#i feel like Ive scanned him before

[rollickingwren]

NMS in real life

I love the juxtaposition of a bull nilgai's delicately featured little cow face with their fuckoff huge tree trunk neck and body

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ shades of cool ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? and a part three, ultraviolence.

˚ ༘♡ you stirred, the weight of consciousness creeping back in like a slow, unwelcome sensation. the first thing you noticed was the pain, not sharp, but dull and ever-present, pulsing from your leg in as a painful remnant of what had happened. your eyes fluttered open, and the room before you swam into view, blurred and unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ soft, warm light illuminated the bedroom, the golden glow radiating off polished wood and gilded accents. the room was lavish beyond imagination. silk curtains hung in folds along the high windows, their rich, deep hue a stark contrast to the sterile white sheets covering you. the bed beneath you was impossibly soft, its headboard ornate and meticulously carved.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t feel real.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze dropped to your leg, your breath hitching at the sight of thick, pristine bandages wrapped around your injured knee. the ache was dulled, numbed, and for a minute you thought it was a dream, until the frigid tug of an iv in your arm brought you fully into reality. clear tubing snaked its way from the crook of your elbow to a stand beside the bed, the consistent drip of fluid into your veins the only sound in the unnerving quiet.

˚ ༘♡ panic set in as you scanned the room for answers. sleek medical monitors blinked softly in the corner, their digital hum an eerie companion to the slow rhythm of your heartbeat displayed on the screen. the pure cleanliness of it all, no blood, no chaos, no grimy stairwells, was jarring.

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open.

˚ ༘♡ your body tensed instantly, your hands gripping the sheets as you turned toward the sound. standing in the doorway was young-il, but something about him was different. he was dressed head to toe in onyx-black now, the sharp lines of his attire immaculate, his presence nearly unrecognizable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat as a sensation of horror surged through your body. you struggled to push yourself up, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “you bastard,” you spat, your voice hoarse and trembling with both fury and anguish. “what the hell is this? what did you do?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression was undisturbed, his face composed, as though he hadn’t betrayed you, shot you, and left you to bleed out. his voice was soft when he spoke, almost gentle. “you’re safe now.”

˚ ༘♡ safe? the word felt like an insult, a mockery of everything he had done. “safe?” you snapped, your voice rising despite the weakness in your body. “you shot me! you killed them! where are jung-bae and gi-hun? what happened to them?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken truths. “their fate… isn’t yours to worry about,” he said at last, his tone measured, deliberately vague. the non-answer only stoked the fire of your anger, your hands clenching into fists.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t give me that nonsense,” you grimaced. “tell me what happened to them!”

˚ ༘♡ his gaze softened, as if he pitied you. it made your stomach twist. “you’ll have your answers in time,” he said evenly. “but for now, there’s something more important you need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you glared at him, the venom in your gaze meeting his unnervingly tranquil demeanor. “and what’s that?”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor, enveloping you in its reach. “my name isn’t young-il,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made your pallid skin crawl. “it’s hwang in-ho. i am the front man, the overseer of these games.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hit you as though it was a physical blow, the weight of their meaning sinking in too slowly, too horribly. your jaw slackened as confusion, revulsion, and fear collided within you. you shook your head, as if denying the truth could erase it.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “no, that can’t be…”

˚ ༘♡ “it is,” he interrupted, his tone kind, almost soothing, as though he were breaking news to a child. “i know it’s a lot to process, but it’s the truth. everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen, it all leads back to me.”

˚ ༘♡ his serenity, his gentleness, only made it worse. you stared at him, horrified, unable to reconcile the man before you with the one who had saved your life, who had stood by your side, who you thought you could trust. your heart pounded in your chest, a desperate beating of denial as his revelation sent cracks through your already fragile world.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your mind frantically trying to stitch together some coherent explanation for what he was saying. every word felt like a jagged shard, cutting into what little remained of your trust. the man you thought you knew had unraveled into someone monstrous, someone you couldn’t even begin to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “you want answers,” he said quietly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. his hands rested at his sides, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “then let me give them to you.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t reply, your throat too tight to push out words. the tremor in your hands betrayed the dread coursing through you, though you tried to mask it with a glare that had lost its edge.

˚ ༘♡ he let out a desolate breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours. “a long time ago, i was no different from you or any other contestant for these games. i was desperate, clinging to whatever hope i could find. my wife…” his voice caught, for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. “she was pregnant, but she was sick. we didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. i tried everything, loans, work, begging. nothing was enough.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt a pang of unease, the words pulling at a part of you that didn’t want to empathize, didn’t want to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “when i heard about the games, i saw no other choice,” he continued. “i thought… if i could win, i could save her. i convinced myself it was worth it. the blood, the horror, it would all be justified if it meant saving her.” his eyes grew distant, as though he were watching memories play out before him, each one dragging him deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.

˚ ༘♡ “and you won,” you said bitterly, though your voice lacked strength. the image of him standing victorious in those games twisted your stomach, making you sick. “so why are you here? why are you doing this to other people?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “i won,” he admitted, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t name. “despite my efforts, my win and the prize money came too late. she died, and so did the baby… our baby. nothing i had done mattered, not the lives i’d taken, not the suffering i endured. it was all for nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but it was the coldness in his eyes that terrified you. it was as though the memory of that loss had hollowed him out, leaving behind only shards of the man he once was.

˚ ༘♡ “after she died,” he said, “i had nothing. no one. those behind the games saw that. they saw what i had become, angry, empty, ready to do whatever it took to escape the emptiness. they offered me purpose, a chance to rebuild myself in their ideology. and i took it.”

˚ ༘♡ his admission hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. you wanted to scream at him, to ask how he could justify becoming the very thing that destroyed him, but the words wouldn’t leave your lips.

˚ ༘♡ “and you…” his voice mellowed, and for the first time, his mask of stability cracked only slightly. “you remind me of her. not simply for how you look, but… the way you care. the way you fight, even when everything is against you. there’s a tender beauty in you that i haven’t seen in any soul for years.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a chill down your spine. notion idea that he saw any part of his late wife in you was unbearable. you stared at him, horrified, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you saw was the unsettling truth of his sincerity.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you whispered, your voice quivering with rage. “don’t you dare compare me to your dead wife. don’t you dare use her memory to excuse what you’ve done.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t flinch, though something appeared in his expression, regret, perhaps, or something deeper. “i’m not excusing it,” he said quietly. “i know what i’ve become. but it doesn’t change what i see.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words pressed down on you. the man standing before you wasn’t just a stranger, he was a nightmare, a ghost of the person he once was, and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t reconcile the man before you with the one who had pulled you out of the fire so many times before. the one who had shielded you, consoled you when you were hurt, and risked his life to save yours. even as he revealed the truth, this sinister, unfathomable truth, a part of you couldn’t forget the way his hands had steadied you in instances of chaos or the way he had spoken to you with warmth when everything else had been so cold.

˚ ༘♡ yet that part of you, small as it was, waged a bitter war with your anger and disgust. you couldn’t ignore what he’d done, what he was. you had seen him kill without hesitation, betray without remorse. yet somehow, despite everything, the memory of his quiet acts of care gnawed at your resolve, complicating the clarity of your rage.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. “why did you save me if you were just going to do this? why did you act like you cared?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, and for a second, the cold, calculating overseer seemed to fade. in his place was the man who had once held your hand, who had spoken with a gentleness that felt so real you couldn’t dismiss it entirely. “because i do care,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “more than you know.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “you don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice quivering with misery and despair. “not after everything you’ve done. you don’t get to care.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the space between you. you wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. “i know what i am,” he said softly, his tone stable yet tinged with something raw. “i know what i’ve done. but that doesn’t make what i feel for you any less real.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you murmured, though the word came out weak, your anger faltering under the intensity of his dark gaze. “don’t try to make this about me. you’re just trying to justify…”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “i’m not trying to justify anything. i… i couldn’t lose you.”

˚ ༘♡ the confession hung in the air, heavy and morose. you wanted to lash out, to shout at him, to tell him that his words didn’t change anything. but instead, you found yourself searching his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation. and you didn’t find it.

˚ ༘♡ you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you had trusted him, even cared for him, before the truth came crashing down. those memories, tainted by what you knew now, lingered like ghosts, haunting you in ways you couldn’t escape.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t get to feel that way about me,” you said, though your voice wavered, lacking the conviction you wanted it to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “i know,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, his closeness almost unbearable. “but i do.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could think, before you could stop it, he leaned in. the world seemed to still as his face drew closer, his presence overwhelming. you hated him, you loathed him, but the confusion, the anger, the lingering warmth of the man you thought you knew muddled everything.

˚ ༘♡ when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or careful. it was desperate, a confession in itself, and against your better judgment, against every screaming thought in your head, you didn’t pull away. instead, you let the infatuation consume you, the bitterness, the anger, the ache of betrayal melding together into something raw and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ when it broke, you were left shaking, your breaths uneven as you stared at him, your heart pounding with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name. you hated him, but lord, you hated how much you wanted to understand him even more.

a/n: you all asked for another part so i had to write part four!! i had a cosmetic procedure that requires me to stay home for a few days so if you have any requests, this is the time!! i hope you all loved reading!! 🤍

[gyaruhana]

hiiii can i please request a smutty (18+) fic of kang daeho x reader

so the idea is during the first few lights out (when the fights havent started yet) when it was daeho's turn to keep watch while the other slept, he overheard reader (who was in a nearby bed) twisting and turning in bed whilst moaning ang whimpering his name so blablabla things escelate (u can fill that part however u want) and it leads to daeho slowly fucking reader trying to keep quiet as to not wakeup any other players😣😣🙏🙏🙏

bye ive been thinking abt this idea for so long ive just been waiting for someone to write it😭😭😭

Kang Dae-ho/Player 388 - Keep it quiet

Synopsis: How could Dae-ho possibly stay focused when you were right there, moaning his name?

A/N: Finally dropping this Dae-ho fic too !! He's just a cutie really

Warning: smut content, just gently fucking tbh.. actually there's slight somno !!

In a death game like this, the idea of a relationship was the last thing on anyone's mind. Especially with tensions being so high between everyone due to the voting system put in place. You, yourself, were on edge and too focused on the lingering threat of death to divert your attention to other things like romance or friendships.

Most of the time, you stayed close to the little group you had joined with people you trusted now since they had saved you before and kept you safe. However, even with your little group that had a previous winner of these twisted games, you still felt on edge because Gi-hun had stated that an attack from the opposing side was not out of the question. The idea that someone might come and get you when you slept was unsettling but, if someone was going to keep watch with your newly-formed sleeping schedule, you suppose you'd feel much better. Especially if the person keeping watch tonight was Kang Dae-ho.

As much as you tried to avoid thinking about relationships because you could all die tomorrow, you couldn't stop thinking about Dae-ho. You couldn't explain why he made your heart race every time he'd talk to you. Hell, even a simple glance from him was enough to make your cheeks flush red. He just always treated you like a gentleman should treat a girl and you couldn't get him out of your head now. 

Apparently, he even came into your dreams now.

It was lights out and everyone but Dae-ho was asleep. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. He wanted to make sure everyone was fine and that nothing was being plotted. It would be a disaster if an attack happened and more people had to lose their lives. He scanned the dark room for any movement that might just be barely noticeable. However, his focus was immediately broken when he heard a whimper.

He snapped his head toward the sound only to see you who was very much still sleeping soundly in bed with the blanket completely encasing you. His eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and worry before he looked away. Maybe he misheard you or you were just dreaming. He was sure you were fine so he didn't think about it again.

Well, at least he wasn't going to think about it until he heard the very clear sound of you moaning his name. His head looked over to you immediately in disbelief. He was in pure shock for a few moments and he sat there still, frozen, trying to process what was happening and whether this was just a dream. He really didn't believe that you were moaning his name so he stood up quietly and walked over to you.

Surely it was a mistake, right? You couldn't actually be moaning his name, right?? But then he heard it again and it made him flinch. He was in total shock once again as he watched you moan his name out and writhe. He had liked you for a while but he didn't think you would reciprocate his feelings. At least, he didn't think you liked him before this. Now it was clear that you did since you were having a less than appropriate dream about him which made you squirm and quietly cry out as you pleaded for more. He'd be lying if he said that your moans of his name didn't make him hard. He could feel his head start to spin at the idea of you needing him so badly - of you needing his cock. 

Fuck, maybe he should wake you up? But he really didn't want you to stop. Your moans were music to his ears and it’d be a shame to make it stop. He stayed still for a moment before coming to a not so smart decision. He slowly climbed onto the bed with you before whispering your name quietly in an attempt to coax you awake slowly. 

It was quiet for a moment and he suddenly got nervous that maybe you had actually woken up. He wasn’t even sure what to say if he did wake you up. He couldn’t just outright say he heard you moaning his name - that would be awkward. Thankfully, you suddenly let out another moan making him sigh quietly in relief. He gently placed one of his hands over your mouth to muffle your voice so as to not have anyone else hear you and wake up. 

He bit his bottom lip as he thought long and hard about what to do next. He knew he probably shouldn't do what his dick wanted him to but he also didn't want to wake you up because you were clearly enjoying the dream. It'd be rude to make it stop. He swallowed nervously before letting out a shaky breath and deciding to just go for it. He could deal with the consequences that may come later. 

Without another thought, he slowly slipped your pants down. He knew it was probably stupid to be doing this but he was so hard and he needed to feel you wrapped around his cock. He quickly pulled his own pants down along with his boxers and crawled on top of you slowly so as not to rouse you from your sleep. He didn't know what was possessing him to do this but he slowly leaned down and gently kissed your neck. The sweet sound that came out of your mouth when he did was muffled by his hand but, God, it still sounded amazing. 

He lowered a hand down to push your panties to the side and he could feel how wet you were, your slick connecting to his fingers. He had to hold back a groan because of it. He couldn't believe you were this wet and all because of him. You must be having a really good dream and Dae-ho convinced himself that it would be a good idea to make it a reality.

He lined himself up with your hole and slowly rubbed his tip up and down to gather your wetness on his cock. “Oh my god..” he said quietly as he felt your hole pulse against him. He wanted to feel you so badly now. The idea of making you moan out his name as he thrust into your tight hole had him going insane. When he pushed his tip in, he swore he almost released on the spot. You were so tight and he had never felt anything so amazing before.

“Baby, you're so tight..” he mumbled as he buried his face into your neck. He slowly inched himself deeper as he bit into your neck to muffle his whines. He was embarrassed by how sensitive he was and how he was getting so loud when he was only halfway inside you. He decided to get it out of the way and finally managed to push all the way in to your cunt. He shut his eyes tight and tried to get used to the overwhelming feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock. HIs hands went to your waist as he gripped it tightly.

He was just about to start moving when he heard you speak. 

“Dae-ho..?” You spoke and, when he looked at you, your eyes were open now. His breath hitched nervously as he looked at you with wide eyes. Fuck, he had been caught. “Shit, I'm sorry. I just heard you making those sounds and I couldn't help myself,” he says as he hides his face in your neck again.

“Please let me fuck you. Please,” he begged as he rolled his hips against yours slightly in order to try to coax you into giving him what he wanted. The sweet moan you let out made it impossible for him to hold back now and he decided that he was going to take what he wanted.

“Shh. We have to be- quiet,” he whispered as he started thrusting into you. Waking someone else up right now was not an option which is why you both needed to be quiet. He made sure to keep his thrusts gentle so you wouldn't be too loud but it honestly made it feel a million times better. You could feel every inch of his cock slowly push in before he pulled all the way out only to thrust back in again.

He let out small grunts into your ear as he kept his slow yet deep pace. You didn’t expect him to be so long but he was. Every time he pushed into your hole, you swore you could feel him fill you up entirely. He slowly slipped his hand underneath your shirt and brought his hand to your chest to squeeze at your tit. 

“You're doing so good for me, baby. Oh my god,” he whispered quietly as he thrust in with a little bit more force. He could feel himself getting closer to a sweet release so he grabbed your thigh and lifted your leg to put it over his shoulder. The new angle made him reach even deeper inside you as he continued to thrust and it was leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

His thrusts slowly became sloppy until he couldn't handle it and started leaving kisses all over your neck to try to mark you desperately. “Please let me cum inside. I wanna pump you full of my cum,” he begged as he started to thrust faster. You mindlessly nodded your head as you put your arms around his neck. In no world would you ever deny Dae-ho the chance of emptying his load into your womb. You’d gladly let him breed you anyday.

Your nod encouraged him to go faster and, before he knew it, he was releasing inside you with a growl. You released with him and he slowed his thrusts down to bring you back down from your high before stopping altogether and collapsing on top of you.

“God, you're so perfect,” he spoke before before bringing his lips to yours and kissing you for the first time that night. The kiss was gentle yet passionate and he poured all his feelings into it. When he finally pulled away after the both of you were breathless, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. After a few moments of silence, he smiled and let out a breathless laugh before opening his eyes again.

“I think I love you,”

[norrisainz33]

debut || gr63

☆ summary: y/n makes her indycar debut and her biggest supporter is there with her

☆ pairing: george russell x driver!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ a/n: smau mixed with writing

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: jumping for joy! i can't wait to see you in st pete and i can't wait to cheer for my best friend

ynuser: i can't wait to see you!! ive never been so nervous but never more excited. i can't believe my dreams are coming true

yourbff: i can believe it!! you are my inspiration bestie

ynuser: stop it 😭😭😭😭 i love you

yourbff: i love you endlessly 🤍 see you in a couple of hours

patriciooward: oh putting me to shame i see

ynuser: not possible patty

user1: can't wait to see you this weekend!!

georgerussell63: is it weird if i admit that i downloaded a countdown app to countdown the minutes until we're back together?

ynuser: 😭😫🫶🏻 no ?! you're so cute its sickening

georgerussell63: phew ok good

elbaoward: ive never been more excited for a season opener (don't tell pato)

ynuser: EEEK! you're my favorite person in the whole world. i can't wait for dinner tomorrow

user2: first ever indycar race for me and its bc of u ms girl

arrowmclaren: our girl 🧡

ynuser: 🧡

nolansiegel: us rookies are gonna rock it this season

ynuser: YES WE ARE BESTIE! papaya rookies for the WIN

✿

a smile spread across your face as george stepped through the golden doors of the restaurant. his hair was wind swept and he wore a perfetly tailored outfit that accentuated all the right areas. in his right hand, he held a bouquet of roses and in his left, a small gift bag. he scanned the room and when his eyes landed on you, they lit up and a butterfly-inducing smile played on his lips. he moved toward you quickly, his voice soft as he greeted you, “my darling.”

“georgie!” you exclaimed taking the flowers from him and allowing him to pull you into a warm embrace. he sighed contentedly and kissed your temple.

“I missed you so much, y/n/n,” he whispered before settling into the chair across from you.

“the feeling’s mutual,” you sighed, taking a sip of your wine as the waiter filled george's glass. “but I’m really glad you were able to make it. honestly, I didn’t think you’d be able to so soon after bahrain.”

“are you kidding?” he grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world! supporting you means more to me than anything, baby.”

the sincerity in his voice nearly brought you to tears. “i love you.”

“i love you more than anything, y/n,” george replied, sliding the gift bag across the table. “open it, gorgeous.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile, pulling a small box out of the blue bag. carefully you opened it to reveal a sleek silver necklace with a ‘g’ pendant. “george…”

“it’s for when I can’t physically be here which will unfortunately be more than i’d like” he said softly, “so this to keep me with you even when i’m not.”

✿

deuxmoi has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, yourbff, user5, user6, user7, f1gossip and 24,947 others

deuxmoi: we received an anonymous tip about a certain f1 driver out on a date very far from home 🤨

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user1: f1?? what are you doing on deuxmoi

user2: f1gossip any leads on this?

f1gossip: we did get a tip that george was spotted in the tampa airport.. seems we should have taken it more seriously

user3: george???? i was thinking lando bc at least he has a connection to indycar with mclaren.. george has no reason to be there ??

user4: could the mystery woman be y/n? she’s making her indycar debut and it would make so much sense if he was there for her

user3: user4 how would they even know each other though?

user4: user3 y/n is best friends with pato who is the mclaren reserve driver and she went to mexico city when he drove in fp1 so like she could have easily have met him there! she’s been to a couple gps with pato and elba

f1gossip: now this is quite and interesting theory user4. would be a pretty logical explanation for the 20 hour flight he had to have taken

user12: didn’t expect to find my next hyperfixation through deuxmoi but i think i love y/n and now indycar?? she’s so sweet and endearing and chronically online?

user4: welcome! we could always use more y/n/n fans 🫶🏻

yourbff: oh goodness gracious

user33: thought this was supposed to be celebrity gossip.. tf is f1

ynuser has made a post

liked by arrowmclaren, patriciooward, mclarenf1, davidmalukas, nolansiegal, maxfewtrell, lando, georgerussell63, and 46,342 others

ynuser: words can’t describe how good car #7 felt on track during practice these past 2 days. bring on qualifying 🧡

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user1: that’s my goat going 6th fastest in practice let’s go

user4: user3 & f1gossip noticing who is in the likes

f1gossip: mr. russell we see you

user3: he ain’t slick!

arrowmclaren: we 🧡 car #7

ynuser: i 🤍 arrow mclaren

user5: mclaren rookies are my favorite ppl on the grid

yourbff: wow that girl is fast 😍❤️‍🔥

ynuser: the fastest (and only) girl on track thats for sure

quadrant: let’s get it!

user3: what in the world are you doing here

user6: i can't wait to watch you race this sunday!!!

✿

the clock in your driver's room ticked relentlessly, each click a sharp reminder of the dwindling moments before you had to head out to the track.

"you’ve got this," you whispered focusing on your breath as you worked through calming exercises. you glanced at your phone willing george to hurry up even though you knew he had media obligations that mercedes had insisted on before agreeing to let him come to the st pete.

finally a soft knock at the door echoed with only a few minutes to spare. you rushed to open it and there george was, "thank god you're here," you exclaimed before collapsing back into your chair.

george raised an eyebrow while taking in the sight of you. "sorry it took me so long. you know how those things can be," he said taking a seat beside you on the couch. "come here," he murmured opening his arms.

with a reluctant sigh you stood and joined him on the couch. "you're not even ready yet... what's going on in tht beautiful head of yours?" he asked gently reaching for the hair tie on your wrist. he started to untangle and work on your signature braids—the ones you always wore on race days. It was one of the many thoughtful things he did for you, always paying attention to the little details like learning how to do your hair to making your favorite drinks to keeping track of each months new hyper ixation.

you let out a shaky breath. "i'm just... really nervous," you admitted tugging at the sleeve of your black fireproofs. "i’ve done all the testing, practiced these past few days, but this race... it just…. i don’t know."

"that makes sense, darling," he nodded, his fingers still working through your hair. "but you're ready. whether you believe it or not, you are."

"but what if I’m not? what if I prove all the critics right?" your voice trembled.

"baby," he said softly, lifting your chin to make you look at him. "what have I told you about listening to the critics? there will always be someone with something to say no matter what. whether you go out there and win the championship or not, someone will find a way to criticize. what matters is focusing on what you can control. and you? you can control your actions and your car, and I know you’ve worked harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. you deserve that seat. you deserve this shot. and you're going to make everyone proud."

✿

✿

you sprinted through the paddock as your heart continued to race from the adrenaline of your debut. you quickly found george with his arms were wide open waiting for you.

"P8!!" he exclaimed voice filled with excitement as you jumped straight into his embrace.

“I did it!! I even finished in the top 10!!” you nearly screamed barely able to contain the thrill of your achievement. a light laugh escaped george as he spun you around with joy.

“you did!! you drove an absolutely incredible race y/n,” george said with pride as he carefully returned you to the ground.

“you really think so?” you asked looking up at the handsome brit in front of you.

“I know so,” he grinned giving your shoulder a playful nudge. “i was analyzing your every move out there and you were nearly flawless. a top 10 finish in your first race? i’m so bloody proud of you.”

you couldn't help but blush, “I honestly didn’t think I could pull it off but like you told me,, i focused on what i could control which was me and the car and the car felt so good today.”

george beamed with pride, “you showed everyone what you’re made of out there. you’ve got a lot of talent y/n/n and you’re only going to get better from here. I think this is just the beginning.”

the warmth of his words made you smile and for the first time since the checkered flag you felt like you could breathe. you had done it. and as you stood there talking to george you realized that the recognition from not only someone you loved but a fellow driver was just as important to you as the race result itself.

“thank you, george. for everything… for never giving up on me and for pushing me to be the best version of myself,” you said sincerely.

“no need to thank me y/n/n! just doing my job! plus you’re the one who is really doing all fhe hard work,” he was smiling again. "now let's go celebrate!”

✿

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liked by arrowmclaren, lando, patriciooward, nolansiegal, georgerussell63, elbaoward, davidmalukas, yourbff, and 50,244 others

ynuser: p8 ain’t too bad of a start. thankful for all of the support from the best fans in the world - you all made this an unforgettable weekend 🧡

[tagged arrowmclaren, georgerussell63]

view all comments

user3: running to tell all my non f1 and indycar friends that y/ngeorge is canon like it’s my own wedding announcement

arrowmclaren: only driver to have run all 100 laps in the top 10!!

ynuser: no way 🤭

georgerussell63: yes way 😉

patriciooward: IMPRESSIVE MI AMIGAAAAA

user8: congratulations on a strong start 💪🏻

yourbff: p8 for the gr8test

ynuser: 😭🤍

user12: I LOVE WHEN WOMEN!!!!!

georgerussell63: blimey you are incredible

ynuser: crikey you are the best

user8: i love them your honor

elbaoward: my goat my goat my goat

patriciooward: ? this isn’t my post

ynuser: elba likes me more patriciooward

elbaoward: it’s true patriciooward

patriciooward: i’m speechless frankly

nolansiegel: oh boy… pls don’t tear my family apart

ynuser: no one can tear us apart noly don’t worry

user9: not even bothering with a soft launch just going straight for it

mercedesamgf1: looks like the flight was well worth it ✈️

georgerussell63: yes it was 😘

user63: ok lover boy…

user10: this is gonna be such an incredible season i can feel it already

georgerussell63 has made a post

liked by arrowmclaren, alex_albon, mercedesamgf1, ynuser, patriciooward, lando, lewishamilton, and 432,038 others

georgerussell63: the best 24 hours trip i’ve ever taken. y/n - i am forever proud of the racer you have become. here’s to an even better rest of the season 😘🧡

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alex_albon: impressive drive y/n!

ynuser: thank you alex 🤍

user63: chat we’ve lost him

mercedesamgf1: our favorite racing couple🤍

georgerussell63: 😍🏆

user98: if he wanted to he would!!! george took a 20 hour flight just to see his girl for 24 hours i mean come on

ynuser: thank you for making the trip. you are sincerely my rock and the best cheerleader in the whole world 🧡

georgerussell63: no need to thank me darling. you deserve the world and nothing less 🤍

user44: vamos y/n!

nolansiegal: i was a pleasure getting to meet you!

georgerussell63: right back at ya mate! keep up the good work

user24: need someone to talk to abt this

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: been working on this one for a little while now - hope you enjoy!! i simply love driver reader! likes and reblogs appreciated 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods V

series masterlist - part IV

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: The Emperors are not subtle with their interest in you and others have begun to notice

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, eventual dub-con, power imbalances, mentions of previous domestic abuse, controlling behaviour, forced proximity, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy realtionships, unedited

Word Count: 3.5k

Sleep would not come. You tossed and turned for several hours before giving in and re-lighting the candle. Holding your fingers in the warmth of the flame, you began to contemplate your life.

The candlelight flickered and made you feel like the walls were closing in. In some aspects they already had. The walls had closed in without you even knowing it, so distracted by your own wariness. Now you were here, alone, and in reach of the emperors who had put you here.

How had you been so blind? Your own lack of self worth had made you stupid, disbelieving that the Emperors could have such interest in you. You had floated through those first two days, thinking that at any moment they would drop you, bored, like a forgotten toy. To your knowledge that was what usually happened! You had even see it; limping concubines and abandoned slaves. Instead, whatever was between the three of you had grown and mutated into something you had no hope in understanding.

The Emperors had power, yes, there was no denying it. Yet part of you felt as though you were giving them more. Specifically over you. They had not said you could not leave your rooms. So why stay when sleep insisted on evading you?

Your father had had that kind of hold on you and your mother. The situations were not perfectly similar but you were loathe to think you had allowed another man to control you like that. The thoughts made you feel irrational, made you feel like doing something dangerous.

The flame licked at your finger tips and you hissed, pulling them back to your chest. You knew this palace well. Better than the Emperors, even. You knew all the secret spots, all the ways to sneak around without being spotted. Perhaps it was time to put that knowledge to good use. A tiny rebellion of sorts.

Your mind was made up. If you thought on it too long you would lose all courage. Slipping into your sandals, you tried not to think too hard about what you were doing.

"I am going for a walk in the gardens," you said to yourself, "as I am entitled to do. I have not been told I cannot do otherwise."

The look Geta had given you flashed across your eyes and you squeezed them shut, dismissing him.

Reaching under your mattress, you gave your carved wolf a squeeze and then let go. You mumbled a quick prayed to Fortuna and then slowly opened your door, scanning the corridors before poking out your head.

There was no-one you could see. That did not mean that no-one was actually there; you were too close to the Emperor's chambers for their to be no Praetorians.

Part of you knew you were taking a risk. If you were so confident that you were allowed to leave your room then why did you feel the need to evade the Praetorians?

You scrubbed your sweaty palms down your sleepwear. The plain white wrap would make you a glaring target but your other options were no better. It did not matter; you needed fresh air. Needed to take it without the weight of eyes upon you. The illusion of freedom was better than nothing.

You slipped from your room like a breath in the wind. As expected, the first hallway you came to was lined with Praetorians. You wasted no time in slipping by them, dipping into a stairwell and tip-toeing down.

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The sound made you dizzy and you allowed yourself to stop for a moment, steadying yourself. Trembling, you stumbled down the rest of the stairs under you reached a landing. There were yet more guards but they were looking for people sneaking in, rather than out. Waiting until their backs were turned, you made a mad dash for freedom.

The rest of the way was mercifully quiet. Slowing down, you appreciated the silence. Yours were the one footsteps you could hear. It was funny; that night, when you had first met Caracalla, you had been terrified of these empty halls. Now they curved around you, protective, and you brushed a hand against them in familiarity.

Cool air blasted you when you finally stepped foot outside. You laughed and it was immediately lost to the wind. You were not as weak as you thought. You would do whatever you could to hold onto this feeling of dependence.

The air was biting and made your eyes water. Staying out here for long was not an option. Goosebumps emerged along your arms and thighs as the wind pushed itself under your clothes.

When the gusts softened, you wandered further out. You allowed yourself slow appraisals of all the flowers, most of which you did not recognise. You had had no interest in gardening before but they suddenly felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Your past and present slipped from you like water. In this moment, it was only you. You could pretend that you had all the choices in the world.

And you did have choices. It was the consequences that scared you. You wished you could peer into the future and see all the possible answers, all the solutions, and make your mind based on those. But you were no seer; the future was barred from your questioning eyes. You would simply have to wait and go the long way around to see what the future held.

An abrupt sound startled you and you whipped around, eyes searching. At first you thought the garden was empty and you relaxed, releasing your death-grip on your elbows.

A flash of red made your head swim and you stood still, mouth parting. No, you almost moaned, no, no, no.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Geta appeared, rounding a flower bed and jerking to a stop. His cheeks were red despite being dressed warmer than you. His mouth parted at the sight of you and you swallowed hard.

Fortuna, you languished, you have forsaken me.

It took you a moment to realise it was not bad luck or coincidence that Geta had stumbled across you. It was difficult to see them through the myriad of plants but several Praetorians had accompanied Geta to the gardens. It seemed that you had not been quite as subtle as you had thought.

Geta started towards you and you squeaked, not daring to back away. It took only several paces before he reached you, grasping your elbows and yanking you to his chest.

"You," he gaped," what were you thinking?"

He gave you a hard shake to force the answer out of you. He was out of breath, almost gasping, and you were stunned into silence.

"Come," he barked, yanking you back the way he came.

You lurched after him, gravel grazing the tips of your toes. Thought escape you and all you could do was lock your eyes on the back of Geta's robe. The pattern was exquisite and you wondered what it would feel like beneath your fingers.

You expected him to let you go once you were back inside but he did not. He continued to pull you along, barking orders at Praetorians, all the way back to your rooms. Your face crumpled at the sight of it but you did not protest as he wrenched you inside and shut the door, sealing both him and you in.

He swiped a hand over his face, shaking. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are that it was not Caracalla who stumbled upon your ridiculous little escape plan?"

"I -"

"You are well aware that he has some sort of dependency on you," Geta continued, pacing back and forth, "yet you would abandon him at the first chance you had?"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I wanted only to see the gardens!"

Geta stopped, eying you with disbelief. He looked on edge. He almost reminded you of Caracalla in one of his episodes. The more you learned, the more you realised how similar they were.

"The gardens?" he spat. "In the middle of the night? In the cold?"

You brushed your fingers down your arms, embarrassed. "Yes."

Geta shook his head, eyes flickering all over you. His eyes narrowed as he finally seemed to register what you were wearing. "And in those clothes?"

Nothing you said was going to make him calm down. You let your eyes settle on the floor and thinned your lips.

"You could have asked," he finally said, shoulders sagging inward.

"Asked?"

"To see the gardens," he threw his hands into the air. "I would have had someone accompany you. You could not comprehend the trouble you have caused tonight."

"What right do I have to ask for anything?" you said, shocked. "I am a servant, barely more than a slave."

Geta studied you in that way you had become almost used to. His mouth worked, opening and closing several times before settling into a fine line.

"Yes," he agreed, "and you will obey your emperors. You are not to leave your room till morning and we will have someone fetch you when we are ready. Goodnight."

He turned to your bed and yanked up the sheet, throwing it upon you before exiting from the room. He slammed the door shut and you stood in stunned silence, frozen until you heard the deathly sound of a lock sliding shut.

"No," you murmured at first, then quickly got louder. "No, don't!"

Your emotions spilled out of you all at once. Throwing yourself against the door you began to pound upon it. Geta was still outside; you could see his shadow lingering beneath the door.

"Please," you begged, "I am sorry, Emperor, please."

The shadow disappeared as though it had never been there. Choking on your own tears, you rested your forehead against the wood, fists aching. You let out one long, primal scream and then fell back, yanking the covers over your head and angrily wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.

You fell asleep like that, hands clenching the covers and cursing whatever Gods had pushed this fate upon you.

True to his word, Geta did send someone the next morning. A Praetorian soldier opened the door and peered in, cringing at your rumpled form on the bed.

"I am Consus," he said reluctantly. "The Emperors have sent me to retrieve you."

You scowled at the innocent man, dragging your body from the sheets. Your head was pounding and there were multiple spots on your hands where the skin had cracked and bled from your pounding on the door.

You were still in your bed clothes. Dirt stained the bottom and there were smears of blood dotted all over it.

"I need to get ready," you grumbled.

"That. . .will not be necessary," the guard said. "You will be relieved of your usual duties today but you must accompany me to the emperors."

Usual duties, you thought, whatever those were. But you were in no mood to argue so you stomped into your sandals and trailed after Consus. Whatever fight you had left had been squeezed out of you late last night. Now there was only the stinging of your hands and aching of your head.

It took less than two minutes to reach Geta's quarters. You had been foolish to think he would not learn of your brief dash for freedom.

Consus held open the door and announced your presence to the room. No-one had ever done that before. You had not been important enough.

You held your head up as much as you could and entered the room. Caracalla was the first to see you. It was almost comical the way his grin dropped from his face.

He stood up so fast that Dondus squeaked and leapt from his shoulder. He stormed over to you and cupped your hands in his, turning them over again and again as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

"What is this?" he was horrified. As though he had not caused worse injuries and found amusement in them.

"Brother," he snapped, "look. Someone has - someone has -"

Geta finally looked up. Despite being the last to see you, he was also stunned by your appearance. He swallowed harshly and stood straighter.

"She had a rough night, brother," he attempted to soothe Caracalla. "The healer is on the way."

His eyes told you not to say anything. You would not. There was no telling how Caracalla would react if he learned the truth of your escapade last night. Even though you had not truly tried to escape, it only mattered that Geta thought you had.

Caracalla yanked a hand through his hair. "Brother -"

"Enough," Geta raised his voice. "She is hurting. Let her sit."

The words seemed to do something to Caracalla and he steered you to a plush sofa, pulling you down so that you were half on his lap. You had no will to try to move and only sagged, letting Caracalla's hands wander over you.

It was strange how his jerky movements almost soothed you. Perhaps you were only glad for the company, having spent majority of last night confined to your quarters.

"Where does it hurt?" he whispered, eyes fixated on the darkened blood on your clothing.

"My head," you admitted, "and my hands."

Caracalla dusted careful fingers over your temples before turning his attention to your hands. He brought them to his face and kissed your palms. Your eyes welled from the soft touches. He murmured sweet nothings, brows furrowed as he took in your injuries. The smaller they were, the more they hurt. You sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out and swiped over a cut.

Consus appeared in the door once more, this time announcing the healer. The gentleman walked in, holding a leather bag that clinked with ointments and creams.

"Leave them and get out," Caracalla demanded, becoming louder when the man stalled. "Out!"

You would have felt pity for the man on any other day. He shrugged the bag from his shoulder and left it on a table, backing out of the room with his hands held up.

To your surprise it was Geta who retrieved the bag, handing it carefully to his brother. He eyed you in the way he often did and you held his gaze. Something like guilt flickered over his face but it was gone before you could analyse it.

Caracalla busied himself with the contents of the bag. He held up an expensive looking jar of cream and set it aside before picking up something much more recognisable - a small bottle of alcohol.

He popped the cork off. "This will sting."

You gasped and tried to yank your hands away but Caracalla held them steady as he dribbled small amounts of the liquid onto your palms. He used his own clothing to wipe away the traces of blood as if was nothing.

The cream was better. He dabbed it onto your cuts, glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction. You tried not to dwell to much on the fact that an Emperor of Rome was treating your superficial wounds.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," you nodded. "Thank you, Emperor."

He looked over his shoulder and then back at you before leaning in to whisper, "You can address me as Caracalla."

A lump lodged itself in your throat. How many times had Caracalla been treated for his own injuries that he knew how to treat you for yours?

"What truly happened last night?" he asked you, careful to make sure Geta could not hear.

"Emperor Geta locked me in my room," you answered honestly.

Caracalla thought about it for a moment. "It is better that way," he decided. "It keeps you safe. Don't you want to be safe for us?"

Of course. Caracalla was no different to his brother though you could not pretend to understand their emotions or motivations.

Geta was watching the pair of you. He looked down when you noticed, pretending to be ensconced in his paperwork. Ignoring you just as he did last night when he left you screaming in your room.

You spent the whole day laying about in Geta's chambers. Caracalla doted on you, feeding you bits of food and checking on your wounds.

The more he touched you the harder it was to pull away. His touches got firmer, bolder; the back of your neck, your arms, even your thighs when you shifted. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until it was impossible to ignore the blatant way he was panting over you.

And it was not as though you were immune to his caresses.

After a few hours of torture, Geta turned his attention back to you.

"There is a gathering tonight," he said, "you will get ready."

"And what am I to do at this gathering?" you boldly asked.

Geta pulled you from the plush cushions by your wrist. He leaned in close. "You are going because I cannot trust you enough to leave you alone. Do not complain; it is unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

His mocking tone sent a spike of anger through you. You deigned not to respond. Such blatant disrespect was stupid but you were still unfathomably angry that he had locked you away. You wanted to say that he had no right but, as Emperor, he did. Geta and Caracalla could do anything they wished and you were constantly reminded of it.

Geta pointed you to some clothes hanging up on a privacy screen. He dragged Caracalla away so you could change in peace - an apology of sorts? You yanked on the clothing and tried to let your temper cool. It would do you no good to have an attitude in the presence of others.

Once more you were back in the entertainment hall. Geta had you stationed by a wall, offering cups to anyone who wanted one. It was obvious you had been placed there only because it kept you firmly in his sight.

After an hour you found yourself feeling calmer, taking purpose in your small task. The familiarity made you at ease and you were able to put the Emperors to the back of your mind.

They were surrounded by concubines and tittering senators. A woman was perched on the cushions behind Geta, rubbing a hand on his shoulder and occasionally allowing it to dip beneath his clothing. Geta met your eyes across the room and leaned back, allowing her further contact.

The concubines were having a difficult time with Caracalla. He would relax into their forward touches and then suddenly jerk forward, shoving them away and screaming obscenities. You had never seen him quite so wild at a gathering; it was known that Caracalla enjoyed parties and was most approachable during them.

The concubines did not know what to do with themselves. Breaking point was reached when one dared to slip his hand beneath Caracalla's tunic. Immediately Caracalla was upon the man, hands flying in every which direction and beating him to a near pulp.

How was this the same man who had so softly attended to you earlier? Your anger seeped away and was replaced by familiar fear. What would it take for him to turn on you like that?

Praetorians approached and dragged the concubine away. The party continued as though nothing at happened. These people cared not for the lives of those below them.

Caracalla's eyes darted about the room. Searching for you, no doubt. You recoiled into the wall and shrank in on yourself, desperate to go unnoticed.

Someone did spot you, but it was not Caracalla. The master of gladiators gave you a predators smile and sauntered over, plucking a cup from the tray you were holding.

Something about Macrinus unnerved you. His smile was open enough but you did not trust the man. That had never mattered before when you were a simple servant in the kitchen but now. . .

"It is you," he smiled teasingly, bumping you with his elbow.

You recoiled at the unwanted touch. "I'm sorry?"

"You," he repeated, " who has enamoured the emperors and now takes up so much of their time."

Something cold slithered into your stomach. You did not like Macrinus - did not like that this man knew so much about you.

"I. . .do not know what you are speaking of," the lie caught in your throat but you pushed it out anyway.

Macrinus laughed, loud and cold. "I think you do."

At that moment Caracalla appeared, wrapping his hand around your elbow and exposing the lie you had told.

"I want to leave," he grumbled, "come now."

He uttered a tense greeting to Macrinus and dragged you from the room. You went willingly, thankful for any distance between yourself and the master of gladiators and his sharp smile.

Caracalla was rougher than usual as he tugged you along. This time to his chambers. He kept looking over your shoulder and muttering to himself, yanking you closer and closer until you were almost tripping over each other. You were not overly alarmed; you had faith that you would be able to pacify him.

Your mind was preoccupied with your brief meeting with Macrinus. The emperors made you uneasy but it was nothing to do with the sickening feel Macrinus evoked in you.

Authors Note - This might be my favourite chapter yet idkkkk - please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoyed and don’t be afraid to send asks because they are my favourite thing

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370

@merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy @akamitrani @bocreep @justasmallbean @moompie @duckyhowls @justlibra @mama-frog @fionaapplelover2010

[genyawritesshizz]

Promotion - Sentinel Prime X Reader

Spending your days endlessly mining energon you yearned to one day be promoted. To finally free yourself from the frame aching work of the mines. Yet when you catch the optics of the Sentinel Prime, that promotion may come at a terrible cost, maybe you should have read the fine print.

Tbh it’s very little plot mostly just smut.

18+ ONLY

IVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR TRANSFORMERS NOR HAVE I READ MUCH FIC OF IT BUT I TRIED TO GET THE TERMS RIGHT BUT YA KNOW, ITS A LOT.

Possible part 2, we’ll see how this does.

WARNING: Dubious consent, emotional manipulation, Power Imbalance, (TBH Sentinel is a walking red flag), Sexual Coercion, Size kink, SMUT, Cybertronian reader,

This is essentially just robot porn I'm sorry to all my anime followers :(

The first time Sentinel Prime had set his optics on you he knew, much to his initial disgust, he wanted you. 

A miner. 

Of all the femme’s at his disposal the one that at last managed to catch his gaze was a cogless, bottom level, miner. 

“That thing?” With a snarled lip and multiple sets of trailing skeptical eyes, Airachnid's own revulsion was evident. Far down below the balcony on which they stood, walking the bustling city streets you at last returned to his hungry gaze. 

“Unfortunately so.”

Primus, what an honor it was to be within the presence of Cybertrons protector, the bot who single handedly protected all Cybertronians from the Quintessons; Sentinel Prime. 

After being approached by Arachnid and ordered to follow her you had initially feared you had broken an unknown protocol, resulting in a demotion. Yet much to your shock within the gold columned building you had been led to he was there.

The look of pure admiration within your optics as you stared up to him in awe coupled with the now quiet whir of your internal fans as your spark raced within his mere presence fed his already raging primal desire.

Such blind naivety.

"Walk with me. I’d like to discuss something important." His tone was warm but carried a weight of authority. One you could not help but blindly follow. 

The two of you stroll through the empty corridors, arachnid standing guard just outside of its entrance.

“Tell me, have you always felt bound to the mines? Or have you ever imagined something greater for yourself?" You shift, pace faltering a smidge, taken aback by his directness. You're proud of your work as a miner but can’t deny that you’ve thought about rising above this level.

"The mines are… Well, they’re home. I have my friends down there. But I’ve always wanted to do more…to make a real difference for Cybertron." 

Sentinel nods, his optics narrowing slightly. Searing blue scanned from the top of your dull paint chipped helm to your transfixed gaze, (noting how you subconsciously averted it away from him when noticing his search), down to your chin.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, signaling his satisfaction in finding whatever he had hunted for. 

Vulnerability suited you well.

"I could see that. You carry yourself with a strength that is rare, even among the most seasoned warriors." 

His confident stride deviates him closer to you and he lowers his voice just a touch. 

"Cybertron needs warriors with your spirit. And not just in the mines. In places where real change can be forged." 

His words spark something in you. Your gaze sharpened, instantly locking with his, the once thick humility gives way to a flicker of pride. 

‘Is he going to promote me?’ You hopefully thought. You had been working your frame down to the wire for the last few rotations in hopes of this.

Sentinel picks up the change in demeanor immediately. Before continuing his sweet talk, he comes to a complete stop and turns towards you.

His frame is significantly larger than yours, as to be expected when comparing a cogless to a Prime.

Though, the way he truly towered over you left you feeling far weaker than usual as he had to bend down significantly to reach optic level with you.

"Too often, talents like yours go overlooked down there. Others might not see it, but I do. Imagine if you were to rise up, to stand among those who shape Cybertron’s future. Those who ensure our planet’s place as the greatest in the galaxy." With each passing word he had leaned closer, faceplate now mere centimeters from yours.

Your spark fluttered. 

His venting flowed deliciously warm against your intake.

Proximity feedback signals fired on high and energon lines pumped furiously fast. 

Yet despite your system's shock at his actions, you could not look nor move away.

“You really think… I could be that?”

A set of servos planted themself around your lower chassis, their span long enough to completely wrap around you. 

Your servers struggled to process exactly what was happening, focusing solely on the swirling lights of blue that threatened to swallow you whole.

“I know you can.”

The digits ensnaring your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his wide frame. 

His helm delved lower, denta lightly nipping at the sensitive wires between the spaces of your minimal plating. 

The second you beeped in surprise then melted into his embrace, helm craning to the side allowing him further access, he knew once again. 

You were not going anywhere. 

But then again, why would you want to?

When your protector was so kind enough to show you, a nobody, such special affection. 

Never had you anticipated that you would ever find yourself within a Primes personal suite yet here you were. Sprawled out atop a luxurious berth, hidden away from the rest of Iacon city, with desires you had never even thought to dream of coming true.

Your gracious leader's frame was reduced to a hunched, yet still ever imposing, form as he kneels between your legs. Your modesty paneling had long since been retracted, revealing your array to his hungry gaze, and allowing you to relish in all the new sensations your Prime was bestowing upon you.

No, in all your cycles you had never found the desire to fragbond with someone. Yet now as Sentinel Prime’s silver glossa ravenously glides through the throbbing mesh of your valve and mouthpiece occasionally latching onto your external node you cannot believe your hesitancy for such pleasures. 

To think you had gone for so long without.

Not to worry, never again shall you ever have to suffer such a fate.

It is extremely out of character for Sentinel to give his partner's pleasure this way or in any way/to care about it. 

Normally he wastes no time in pleasuring others, he was a busy man after all. Instead focusing solely on his own release within others bodies then disposing of them.

But something about having you pinned beneath one of his arms, the other easily reaching over your head to hold your wrists down, the way you cried out for him, your Prime, and to be completely at his mercy…It has his spike twitching beneath his own paneling.

Savagely he feasts upon your now swollen valve, thick glossa entering your spasming opening, nose buried atop your external node.

“M-my, oh Primus! - My Prime I-” You were completely unfamiliar with the feeling boiling inside you, it felt as though a coil was winding. Each intrusion of his glossa only pulled it tighter.

“That’s right, say my name.” A smug smirk tugged itself into the corners of his faceplate before he delved back where you so desperately wanted him. 

You looked and sounded both pathetic and desperate.

He loved it.

“Sentinel!”

Overloading into the mouth of said mech was absolutely euphoric.

Though despite your high, he was left utterly displeased to hear you leave off the Prime in your cry.

He had earned that title.

It was his name.

You would learn the error of your mistake soon.

He did not ask permission to continue. 

Standing up from his crouched position, the grip that once held you down now flipped you onto your chest plate and dragged you towards the edge of his berth, allowing your legs to dangle off the edge.

Even on the tips your pedes you would still not touch the golden floor beneath.

Positioning your aft up into an arch he at last retracted his paneling, allowing his spike to spring free. 

Central processor still short circuiting under the throws of overloading, you did not even notice the shift in position.

Once your intake had returned to normal your mind followed suit, catching up to the reality of what was happening.

Yet it was too late to protest as something sickeningly thick prodded at your valve's still quivering entrance.

It felt like far too much.

Trying to squirm away from it you're met with a dark chuckle and thick digits atop your shoulder, easily pulling you back down into position.

“Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started sweetspark”

The moment the head of his spike entered, you felt an immediate sense of dread wash over and a cold shiver through your struts. 

“Too big...” Your vocalizer had barely returned, causing the whine to sound utterly pitiful, drowned in static and served only to feed Sentinel's ego.

“Hm? What's that?” Leaning over your form, faceplate centimeters away from your audio receptors, steam rolled with his words; fogging over the heaving metal of your shoulder plates.

“Frag…You-You’re too big.”

“Oh, do you want me to stop?” His tone was high in pitch and laced with manipulation. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Prime now would you?” 

A strangled whimper and a shake of your head ‘no’ gave little confirmation to his taunt in ‘permitting’ him to keep going, not that he cared whichever direction your response led. 

Even if you wanted to stop, you had no power to break away from him.

A deep, dominating, chuckle bubbled within his chest plate. “I thought not. You’re serving me, a great honor really.”

It felt like being pried open, the way his spike speared into your clamping valve was utterly painful. 

Despite your cries you attempted to stay still as the gold winged Prime behind you continued to push further. 

Each half centimeter only served to strengthen the burn.

Halfway in you had closed your optics, denta plates gritted tightly shut. 

“Take it all, I know you can.”

The same four words that once filled you with hope now filled you with burning heat.

You will take what he is so graciously giving you. 

Finally, after what felt like eternity, his entire spike was successfully sheathed inside. 

Though this was just the beginning.

“So tight,” Your body was clamped around the intruder in a vise grip. Desperately begging for it to be removed. “So small.”

His pace was brutally fast. The servos on your shoulder and hip kept you from escaping or sliding too far away from his attack. 

Surprisingly, after a few klicks, the tight inner calipers of your valve slowly loosened. His spike, now slathered in a combination of fluids, began sliding without much resistance. 

At last, a few surges of pleasure coursed through your system. 

Soon both of you were grunting, occasionally moaning. Though your sounds far outnumbered his. 

Your servos clenched into the smooth bedding atop his berth, surely tearing the fabric though in this moment neither of you cared. However it was something he would be sure to punish you for later. 

“You're mine, little miner.” His hips pistoned faster, slamming against your aft, surely to leave you sore. “All Mine.”

In response all you could do was hold on tighter, moaning louder with each intense slam.

“I’ll. never. let. you. go.” Each word sent another wicked surge into your swollen valve.

Blind sighted by the throes of pleasure bordering on overstimulation his words simply did not translate in your faltering audio receptors.

Though he meant every bit of it.

Helm falling back and a loud moan echoing throughout the gold-plated room, his overload blazed hot through his system. Filling your already stuffed valve to the brim with his transfluid.

Fans whirling on high, neither of you moved from your conjoined position for a few klicks.

After he's regained his senses fully, he removes himself from your valve, being sure to marvel at his work of completely ruining your once virgin body with a devilish smirk. Admiring the way his bright blue transfluid seeped from your still clenching valve.

Though this will be far from the last time he sees you like this.

With wobbling arms, you attempted to rise, though as you began to lift yourself up a large servos pushed you back down.

"We're not done."

True to his word, you had earned a promotion.

Fitted with only the finest armor paneling and a fresh coat of paint you had earned yourself the pristine position of his pet.  

A position you held with utmost dignity, after all you were serving your Prime.

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | part iv

priest!Joel miller x nigth club dancer! Reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where the cardinal comes to visit priest joel due to the whispers around town but he ended up breaking the vows he swore to keep once.

wc: 13,8k

warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader late 20s), forbidden relationship, sexism, mysogenya, angst, fluff, SMUT (yes, they're doing it but kinda sloppy though). I remind you all once again, english is not my first language and i'm not the best at writing smut, i'm actually awful. The chapter is kinda rushed at the end.

a/n: hello loves! okay, this is the chapter I was the most excited about. Where the lines are crossed. I know that some people may have thought this story would be about smut and all but i really wanted it to be something beyond that. I know I said you would found some more answers in this chapter, but you will find them in the other or maybe no haha. Okay, I really hope you like it AND PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK it's discouraging when you don't receive it. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Sun blazed your skin first thing in the morning. You could feel it. Eyes barely opening, stirring, and bones aching despite all the sleep. You didn’t register it at first, the warmth irradiating through the windows, the softness of the pillow your cheek rested on, neither the scent of pine and wood enveloping you. You stirred once again, the smell hit you once again as you opened your eyes and took a look of your surroundings. Four walls that seemed foreign,

You stretched, the sheets pooling around your waist as you sat up slowly, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting space. Joel’s bedroom. The realization sent a flutter through your chest, a warmth that rivaled the sunlight spilling through the curtains.

You glanced down, realizing you were dressed in an old, soft T-shirt, his. A pair of comfortable shorts that definitely weren’t yours. The scent of him clung to the fabric, faint but unmistakable.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood up, your muscles still sore in a way that reminded you of last day at the beach with him. You smiled at the now memory you would hold into.

But now, he was gone. Your heart dipped slightly as you padded barefoot out of the bedroom, looking for him. The house was quiet, save for the distant sounds people outside. Your eyes scanned the space until they landed on the kitchen table.

A plate with two pieces of toast, a glass of orange juice, and a small folded note.

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest as you stepped closer, picking up the piece of paper with careful fingers.

Had to step out earlier. Eat something, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.

Sweetheart.

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head as you pressed the note to your chest for a moment, allowing yourself to feel everything, the giddiness, the comfort, the way Joel, even in his absence, made you feel so seen.

Settling into the chair, you picked up a piece of toast, taking a small bite as you let your eyes linger on the note once more, the warmth in your chest refusing to fade.

Oh, perhaps you were falling in love.

You sighed, setting the note down carefully on the table before finishing your breakfast. The moment felt delicate, something to be tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart.

Once you were done, you made your way back to the bedroom, changing out of Joel’s clothes and slipping into your own. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped in the comfort of his scent, you knew you couldn’t linger here forever.

You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing out any signs of sleep, and took one last look around the room before stepping toward the door. Just as your fingers brushed the handle, the sound of it unlocking from the outside made you freeze.

Joel stepped inside, his broad frame filling the doorway, the golden morning light casting a glow around him. His eyes immediately found yours, and his lips curved into the softest smile—one that made your stomach flip.

“Leaving already?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone as he took in your dressed form.

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “I didn’t want to overstay.”

Joel’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something unreadable in his expression as he took a slow step closer. “You could never overstay, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught. The way he said it—so easy, so certain—made something bloom inside you, something that had been waiting for the right moment to break free.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to,” you admitted, voice quieter now.

Joel’s gaze softened.

“Did we-uhm- How I ended up sleeping on your bed?” You asked, a bit shy of his reaction.

“Well, you fell asleep on my couch and I thought I would take you to my bed to sleep more comfortable.” He replied, while moving around the house as if was looking for something.

“Did you sleep with me?” you asked, almost hopefully at the idea of it.  

“No. I took the couch” he said, not even looking at you.

“Oh.” You cough, “Great, thank. I-I I think I should go. Carmen must worry about me.” You said, already walking towards the door.

“Wait!”  You turned into your heels to have a glimpse of him. He stood firmly, stopping what he was doing.  

“You should be careful when you go out. We don’t want people-

“To think you are with the whore’s town. I get it.” You said, disappointed.

Joel’s expression shifted instantly—his brows knitting together, his mouth parting slightly as if the words had physically struck him.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You scoffed, hugging your arms over your chest, the sting of the moment settling deep. “Isn’t it?”

Joel took a step forward, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. “No, it isn’t.”

You swallowed, looking away. You hated that your throat was tightening, that your chest ached at the mere thought of what people would say—of what they already did.

“Then what did you mean?” you challenged, meeting his gaze again.

Joel exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face before finally stepping closer. “I meant that people talk. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You stared at him, searching for something in his eyes, something to tell you this wasn’t just guilt talking.

“So, it’s not because you’re ashamed of being seen with me?” Your voice was quieter now, but no less certain.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists before he slowly, deliberately, unclenched them. “Never.”

The word sat between you, heavy with meaning.

 “Okay.” You spoke.

Before you could open the door, before you could even turn, Joel grabbed your hand pulling you into an embrace, inhaling deeply as if he was trying to memorize your scent, to hold onto something before it slipped away. His arms wrapped around you, strong and secure, pressing you against his chest.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him. Your hands found their way to his back, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you let your head rest against his shoulder.

Joel exhaled shakily; his breath warm against your temple. “I’m not ashamed of you,” he murmured, his voice rough, like the words were scraping their way out of him. “I could never,” he paused for a mere second, “You had been the best thing in my life for so long. The best person I’ve ever met.”

Your throat bubbled a little. There were words you want to take away from it, words you need to say out loud, but you were still so afraid of them. To face them, to make Joel regret to even met you in the first place, so you just kept them under your tongue. Secured, so you could still enjoy from the feeling Joel’s touch caused on you.  

You swallowed hard, fingers fisting his shirt a little tighter. “You don’t have to say things just to make me feel better.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, serious. “Do you think I am lying to you?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you wanted to. Too much.

He sighed, shaking his head before lifting a hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. “I ain’t ever lied to you, sweetheart.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “And I never will.”

You felt your lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. Your fingers loosened their grip on his shirt, smoothing over the fabric instead. For a moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of his touch, the way his thumb lingered against your cheek like he wasn’t ready to let go either.

But then, reality crept back in, reminding you of everything waiting outside this little moment, the things neither of you had the courage to say just yet. You exhaled softly, eyes flickering down before meeting his again.

“I have to go now, though.”

Joel’s expression didn’t change, but you felt the way his body tensed slightly, his hand reluctant as it dropped from your face. He gave you a slow nod, his jaw tightening like he was biting back the words he really wanted to say.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice lower now.

You took a step back, putting space between you even though you didn’t want to. Your fingers itched to reach for him again, but you clenched them into fists instead. You turned, hand on the door, when his voice stopped you one last time.

“You’ll come back?”

Your heart squeezed. You shouldn’t. You knew that. But still, you found yourself whispering

“If you want me to.”

The walk back to the house felt longer than usual that you didn’t even notice that some people had noticed you had left the priest’s house wearing the same clothes as the day before. You didn’t notice how whispers begun. Perhaps you acted foolish and naïve or maybe it was the weight of Joel’s words lingering in your chest, or the way your skin still burned where his hands had been. Either way, by the time you reached the house, you had taken a deep breath, steeling yourself before stepping inside.

The smell of fresh coffee and eggs filled the air. Carmen and Billy sat at the small wooden table, their plates half-full, cups of coffee steaming beside them. The moment you stepped through the door, their heads snapped toward you in unison.

“Where the hell were you?” Billy blurted out, fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

Carmen’s eyes narrowed, scanning you up and down. You weren’t disheveled, but something about you must have given you away—maybe the glow on your skin, the way you hesitated for just a second too long before answering.

“I—” You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet. “I just—”

Carmen’s lips parted slightly, her eyes widening like realization had just struck her. “Oh my God.”

Billy looked between the two of you, frowning. “What?”

Carmen’s gaze locked onto yours, a slow smirk creeping onto her face. “You were with him, weren’t you?”

Billy blinked. “With who—? Oh.” His brows shot up, and suddenly, you were being stared at like a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

Your face heated instantly. “It’s not—it’s not what you think.”

Carmen crossed her arms, amused. “Really? Because I think you spent the night at priest’s house.”

Billy choked on his coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

Carmen chuckled “That’s a good expression.”

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “Nothing happened.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Then why do you look like you just spent the night tangled up with him?”

Your heart skipped at the way she phrased it, at the thought of being tangled up with Joel—because the truth was, part of you had wanted that.

Billy groaned. “Carmen, don’t put images in my head, please. He is hot.”

You exhaled, trying to compose yourself. “I just fell asleep there, okay? That’s it.”

Carmen gave you a knowing look, but she didn’t push. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, smirking. “If you say so.”

Billy muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as he stabbed his eggs a little too aggressively.

You sighed, walking toward the counter to pour yourself a cup of coffee, ignoring the way Carmen was still watching you like she knew something you didn’t.

But the truth was, you knew exactly what she was thinking.

And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

You were falling in love with Joel.

Billy let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head before pointing his fork at you. “Okay, look—I’ll admit it. He’s a hot priest. A really hot one.” He jabbed the fork in the air for emphasis. “But, darling… he’s a priest at the end of the day.”

You froze mid-sip of your coffee, your fingers tightening around the cup. Carmen shot Billy a warning look, but he kept going.

“He’s not just some guy you can mess around with,” Billy continued, his voice softer now. “You know what this means for him. For you.”

Your throat tightened. You did know. You had been trying not to think about it, trying to pretend you could just enjoy this feeling—enjoy him—without reality creeping in.

“I’m not messing around,” you said quietly.

Billy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’re not. That’s what worries me.”

Carmen reached over, squeezing your hand gently. “Billy’s right, Estrellita. We’re just looking out for you.”

You forced a small smile, but your chest felt heavy. Because no matter how much you wanted to ignore it, they were right.

You were falling in love with a man you could never have.

The bass pulsed beneath your feet, the heat of the lights casting a golden glow over your skin as you moved, slow and deliberate. The music guided you, every roll of your hips, every arch of your back calculated to entrance, to captivate. You had done this a thousand times before—this performance, this dance. But tonight, it felt different.

Because tonight, your eyes kept drifting to the entrance.

You scanned the dimly lit club, searching through the smoke and the sea of faces, hoping—expecting—to see him standing there. Arms crossed, jaw tight, watching you with that barely restrained tension he always carried when he was near you.

But Joel wasn’t there.

Your stomach twisted, disappointment curling in your chest even as you forced yourself to keep moving, to keep dancing. You knew you shouldn’t have expected him. He was a priest, after all. Whatever had happened between you—whatever was happening—wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he had come to his senses. Maybe he had decided to stay away.

Carmen, standing just off the stage, caught your eye as you spun around the pole, her smirk knowing. When your set ended, she was already waiting near the stairs, arms crossed.

“You keep looking for him,” she teased as you slipped past her.

You didn’t bother denying it. Instead, you sighed, grabbing a towel to dab at the sweat on your skin. “He’s not coming.”

Carmen tilted her head. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

You weren’t so sure. Because as much as you told yourself it was better this way, that hollow feeling in your chest refused to fade.

Another day, another night.

And oh, you were already love and it scared you.

Your steps faltered the moment you noticed the crowd outside the church. The murmurs, the whispers—it all crashed into you at once.

Women stood in small clusters, their heads tilted toward one another, their eyes flickering to you before quickly turning away, pretending they hadn’t just been talking about you. Some didn’t even bother to hide it, their lips curled in disgust, their judgment palpable in the air.

You didn’t have to hear their words to know what they were saying.

She was seen leaving his house yesterday morning.

What kind of woman does that?

With a priest, of all people!

And then there were the men, their voices lower but no less cruel.

"She’d give herself to a priest before one of us?"

"Guess she thinks she’s too good for the rest of us."

Your stomach churned. The heat of embarrassment burned your skin, but underneath it was something colder. Anger. These men—these people—had no right to talk about you as if you were some shameful secrets, some object for them to claim.

And then you saw Joel, dressed in black, his collar stark white against the fabric. A reminder of what he was. A reminder of why this was all happening.

But he wasn’t alone.

Beside him stood another man, older, dressed in the same priestly garments. There was an air of authority about him, the way he carried himself, the way others seemed to step aside as he moved.

The Cardinal.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Joel was speaking with him, his expression unreadable, but then, as if he could sense you, his eyes lifted. Met yours. Something flickered in his gaze. Worry. Regret. Guilt. And yet, he didn’t look away.

Your eyes met, and he swallowed as if nervous about your presence. The cardinal followed Joel's gaze to you, and you could sense the suspicion a man with that power held in the church. How, just by looking at you, he could tell you were the problem he'd come here to talk to Joel about. That you were the temptation lurking in the Father's face.

The Cardinal’s gaze was sharp, assessing, stripping you bare in a way that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with judgment. You didn’t shrink under it, even as your heart pounded against your ribs.

He knew.

Even if there had been nothing to confess, even if no one had spoken outright, he knew what the town had already decided: that you were the problem. That you had tainted their priest.

Joel’s jaw clenched. His hands, which had been relaxed at his sides just a moment ago, curled into fists. He looked torn, his body tense as if he were fighting the urge to move toward you—to reach for you.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

The moment stretched, suffocating and endless, until the Cardinal finally turned his attention back to Joel, his expression unreadable but his posture heavy with authority. He said something—too low for you to hear—but Joel’s reaction told you enough. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes briefly closing as if steadying himself before nodding once.

You didn’t know what had just been decided, but you knew it wasn’t good.

A wave of nausea rolled through you. You weren’t naive enough to think this wouldn’t have consequences. You’d just been hoping—selfishly, foolishly—that they wouldn’t come so soon.

That maybe Joel would have had more time. That you would have had more time.

Joel turned away first, back to the Cardinal, his expression carefully schooled into something unreadable. And with that single movement, it was as if a wall had been put between you.

As if he had made a choice. And it wasn’t you.

You barely made it to the bench before your knees gave out beneath you. Sitting down, you folded in on yourself, hands clenched together in your lap, fingers twisting at the fabric of your skirt. The nausea churned in your stomach, rising in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it win.

But God, seeing Joel from afar—seeing him look right through you—felt like someone had reached into your chest and ripped something vital from you. It was a different kind of pain, a sharp, splintering ache that settled deep in your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

You barely noticed the woman sitting beside you until she let out a soft sigh.

"Poor thing."

You stiffened immediately, shoulders tensing as you turned your head, ready to snap at whoever had dared to sit so close, to offer their pity like a gift you had no intention of accepting.

But the woman beside you wasn’t sneering. She wasn’t whispering cruel words behind a fake smile. She was just looking at you. Softly. Kindly.

Mrs. Langdon.

You recognized her from the market, from the church gatherings. She was older, with graying hair pinned into a neat bun and warm, wise eyes that held something you weren’t used to seeing from anyone in this town.

Not judgment. Not malice. Just understanding.

Still, you bristled, wrapping your arms around yourself. “If you’re here to tell me I should –”

“Oh, hush.” She waved a hand, dismissing your words like they were nothing more than an annoying fly. “You think I don’t know what small towns are like? People always looking for someone to talk about, someone to cast stones at. You just happen to be their favorite target right now.”

You frowned, glancing at her warily. “And you don’t agree with them?”

Mrs. Langdon let out a dry chuckle. “I would rather die than agree with these people. They haven’t seen the world outside this place, that’s what they are like this.”  

You blinked at Mrs. Langdon, her words striking you like a sharp gust of wind. You’d always assumed that the people in this town—the ones gossiping behind their hands, the ones judging every move you made—were simply following some unspoken code of right and wrong, of tradition. It had never occurred to you that someone might look at them and see what they were: trapped.

“See the world outside?” you repeated, still a little skeptical, as your eyes darted back to Joel. He hadn’t looked at you again since that brief glance earlier, and now, with the Cardinal standing beside him, it felt as if the distance between you had grown tenfold.

“Yes,” Mrs. Langdon continued, her voice soft but firm. “You’d be surprised how small their world is, how tightly they hold onto their little rules, because it’s all they know. But people like you,” she turned her gaze to you then, her eyes softening with a tenderness that made your heart ache, “people like you are the ones who see beyond. You’re the ones with the courage to live.”

You swallowed, trying to hold back the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to break through. She didn’t know the half of it—how terrified you were, how unsure you felt. You had no idea what it meant to be with Joel, to stand by him in a world that was determined to tear him down.

“And do you think I’m doing the right thing?” you asked quietly, unable to stop the words from leaving your lips.

Mrs. Langdon studied you for a moment before she answered, her voice thoughtful. “I think you’re doing what your heart tells you to do. And that’s all anyone can ever do, in the end.”

You looked at her, her words settling over you like a soft blanket. “Thank you.” You smiled, “You are the first person who had been kind to me here.”

Mrs. Langdon’s smile deepened, her eyes kind and warm. "Well, I'm glad to be the first, but I won't be the last," she said, her tone both gentle and reassuring. "There are people here who might not say it, but they understand more than you'd think. You just have to find the ones who can see beyond the surface."

You nodded, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. It felt like a small crack in the wall that had been built around you since arriving in this town, a small sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was room for you here too.

"You know," she continued, her voice dropping a little lower, "I’ve seen the way you look at father Joel.”

You froze, her words catching you off guard. Mrs. Langdon studied you carefully, her gaze soft but knowing.

Those aren't just any eyes, sweetheart. Those are eyes of love."

You felt your heart tighten, but it wasn’t from shame. It was something deeper, a recognition of truth you hadn’t wanted to fully admit to yourself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you whispered, not meeting her gaze.

Mrs. Langdon didn’t push, but her expression softened with understanding. "You don’t have to say it out loud. I can see it. And Joel, well, he sees it too. He has the same eyes for you. He knows all your secrets, everything you're afraid of, everything you're hiding. That man has a heart, just like you."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the wave of emotions from taking over. But the thought of Joel knowing you so completely, knowing all your fears and all the love you tried to bury, made something inside you break somehow.

"He deserves more than this," Mrs. Langdon continued, her voice quieter now, filled with a gentle sadness. "He deserves a life where you don’t have to hide, a life where he can live freely. But the church, it’s... it’s not that kind of place.”  

You fidgeted with your fingers trying to process her words. It was the truth, wasn’t it? Joel was bound by something, by vows, by his position, by the very fabric of who he was. And as much as you wanted to fight it, as much as you wanted to believe you could carve out a space for yourself in his life, there was no escaping it.

"I want him to be happy," you murmured, your voice raw. "I want him to have everything he deserves."

"Then don’t let the priesthood take it from him," Mrs. Langdon said firmly, her tone softening as she placed a hand on your shoulder. "Don’t let him carry that burden alone if it means losing what he could have with you. If you love him, let him have the life he deserves. Let him choose."

Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, blinking hard to keep them at bay. Her words were like a knife, cutting through the walls you’d built, exposing the truth you had been trying to ignore.

“I don’t know if I can be the one to take that choice from him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Mrs. Langdon.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, "love isn't about what we want. It’s about what the other person needs to be free. Let him find his freedom, and in turn, let yourself find yours."

You met her eyes then, and for the first time since you’d gotten to this town, you felt a sense of clarity. It wasn’t going to be easy. There would be pain. But maybe, just maybe, love was more than staying in one place. Maybe it was about letting go when the time came.

"Thank you," you whispered, wiping the tears that you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

Mrs. Langdon's smile remained warm, a touch of kindness in her eyes as she spoke. "You should come have tea with me this afternoon. It's just my husband and I, nothing fancy, but it would be nice to have some company. Father Joel comes over for dinner every Thursday, so we aren't lonely," she said with a gentle chuckle, her voice carrying no trace of judgment, only genuine invitation.

You found yourself surprised by the offer, the warmth of it sinking deep into your chest. "I would love to," you responded, your voice a bit lighter than before, the weight of the conversation easing just a little.

Mrs. Langdon nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile. "My house is the blue one, close to that club you work at. You can't miss it," she added, her tone still kind and welcoming. Not judgment, just kindness.

You smiled at her, feeling something like hope flicker in your chest. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the beginning of something you hadn’t expected—something that might help you get through the turmoil of everything you were feeling.

"Thank you," you said quietly, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "I’ll see you this afternoon."

With that, Mrs. Langdon gave you a nod and stood, her presence as comforting as it had been when she first sat beside you. As you watched her walk away, you realized that even in a town that had felt so cold, there were still people like her who could offer warmth. And for once, it made you feel like you weren’t so alone.

The afternoon passed in a haze of quiet reflection. You found yourself walking towards Mrs. Langdon’s blue house, the small but charming building tucked just behind the club where you worked. The sun was starting to dip, casting soft shadows across the street. As you approached her home, a sense of calm you hadn’t known you needed settled over you.

Mrs. Langdon greeted you at the door, her warm smile a welcome you couldn’t help but return. “Come in, dear,” she said kindly, ushering you into the cozy space.

The smell of fresh tea lingered in the air, and there was an immediate feeling of peace in her home. You stepped inside, taking in the simple but inviting interior. Her husband was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a book. He offered you a quiet, polite smile.

"Come, sit with us," Mrs. Langdon said, pulling up an extra chair beside her. As you sat down, she poured you a cup of tea, her movements deliberate, soothing.

You were starting to feel at ease when the door opened, and you heard a familiar voice.

"Evening, Mrs. Langdon."

You froze for a moment, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to see none other than Joel stepping inside, a small bag of groceries in hand.

His gaze caught yours almost immediately, and for a split second, the world around you seemed to stop. You felt his presence as though it were a physical thing, pulling you in like gravity.

Joel paused in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking with yours. He had clearly not expected to see you here.

Mrs. Langdon smiled brightly, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Father Joel, perfect timing! I was just about to serve tea. Come, join us.”

Joel looked between you and her, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if caught between two worlds. He set the bag down carefully on the counter and nodded, stepping further into the room.

"Good evening," he said quietly, his voice low. He hesitated for just a moment before sitting down, across from you, at the small table.

The silence between you two was palpable, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. Mrs. Langdon filled the silence with easy conversation, talking about the weather, the garden, her husband's new book—anything to keep things light. But you could feel the heaviness between you and Joel, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a storm cloud.

You glanced at him once, your heart fluttering despite the tension. His face was a mask of calm, but you could see the flicker of something else behind his eyes—something too familiar, too intense to ignore.

And just like that, you were back in the world you’d tried to escape. Joel. The priest.

Not Joel the mand you loved.

Joel’s voice was steady but laced with tension as he continued to explain to Mrs. Langdon and her husband about the Cardinal’s visit. “So basically, he came here today to check on some matters, to discuss... some things. I’m sure you both understand the pressure, and I had to reassure him that nothing inappropriate was happening. But I’m not sure he believed me,” he added, his voice growing more frustrated.

Mrs. Langdon nodded sympathetically, her eyes flicking to you, but she said nothing, allowing Joel to speak. Her husband, who had been quietly listening, gave a small nod as well, but his expression remained neutral.

“I bet those ladies were bothering him with stuff. Always snitching.” She said because she knew perfectly well the reason why the cardinal had come was because of them.

Joel’s words kept going, but you were hardly listening anymore. The room felt suddenly small; the air too thick with unspoken tension. You could feel the weight of the conversation hanging around you, pressing down on your chest. It felt suffocating, like there was no air left for you to breathe.

The mention of the Cardinal, of everything that was happening, made your stomach churn, but it wasn’t just the situation that hurt. It was the realization that Joel was caught in something much larger than the two of you—something that neither of you had any control over. His gaze kept flicking toward you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it.

Your breath hitched, and you pushed your chair back slightly, rising from the table. “Excuse me,” you murmured, barely louder than a whisper, “Mrs. Langdon, may I use your bathroom?”

Joel paused mid-sentence, clearly caught off guard by your request. He looked at you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to understand what was happening, but you avoided his gaze, feeling a wave of shame and confusion wash over you.

Mrs. Langdon, smiled warmly. "Of course, dear. Joel, could you show her where the bathroom is?" she asked, her tone light and unbothered, as if she hadn’t noticed the tension that had settled in the air.

Joel nodded slowly, standing up from his chair. “Sure,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long before he turned toward the hallway.

You stood up as well, trying to gather the fragments of your composure. You forced a smile in Mrs. Langdon’s direction, but it felt weak.

The walk down the hallway felt painfully long. Every step you took seemed suffocating and small, the weight of everything pressing down on you more with each passing second.

When you reached the bathroom, Joel hesitated for a moment, his hand on the door. He seemed torn, unsure of whether to say something or just let you go inside. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re avoiding me” he said, the words catching in his throat.

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and you couldn’t help but feel the truth in them, even if you didn’t want to admit it. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. You could feel the heat of your skin, the tension in your shoulders, all the emotions swirling inside you in a chaotic mess.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible, a lie you weren’t even sure you believed yourself.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes searching your face, waiting for you to look at him. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t face him right now, not with everything hanging in the air, not with the way things were unraveling. The guilt, the confusion, everything crashing together.

And then, before you could step further into the bathroom, Joel did something you didn’t expect. He stepped in after you, closing the door behind him with a soft click, and suddenly, the small space felt even smaller. The air thickened, and you could feel the weight of his presence just inches away from you.

He didn’t speak immediately, but the look in his eyes was enough. The way he watched you, not with anger, but with understanding. And maybe a bit of frustration, as if he couldn’t figure out what was keeping you from him, what was stopping you from just being closer to him.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, your hands shaking slightly. “You shouldn’t be here, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling now, though you tried to keep it firm.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low, almost as if he was sharing a secret. “But I am.” His eyes softened for a moment, as if he was seeing right through you, to the parts of you that were breaking but too afraid to show it. “You can’t keep pushing me away.”

You stayed still, hoping, praying, he would just walk away and make all of this easier for the both of you.

“I know what you are thinking,” his voice was quiet, but there was something raw in it. Something pleading as if he was on his knees waiting for you to take him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay strong.

“Please talk to me” he murmured, and the way his voice cracked shattered you.

You exhaled shakily closing and opening your eyes as he still stood there.

You swallowed hard, gripping the doorframe for support. “You know what is the right thing to do. We can’t see each other anymore.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

You shook your head, voice trembling. “I don’t want you to lose everything you had built because of me, Joel.”

His expression softened, and he lifted a hand as if to touch you but stopped himself. “You’re not something I should have to lose too.”

The words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, and you turned away, trying to steady yourself. “You made a promise—to God, to yourself. And I—” Your breath hitched. “I know love you too much to be the reason you break it.”

Silence. Heavy, aching silence. Your eyes widened the moment you realized the words that had slipped out from your lips.

When you finally turned back, you found Joel staring at you, stunned. His lips parted slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“What?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I love you, Joel.” You gasped for air, “I am in love with you.”

The words hung between you, fragile yet powerful. His hands clenched at his sides fidgeting his clothes as if he were physically holding himself back. You could see it in his eyes—the war raging inside him.

Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath. “Say it again.” He stepped impossibly closer, “Say those six words again.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Joel—”

“Please,” he cut in, his voice rough. “Just one more time.”

Your lip trembled, and this time, you let the words pour out, raw and unfiltered. “I am in love with you.”

His breath hitched, and before you could react, he closed the space built between you, his hands framing your face, destroying the walls you had been trying to build between the both of you. His lips crash onto yours in a kiss so desperate, so full of longing and yearning, it stole the breath from your lungs.

He wasn’t careful or hesitant, he was just simply pouring all the feelings he had kept under all the keys, on your lips. Everything you had denied yourselves. And in that moment, nothing else mattered because what was happening was an act of love, a pure feeling. There was nothing wrong with it.

Joel’s kiss was all-consuming, desperate, like a man grasping at something slipping through his fingers. His hands trembled where they held your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that had escaped down your cheeks.

You clung to him, your fingers curling in his hair, as if anchoring yourself to this moment, to him. You could feel the weight of it, the war he was fighting within himself, the battle between faith and love, between what he had vowed and what his heart was screaming for.

But right now, he wasn’t Father Joel. He was just Joel.

Yours.

Your Joel.

The man you were in love with.

A man devoted to you.

He pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath shaky and uneven. His hands slid down to your shoulders, then your arms, as if memorizing the feel of you.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, holding back his smile.

Your heart ached at the conflict in his eyes. “But it’s the truth.”

Joel let out a ragged breath, his grip tightening as if he was afraid to let go. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, baby.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, feeling the tension there. “Loving you is so easy, Joel.” you whispered, biting your lips in a small effort to suppress the smile.

He kissed you again. Slower this time, deeper. It was full of longing; of everything he had tried to bury but couldn’t anymore. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for an answer he hadn’t yet found in himself.

“I’m in love with you, too. God, you’re so—”

“So what?” you asked.

“Perfect. Made for me.” He replied.

“No, I’m not.” you said, knowing the secrets you still held back, caged inside the pain of your heart.

“To my eyes, you’re.” He said, caressing your face with his thumbs.

You looked so beautiful to him, under his stare that he was afraid that from now on he would love you forever. Like he was ready to be devasted by you and concept of love all over again just to be able to taste your lips and to caress your face with his palms that on your cheeks seemed innocent.  

You swallowed hard, feeling this situation pressing down on your chest. Your hands, still trembling found their way to his wrists, holding onto him like he was the only one who could keep you steady in a world that suddenly felt falling into pieces.

Your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally asked, “What comes now?”

Joel's breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he was afraid you would regret this and shatter his heart in the process. His eyes seemed darker, searching yours as if trying to find the answer himself. He exhaled shakily, his forehead still resting against yours. “I have no idea.”

The honesty in his words made your heart ache. This wasn’t simple. This wasn’t easy. Love never was—especially not yours. But the way he looked at you, the way he held you, like you were something sacred, made you want to believe that somehow, you could figure it out together.

His fingers traced slow, gentle circles on your arms, like he was memorizing the shape of you, the texture of your skin, the feel of you, in case this was the last time he would ever get to hold you like this. "I should say we stop now, that we walk away before it’s too late." His voice was rough, strained. "But I don’t think I can. I don’t want to."

Your heart pounded, “Joel…”

He shook his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so long fighting this—fighting you, since the first night I saw sleeping on the bench because I thought it was the right thing to do. But tell me, baby... If this is so wrong, why does it feel like the only thing that’s ever-made sense to me in so long?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because he was right. Because the truth was, no matter how much you had tried to convince yourself otherwise, being in his arms felt like the only place you were ever meant to be.

"What do we do?" you whispered, your fingers tightening around his wrists. "How do we do this?"

Joel exhaled, leaning in, his nose brushing against yours. “I’d say…one step at time.”

You closed your eyes at the tenderness in his voice. "And if we fall?"

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he whispered, "Then we fall together."

And a small chuckle escaped from your lips.

The days passed in a torturous slow blur for the both of you. The pressure of your secret affair pressed down on you, each stolen glance between you and Joel carrying a longing that never faded, only deepened and strangled your hearts. The Cardinal was still in town, his presence looming over everything like a shadow, forcing Joel to keep his distance, to maintain the image of who he was supposed to be.

But even in the smallest moments, you could feel him.

You’d catch his eyes from across the street, hungry and kind flickering over you like he wanted to memorize every detail before looking away. You’d see the way his hands clenched at his sides when you walked past him after service, as if he was holding himself back from reaching for you. And sometimes, late at night, you swore you could still feel the ghost of his touch, his lips, the way he whispered your name like a prayer in that small, stolen moment in the bathroom.

And then, one afternoon, fate offered you mercy. You were passing by the church, the sky grey with a warning of a heavy rain, when you saw him. Alone.

Joel stood at the church steps, his broad frame leaning against the doorway, his expression tense, lost in thought. But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him changed. His shoulders straightened, his jaw clenched, and for the first time in days, you saw it, that deep, burning desperation.

He walked inside the church, you followed him and before you could even react or take a breath, his hands were on your face, rough and warm, pulling you in before his lips crashed onto yours.

The kiss was feverish, urgent. A moment of recklessness after days of restraint. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his cassock, needing to hold onto him just as desperately as he held onto you. The world around you blurred, melted into nothing, because nothing mattered but the feeling of his mouth on yours, the heat of him searing into your skin.

But then footsteps interrupted the moment.

Joel pulled away instantly, his breath ragged, his hands dropping from your face as if burned. You barely had a second to process before a voice, rough and commanding ranging behind him.

“Father Miller.”

You turned sharply to see him. The Cardinal.

His piercing gaze flicked between you and Joel, unreadable but heavy with something cold. Suspicion, maybe.

He wasn’t naïve.

Joel, didn’t hesitate changing his posture, “Your Eminence,” he greeted smoothly, stepping back just enough to put distance between you. His voice was steady, composed, but you could still hear the slight strain in it.

The Cardinal’s sharp eyes settled on you. “And who is lady here?”

Joel straightened; his expression carefully neutral. “This is—” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before continuing, “She’s new in town. I’ve been offering some guidance.”

The way he said it, as if you were nothing more than another wandering soul seeking his help, sent a sharp pang through you. You understood why he said it. Knew that he had to. But it still stung.

The Cardinal’s eyes swept over you, assessing, unimpressed. “Is that so?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well, let us hope you are a good influence, rather than a distraction for the father, here.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you like ice. Joel’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

The Cardinal barely spared you another glance before turning back to Joel. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

Joel hesitated, his eyes flickering to you for the briefest second before nodding. “Of course.”

And just like that, the moment was gone. You stood there, heart still racing, watching as Joel followed the Cardinal back into the church. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

You still were a forbidden fruit to him.

You sat by the mirror in the dressing room, running a fingertip over the rim of your glass, lost in thought. Your reflection stared back at you, lips slightly parted, skin still warm from the memory of Joel’s touch. You could still feel the ghost of his lips against yours, the way he had held you so tightly, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You wanted him. All of him. You wanted his arms around you all the time because he felt like home, a place you missed.

“Earth to troublemaker.”

A familiar voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Billy leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His sharp eyes flicked over you, picking up on every little detail—the way you were sitting too still, the way your mind was somewhere else.

“You look like a woman with a big secret to share,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Before you could answer, Carmen appeared behind him, slipping into the room with a bottle in her hand. “She doesn’t just look like one,” she teased, raising a brow. “She is one.”

You huffed, shaking your head as they both settled in beside you. Carmen poured herself a drink before nudging your knee with hers. “So, are you gonna tell us, or are we gonna have to guess?”

You hesitated for a moment, rolling your lip between your teeth. But you knew there was no point in keeping it from them. Not from them.

They were your friends and your family here.

Finally, you exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I kissed him.” You confessed, “Well, he did.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Billy grinned, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

Carmen, on the other hand, simply gave you a knowing look, sipping her drink. “About damn time.”

You blinked. “That’s it? No lecture?”

“Oh, I’ll get to that,” she said, smirking. “But first, tell me everything.”

Billy leaned in, grinning. “Yeah, don’t leave out any of the good parts.”

And so, you told them. About the way Joel had kissed you like he was starving for it. The way he wanted to fall if it means you would be discovered, but at the same time you felt guilty about the consequences of this illicit affair between the both of you.

Carmen swirled the drink in her glass, watching you carefully. “So, he wants to fall,” she mused. “But you’re afraid of what happens when he does.”

You exhaled, pressing your fingertips to your temple. “It’s not just that. I—” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own thoughts. “It’s selfish, isn’t it? I want him. God, I want him. But I know what this could mean for him. For both of us.”

Billy scoffed. “Sweetheart, do you really think he doesn’t already know that?”

You looked up at him.

“He’s a grown man,” he continued. “Older than you, he knows damn well what he is getting into.”

Carmen nodded in agreement. “Billy’s right. If Joel kissed you—if he’s looking at you the way you say he does, then he’s already made his choice. The question is—” she leaned in slightly, her gaze searching yours— “have you?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Had you?

Your heart had already chosen. But your mind, the part of you that still clung to reason, still feared what this could cost.

Billy clicked his tongue. “See? You’re overthinking.”

“You should be thinking,” Carmen corrected him, before looking back at you. She squeezed your hand, her voice softer now. “You love him.”

The words settled in the air between you all.

And though you didn’t say it out loud, the answer was there, in the way your heart pounded at the thought of him.

Yes, you loved him.

But you didn’t want to hurt him.

Carmen exchanged a glance with Billy before turning back to you. “Hey, hey,” she murmured, reaching out to gently pry your hands from your head. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

Billy let out a sigh, pushing himself up from his seat. “Alright. You’re not dancing tonight.” He didn’t say it as a question, just a fact.

You shook your head, your chest tight. “I just—I can’t.”

Carmen gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

The weight of it all pressed down on you—Joel, the secrecy, the risk, the way your heart ached just thinking about him. And now, after speaking it out loud, after admitting it to them, it felt even heavier.

Billy clapped his hands together. “Alright. I’ll let the rest know. You just sit here and—” He waved a hand at you. “I don’t know. Breathe.”

You let out a weak laugh, despite yourself.

Carmen brushed a piece of hair from your face. “Do you want to go home?”

You thought about it. The idea of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts swallow you whole.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before finally nodding. “Yeah. I think I just need to be alone for a bit.”

Carmen hesitated, her eyes scanning your face like she was trying to read between the lines. But she didn’t push. Instead, she gave your hand one last squeeze. “Alright. But be careful, okay?”

Billy scoffed. “Like she doesn’t already know that.”

You mustered a small smile before standing up, smoothing down your dress. The club was still buzzing with life around you—music, laughter, cigarette smoke curling in the air—but you felt like you were somewhere else entirely.

You stepped outside, the cool night air hitting your skin as you started down the dimly lit street. The quiet was welcome, a stark contrast to the noise still pulsing inside the club.

But after a few blocks, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

Like you weren’t alone.

Your steps slowed. You glanced over your shoulder, but the street behind you was empty. Just the faint glow of streetlamps and the distant murmur of the city.

Get a grip, you told yourself, shaking your head. You were just tired. Your mind playing tricks on you, tangled up in guilt and longing.

Still, your heart pounded a little harder as you picked up your pace, heading straight for home.

The memories came in waves, brushing against the edges of your mind like a heartbreak song you once loved but hadn’t heard in years.

You remembered the warmth of his hands, the way they fit so easily around yours. The way he used to trace idle patterns against your skin when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he laughed—really laughed—like it was something only you could pull from him.

There were quiet mornings, sunlight spilling through lace curtains, and his voice, thick with sleep, murmuring your name with tenderness. There were stolen glances across crowded rooms, Nights spent whispering about nothing and everything, your bodies tangled, your hearts so close you could swear they beat in time.

And then, something shifted. The warmth cooled. The sweetness turned sharp.

The same hands that once held you so carefully became distant; caught in something you couldn’t quite reach. His laughter turned into a cruel smirk; his words turned heavier. Daggers reaching for you. And then, one day, you looked at him and saw not the man you had come closed to love but the thing standing between you and everything you were meant to be.

Now, the memories came differently. Not like a song, but like an echo. Distant, blurred at the edges. A reminder of something you had once cherished. And something you now wished to forget forever because it took everything you know because of it.

You moved through the quiet of the house, the fabric of your nightgown felt tight against your skin. The night air was cooler than other days, slipping through the open window, but it wasn’t enough to calm the thoughts spinning in your mind.

You had tried to push them away, tried to bury them beneath exhaustion, but sleep refused to come.

And then—a knock at the door. Soft, but insistent.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Billy. It had to be. Checking in on you, making sure you hadn’t collapsed into some pit of regret. You pulled the door open, already preparing a reassurance.

But the words died on your lips.

It wasn’t Billy.

It was Joel.

His presence filled the doorway, broad shoulders casting shadows against the dim glow of the hallway. His hair was tousled, his lips parted slightly like he had been running, or like he had been thinking too much and drinking too little.

But it was his eyes that held you in place.

Soft brown with a lopsided smile, kind to you.

“Joel—” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.

He stepped forward, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him. His gaze flickered over you, over your bare arms, the delicate slip of your nightgown, the soft rise and fall of your breath.

His voice was low when he spoke. Rough.

“Can I come in?”

"Joel," you repeated, his name barely a breath on your lips.

He swallowed hard, his gaze tracing your face like he was trying to memorize it. Like he had missed you more than he was willing to admit. "I know I shouldn't be here," he murmured, voice rough with something unspoken. "But I had to see you."

Your fingers curled around the edge of the door. He was waiting for you to say yes, for you to tell him to leave, for anything.

But you couldn’t turn him away. Stepping aside, you nodded. "Come in."

Joel exhaled, almost like he had been holding his breath, and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, enclosing you both inside the four walls hiding a secret.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just looked at each other, the space between you charged with all the things left unsaid.

Then, slowly, he reached for you.

His hand traced a featherlight path down your arm, fingers brushing against your wrist, like he was grounding himself in your touch. His hands were always so warm, so steady. You had missed them.

“You’re tired,” he murmured, eyes softening as he took in your face.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Joel hummed, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Me neither."

You should have been nervous. This was dangerous. But as he pulled you close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, all you felt was safe.

"Let me stay," he whispered against your skin. "Just for a little while."

You nodded, the simple gesture carrying so much weight between you both. Joel’s lips remained pressed against your forehead, his warmth seeping into you as if he was anchoring you to this moment, to him. You closed your eyes, letting the world fall away, just for a while.

Then, slowly, as if unsure of his own movements, his lips moved, gently brushing over your cheek. The softest touch, but it sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm on your skin, and you could feel the subtle tremor in his movements, as though he was trying to be careful with you, as if you were something pure and precious, he didn’t want to break.

He kissed your other cheek, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The space between you both felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid, but also full of something more—something you both craved but had kept at bay for so long.

Then, his lips found yours. No rush, no urgency. Just a quiet, tender kiss that felt like coming home after a long time apart. His lips moved over yours softly, exploring, as if he had all the time in the world to savor the moment. And you let him. You let him in, even if it was only for a little while.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you were both breathless, eyes still closed. The world outside felt distant, and the only thing that mattered was the steady beat of his heart against yours.

"I’ve missed you," Joel whispered, his voice thick with something deeper thana simple desire. It was raw, unguarded. A confession you both needed but were afraid to admit.

You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice. Your chest felt tight, but in a good way, like a promise. The weight of the past, the secrecy, all of it felt momentarily lighter.

"The cardinal left this afternoon” he murmured, as his fingers ghosted over your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear from his fingertips.

Your breath hitched. That meant there was no more need for stolen glances, no more pretending not to see each other. But it also meant the weight of reality would settle in soon.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. "So, we don’t have to hide that much anymore," you whispered, though something in your voice made it sound like a question.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening for a moment. "Not as much," he admitted, his thumb brushing idly against your hip. "But it doesn’t mean it gets any easier."

You knew that. You both did.

His eyes searched yours in the dim light, a quiet storm brewing in their depths. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his voice low, rough, like he was bracing himself for the answer.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t know, but because saying it out loud would make it real.

But when you looked at him—at the man who had kissed you like a prayer, who had whispered your name like it was something sacred—you knew there was only one truth.

"I want you, Joel," you breathed.

Joel didn’t wait. The second the words left your lips; his mouth was on yours.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t just longing, wasn’t just stolen moments in the shadows. It was something deeper, something that carried the weight of every glance, every touch, every unsaid thing between you. It was burning, you felt it on your lips, ablaze when they crushed together.

His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kissed you like he never wanted to stop. Like he had been waiting for you his whole life.

You melted into him, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as he pressed you closer. His lips moved with a slow, deliberate tenderness, drawing you in, pulling you under. You parted your lips, allowing your tongues to intertwine with such a fervor it made you weak.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you breathe, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, thick with emotion.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his jaw, feeling the way it throbbed beneath your touch. “I think I do.”

Joel let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head. “Not even close, baby.”

He searched your face, as if giving himself one last chance to step away, to be the better man. But when he saw the way you looked at him—soft, certain, full of something that made his heart ache—he knew he was lost.

His lips crashed into yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly close, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. He kissed you like a man starved, like he had been waiting for this, for you, for longer than he was willing to admit.

You pressed against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. The heat between you was undeniable, the space that once existed now erased completely.

His hands roamed over your back, to the curve of your ass, slow but firm, memorizing the shape of you. He pulled away only long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breaths heavy and uneven. A groan rumbled from his chest, his hands gripping your waist, anchoring you to him.

Joel guided you backward slowly, his hands steady but desperate, like he was afraid to let go even for a second. The world outside, the consequences, the things he’d wrestled with for so long, they all faded, drowned out by the sound of your breath mingling with his, the warmth of your body against him.

He didn’t just kiss you. He poured everything into it, every stolen glance, every unspoken word, every moment of restraint that now felt pointless. His fingers traced your jaw, then down your neck, reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

When your back met the edge of the couch, you gasped, and Joel took the opportunity to trail kisses down your throat, his lips slow, deliberate, savoring every inch of you. His name left your lips in a whisper, barely there, but he heard it, God, he felt it.

His hands settled at your waist, gripping just enough to make your skin burn under his touch. He pulled back for a moment, just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as if he was barely keeping himself together.

“We don’t have to,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. Instead, you reached for him, fingers slipping into his hair, guiding him back to you.

“Please,” you breathed, lips brushing his, “don’t stop.”

And just like that, he was gone, lost in you, in the way you fit so perfectly against him, in the way you sighed against his lips.

For once in his life, Joel Miller let himself have something good. And that something was you.

Joel’s restraint unraveled with every kiss, every sigh, every way your body pressed into his. His hands roamed, exploring like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he needed to know you this way, to feel you this close.

He lifted you slightly, his strong arms guiding you onto his lap, and you let him, melting into the warmth of him. Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the roughness of his beard, before tangling into his hair. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

His hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm but reverent, like he was still holding onto the last shred of control he had left. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes searching yours, darkened with something deeper than just desire.

“This isn’t just—” he started, his voice rough, but you silenced him with a soft kiss, your hands cradling his face.

“I know,” you assured him. “Me neither.”

That was all he needed to kiss you again, deeper this time, like he had nothing left to fight, nothing left to prove. Just you and him, in this moment, finally giving in to something that had been pulling you together long before either of you dared to admit it.

You sighed into his mouth, your body arching into him, and he exhaled sharply, gripping your waist as if he was afraid you might disappear. His forehead pressed against yours again, his breath shaky, as if he was teetering on the edge of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

“This—” he started again, but stopped, shaking his head slightly, his thumbs brushing against your skin.

You cupped his face, tilting his chin so he had no choice but to look at you, to see the truth in your eyes. “Joel, it’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

His eyes softened, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur.

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I think you were already ruined,” you teased, but there was nothing playful in the way you looked at him. “I just found you.”

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, but it faded quickly as he leaned in again, capturing your lips with a kind of desperation that hadn’t been there before. This was no longer hesitation. This was acceptance.

His hands roamed all over your body, memorizing every curve, every reaction. And when you sighed into him, when you whispered his name with that mouth of yours, he was already gone.

This was the moment neither of you had dared to imagine, the one you had spent so long denying yourselves. But now, there was no turning back.

Joel held you like you were something fragile, something precious, his hands steady even as his breath wavered against your skin. He wasn’t just touching you, he was learning you, worshipping you, mapping every inch with slow.

His lips trailed over your jaw, down your throat, pressing soft, lingering kisses like he wanted to leave something of himself behind imprinted on you. Like he wanted you to remember this, to remember him, long after the night faded.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and he groaned, a low, wrecked sound against your skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours. “I haven’t done this for so long” He shook his head slightly, swallowing hard. “You make me forget how to be careful.”

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “Then don’t be.”

Joel let out a breath that sounded like surrender before capturing your lips again, deeper this time, his hands sliding over your body like he couldn’t stand the thought of not touching you.

This was more than need. More than desire. This was home.

Joel's hands traced paths over the thin fabric of your gown. His fingers ghosted over your shoulders, down the length of your arms, following the delicate lines of your body like he was trying to memorize you through touch alone.

His calloused fingertips skimmed the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the gentle rise and fall of your breath. He wasn't rushing—no, this was something else. Something deeper.

“You feel like a dream,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw, his breath warm and steady. His fingers toyed with the fabric at your hip, his thumb stroking slow, absent-minded circles.

You shivered, not from cold, but from the weight of his attention. The way he was looking at you, like he was trying to commit you to memory, like you were something rare, something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t help wanting.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. He sighed against your skin, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path down your throat, his touch following the shape of you.

“You’re perfect” he murmured again, his voice low, rough, like he was giving you a way out even as his hands betrayed him, still exploring, still learning.

You didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you tipped your head back, giving him more, inviting him closer, your fingers slipping into his hair.

He followed the pattern of your neck, placing kisses down to your shoulders, slowly moving to your chest. He paused only to move his eyes upward in a sort of permission, to which you nodded. He pulled back the straps of your nightgown, leaving you bare to his eyes.

He couldn't believe it. Having you like this before him felt like a prize he didn't deserve. One of his hands cupped one of your breasts while he kissed the other, circling it with his tongue. “You’re so damn soft,” he murmured, his nose brushing against your jaw, voice thick with something almost reverent. “I’ve been thinking about you like this longer than I should’ve.”

You shivered, pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his body, the way his breath grew uneven as his fingers kept moving, tracing the places he’d only dared to dream about before.

His lips found your throat again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your skin. He sighed against you, his grip firm but careful, like he was still afraid you might vanish.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, voice hoarse as he kissed the edge of your collarbone.

You smiled, hands slipping into his hair, guiding him back up, your lips meeting his in a kiss that made his breath catch.

“Show me,” you whispered.

Joel let out a low groan, his fingers tightening on your hips before sliding beneath the hem of your gown, pushing the fabric up ever so slightly. His hands were warm, calloused, the roughness of his touch making you shiver as he traced slow, reverent circles against your bare skin.

His lips never left you, brushing along your jaw, down the curve of your throat, pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent a slow burn through your veins. He was taking his time, savoring every inch of you like he was afraid this would slip away if he didn’t commit it to memory.

You exhaled shakily as his hands smoothed up the backs of your thighs, slipping beneath the silk of your gown, higher, until he was gripping your waist beneath the fabric. His breath was ragged against your skin, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he held you close, fingers flexing like he was still trying to ground himself.

“You sure about this?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight behind his words settled deep in your chest.

You cupped his face, tilting his chin until your eyes met. The way he looked at you—like he was desperate, like he wanted to devour you but was still holding himself back—made your heart ache.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered.

Something in him broke then. Whatever restraint he’d been clinging to shattered as he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, his hands roaming, pulling you impossibly close.

Your gown slid higher as he guided you back, his fingers tracing slow, teasing paths over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The fabric pooled at your hips, forgotten, as Joel’s lips found your collarbone, his hands gripping your thighs, his breath heavy against your skin.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, almost like he was talking to himself, shaking his head as he kissed along your shoulder.

You smiled against his lips, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “Good.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding higher, his touch reverent, unhurried. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before trailing lower, letting himself get lost in you.

His lips trailed lower, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to explore you. His fingers traced the path his mouth had taken, over the delicate fabric of your gown, mapping every curve, every dip, every place that made you shiver beneath him.

Joel’s breath was warm against your skin, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath the swell of your breasts. His touch was teasing, reverent, like he was still memorizing you, still convincing himself that you were here, that this was real.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him back up to you, and he let out a quiet groan as your lips met again, slow and deep. His hands settled at your waist, gripping you firmly like he needed to anchor himself to you.

The fabric of your gown was soft beneath his fingers, but he was more interested in what lay beneath. His touch dipped lower, palms smoothing over the curve of your hips, tracing gentle circles that sent warmth spreading through you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, searching. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his expression unreadable, like he was warring with something inside himself.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Heat bloomed in your chest at the softness in his voice, at the way his gaze drank you in like you were something precious, something he had no business holding but couldn’t bear to let go.

You smiled, brushing your lips against his in a slow, lingering kiss. “So are you.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue.

As soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you down your body. You could feel all the emotions, but body ablaze, whimpering under his touch.

You felt his mouth against your upper thigh, tracing kisses as he tangled your hips up for him. You were already dripping as he licked the route up there to your cunt before sucking your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened at the sounds escaping your lips, as the way you clenched around his fingers and he sucked as if he was starved, forcing your legs apart to have more access. His free hand moved up your stomach to your torso, grabbing one of your breasts, rubbing his nose against your clit. Under pleasure and instinct, you buried your heels into his back, dragging him closer until he could taste all of you.

He took his time fucking you slowly with his hands, the same he used to pray. He took his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone from pleasure.

“Fuck…” you whimpered, “Right there.”

“You’re so beautiful. I need you to breathe.” He whispered, he begged even, going forward between your legs, plunging into you easily. You moaned, leaning forward to kiss him. His lips were now on your breasts, tracing more kisses until he found your lips again as he found his way to drove himself down into you, cautious as possible.

His lips traced the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, down the column of your throat, where he lingered, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your pulse point.

Joel groaned softly when your hands explored him, dragging over his shoulders, down his stomach. He caught your wrist, bringing your palm to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there before guiding your hand back to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath your touch.

His patience frayed when you shifted against him, your body seeking more, pressing into the warmth of his. He tugged you closer, until you were straddling him, the thin fabric of your nightgown the only barrier between you. His hands splayed across your hips, his grip firm, grounding, as he guided you against him, coaxing a gasp from your lips.

"You feel so damn good," he rasped, pressing his forehead against yours.

His mouth was on you again, trailing lower, brushing over the swell of your chest, the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

“Now are we cursing?” You moaned, into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

Joel groaned against your skin, his grip tightening as he pulled you impossibly closer. His lips traced every inch of you, memorizing the way you responded to him, the way your breath hitched, the way your body pressed into his touch.

“Don’t tease me, baby” he said, pounding into you. Grinding as deep as into you as it could encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those scars would leave the mark of the sin he was committing but didn’t care now.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit, making you fuck yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him.

He moved faster, with reverence, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mixing with yours between moans. It was slow, deep, unhurried, as if he wanted to make this moment last, as if he needed to savor every second of having you like this.

Joel whispered your name like a sacred prayer, his hands never stopping their worship of your body. His lips found yours again, swallowing every moan, every sigh, as the rhythm between you built, as the fire burned brighter.

You clung to him, to the feeling of him, to the way he made you feel, like you were something treasured, something sacred.

And when the pleasure crashed over you, and you came, he continued to fuck you, hovering you over the couch, leaving kiss on your neck. Soon after he followed, burying himself deeper, whispering your name with a broken groan. Joel collapsed against you, his breath heavy, his heart racing in sync with yours. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, just held you close, his arms wrapped around you as if he was afraid to let go.

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing, grounding, pressing soft kisses to his temple. He sighed against your skin, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally meeting your gaze.

Faith was in this, in the way your lips lingered on his skin, in the way your fingers traced lazy patterns over his back, as if grounding yourself in him. It was in the way you looked at him, softly, with tenderness with love.

Joel swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on your waist, like he was trying to hold onto something fleeting. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he looked almost lost, like he didn’t know what to do with the warmth between you, with the tenderness you offered so freely.

"You’re looking at me like that again," he murmured, voice rough, almost hesitant.

"Like what?" you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

"Like I’m something worth keeping."

Your heart ached at the quiet vulnerability in his words. You cupped his face, guiding him closer, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

Joel sighed into you, melting against you in a way that made your chest tighten. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and steady.

"You are," you whispered. “You’re worth keeping.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just held you tighter, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, then to the curve of your neck, like he was trying to find his own answer in the feeling of you beneath him.

You wanted to stay here, in the present in the warmth of his arms, in the quiet where nothing else mattered but the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath against your skin against yours. But your mind wouldn’t let you. It wandered, slipping from the safety of the present into the tangled mess of your past, to the secrets still buried between you.

Would he still love you after all of it?

The thought made your chest tighten, a shadow creeping in at the edges of this perfect moment. Joel had given you so much of himself, let you see parts of him no one else had, and yet… you still hadn’t told him everything.

@jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

@drewharrisonwriter @hjzghi-blog @picketniffler @nobodyssfool @pedritosgirl2000 @koshkaj-blog @cigarxttxs @sweetpeakarolinaaa @wandasimp-69 @canteenee4 @obivari @shortandderanged @casualbananapatrol @stevie75 @hammerhead1776 @brittmb115 @strangersdotmp3 @goodvibesonly421 @jackie923 @lunpycatavenue @capuccinodoll

@iamtoriasworld @priincehoseok @luunarr0 @dinomecanico @missadangel @alrihhty @pasc4lfuzz @materialgirl-97 @harrycherrylove @canteenee4 @bensonispunk @locaparapedrito

@melsunshine @goodvibesonly421

[nathanbatemanfucker]

A Breach in Reality

request: If you're taking requests ive been GNAWING for a joaquin x fem reader where they go on an undercover mission to a riiiiiiich ahh gala as a fake couple and they end up kissing to not get caught🤌

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: undercover trope, colleagues to lovers, internal angst/insecurity, kissing

wc: 1,572

an: these two are so adorable! thank you for sending in this request anon. I truly hope you enjoy <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The mission brief was simple: infiltrate the gala, extract the intel, get out without blowing your cover. The two of you had prepared well, going over your aliases, asking each other questions that someone might want to know, making sure all the gaps were filled.

What you didn’t prepare for is how tight and warm Joaquin’s hand would feel on your waist in the silky gown you’re wearing. Or how good he’d look in his polished suit, black and sleek. How good his cologne smells when you walk hand and hand. How his eyes seemed to roam a little more than usual; you brush that thought away easier than all the others. Of course he was looking at everyone, at you more closely.

He leans close to whisper against your ear as you walk up the marble steps of the venue. He has to say it because it’s true. “You clean up nice, princesa.”

You barely hold back a smile, rolling your eyes at him playfully. “You’re just saying that because I’m your fake date.”

Joaquin’s gaze is sincere. “I’d say it if you were my real one, too.”

You have to look away from his brown eyes because you don’t detect any dishonesty. But you know that you shouldn’t get involved with someone you’re working with, especially with how infrequent you see him. You don’t want to get attached to the idea of having him this way, even if your mind has forced you to dream about it once or twice before.

You value reality and protection of yourself, of your heart over everything. It’s why you haven’t let yourself go on a date in over 5 years. The last time you opened up in that way, you couldn’t remember who you were when it all finished.

The gala is all champagne flutes, soft jazz, and people with money to waste. You keep your arm looped through his, playing the role of the doting partner while you both scan the room for your target. He’s pressing you closer than necessary, his body heat seeping into your skin, but you don’t pull away. You don’t want to.

What’s one night letting yourself feel the affection of someone else, especially when it’s already known to be a farce. No harm, no foul.

“Target’s heading toward the east wing,” you murmur, eyes trained on the man with the silver cufflinks. The pin on his suit indicates he’s exactly who you’re looking for.

“Copy,” Joaquin says smoothly. “Let’s move—”

“Un segundo,” you cut in quickly, pressing into him more firmly to stop him. “Su seguridad está mirando.”

Two guards in suits that linger just far enough to not draw attention to the untrained eye have turned to look directly at you both, eyes narrowed like they’ve seen something they shouldn’t. Like they see right through you.

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate. He shifts in front of you, hand sliding to your jaw like it belongs there. “¿Confías en me?”

You raise a brow at him, like he’s asked you a silly question. And he has, you wouldn’t have agreed to go on a mission with him if you didn’t trust him. “…I’m literally undercover with you.”

He grins mischievously, eyes glittering in the low lighting. “Close enough.”

He kisses you then.

It’s delicate and unexpected, and you’re too caught up in the perfect way his lips feel against yours to remember the mission for a split second. The reality you had just promised yourself you would stay in slips away. His hands stay gentle but sure, holding your face like you’re something fragile, like he’s been waiting for an excuse.

You melt into it—just for a second, just until the guards look away. At least that’s what you tell yourself, because the thought of breaking the kiss never crosses your mind.

It’s him who pulls back, leaving you both a little breathless.

“Convincing enough, yeah?” he asks, trying to sound casual but his voice is rough. He’s clearly affected, but you chalk it up to a natural response from the body.

You clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah. They’re uninterested.”

Neither of you moves. He’s still cupping your face, his thumb absentmindedly running over your cheek. And your hands that had moved to ground you during the kiss are still fisted in the fabric of his suit. The mission calls you forward, but something heavier hangs between you—hot, unspoken, electric.

You clear your throat again, loosening your hold on him, still not daring to meet his gaze. “Listas?”

He lets out a breath. “Listo.”

The mission wraps up without a hitch. The target successfully caught, the intel procured. You’re back in the van peeling off your heels with a weighted sigh and trying not to think about the way Joaquin kissed you like he meant it.

Except, how are you meant to not think about it?

You’ve replayed it at least thirty times on the way back to the safe house, each one more embarrassing than the last. Because the thing is, it didn’t feel fake; not for a second. And now you’re stuck wondering if that was just him being good at the job, or if maybe it meant something. Something more.

That’s not a question you’ll let yourself ask though. Reality. Protection. You repeat the words to yourself multiple times.

You’re still in your dress, sitting stiffly on the couch while he moves around the tiny kitchen grabbing water bottles and energy bars like it’s any other mission night. Like he didn’t short-circuit your brain with one very public, very effective, very affectionate kiss.

He tosses a bottle your way without looking.

You recognize it for what it is; an interrogation tactic that the both of you have been taught. Meet a need no matter how small and the person is more inclined to give you the information you need.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Sure.”

You open it and take multiple sips, in an attempt to stall. But there’s nowhere for you to go. If you avoided the conversation tonight he would simply ask you in the morning with more eyes watching. At least here the two of you could talk about it alone. You won’t go down easily though.

He finally turns to face you, leans against the counter like he’s waiting for something. His expression is patient and no less warm than always.

“So,” you say, like it doesn’t feel weird. “Impeccable job out there, as always.”

He nods slowly. “You too.”

Silence.

The air’s thick with everything you’re not saying, and you start picking at the label on your bottle because suddenly you don’t know where to look.

Joaquin finally pushes off the counter and walks toward you. Not in a hurry, he’s calm and collected. Deliberate. His voice is soft when he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. You pause, voice softer when you speak again, “I’m fine. Just… y’know. Debrief brain, long night, longer morning coming. I miss my bed, my cat, eating real food.”

He tilts his head. “It’s not the mission you’re thinking about, right?”

You go quiet, opening your mouth to deny his line of questioning but nothing comes out. You’re rusty when it comes to dating or feelings of any kind— almost feeling like an antiquated machine.

He steps closer, enough to kneel in front of where you’re sitting. His hand rests gently on your knee—not pushing, just grounding.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he says apologetically. “The kiss. I didn’t plan it— I wasn’t thinking that it would make you uncomfortable. Pero, querida… fue real.”

You finally look at him, wide-eyed unsure of what to say. It was real. He meant it. He meant to kiss you.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” he admits, his thumb mirroring his movements from before, stroking the curve of your knee. “The op just gave me an excuse.”

Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to. “Oh.”

He gives a breath of a laugh. “That’s all you’ve got?” he teases.

You blink. “No, I mean—yeah, I mean—I— well.”

He squeezes your knee in an attempt to comfort you, “Breathe, princesa. It’s just me. You can tell me anything.”

At his urging you pause to take a breath, finally able to say, “It didn’t feel fake to me either.”

That earns you a soft, slow smile. Joaquin settles more firmly on his knees in front of you, ducking his head so that you have to meet his gaze. “So how about we try it again sometime,” he says, “no mission, no cover story—just us?”

You grin, a little shy. A little anxious. Isn’t this what you’ve been trying to avoid? Reality and protection. But this reality as far as you can tell. You look at him, your eyes searching, skimming through the depth of his brown eyes. You’re met with nothing but warmth, with reverence and hope.

“Are you asking me out, Torres? Really?”

“Damn right I am. If you let me,” he adds after a moment, voice gentler.

You let yourself look at him—really look—and for once, you stop fighting the warmth that blooms in your chest every time you’re with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay. I think I’d like that.”

He pushes up, hand cupping your cheek like before so that he can kiss you.

And this second kiss?

It’s slower, softer— more thorough with no eyes watching and all the time in the world.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl

[gf2bellamy]

helloooo

ive recently been reading your spencer fics and i absolutely adore your writing! i was wondering if you could write a sick/comfort fic where the reader is sick and spencer takes care of them until they're feeling better

thanks x

sick — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, reader is sick , reader has a headache and has a fever , mention of medicine a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this <3

You felt awful. Completely and utterly miserable. Your body ached, your head throbbed, and no matter what you did, you just couldn’t get comfortable.

One second, you were burning up, the next, you were freezing. You groaned in frustration as you tossed and turned, trying to find a position that didn’t make you feel like a furnace or an ice cube. 

Just as you were about to give up and resign yourself to a sleepless night, a soft knock echoed from your front door. You frowned, sitting up with a wince, your limbs sluggish from exhaustion.

Begrudgingly, you swung your legs over the couch, tugging the oversized sweater—Spencer’s sweater—down over your thighs as you shuffled to the door. 

When you cracked it open, the last person you expected to see was standing on the other side. 

“Spencer?” Your tired, bleary eyes widened slightly in surprise as you took in his familiar face. 

He stood there, concern etched into his features, a plastic bag in one hand. His sharp eyes quickly scanned you from head to toe, taking in your fever-flushed skin, your disheveled hair, the blanket barely hanging off your shoulders. 

“Hi,” he greeted softly, his brows furrowing. “Can I come in?” 

You stepped aside without a word, widening the door as he entered. As soon as he stepped inside, he shrugged off his jacket and toed off his shoes, all while keeping an eye on you.

You barely had the energy to talk as you trudged back to the couch, plopping down with an exhausted sigh. 

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked as he set the bag down on the coffee table, his voice gentle. 

“Good,” you muttered half-heartedly, sinking further into the cushions. 

Spencer scoffed, settling beside you as he nudged your legs out of the way to make room. “Yeah, because your hoarse voice, the dark circles under your eyes, and the medicine bottles on the table all scream ‘good.’” His voice was laced with dry sarcasm, but his fingers were delicate as they brushed your hair back, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. 

You sighed at the cool touch, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“Spencer,” you murmured, peeking up at him, “what are you doing here? You're going to get sick.” 

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he dug through the bag, pulling out a bottle of medicine and a box of tea before turning back to you. “I was worried about you,” he admitted, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “And I don’t care if I get sick.” 

Your lips parted, ready to protest, but Spencer’s hand lingered on your face. His touch was comforting, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to your feverish skin. 

“Did you eat anything?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with concern. 

You raised a lazy hand, pointing toward the half-empty sleeve of crackers on the table. 

Spencer followed your gaze, frowning. “That’s not food,” he muttered under his breath. Before you could argue, he was already standing up. “I’m making you soup.” 

You reached out instinctively, catching his hand before he could walk away. “Thanks, Spence,” you whispered, your grip weak.

He smiled down at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before heading to the kitchen. 

Some time later, you found yourself curled up against him, your head resting on his shoulder as a movie played in the background.

Spencer’s warmth beside you was soothing, and as the movie played in the background, your exhaustion started to creep in again. You barely paid attention to the screen—your focus was on the way his fingers absentmindedly traced soft patterns along your arm. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked after a while, tilting his head slightly to look at you. 

You let out a small hum, neither confirming nor denying it.

You felt... calmer, at least. Maybe it was the soup, or the medicine starting to kick in. Or maybe it was just him. 

Spencer chuckled softly, shifting a little to pull the blanket up around you both. “That bad, huh?” 

You sighed. “Still feel awful. But this is nice.” 

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, that's good.”

You nestled further into his side, letting your head rest more comfortably against his shoulder. Spencer didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he adjusted slightly to support you better. His arm draped loosely around you, his fingertips brushing over the fabric of his sweater that you were still wearing. 

“You should sleep,” he murmured after a few minutes of silence. 

“Can’t.” 

Spencer didn’t push you. Instead, he gently reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb traced slow, absentminded circles against your skin.

“You know,” he started, his voice quiet, “there’s a study that shows listening to someone read can help with sleep. Something about the cadence of a familiar voice activating relaxation responses in the brain.” 

You cracked one eye open, looking up at him. “Are you offering to read to me?” 

He smirked slightly. “Would that help?” 

You gave a small, tired nod.

Spencer reached for the bag he’d brought, pulling out a book—of course, he had a book with him. You weren’t even surprised. He adjusted his posture, letting you settle against him more comfortably before flipping the pages. 

You weren’t sure when exactly sleep finally won over, but the last thing you felt before drifting off was Spencer’s hand squeezing yours, his voice lulling you into the best rest you’d had in days. 

[chansdoll]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 방찬ㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤone nightㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

★ pairing。idol!chan x fan afab!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g. ╰・ smut‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。 protected sex , oral (f. receiving) , one night stand , no established relationship wc。 3.4k

lana's note!  ᰍᩚ i finally posted something ! ive been wanting to write something that has been on my mind recently, and that is... fuckboy chris, ladies and gentlemen! now, in this he isn't like a stereotypical fuckboy. he's got some class, but you definitely know what ur getting from him in this one.. no strings attached.

♡ masterlist

you barely remember the ride back to the hotel.

your skin is still buzzing from the energy of the concert—flashing lights, pounding bass, and the collective scream of thousands of fans echoing in your head like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. your throat is dry, your body aching from dancing and screaming, and your cheeks still feel hot every time you think about him.

bang chan. shirt soaked with sweat. hair pushed back from his forehead. that cocky little smirk when he caught the camera mid-thrust. god.

you close your hotel door behind you with a sigh, toeing off your shoes before peeling off your sticky clothes. the hot water of the shower is heaven, and for a while, you just stand there and let it wash the night away. you shampoo slowly, your mind replaying every moment of the concert—his voice, his body, his fucking stage presence.

and then, the crash.

post-concert crash. you're starving.

wrapped in a towel, you rifle through your bag for pajamas, tug on an oversized tee and sleep shorts, and step into the hallway with your slippers on. just a quick trip to the vending machine—nothing glamorous, just chips or candy. you shuffle down the corridor, the hallway dim and quiet except for the low hum of electricity.

you reach the vending machine and start scanning the options, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, brain still floating somewhere in the crowd you just left. you're so focused on deciding between pretzels and gummy bears that you don't hear the footsteps behind you until a voice—low, smooth, accented—cuts through the silence.

“long night?”

you freeze.

that voice.

you turn slowly, heart skipping a beat.. and there he is.

bang chan. in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, hair damp like he just showered, veins visible on his forearms as he casually crosses his arms and leans against the vending machine like he owns the whole damn hallway.

“holy shit,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

his mouth curves into a lazy smile. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“i—uh—no. you didn’t. i just... i didn’t expect—” you stop. bite your tongue. try not to scream. try not to melt.

he cocks his head, eyes scanning over you in a way that feels slow and deliberate. not sleazy—just... observant. appreciative. his gaze lingers on your bare legs, on the shape of your hips in those shorts, then flicks back to your face like he’s not even trying to hide that he was just undressing you with his eyes.

“you were at the show?” he asks, though he already knows. his smirk says it all.

you nod, heart hammering.

“how’d we do?”

you swallow. “killed it. you especially.”

his grin widens—cocky, but charming. he reaches into the vending machine slot, retrieving a protein bar, then holds it up with a soft chuckle. “can’t end the night without a snack.”

you don’t know if he’s talking about the bar or you, but the heat creeping into your cheeks says your brain’s made its choice.

chan steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “what’s your name?”

you tell him, and the way he repeats it—soft, like a secret—makes your thighs clench. there's something in the way he looks at you, like he’s already decided what’s coming next.

“so... you just here for the night?”

you nod again, trying not to drown in the tension.

he raises an eyebrow. “wanna come hang out for a bit?”

your breath catches.

he said it so casually—like it was no big deal. like inviting a complete stranger to his hotel room wasn’t... a thing. you blink up at him, still unsure whether this is real life or some fever dream your post-concert brain cooked up.

“i mean…” you hesitate, licking your lips nervously. “are you sure that’s okay?”

chan raises an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with amusement. “why wouldn’t it be?”

“i don’t know,” you laugh breathlessly. “i figured there’d be security or… staff? or, like, a dozen people watching you at all times.”

“they’re around,” he says with a shrug. “but they’re not glued to me twenty-four seven. we’re adults. i can invite someone to my room if i want to.”

his tone is smooth but not dismissive. he’s not brushing off your concern—he’s just making it clear that this isn’t his first rodeo. you’re still skeptical, though, heart pounding like a warning bell in your chest. you glance down the hallway, half-expecting a manager to materialize from the shadows and scold you both.

chan follows your gaze, then steps a little closer. not too close—he’s careful with your space—but enough that you can smell his cologne, clean and musky and warm from his skin.

“i get it,” he says gently. “you’re not sure if this is safe. or real. or a trap.” he grins. “it’s not.”

you look up at him again. “so you just… invite random girls to your room?”

his smile is crooked, charming, and maddening. “not random girls. just the ones i want to get to know better.”

that makes your stomach flip.

you exhale slowly, trying to play it cool. “okay. but if i go and something sketchy happens, i’m running and posting about it everywhere.”

he chuckles—really laughs, like he enjoys how you’re giving him a hard time. “fair enough,” he says. “you’ll even get a little paperwork before anything happens. standard procedure.”

your brows lift. “paperwork?”

“a nondisclosure agreement,” he says easily. “if you come up, you’ll sign it. that way, if we do anything... memorable, it stays between us.”

you pause. the way he says it—if we do anything memorable—isn’t pushy. there’s no pressure in his tone. but there’s an invitation in his eyes. a very, very tempting one.

“you’re serious?” you ask.

chan nods. “completely. you’re in control. you can leave whenever you want. no pressure. but if you’re curious...”

you are curious. so fucking curious.

you nibble your bottom lip, debating for a few seconds more, heart beating like a war drum in your chest.

“okay,” you say quietly.

chan’s eyes flicker with something dark and pleased. he steps back, gesturing down the hallway. “c’mon. i’m just a few doors down.”

you follow him, your entire body buzzing, every nerve in your body on edge. he swipes the keycard to his suite, and the lock clicks open.

and that’s when it really hits you. you’re about to step into bang chan’s hotel room. alone. at night. after a concert.

your whole body shivers with adrenaline.

the door shuts behind you with a quiet click. the room is dimly lit, clean and sleek with hotel-modern decor. his bag’s in the corner. there’s a laptop open on the desk. a speaker still glowing faintly. a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand. it’s lived-in in a way that makes your stomach twist.

chan tosses the protein bar onto the dresser and walks over to a drawer, pulling out a sleek folder and a pen.

he holds it out to you.

“nda,” he says, voice soft. “if you want to stay.”

you take it, fingers trembling slightly. the print is clean and formal. it’s not a joke. it’s real. it spells out exactly what you’re agreeing to—complete confidentiality, no sharing of details, photos, or anything about the time spent with him.

you scan it quickly, then glance up. “so… this happens often?”

he gives a small smile. “sometimes. i like… company. different people, different energy.” then, leaning in slightly, he murmurs, “but i never invite anyone i’m not genuinely interested in.”

that heat comes roaring back into your chest.

you sign the paper.

he takes it back, folds it neatly, and tucks it away.

then he looks at you—really looks at you.

and something shifts in his expression.

“now,” he says, voice dipping low. “where were we?”

you barely have time to process what’s happening before his hand is on your waist.

not rough—not yet—but confident, like he’s done this before. like he knows exactly what he’s doing. his palm slides around to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his. he’s warm, solid, and so much bigger up close, the tension between your bodies crackling like static.

“you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost a growl against your ear.

you nod, breath catching. “yeah.”

he doesn’t waste a second.

his mouth is on yours—hot, urgent, and claiming. there’s no hesitation in the way he kisses you, no testing the waters. he just takes, like he already knows you want to be taken. his hand fists the hem of your oversized shirt, dragging it up your body as his tongue parts your lips and makes you moan into his mouth.

“fuck,” he mutters as the shirt comes off, eyes darkening when he sees your bare chest underneath. “no bra? you came out here like this?”

you open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off by sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teeth grazing until your knees damn near buckle.

“chan—”

“shhh,” he murmurs, switching to the other. “gonna take my time with you.”

except he doesn’t. he devours you.

his hands roam everywhere—squeezing, gripping, dragging your body against his like he can’t get enough. he backs you toward the bed, lips bruising against yours again, his fingers already tugging your sleep shorts down your thighs.

he doesn’t even fully undress you before he’s dropping to his knees, hands shoving your thighs apart.

“want a taste,” he mutters, voice husky with hunger. “bet this pussy’s just as pretty as the rest of you.”

your breath stutters. “wait—you don’t have to—”

he looks up with a smirk. “who said i’m doing it for you?”

and then his mouth is on you.

god.

his arms hook under your thighs and pull you closer to the edge, locking you in place like you’re not going anywhere until he decides. he leans down, licking a soft, gentle lick along your slit first, a small groan leaving his throat as he tastes you. he then sucks softly on your lips before licking your slit firmly, gathering all the arousal that accumulated and savoring it so naughtily. 

you’re already a whining mess, his tongue making you squirm and blush. his tongue finally sneaks up to your clit, circling it and flicking on it slowly. this earns him a louder, breathy moan, and it’s like music to his ears. he groans even louder, focusing all his attention on your bundle of nerves, sucking and licking. his tongue is relentless—broad licks, slow circles, then sharp flicks right over your clit.

he doesn’t even stop to look up at you while he feasts on you, as if he’s too lost in how you taste.

you’re squirming, moaning, clutching the sheets as he eats you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do—messy, wet, fucking filthy. his nose pressed into your mound, lips glistening with your nectar.. it was unreal to witness. 

“wait—shit—i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growls against you. “give it to me.”

you fall apart on his tongue, legs trembling, thighs squeezing around his head. he groans like he enjoys it, like getting smothered by your pussy is the highlight of his night. when he finally pulls back, his chin’s wet, his lips swollen, and he’s got that smug look again—like he’s proud of wrecking you. he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand as he stands up, and you can see it. you can see his heavy cock through his sweats.

“you’re so fucking hot like this,” he mutters, standing up and yanking his tank top over his head. “gonna ruin you now.”

you barely register the words before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, stripping off your shorts the rest of the way. you hear the rustle of sweatpants hitting the floor behind you, a condom packet tearing. a soft whine leaves your lips.. a mixture of exhaustion from your orgasm, and the way he’s manhandling you sends you into a mindset you can’t explain.

then you feel him—thick, heavy, hard, sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

“you wet enough for me?” he murmurs, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding his cock through your slickness.

you whimper, arching your back. “yes.”

“say it.”

“i’m wet enough—fuck—please, chan—”

that’s all he needs.

he slams into you in one deep, brutal thrust, pulling a choked cry from your throat. he groans behind you, the sound feral, hands gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back from completely destroying you.

“fucking tight,” he growls. “god damn.”

he starts to move—deep, punishing thrusts that make your whole body jolt forward on the bed. his rhythm is relentless, rough and fast, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the hotel walls. you’re certain the others in the hotel rooms around you two can hear you, but the thought left your mind as fast as it came. 

his cock kept dragging and grinding against your gspot so good.. so heavenly that the knot in your stomach was forming already. you could feel it heating you up, making your legs numb, your cheeks flushing. 

one hand fists your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean over your body, his voice hot and heavy against your ear.

“you like being fucked like this, don’t you? bent over like a good girl.”

you nod, gasping, voice nearly gone. “yes—yes—chan, fuck—”

his hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit again. “come for me again.”

you’re already there—your body tightens, heat exploding in your core as he fucks you through your second orgasm, his pace never slowing. he’s panting now, close, hips slamming into you with punishing force as he chases his own release.

“take it—just like that—fuck, you feel so good—”

he groans loud, deep, when he finally spills into the condom, hips twitching as he thrusts through it, every muscle in his body flexing behind you.

for a long second, all you can hear is your combined breathing, ragged and heavy, sweat dripping from both of your bodies.

he pulls out slowly, hands lingering on your back, smoothing over your skin like he’s memorizing it.

then he stands, pads into the bathroom without a word, and returns with a towel to clean you up—surprisingly gentle after how rough he just was.

you sit up slowly, sore and dazed, your heart still thudding. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, slipping the condom into the trash.

neither of you speaks at first. you don’t know what to say. you want to curl into his side and stay there. you want to ask what this meant. but then he speaks—softly, almost like he’s reminding himself.

“this can’t be more than tonight.”

you glance at him, trying not to let your face fall. “i figured.”

he doesn’t look away. “not because of you. i just… can’t. it wouldn’t work.”

you nod, heart heavy but understanding.

“still,” he says, that little smirk returning. “i’m glad it was you tonight.”

you smile—bittersweet, but real.

“me too.”

your legs still feel like jelly when you leave his room.

the hallway’s quiet. cool. too quiet after the chaos that just unfolded behind that door.

you walk slowly, your heartbeat loud in your ears. your lips are swollen, your thighs sticky, your whole body sore in the most delicious way. but under all of that, there’s this sharp little ache nestled somewhere between your ribs. you try to ignore it. you try.

back in your room, you shut the door behind you and lean against it, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

it’s like the second you’re alone, everything rushes in at once.

you slept with bang chan.

bang chan.

you look down at yourself— wearing nothing but your shirt, crumpled sleep shorts and a dazed expression—and you almost laugh. there’s no way to make sense of it. no way to explain the way he touched you, looked at you, handled you like he knew exactly what you needed before you even did.

you cross the room and collapse onto the bed, letting your face bury into the pillow. you can still smell him on your skin. you can feel the weight of his hands on your hips. hear the way he said your name like he wanted to own it. own you.

you close your eyes.

and for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

pretend that he’d stayed. that he’d crawled into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, wrapped those strong arms around you, whispered something low and sleepy against your neck.

but he didn’t.

and he wasn’t going to.

“this can’t be more than tonight.”

the words echo in your head, steady and unchanging, even as your body begs you to believe there could’ve been more.

you don’t blame him. not really. you knew what it was. he made it clear.

still… there’s this ache. a stupid, quiet ache that doesn’t care how famous he is or how impossible this all is. it just knows that someone like him made you feel something real, even if it was only for a night.

you curl onto your side, biting your lip as tears prick at the corners of your eyes—not sad, not regretful, just… overwhelmed. so much happened in so little time. you don't even know what you're supposed to do with yourself now.

so you do the only thing you can.

you fall asleep, body sore and heart fluttering, wishing you could hit rewind.

just once.

just to feel him one more time.

the lobby is already alive with the low hum of travelers—coffee in hand, suitcases in tow, the echo of wheels rolling across polished floors. you’re standing near the entrance, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses hiding the dark circles under your eyes from a night that was anything but restful.

you're scrolling through your phone, checking your ride's eta, trying to pretend like your heart isn’t still racing every time your brain replays last night. every sound makes you twitch—every low male voice, every passing group of guests—until you feel it again.

that shift.

that sense that someone’s watching you.

you glance up.

and there he is.

bang chan.

black hoodie. backpack slung low on one shoulder. he’s walking with purpose, surrounded by a few members of the group, plus a staff member barking something about time.

but his eyes are on you.

and then—you see it. a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. his eyes drop to your legs—still bare from the sleep shorts you tossed on this morning, because your suitcase was a disaster and you didn’t care enough to try.

he leans in slightly and nudges someone walking beside him.

it’s lee know.

lee know raises a brow at chan, and chan doesn’t say a word—just does this cocky little half-nod in your direction.

that’s when both of them look at you.

you freeze.

chan’s expression doesn’t change—still unreadable, but with a spark of something wicked in his eyes. lee know’s brows lift just slightly, like he’s impressed but also entirely unsurprised. he murmurs something under his breath to chan, and chan just lets out this tiny laugh through his nose as they walk toward the hotel doors.

he passes right by you, no hesitation, and as he does—without looking—he murmurs, voice low and smug:

“sleep okay?”

you swear your soul leaves your body.

you feel lee know glance at you for a split second, then shake his head with a smirk, and suddenly they’re both out the doors, the van waiting.

the rest of the team follows behind them, none the wiser.

and you?

you’re standing there, cheeks burning, stomach flipping, thighs still aching.

it hits you all at once—the heat of last night, the ridiculousness of this morning, the way chan didn’t even need to say anything but still managed to completely unravel you with just a look and a word.

you shake your head to yourself as you walk outside toward your ride.

of course he told someone. of course he wanted someone to know. he’s that type—cocky, bold, and too damn good in bed not to brag a little with his eyes alone.

but somehow… you don’t even mind.

you might never see him again. might never touch him again.

but for one night, you were the girl he picked.

and everyone could see it.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @geni-627 @bbokvhs @wavetohannie @hhwangsmoon

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[k-aemi]

kaiser michael ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ handle me however you want.

smut-ish, cum.

thinking about prisoner!kaiser who got caught by the police.

hes very aggressive, not even the police could handle him his vigorous behavior. to be honest, hes probably the most handsome prisoner you met so far, but you have no time to be thinking of such silly thoughts.

as the warden, you think this is a huge success because youve been trying to capture him for about six months already. just tracking him down was hard enough.

he stands in front of you with cuffs, a blue rose tattoo that trailed from his neck to his left hand, hair, blonde to blue, a red eyeliner that made his eyes sharp and piercings that enhanced his features a lot.

“lets get this over with. all piercings must be removed.” he smirked as you prepared yourself with some gloves.

"gib dein bestes (do your best)." he stuck his tongue out, thats the first piercing. you took it out with ease. taking out the other visible ones, on his ears or eyebrows.

your detector scanning through him, on his body, where it went off where his chest was at. you lift his shirt and damn was he built so well. he can see the way you froze to admire the way his abs fluttered.

you shake your thoughts, seeing another piecing on his nipples. you take both of them off, then seeing another one on his belly button.

"just how many do you have?" you furrowed your eyebrows, scanning through again. so far nothing, until you went down to his lower region. it hit his crotch.

you slowly shift your gaze up at him and all you see is that smirk of his. "alles von dir, schöne (all yours beautiful)." you swear he was teasing you judging by that tone even when you didnt know what he said.

you cleared your throat before crouching down your knees, unbuckling the pants, releasing his pants that displayed his cock, with at least three fucking piercings. seriously, who needs that much!?

and why was he huge even soft? theres no way these german folks were like this. your hand takes hold of his cock, that you can feel stiffening by the second. carefully taking off one from his tip, but you can feel the way his cock twitched under your touched and it made you flinch.

you were slightly irritated but you musnt let that stop you. you removed one. two more to go.

your hand glides upwards a bit for a better leverage. the next piercing a bit thicker, making it hard to try and remove it carefully without harming him.

you grumbled, finally removing it with ease.

"noch einer (one more)." he chuckled and your eyebrows furrowed at his teasing. you can tell he was making fun of you at the position youre in right now despite being the warden.

you exhale a breath. "just one more and then youll lock him up!" you thought to yourself.

your thumb glazes against his tip to remove the final one. his mean red tip was twitching like hell right now, but you didnt bothered. you just needed to get this over with.

you can hear the ragged breaths he let out, it was normal, i mean after touching his most sensitive places, you dont blame him. actually you do, who has this much piercings.

taking out his last one, you finally sigh in relief. but your moments of joy were interrupted with him releasing his sticky white hot lava on you. you yelp from the sudden burst as he lets out little grunts before grinning at the facial he gave you.

"sah zu hübsch aus, ich konnte nicht anders (looked too pretty, i couldn't help myself)." you were so going to give him the worst treatment.

ive been thinking about this so why not write :P

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @kaiserpussy

[chrrific]

UNDERCOVER. ✶ BABY, YOU GOT LUCKY CAUSE YOU’RE ROCKIN’ WITH THE BEST.

précis your long time rival at decelis spy corporations, agent niki — or agent twilight — has been paired up with you for a mission, with one small requirement; you have to be each other’s date to a gala, where allegedly, a member of the mafia will be that night. all you have to do, is be his partner for the night, and suck your hate for him up. what could go wrong?

&& 엔하이픈西村力 mission partner!niki / rival!niki x 𝑓. spy!rea wc k ─── rivals to lovers (?) one sided hate relationship for the sake of the mission typa thing fluff l’avis skinship fake relationship slight tension

MiCK ✉️ this one is for @glittercrashhh / yin >< thanks for the request, it’s been a long time since ive gotten one and i needed the inspo ! lots of love, and happy reading ^o^ you can find the request here !!

enhypen shelf ✿ bonedo shelf 𔓘 daily click

you abhorred the fact that when niki told you that wearing four inch heels was not the best choice for tonight’s gala, he was right.

your feet were killing you, and it was only an hour into the night. picking up on your shifting feet and eyes scanning your face to find a slight frown, he smirked, taking a sip of his mocktail before speaking. “feet hurt already? i thought you were going to be alright,”

you cringed inwardly at his quoting of your earlier words, regretting saying them in the first place. “so what if they hurt? it’s not like you care, anyway.” you retorted, avoiding his piercing gaze and instead scanning the room for anyone who matched the description of the target assigned to you and him.

niki paused slightly, letting out a soft scoff. “i— well, not my fault that if we have to chase someone down tonight, you either have to run barefoot or stay behind.” you rolled your eyes at his words, bottom lip catching between your teeth as you felt a dull sting in your feet from the heels.

niki noticed, of course he did.

he felt a pang in his chest for some reason, as he thought of the fact that you were probably in pain. why was he even feeling that way — you were just a mission partner and his rival. nothing more, nothing less.

but why was it so, that his heart wanted, no, needed more?

he wasn’t stupid, he knew the telltale signs of a crush; nervousness around them, flutters in your heart, and the want to be around them and help them.

and unexplainably, he felt all of that for you. you, the number one on his most hated list for years on end: you, the one who stepped on his foot with your heels once, and sprained his toe: you, the one who made him feel like he was about to genuinely combust from how mind-bogglingly pretty you looked tonight.

he shook it off: you were his forever enemy, not a probable love interest. it would be foolish to even dream that you feel the same way for him, wouldnt it?

well, unbeknownst to niki, you did. your breath caught the second he pulled up in his car at your apartment, the dark suit and his neatly styled black hair with just the right amount of strands wisping out making you second guess your feelings. it was stupid that you felt that way, but you couldn’t control the way your heart stuttered with every glance you threw his way.

you tried your best to pretend to be annoyed — it was normal for you to be mad at him — but it was getting harder by the second. what made it ever harder was when he spoke up next.

“do you want to take off your shoes? i kept an extra pair of them in my car because i knew you might need them,” he said, voice nonchalant, although he was avoiding your gaze a little.

oh.

oh.

you turned to look at him with an expression of incredulity, eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. “what? don’t give me that look, it looks like i’ve told you the earth was flat and not that i have sneakers in my car.” he rolled his eyes slightly, but the smirk the tugged at his lips betrayed his attempts to stay nonchalant.

“oh, please, nishimura. when have you ever done anything nice for me before this?” you scoffed, though your stomach was flipping inside. “i wouldn’t be surprised if you were trying to poison me or something,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest.

“well, y/n, if you’re that scared, i’ll go and get them for you.” he suggested, watching you contemplate his offer. after a moment, you shrugged, then nodded once. he took that as a yes, and took off to the car park, saying he’ll be back soon.

watching his frame disappear from the room, you were unconsciously smiling, before you felt an appearance next to you.

it was a man, who seemed to be around fifty, holding out a glass of champagne for you to take. feeling slightly weirded out, you shook your head. “sorry, i don’t drink.”

“oh, you don’t? well then, how old are you, gorgeous?” gorgeous? okay, now you were really weirded out. “i-i’d prefer not to say, thanks.” you tried your best to sound unshaken, but your voice wavered a little as you spoke.

the man took a step closer, and you stepped back, only for your back to hit the cool wall; a stark contrast to the uncomfortable heat prickling your skin.

just as he was about to say something else, a gentle hand wrapped around your wrist. you looked up, confused at the sight; it was niki. and he did not look happy.

“listen up. she’s not comfortable with you being all up in her space like that, and you need to be able to figure that out. get away from her, and if i see you around her again, you don’t want to know what i’m going to do to you. am i understood?” his voice was surprisingly dark, low, and filled with a hint of annoyance, protectiveness, even.

the man, startled by niki’s sudden presence, nodded, and walked off with a half-hearted ‘sorry’.

you heaved a sigh of relief as you got your personal space back, leaning your head back on the wall. niki’s tone and expression both softened as he turned to look at you, concern etched into it as well.

“are you alright, y/n? i… he didn’t do anything except trouble you, did he?” you shook your head, suddenly hyper-aware of the lack of space between your lips and his.

“good. and by the way, i got the shoes.” those words made your eyes light up in happiness, the previous encounter long forgotten.

“oh my god, thank you so, so much. my feet feel like they’re dying,” you smiled a bit, before crouching to take the torture devices that we call heels, off and replace them with the shoes that were a little too big on you, but they were much more comfortable than the heels.

niki watched as you put them on, a smile tugging at his lips. how could you be so adorable about shoes, for gods sake?

you straightened back up, only for your phone to buzz in your purse. pulling it out, you read the text bubble popping up on your screen, only for your eyes to widen and your elbow to nudge niki’s arm to get his attention.

“the target’s here.”

“where?”

“rooftop of the left wing. let’s go,” you gestured for him to follow. “and discreetly, okay?”

he nodded at your addition, following you up to the left wing where the entire purpose of this mission was.

throwing a glance at your direction as you both stilled in front of the door to the roof, his eyes locked with yours, many emotions swirling through: determination, awareness and a little bit of love hidden deep down in the mix…

💌 @strvvy-anniee @liwinly @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @sol3chu @puma-riki @xeee334 @suhiiiies-blog @haerinheartss @layzfy @manaah02 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @deluluscenarios @hazelira @llovelili @fleuressnie @fleuryns

thank you for reading ! likes + reblogs & feedbacks are appreciated ><

© CHRRIFIC 2025 ୨ৎ

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 4

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[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Ectopic pregnancy; blood; violence; gory description; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Emergency Room was already humming when you stepped in. You walked through the sliding doors, scrub top sticking to your shoulder blades where your bag had rested, your badge swinging with each step. The scent of antiseptic and saline entered your senses.

“Williams.” Dana’s voice floated over from the nurses’ station. Clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in the other. “You’ve got that ‘I slept four hours and regretted every minute’ look.”

“At least on nights no one expects me to look awake,” you scoffed.

“I didn’t want to seem too well-rested,” you replied, suppressing a yawn. “Bad for team morale.”

You weren’t sure when the hospital had started feeling more like reality than your apartment. You hadn’t slept well since changing to day shift over a week ago, your body not adjusting to sunlight had left you in limbo.

Your first case came in less than twenty minutes later.

Code Blue—female, late twenties, syncopal episode, hypotensive. Report from EMS said she collapsed in her apartment bathroom, pulse thready, GCS dropping en route. ETA two minutes.

The trauma bay swelled with motion before the doors even opened. You reached for gloves without thinking, your brain already mapping out differentials: ruptured AAA? Sepsis? Internal bleeding?

Then she was wheeled in—ashen, barely breathing, soaked in sweat. EMS was shouting vitals, and someone called out, “Positive pregnancy test. LMP unknown. No trauma history.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Get her on O2,” you snapped, stepping in. “Two large-bore IVs, run a bolus. CBC, coags, type and cross. I want a pelvic—”

“She’s hypotensive,” Perlah said. “BP seventy over forty and falling.”

Your eyes scanned the abdomen—distended, rigid.

Robby was suddenly at your side, already snapping sterile gloves on. “Could be ectopic.”

You didn’t need to answer. The look you shared said enough.

“Let’s do the bedside,” he said, and you nodded.

He handed you the ultrasound probe with steady hands “Transabdominal first,” you murmured, angling the screen. “Uterine stripe is empty…”

“Check Morrison’s pouch.”

You slid the probe, and there it was: free fluid collecting near the liver. You didn’t need a positive pregnancy test anymore.

“She’s bleeding out,” you said, your voice low but calm. “Internal rupture.”

Robby met your eyes. “OR, now.”

“Call OB,” you barked. “We need the rapid transfuser. Get a trauma pack—no, two.”

There was blood. Too much of it. But your hands stayed steady as you started the line. Robby worked the airway, quick and efficient, while you coordinated the push to surgery. The two of you didn’t speak beyond commands to the residents, but the rhythm was still there—tight, fluid, unspoken.

When the gurney finally wheeled her out, you stayed frozen in place for a second, gloves soaked, the adrenaline still ricocheting through your chest.

You peeled off your gown and leaned against the wall just outside the trauma one. Breathing finally caught up to you. The world tilted back into focus.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Quiet enough that it didn’t carry.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically. Then, softer, “It’s just… fast.”

He watched you for a moment. “You’ll learn to breathe in the middle of it.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, but you took comfort in it anyway

At lunch, you leaned beside him on the rails of the rooftop. It had become habitual to find yourself up here with him during your shifts, finding a small moment of quiet.

“You ever get used to it?” you asked, not quite looking at him. “The… not knowing how things end?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, hands gripping the rails “No,” he said finally. “You just get better at compartmentalizing.”

“That sounds bleak.”

“It’s honest.”

Another pause. Your eyes flicked toward him, catching the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Not quite from age. More like from carrying too much.

You tilted your head. “You ever take a day off?”

He glanced over at you. “You ever stop asking questions?”

You smirked. “Touché.”

A pause.

“You talk like someone who’s burned out and pretending not to be.”

He glanced at you, surprised. “You talk like someone who sees more than she says.”

You didn’t answer that.

Late afternoon hit you like a sledgehammer. A code blue on 4 East, two pediatric lacerations back-to-back, and a psych hold in Room 9 who threw a bedpan at you because you wouldn’t let him leave AMA.

You didn’t know Robby had seen that until you found an energy drink waiting at the nurses’ station.

No note. No acknowledgment.

You almost smiled. Almost.

You blamed your lack of sleep, but your last case got to you. It was a diabetic foot ulcer gone septic. The smell alone made your eyes water, and the patient was aggressive and confused.

You powered through the dressing, the orders, and the call to vascular. You didn’t realize how tightly your jaw was clenched until you stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

“Hey.”

You opened them to find Robby standing in front of you, arms crossed, watching you with something like… caution. Or concern.

“You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… one of those days.”

“You handled it.”

“Barely.”

He looked at you, long enough that you felt your stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just… uncomfortably aware.

“You’re allowed to struggle, Williams. Doesn’t make you weaker.”

You nodded, swallowing past the thickness in your throat.

“I just hate that I care so much,” you said. “About getting it right. About being good.”

He hesitated. Then, softer, “That’s exactly why you will be.”

There was silence between you then. Not awkward. Just… still.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Eventually, you broke it. “If you say something profound and walk away dramatically, I swear I will beg Dr. Shen to take me back-”

He snorted. “I’ll save the theatrics for tomorrow.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t leave until nearly eight. Your shift had ended an hour ago, but you’d found yourself lingering—checking your charts, double-reading labs, pretending like you hadn’t just been waiting for your heartbeat to slow down.

You finally stepped out into the night, air cool against your skin. You were halfway to the parking lot when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You always stay this late?” Robby asked, walking up beside you.

You shrugged. “I was just being thorough.”

He tilted his head. “And the real reason?”

“I don’t know how to turn it off,” you confessed quietly.

He nodded like he understood. Because maybe, he did.

You walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers, headlights flashing in the distance.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, just as you reached your car. “You’re not just surviving this place. You’re learning it.”

You looked at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

A pause. His voice dropped slightly, not softer but lower. “And you’re not easy to intimidate.”

You almost smiled. “I fake it really well.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something else. Like he almost did.

Instead, he stepped back.

“Night, Williams.”

You climbed into your car, closed the door, and sat there for a long moment before starting the engine.

He still hadn’t said your first name.

And somehow, that felt like its own kind of tension.

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Chapter 3: An apple a day..

You're frustrated, your limbs shake and you struggle to even hold a plastic spoon without dropping it, you've been injured and bed bound countless times sure, but this feels like the most helpless you've ever been. You feel like a toddler, limbs weak and twitching and the medicine they've got you on doesn't help at all, nausea and brain fog feel like close friends at this point. Every time the door to your room opens you wonder if it's gonna be your teammates, telling you this was all a misunderstanding, you'd almost accept a sick prank if it meant you weren't going insane in this tiny linoleum floored room by your lonesome.

The staff's not very careful with their medical equipment, you note. Even with your shaky hands you've managed to snag a syringe and a bit of tubing and hidden it under your mattress, it's hardly anything, but a weapons a weapon. it gives you a tiny piece of confidence in this situation, maybe you'll be able to take someone out if worse comes to worse.

🔹🔹🔹

The doctor's back, Doing his final sweep before his shifts over according to him, you don't trust has word though since you've heard the nurses complaining about doing too much per shift. Why is he focused on you? At the moment he's prepping another dose of Thiamine across the room, the though of him injecting anything into your IV sets you on edge in the worst of ways, but you force yourself to smile at him and look relaxed, your fists clench underneath the blanket to stop yourself from going for the syringe when he approaches. He's too cheery, too comfortable in your presence, even your co-workers aren't so calm with you, stark doesn't turn his back to you, rogers watches you too often, that's your normal, compared to the situation you're in now you’d take it over this borderline creepy behavior.

“Your scans are already looking better, mx Wayne. When you were first brought in I wasn't sure what to expect but your recovery is looking perfect at this stage.” the doctor remarks casually, disposing of the syringe after dosing you.

You sharply glance over, what did you look like when you first came in? Something related to the fall? “What caused my injuries?”

He opens his mouth to answer, looking at you with a serious expression on his face when something loud bangs outside the door -

“Wait you have to sign in!” You hear out in the rest of the facility, one of the nurses sounding frantic. Your heart rate jumps and your hand curls around the syringe just as the door to your room slams open. It's the mystery husband Mr Wayne.

His suit is slightly rumpled, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkempt like he'd ran his hand through it, a far cry from the polished man in the photo you were shown. The way he looks at you makes your skin crawl. there's too much raw emotion there, too much familiarity that you don't share. You keep your face carefully neutral as he approaches, your fingers twitching around the syringe beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“God, look at you…”

He doesn't hesitate to cup your face as soon as he reaches you, he breathes your name with such aching reverence and familiarity you'd think it was a prayer. eyes searching yours as his thumbs tenderly rub against your cool cheeks, it takes a surprising amount of restraint to hold still, let the man examine you like a chipped teacup. He let's out a shaky breath and his whole body just…sags, you don't like the way he subconsciously leans in, it's too real, the body language too genuine. You're tense enough to hurt.

“Mr Wayne, if I could have a moment.” The doctor speaks hesitantly from nearby, pulling attention to him and the hands pull from your face. You resist a sigh of relief as the stranger pulls back, your hand slowly releasing the syringe and tucking it back under the thin mattress.

Wayne straightens up, a just too thin smile stretches his face and he puts his right hand in his pocket, interesting, hiding irritation? You analyze every inch of him as soon as he looks away, you need more information then you have, Your hands clench under the blankets in veiled frustration.

Their conversation is hushed, no doubt you're the main topic of discussion, their body language is mixed, “Mr Wayne” shows agitation, shifting weight, tense hands in his pockets, head keeps turning to glance at you. The doctor is deferring to him, head slightly lowered and palms up as he speaks, Who is this Wayne man?

After hearing words like “amnesia” and “head trauma” a few times you realize he wasn't informed by the doctors, unless this is all an act for you. Trying to convince you of what though? You don't know what they're playing at yet but you're going to find out, it's what you're best at after all.

The man returns to your bedside and carefully sits, thankfully keeping his hands to himself this time as he examines you, you've got things to figure out so you put on an expression of lost, body language conveying uncertainty and tiredness you don't have to fake that part though.

“nice to meet my partner,” you give an uncertain smile, voice drained and small, you're carefully watching him and he seems to be eating it up

“It's…nice to see you, meet you…. I'm - how are you feeling?”

You smile cluelessly at him, though internally you're cringing at the syrupy awkwardness dripping from his lips. He's attached to you and you don't know anything about him.

“tired, nauseous.” You pull the appropriate expression at that. “I'm…. Confused, I don't even know…anything. How old i am, what city I live in. We're married?” You look at him dazedly, fishing for information as you twist in your hospital bed to face him better.

“Yeah, yeah we're married…we have a family, pets, vacation home in Barcelona. Do you remember any of the kids?” He sounds like he's choking on the words, his voice catching a he studies you. His eyes darting to the side of your head from time to time.

“no, kids plural?” Your brows raise, Rugrats, you? No fucking way.

“Yeah, a lot of kids…” he shakily pulls his phone out, his lock screen is a picture of the two of you, what the hell? He starts showing you pictures of the kids and telling you their names. None of them look like you, you question him about that and he chuckles quietly to himself.

“Well, they're not mine either for your information. Except for Damian that is, he's mine…. Happened before we were married.” He elaborates quickly, clearly thinking you'd get upset. “We're adoptees.”

You're silent as you take in all that information, white picket fence marriage with a gaggle of adopted children? What is this a Hallmark movie? Sickening. You lay your head against the pillow and gesture towards him when you notice his eyes on you, asking to look through the phone like you're interested in seeing the kids. You're good at acting at the very least.

🔹🔹🔹

After Bruce was kicked out of the hospital he makes a call and slowly trudged through the halls and doors until he found himself in the parking garage climbing into his car. He plugs his phone in and calls Alfred while he starts to pull out of the hospital parking.

“Master Bruce, how was it? Were they coherent? I heard they were…”

The older man's voice echoes from the dash after the Bluetooth connects, he sounds professional as always but Bruce can tell he's hesitant.

“They're amnesiac, yeah. They don't know who they are, who I am.” Bruce's hands clench around the steering wheel.

“I…I am sorry to hear that, my boy. I had hoped that the information was a fluke…” even without seeing him Bruce can tell the older man's disappointed, he can almost picture him slumping against a counter or wall.

“Alfred they're…” his voice trails, sounding offput.

“Yes?” Alfred's voice perks up again, no doubt hoping for something better to discuss.

“…they were studying me, not like they were confused. Alfred, no they were reading me.” Bruce's eyes remain in the road even though he's alone in the car.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: hope the dialogue isn't too cringe, I'm new at this! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter regardless ☺️

Taglist: @cxcilla @redsakura101 @mercuryathens @dind1n

[imreidswifey]

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐳𝐞

Jealous!Spencer x reader

Summary: At a lively party, you catch up with an old friend—until you feel Spencer Reid’s intense gaze from across the room.

w/c: ~1,350

a/n: this is a little different than I usually write but ive been obsessed with jealous Spencer lately and just needed to write a couple fics!

The party was alive with movement, voices blending into a steady hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music. You hadn’t expected the night to be quite so extravagant, but here you were—wrapped in the glow of chandeliers, slipping between conversations, and occasionally sipping from a glass of wine that had long since lost its chill.

It wasn’t your usual scene, but Spencer had been invited by someone from the Bureau, and you had agreed to come along, not wanting him to navigate the social waters alone. He wasn’t bad at it—he could charm anyone with his encyclopedic knowledge and genuine, if slightly awkward, enthusiasm. But you knew large crowds weren’t his favorite, and you had promised to stay by his side.

Except, at the moment, you weren’t.

You’d run into an old friend from college, someone you hadn’t seen in years, and your conversation had stretched on longer than you’d anticipated. The laughter came easy, and nostalgia had a way of pulling you under like an undertow, making time slip away. But as you tilted your head back in a soft chuckle at something your friend had said, a strange feeling prickled at the back of your neck. A presence. A gaze.

Your eyes lifted instinctively, scanning the room.

And then you saw him.

Spencer stood across the room, tall and composed in his dark suit, his tie slightly loosened, his hair curling at his temples in that way it always did when the night grew long. But it wasn’t his appearance that made your breath hitch—it was his eyes.

Deep, unreadable, and smoldering with something unspoken, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The usual warmth in his hazel eyes had darkened, replaced by something possessive, something fierce. It was rare to see this side of him so plainly, and yet, there it was—undeniable, searing, and entirely focused on you.

Your pulse fluttered.

He wasn’t just looking at you. He was staking his claim.

It wasn’t jealousy, not in the petty sense. It was deeper than that—an unspoken declaration, a silent promise that, no matter who stood beside you, your heart belonged to him. And he would guard it with everything he had.

The realization sent a thrill through you.

Your friend, oblivious to the shift in your demeanor, continued talking, but the words blurred at the edges. The party, the noise, the music—all of it dulled until the only thing that existed was the space between you and Spencer.

You knew him. You knew how much he loved you, how fiercely he cared, how deeply he felt everything. Spencer wasn’t the type to be openly possessive, nor was he one to interrupt your conversations with unwarranted suspicion. But that look? That was different. That was Spencer letting himself feel something he usually buried beneath logic and restraint.

And it made your heart ache in the best way.

Slowly, deliberately, you excused yourself from the conversation, murmuring something about needing a drink, and wove your way through the crowd toward him.

His eyes never left you.

When you finally reached him, you tilted your head up, searching his face. The party continued to whirl around you, but in this moment, it was just the two of you.

“Spencer,” you murmured, the name a soft breath between you.

His lips parted slightly, his throat working as if he were trying to find the right words. But instead of speaking, he reached for you—one hand settling at your waist, the other ghosting over your arm before trailing down to your fingers, intertwining them with his.

“You disappeared on me,” he finally said, voice low.

You smiled. “I didn’t disappear. I was just catching up with an old friend.”

His jaw tightened for the briefest second before he exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I know,” he admitted, fingers tightening around yours. “I just—” He hesitated, then, quieter, “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Your heart flipped.

Spencer wasn’t one to say things like that often—not with so many people around, not in such a raw, unfiltered way.

You squeezed his hand. “You looked at me like you were afraid I’d disappear.”

His eyes softened, the sharp edge of his intensity giving way to something even more profound. “Not afraid. Just…” He let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I love you.”

The words hit you square in the chest, not because they were new—he’d said them before—but because of the way he said them. Like they were everything. Like you were everything.

A slow, knowing smile spread across your lips. “I know.”

Spencer exhaled a laugh, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. The warmth of him, the steadiness of his presence, the sheer weight of his love—it surrounded you, filling every space inside you that had ever been empty.

“You’re mine, you know,” he murmured. “Not in a way that traps you. But in a way that means I will always be here, always love you, always—”

“Guard my heart?” you finished for him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

His lips quirked. “Something like that.”

You reached up, fingertips brushing along the sharp line of his jaw before you pulled him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

And across the room, the party continued. But here, in Spencer’s arms, nothing else existed.

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere batfam with a sick reader?

Yes but sick reader who is still defiant because hello, they kidnapped you?????

Reader is just glaring at them with tired eyes and a red nose as they once again tuck her under the covers, Dick is highly worried as he frets over you like a mama hen because he did have a heart attack when he caught you standing in front of your open window, where "harsh" gusts of cold air were "attacking your fragile form", so of course, he had to drag you in and wrap his arms around you, rub his cheek against you because he NEEDS to warm you immediately, lest you die of hypothermia.

Yes, Dick overreacts. And yes, Damian will accompany his brother in his delusions, or well, take any chance he gets to scold you.

"You should be in bed, Y/n." Damian said sternly, his eyes narrowed because how dare you worry his favourite brother like this. "Didn't Dick tell you to rest? Are you that incapable of following simple commands?"

You narrowed your eyes back at him, opening your mouth to say something mean but got cut off by your own coughing fit, making Dick rush to help you drink some water, rubbing your back along it. Your throat felt scractchy, and it hurt to speak, but you still wanted to convey your feelings so-

You flipped him off. For a nano second, because Dick immediately grabbed your hand and tucked it back under the covers while Damian's eyes widened at you disrespect, but before he could make any more gremlin noises, but Bruce walked in and Damian knew better than to complain to him about you when youre already sick, cause Bruce wouldve still favoured you.

"Y/n? How do you feel now?" Bruce asked, his voice gentle as he walked closer to where Dick was throwing away your mountain of tissues.

"Im fine. I wanna go out-" "No." "And why not?" "Because youre sick." "You may be Batman, but youre not a doctor!" "I am your father though."

No, youre not. You wanted to say, but knew that would only piss him off and you need to be on his good side if you want Dick and the others to be off your back so that you can escape.

"Whats her temperature?" Bruce asked Dick, who put a thermometer in your mouth quickly. Dick sighed as he told Bruce how you were out of bed and standing in your balcony in the cold just moments ago.

Bruce placed a palm over your forehead, and you tried to move away but there wasnt really any space or energy for you to do that. Bruce's eyes shifted the slightest bit at your burning forehead. "Why do you insist on getting out of bed and sleeping on the floor? Ive already had to pick you up 3 times in the past 2 days."

You pulled out the thermometer and glared at him. "Im fine. Its just sniffles." Bruce's lip quirked a little. You looked absolutely adorable in your delirious state, like an angry kitten.

"I dont think its just sniffles this time. And-" Bruce pulled the thermometer from your hands that you were hiding under the covers. "-dont hide the thermometer from me." His eyes scanned it and the twitch in his brow was enough for Dick to know that the number was too high.

Bruce then eyed the cough syrup next to your side table- its still full.

"Why havent you been taking your medicine?"

"Im not sick-"

"White paint has more color than you do right now. So why havent you been taking the medicine?" Bruce asked and even though he was a little annoyed, he had enough practice dealing with the other kid's rebellious phases to have the patience of a saint.

You shrugged. "How do I know its just cough syrup and not a sedative?" "It is a sedative too. Its supposed to make you sleepy." "Well, I dont wanna sleep and let my guard down in a house full of 5 strange men." You obviously never counted Alfred- hes the only normal one here- except for the part that he wont call the cops for you, but oh well.

Bruce just casted a look to Dick and before you knew it, Dick was pinching your nostrils close and titling your head up while Bruce grabbed the syrup and poured some in your mouth before clamping his hand over it. You struggled to break free, but you were obviously no match to them. Still, tears of frustration pricked your eyes as you looked at them in betrayal and hatred.

"Drink this and dont argue with me, please." Bruce said- well, he genuinely requested at this point.

You didnt have much of a choice other than swallowing it.

With a defiant glare, you begin closing your eyes as your body gave into the effects of the drug, the last thing that you felt were Bruce kissing your forehead while Dick pecked your cheek.

Jason finally decides to drop by the Wayne manor, only to be greeted with the sight of reader lying on the kitchen floor. His heart stopped for a moment- you werent breathing-

"Y/n!" He rushed to your side, only to be smacked in the face by you.

"Shush. Dont be too loud." Your voice sounded like sandpaper against rocks.

Jason huffed. "Well, sorry for freaking out. I thought you were dead-"

"From a cough? Im not weak."

"Yeah? So, what exactly are you doing on the cold floor in the middle of the night?"

"..."

"Well?"

"What? So I cant even take a nap in this house? Jesus Christ, am I allowed to have any autonomy here?"

"Y/n." Jason called, clearly unamused by your sarcasm.

"Fine. I may have fallen and then didnt have the energy to get up, so im just catching my breath here."

"Why are you even out of bed?"

"I was hungry and Im not gonna drink another spoon of Alfred's bland soup again." Alfred made it bland on purpose so that your throat wouldnt be irritated.

"Please stop wasting whats left of your voice on complaints of the soup that you cant even taste." Jason chuckled as he picked you up, only for you to push at his chest weakly.

"I dont need your help. I can walk on my own."

Jason quirked a brow. "If you can make it to the front door without fainting or throwing up, I'll help you escape." You stared at the front door- it wasnt too far, but judging by the fact that its even hard for you to breathe properly and that youve fainted way too many times by just standing for more than a couple of minutes.

But youre stubborn. With great effort, you pushed yourself off Jason and used the kitchen island to pull yourself up. Jason decided to walk in front of you and stand near the kitchen exit because he really wanted to see your struggling face.

You took a trembling step, then another, one hand still using the support of the island until it ended and you were only a couple of feet away from Jason. At this point, you were already out of breath and when you took another step, your legs gave out and the room began spinning.

Luckily, Jason was quick to react. "Alright, just place your arm around mine- or just fall on me, that works too." He teased when you couldnt hold your body weight.

You slumped in his arms. "Just take me to my room." You huffed.

"Alright." Jason lifted your legs up and carried you back up the stairs. "You know you'd get better a lot faster if you just stayed in bed and took your medicine on time. Wouldnt that make your chances of escaping the manor better?"

You stared at him blankly. "Wow. The world must be ending for Jason Todd to be making logical suggestions."

Jason rolled his eyes as he tucked you in bed. "Im just saying, if you get better faster, you'll get to try running from us quicker too."

How do you explain to him that you just dont want to comply to them, even when they're helping you. How do you explain that you dont wanna listen to them because the soft pitiful, patronising look they get in their eyes when they look at you makes you wanna scream and carve your skin out. These are strangers, rich men who just kidnapped you to be a part of their family. No one is that kind. And nothing ever comes for free. Nothing.

"Do you need something? Food, perhaps?" Jason asked. You shook your head. "No, I think Im gonna throw up."

"Oh shit." Jason was hauling his ass out of the room t get you a bucket, only to return with a backpack.

You barely held your puke as you asked. "Wait- whose is this?"

"I dont know!? Damian's?!"

You grinned. "Oh, perfect." You proceeded to throw up into Damian's bag. That little shit just got on your nerves.

BONUS:

"I know you have attachment issues with your blanket but its been a couple of days now and you need to let me wash it." Dick said, trying to tug it out of your grip.

You sniffled and glared. "Im not a child who needs their blankie, Dick. Im just too cold without it and no other blanket can warm me up the same way it does."

"Give the blankie, Y/n." Dick said seriously.

"Its not a blankie." You retorted, but before you could react, Tim suddenly grabbed you while Dick ripped away the blanket. And even though he immediately replaces it with a clean blanket, you still let out a gut wrenching cry

"You'll have it back tomorrow-" Tim starts saying, only for you to sneeze directly in his face, making him freeze.

"And that's why we use tissues." Dick says, wiping both your nose and Tim's face with tissues, while you're not making any effort to suppress the grin that comes on your lips.