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for their reactions. As the participants took note of the new object, talk dwindled to silence. The air went still as every eye focused on the small bottle Malleus set on the table. It was no bigger than three inches tall, frosted glass, with a ball shaped stopper. A light pink liquid sloshing around inside, seeming to swirl completely independent of any outside influence. It glowed slightly, casting their astonished faces in a sickly sweet light.

“A love potion?” Vil said breathlessly.

“That is… highly illegal,” Riddle said.

“I’m sorry,” Malleus said. “I thought we were looking for solutions.”

“And besides,” Lilia added cooly. “Isn’t everything we’re discussing now highly illegal?”

“Can you even call it illegal for a person who doesn't legally exist?” Jade thought out loud.

“Hang on,” Leona said, standing. “A love potion would only work on the first person she sees after she drinks it. What are you trying to plan here, lizard?”

Malleus looked down at Leona. “It would be best if she were to be with the one who is able to take the best care of her. Unless you’re suggesting you could do better?”

“I think,” Vil interjected before Leona had a chance to start another fight. “What Leona is saying is that we all care deeply about (Y/N). That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? And if she were to be, let’s say, connected to only one person, it might defeat the whole purpose of us coming together to find a solution to our mutual problem.”

“If it’s the first person she sees,” Kalim said. “Well, we’ll all be together for dinner anyway, right? Is there a way we can have her see us all at the same time?”

“If Prefect (Y/N) is standing at the head of the table,” Ortho said, holding his hands out to visualize the situation. “Then it is possible to have multiple people in her field of vision at the same time.”

“Hang on,” Trey said. “I know we’re talking about essentially kidnapping here, but isn’t a love potion a little extreme?”

“Maybe we could consider that a last resort?” Idia said. “Especially since we’re already planning on trying to convince her to stay in other ways.”

Malleus plucked up the vial and tucked it back into his pocket. “If that is the general consensus, I’ll agree for now.”

“For now,” Leona echoes with a glare. Malleus smiled pleasantly at him.

The introduction of the ultimate ultimatum seemed to cool tensions in the group. Eventually, a tentative agreement was reached. Of course, whether or not everyone would actually follow that agreement day of was up for debate. The factions retreated to their dorms, waiting for the next day with both trepidation and anxiety-riddled anticipation.

~~~

(Y/N) felt like something was off. On the surface, everything was normal. Well, as normal as it could be for this particular group of magic students. Everyone seemed to be chatting pleasantly enough, sitting around a long table (Y/N) and Grim had pulled into the Ramshackle guestroom. But, the more she paid attention, the more stiff everyone came across. She felt like everyone was watching her, that there would be a group pause whenever she spoke. It made goosebumps spring up on her arms.

She supposed it might have been a general reaction to her sudden invitation and the announcement she had said she wanted to make. She thought she should have found out a better way to tell everyone at once, maybe something that would have caused less stress. She had hoped that having good food and good company would make this less stressful, for her and them. But, possibly aside from Ruggie and Grim both scarfing down whatever they would get their hands on, almost everyone else seemed to be picking at their food.

‘Well,’ She thought. ‘No time like the present.’ She stood, shivering a little when everyone’s head snapped in her direction. Even if she already had their attention, she still cleared her throat to prepare for her announcement. “Hello! First, I want to thank you all for coming! I know everyone values their day off, so I appreciate you all taking the time to come see me.I also wanted to say how much you all mean to me. I came here with nothing, no idea how I got here, no magic, obviously. And I’ll admit there have been some really intense and scary moments, but I’ve been able to get through everything thanks to all of you. And I wouldn’t want to be stuck here with anybody else. I’m so happy I got to meet you all.” At this, her voice cracked a little, eyes going misty. Grim jumped into her arms and she pulled him close in a tight hug. “Right, anyway, sorry, I’m getting sentimental. So, as I’m sure you all know, Crowley has been looking for a way for me to go back to my world since I came here. And the other day, well, I told him to stop. I’ve decided I’m going to stay here, in Twisted Wonderland. I know it will be hard, and to be honest, I’m not really sure how a lot of it will work out. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

All was silent, a spring coiled ready to snap. Then, Cater burst into tears.

“Cater?” (Y/N) asked, worried. She rushed over to him and he slung his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug.

“I-I thought-thought that you-” Cater tried to say through sobs. “I’m so happy!”

And with that, the room relaxed. A collective breath was released as everyone finally seemed to come back to themselves.

With the tension finally broken, (Y/N) felt her shoulders relax. She wasn’t totally sure what reaction she was going to get, it definitely wasn’t what she was expecting from Cater. For the past few days she felt a heavy miasma building over her, a sense of dread that kept building but she couldn’t find a source for. As she watched her friends chat, passing plates between each other, clinking glasses, she smiled. She should have known there wasn’t anything to worry about. After all, she had everyone here with her. She knew she could always trust them to have her back.

After the party meandered to a close, (Y/N) made the rounds of saying goodnight to everyone as they got ready to leave. Although, as they might say in her world, it definitely felt like a ‘Minnesota long goodbye.’ Everyone was lingering, coming up with just one more thing to talk about, putting on coats only to take them off again, wondering out loud if she was really sure she didn’t need help cleaning up, and it was already dark out, would it maybe be easier if they just stayed the night? People seemed to linger tonight, an extra touch on her shoulder, a hug just a second longer than usual, a turn on phrase that hid something (Y/N) couldn’t see. But, considering the tense atmosphere at the beginning of their dinner, she tallied it up to whatever strange mood had taken her friends.

(Y/N) puffed out a breath as Ace unexpectedly crashed into her back, throwing his arms around her to pull into a backward hug. “Geeze, (Y/N)” He whined without any real heat. “You sure know how to make something dramatic, huh? Got us worried something bad was happening for a while.”

“Don’t be mean,” Deuce said. He smiled. “Seriously, we’re really glad you’re deciding to stay, though. You’ll let me know if you need any help, yeah?”

“You’ll let us know,” Ace clarified. (Y/N) missed the glare that passed between them. “Speaking of, next time you - Ack!” Ace was cut off with a heart-shaped collar suddenly appearing around his neck, Deuce sporting a matching one, his eyes downcast and lip wobbling.

“You’ll have to excuse us, (Y/N),” Riddle said, tugging at Ace’s collar. “These two are late for a lecture on causing unnecessary panic.” With Trey comforting a still misty-eyed Cater and Riddle dragging away the other two first years who waved goodbye with resigned compliance, they departed into the night.

“Thanks for having us,” Jack said. Ruggie’s arms were piled high with plenty of Tupperware loaded with leftovers. Leona stood behind, trying to look disinterested, but keeping a sharp eye on anyone who tried to get too close to their conversation.

“Of course! I’m glad you guys could come. I was just thinking - Oh, Ruggie!” (Y/N) gasped, reaching out for the red circular mark on the back of Ruggie’s neck. “Are you okay?”

Ruggie’s hand shot up, covering what suspiciously looked like a bite mark. From over her shoulder, Leona shot him a glare that could turn a man to stone.

“Oh, yeah, fine!” Ruggie said quickly. “Yeah, just-”

“Just doing something stupid,” Leona cut in. “That won’t be a problem in the future, right?”

Ruggie’s ears went flat as he narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you got it, House Warden.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to ask if everything was alright between them when Jack cut her off. “We’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N). If you have any trouble now that you’ve decided to stay, you can always come to Savannahclaw first.”

(Y/N) blinked at the sudden stoniness of Jack’s voice. “I’ll… Keep that in mind. Thanks, Jack.”

As she waved them off she felt a familiar prickle at the back of her neck. With half a second to spare, she quickly sidestepped, dodging Floyd’s incoming hug. He stumbled a little bit, turning to glare, but the effect was ruined by the wide cheerful smile on his face.

“Shrimpy~” He said in a singsong voice. “You’re not trying to escape me again, are you?”

“Again?” She said. “What-”

“What my brother means to say,” Jade said. “Is that we’re very happy we’ll continue to be blessed with your presents.”

“Sure,” (Y/N) said. “I’m happy, too.”

“And of course,” Azul continued smoothly. “If you happen to have any difficulties settling in, we would be more than happy to assist you. Why, I’d even be so inclined to offer our services at a discount! For old times sake.”

“Or,” Jade said, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “You could just move to the bottom of the sea with us.”

“You would get used to the cold,” Floyd said, wrapping his arm around her other shoulder. “We could just squeeze you real tight to keep you warm.”

“Thanks for the offer, guys,” She said, shrugging out of their constricting embrace.

“If you want to stay somewhere warm,” Kalim interrupted, grasping her arm and pulling her into him. “Why won’t you come to Silk City? I bet my family would love to meet you! Right, Jamil?”

Jamil had an unfocused, faraway look in his eye, only snapping back when Kalim said his name. He moved to put himself between them and the Octavinelle trio. “Right,” He said. He tilted his head down, hair falling in a curtain to separate them from the rest of the room, Kalim’s hug tightened as his smile sharpened. Jamil met (Y/N)’s eyes. “(Y/N), look at me for a second. I-”

“(Y/N)!” She was yanked out of Kalim’s tightening constrictor hug into an equally smothering embrace, heady with the scent of lilac and apples. “There you are! I’m so happy to see you!” Epel continued. He was using that formal voice, pitched higher to emphasize his naturally cute appearance that Vil had been training him in.

“Oui, mon trickster! We couldn’t bear to leave without complimenting what a wonderful party you put together!” Rook continued, snatching her out of Epel’s arms into his own. (Y/N) was starting to get dizzy from being thrown in between people so much. As Rook took her full attention, Epel sneered at the Scarabia duo, sticking out his tongue before melting back into the perfect picture of polite sweetness.

Vil interrupted (Y/N) getting smothered with a gentle but definitive touch on her shoulder. “I can’t tell you how pleased your decision makes me, (Y/N),” He said. (Y/N) sometimes forgot that outside of NRC, Vil was ranked as one of the most beautiful people in the world, a five-star actor and model. At this moment, with him looking down at her with every ounce of that carefully cultivated deminor, it took her breath away. She would have done almost anything he asked of her at that moment. Which was exactly what he was banking on.

“I’d love for you to consider spending the summer in the Shaftlands with me. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be all alone here on campus, and I could use an assistant during filming.”

“Or,” Epel said sharply. “You can come with me to Harveston! We could always use a couple extra hands in the orchards. And you know my grandma would love to see you again. You liked it there the last time, right? She’d be so disappointed if she didn’t get to see you.”

“The Hunt family always love visitors!” Rook added.

“Thanks, guys,” (Y/N) said, twisting out of their grasp. They snatched at the air where she was, fixing their faces back to pleasant smiles when she turned to face them. “I appreciate it. I’m not really sure what it’s going to be like when the school year is over, but I’ll let you know!”

“If you’re talking about traveling,” Ortho said, taking her hand and pulling her over to Idia who was stabbing at his tablet, eyes darting as she came over. “You can come with us! The Isle of Woe is unlike anywhere in the world! And we’ve got a ton of cool tech that Idia’s been working on, right, Idia?”

Idia stuttered to life, pressing the tablet to his chest to hide the screen (Were those images of the rooms around Ramshackle?). “What? Oh, yeah, sure! It’ll be better than the last time, probably. I could probably convince Mom and Dad to get you an internship.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m half as smart enough to know anything about all that stuff you guys work with. It’s all sci-fi as far as I can tell. But I wouldn’t mind visiting, if that’s okay! I’d love to be able to explore everything when we’re not worrying about Overblot Phantoms. Uh, sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for something that’s true,” Sebek said, stepping up, shoulders back, hands clasped tightly behind him. He and Idia exchanged knife-sharp looks, Idia’s hair sparking red at the edges. Ortho quickly swooped in, giving their goodbyes and pushing Idia away.

Sebek’s eyes trailed them with military precision as Lilia swept in to distract (Y/N). “Oh, I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me!” Lilia said, exaggeratedly sniffing and whipping an invisible tear from his eye.

“We know it might be hard to adjust,” Silver said. “But we want you to know that we all care about you and we’re more than willing to help.”

“And we do mean anything,” Lilia said. “You should definitely come to us first, okay? No need to waste time on anyone else.”

“‘Waste time’?” (Y/N) asked.

“What Father means is,” Silver interjected. “We want you to know you can rely on us. With making sure a big change, there’s bound to be some uneven footing. You’ve proved you’re more than capable over and over again, but still…” His hand drifted out, trailing along her sleeve, before catching himself and snatching it back, gripping the hilt of his magical baton tightly.

“We should go,” Sebek said. He looked sternly at (Y/N). “Don’t do anything stupid, human.”

“I try every day.”

~~~

The night air was warm as (Y/N) stood on the front steps of the old house, waving goodbye as her guests departed for the night. As much as she loved to see them, she admitted to herself that it was kind of nice to finally have Ramshackle to herself for the night. Well, herself plus Grim and the ghosts, but whatever. Malleus stepped out next to her. He nodded at his dorm mates, giving them a look that (Y/N) missed.

(Y/N) stepped back inside, starting to pick up plates and leftovers. Malleus stood in the doorway, horns brushing the top of the doorframe, unmoving except for his eyes which tracked her.

“I’m glad you came,” She said, stacking plates. “I mean, I knew you would, but I’m still happy.”

“Of course,” Malleus said, fully stepping into the room. “I would come whenever you call.”

“Sap,” (Y/N) teased. She paused, plates clinking against each other. “I’m glad I’m staying. And I’m glad everyone is so willing to help. I mean, I know we’ve all been through a lot together here, but this is a lot all at once. It’s kind of scary, you know? There’s so much basic information about this world that I still don’t know. I mean, I’ve been pretty lucky that I’ve been able to visit so many places like going to everyone’s hometown and everything. But it feels like everyday I learn something totally new that rearranges my whole perception of the world, and everyone else just treats it like normal. I…” She trailed off. “You know Rollo and I have kept in touch? He asked if I would come visit during spring break. Fluer City is supposed to be beautiful that time of year, but I think it’s probably beautiful any time of year. He’s tried to convince me to transfer to Nobel Bell College a couple of times, but I told him I like it here too much. But Professor Crewel said he might be able to get me an internship at a fashion house there, did you know he used to be a designer? Anyway, it’s something that doesn't need magic, so it could be a good fit. And now everyone is offering me a place to stay after graduation. Hey, maybe I’ll do a full Twisted Wonderland tour! I’ll have to start figuring out where I’ll be after school anyway, right? A degree from Night Raven College might be prestigious, but not having any magic can only get me so far, you know? I’ll need to take whatever opportunity I can get.”

Malleus froze, turning her words over in his head. He stepped forward. “You work so hard, dear Child of Man,” He said. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Please, sit, you deserve a moment of respite. Here, drink this.” A mug of some steaming and sweet smelling drink appeared in Malleus’s hands. He pressed it into hers, insistent.

“Oh, thanks, Hornton,” She said, taking a long sip, not noticing the slight pink sheen of the steaming liquid.

2K notes · View notes