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d-z20 · 2 months ago

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Neighbourly Care part 4 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You go over to Agatha and Rio's for help with your Spanish class and they do help but you also get taught another lesson

-OR-

Agatha fuck you in their home office (while you practice Spanish with Rio) and when you make a mistake she stops fucking you until you get it right.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Mommy Agatha, Daddy Rio, more smut, orgasm denial (Rio), squirting, praise, slight degredation, strap on use, even more smut

Words: 4.6k and 80% is you getting fucked

A/N: This one's for all you burnt out gifted kids out there. Also, my Spanish really isn't very good, especially when I'm writing gn!Reader in a gendered language 💀 I'm sorry if it's jarring.

It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, a growing sense of frustration gnawing at you as you stare down at your Spanish assignment. Your sweatpants are cosy and your cropped vest keeps you cool, but none of it is helping you figure out why this language feels so impossible to grasp.

Your workbook lies open next to your laptop, half-hearted notes scrawled across the page. The conjugation charts mock you, the verbs swimming together into an indecipherable mess. You sigh, running a hand through your hair before grabbing your phone and opening up the messages.

MILFs Anonymous

~13:26

You: any chance i can come over for some help? 😩

You stare at the screen, gnawing at your bottom lip as you wait for a response. It doesn’t take long.

Agatha: Try again, darling.

You: uhhh

~13:28

You: Necesito ayuda con mi español. ¿Puedo ir a vuestra casa, por favor?

Rio: Claro que sí, cariño :)

Agatha: You used Google Translate, didn’t you?

You: Sí 😁

Agatha: We’ll be back from shopping around 4—come over then.

The messages bring a small smile to your face, despite the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach. You can already hear Rio’s warm, teasing tone in the words and Agatha’s steadier, more composed presence offering quiet reassurance.

Your mind drifts back to Thanksgiving dinner. You’d mentioned, almost as a throwaway comment, that you were struggling in your Introduction to Spanish class. It had been enough to spark Rio’s interest—her eyes lighting up as she eagerly offered to tutor you. Her enthusiasm had been impossible to resist, especially when paired with Agatha’s wholehearted support.

“You’re welcome over anytime,” Agatha had said, her voice kind but with an edge of finality that left no room for argument. “You’ll get the help you need.”

And now, here you were, agreeing to yet another visit, the prospect of being in their presence again already making your skin tingle.

The clock ticks on as you attempt to focus on your workbook, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the two of them. You wonder what kind of "lesson" Rio has in mind and whether Agatha will be there to offer her own... unique form of support.

—

When the clock finally strikes 4, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, calling out as you head for the door.

“I’m going over to Agatha and Rio��s!”

Your mom’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “Okay, sweetie! Your dad and I are out with Aunt Carol for dinner, so we might not see you when you get back. Make sure you thank them for all their help!”

“Will do!” you reply, slipping out the door and walking the short distance to their house.

Your heart pounds as you approach the door, excitement and nerves intertwining. Before you can knock, the door swings open, and Rio stands there, her eyes lighting up as she sees you.

“Right on time,” she says, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual. She looks slightly flustered, a flush on her cheeks as she waves you inside. “Come in, come in.”

You step through the threshold, noting how Rio shifts on her feet like she’s barely holding still. She gestures toward the hallway, motioning you ahead of her.

“Agatha’s in the office,” she says, her words rushed. Her lips twitch into a quick smile as she guides you down the hall.

The office door is already open, and Agatha’s presence is immediately noticeable. She’s reclining on a sleek leather couch, looking effortlessly casual in a soft rust-coloured jacket and a white top. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and there’s a small smile on her face as she watches you enter.

“Perfect timing,” she says warmly, her tone smooth.

Rio closes the door behind the two of you, crossing the room to sit at her desk opposite Agatha’s. She moves quickly but jumps slightly when she sits, her hand gripping the edge of her desk for a moment as she adjusts herself in the chair. Her cheeks are still tinged pink, and you can’t help but notice the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding into the chair at Agatha’s desk.

“Fine!” Rio chirps, her smile a little too wide. “Let’s get started, yeah? Verb conjugations—your favourite.”

She flips open her own notebook, launching into a rapid explanation of present-tense endings. You do your best to focus, but something about her energy feels off. Her breath catches occasionally as she talks, and her legs bounce slightly under the desk.

Behind you, Agatha doesn’t say a word. You can feel her eyes on the two of you; her calm, steady presence is a stark contrast to Rio’s restlessness. When you glance back at her, she’s lounging like a queen, one arm draped over the back of the couch, her lips quirked in a knowing smile.

Rio’s voice quivers slightly as she explains another verb conjugation, her hands fidgeting with her notebook as though it’s the only thing tethering her to the moment. You do your best to follow along, but the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Alright,” Rio says, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. “So for nosotros, hablar becomes—”

“They deserve a break,” Agatha cuts in smoothly, her voice like honey.

Rio immediately stops talking, her eyes darting nervously toward Agatha, who is now sitting forward slightly, her hand resting on her knee. She pats her lap, her lips curling into a gentle yet commanding smile as her gaze lands on you.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she says softly, the words sounding so innocuous yet carrying an undeniable weight.

You hesitate for a moment before standing, your heart thudding in your chest as you cross the short distance to her. Agatha’s hands immediately find your waist, guiding you to sit sideways in her lap. She wraps her arms around you, holding you close as she presses a kiss to your temple.

“Much better,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your skin.

Behind you, Rio shifts in her seat again, her breath hitching audibly. A quiet whimper escapes her, and you glance back to see her biting her bottom lip, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk like she’s barely keeping herself together.

Agatha notices too, of course. Her sharp eyes miss nothing. “Continúa mi amor,” she speaks to Rio, her voice low and lilting.

Rio blinks rapidly, her cheeks flushing even darker as she nods. “Sí, mi vida.”

She fumbles with her notebook again, launching into another explanation about verb conjugations, but her words are stilted, her voice trembling slightly.

Agatha’s hand rests innocently on your thigh at first, her fingers lightly tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants. You try to focus on what Rio is saying, but the warmth of Agatha’s touch is distracting. The circles grow larger, her fingers inching higher with every pass, and soon you feel her hand creeping up toward the apex of your thighs.

Your breath hitches, and you glance up at her. “What are you doing?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha smiles down at you, her expression sweet but laced with something far more mischievous. “Teaching you a lesson,” she replies smoothly, her tone teasing. “I haven’t forgotten about yours and Rio’s little escapade in the hotel room that morning.”

Your eyes widen in realisation, and as you shift slightly in her lap, you catch a glimpse of her phone resting on the arm of the couch. The app open on the screen makes your stomach flip—it’s the controls for a long-distance vibrator. You glance at Rio, who is squirming more noticeably now, her breath coming in shallow pants as her eyes dart between you and her notebook.

“Rio is going to learn to keep her hands to herself,” Agatha continues, her voice low and steady. “And you, sweetheart, are going to learn to control yourself.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you swallow hard as she gives you a gentle nudge. “Stand up,” she commands softly.

You obey, your legs shaky as you rise to your feet. Agatha’s hands find the waistband of your sweatpants, her fingers tugging them down with deliberate slowness until they pool at your ankles.

“Mmm, such a good pet,” she hums, her praise making your cheeks heat as you step out of the fabric and sit back down on her lap.

This time, she adjusts your position, guiding you so that you’re sitting more squarely in the middle of her lap. As you settle, you feel something hard pressing against you through her pants, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Now,” Agatha says, her tone deceptively calm as she leans back slightly, one arm draped possessively around your waist. “Let’s see if you and Daddy can do as you’re told.”

You swallow hard, nodding as you try to focus on Rio, who looks just as flustered as you feel. Her cheeks are tinged pink, and she avoids looking directly at Agatha’s hand, which rests high on your thigh. Rio clears her throat, her voice trembling slightly as she continues.

“¿Cómo se dice... they speak... en español?” She asks, gripping her pen tightly.

“Ellos hablan,” you manage to reply, though your voice wavers when Agatha’s hand starts to move. Her fingers trail lazily up your inner thigh, barely brushing the fabric of your underwear.

“Muy bien, cariño,” Agatha murmurs, her lips brushing against your ear. “But don’t lose focus now. Keep going.”

Rio nods quickly, her words spilling out in a rush. “Y... y cómo se dice... we are speaking?”

You open your mouth to answer, but it’s hard to form a coherent thought when Agatha’s fingers are now teasing the edge of your underwear; her touch so light it sends shivers up your spine. Your hips shift involuntarily when her fingers dip below the fabric, and Agatha hums in approval, her grip tightening around your waist to hold you still.

“Estamos hablando,” you finally gasp, the words barely audible as Agatha’s fingers press more firmly against you.

“Perfecto,” Agatha purrs, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “But you’re trembling, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re concentrating?”

Rio looks like she’s about to combust, her leg bouncing under the desk as she stumbles over her next question. “¿Cómo se dice... uh... you are speaking?”

You try to respond, but your voice falters when Agatha’s fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. A soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Focus,” Agatha whispers, though her actions are anything but helpful. “Vamos, nena. Dime la respuesta.”

You choke out, “Tú estás hablando,” but your voice is barely steady. Rio squirms in her chair, her breathing uneven, and her gaze flickers to Agatha’s hand for the briefest second before she looks away again, biting her lip.

“Very good,” Agatha praises, her voice sending a thrill through you. Then she taps your hip, her fingers stilling for a moment. “Lift up for me, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, glancing at her, but the look in her eyes leaves no room for argument. You rise slightly, your legs trembling, and she reaches into her waistband, pulling something out—a purple strap larger than the one she used on you before. She pulls your underwear to the side before guiding you back down onto her lap.

The moment you’re seated again, you can feel it—hard and unyielding—pressing deeply inside you. Your breath catches at the sudden, overwhelming sensation, and Agatha smirks, her hands settling firmly on your hips to hold you still, ensuring you feel every inch. The pressure against your walls is unrelenting, a heady mix of pleasure and control that sends sparks shooting up your spine. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, each shallow breath catching as heat pools low in your belly, threatening to consume you entirely.

“Now,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry, “let’s see if you can finish your lesson without completely falling apart. “Adelante, Río, y no seas fácil con les.”

Rio’s throat bobs as she swallows hard, her wide eyes betraying the tension coiling in her body. Her voice is barely a whisper as she continues. “¿Cómo se dice... we spoke?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Agatha’s hands begin to guide your hips in slow, deliberate movements, each motion sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. The friction is maddening, stealing the air from your lungs as a soft whimper escapes your lips. Your pulse thrums in your ears, and your thighs quiver, every nerve alight with sensation as you struggle to keep your focus, the words slipping through your mind like water through a sieve.

“Ha-habla…mos,” you stammer, but your voice is shaky and breathless.

Agatha chuckles softly, her lips brushing against your neck. “Otra vez,” she says, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. “Try again, sweetheart. Say it louder. Let Daddy hear you.”

Across from you, Rio is barely holding it together. She rocks faintly in her chair, her thighs pressing together as if seeking relief. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, and her free hand grips the desk so hard it looks like she might snap the wood in half. Her breath comes in uneven gasps; a small whimper escapes her as she fights to maintain her composure.

“Vamos,” Agatha whispers, her breath warm against your ear as she tightens her grip on your hips, helping you grind down harder against her. The tension inside you builds with every slow, deliberate movement, your body instinctively chasing the friction. A soft, needy sound escapes you, and you shiver as her voice washes over you, low and commanding, grounding you even as she unravels you. “No te distraigas.”

You let out a shaky moan, your head falling back against her shoulder as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. Your heart pounds, your skin is flushed and hypersensitive, and every touch feels amplified, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Words hover on the tip of your tongue, but they dissolve into broken gasps before you can speak.

Just as your eyes flutter shut, lost in the haze of it all, Agatha reaches for her phone with one hand, tapping the screen.

“Ughhhh, Aggie, no,” Rio whines frustratedly, her body jerking slightly at the sudden loss of sensation. She glares at Agatha, who raises a single brow in amusement.

“No tan rápida mi vida,” Agatha says smoothly, her voice dripping with authority. “You’ll wait until I say so.”

Rio bites her lip, her cheeks flushed, and you can feel the tension in the room thickening.

But you don’t have time to dwell on it—Agatha’s movements beneath you are maddening, each shift sending a spark of pleasure through you that makes coherent thought nearly impossible. Her hips tilt upward slightly with each slow, deliberate thrust, the firm pressure pushing you closer to the edge with every pass. It’s intoxicating, the way her body presses into you, filling you with a deep ache that you can’t escape. You try to answer the next question Rio poses, but the words come out in a garbled mess, your focus completely shattered.

Agatha clicks her tongue disapprovingly and stills your hips with a firm grip. The sudden lack of motion leaves you aching, your thighs trembling as you try to shift for relief, but her hold on you is unyielding. The throbbing heat between your legs grows unbearable, each second of stillness stretching endlessly. The whimper of frustration that escapes you only earns you a soft mocking chuckle.

“¿Qué dije sobre enfocar?” She scolds, her voice low and commanding. “Answer Daddy, or we stop right here.”

Your face burns with embarrassment as you force yourself to focus, stumbling over the words as you manage to form a proper sentence. Agatha hums in approval, but she doesn’t let you move again just yet.

“Good,” she murmurs, her hand sliding up your side in a soothing gesture. “See? You can behave when you try.”

She waits until Rio asks the next question before finally resuming her movements. This time, her hips push up into you more deliberately, slow and measured, as if testing your resolve. Each thrust presses into the perfect spot, a deliberate rhythm that makes your breath catch and your knees tremble. It’s almost cruel how slowly she moves, dragging out every sensation until you’re teetering on the brink.

Rio’s eyes widen, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She clears her throat and stammers out the next question, her voice barely above a whisper. “¿Cómo se dice... they danced?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Agatha’s hands start guiding your hips again, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that has you clenching your teeth to stifle a moan. The friction is maddening, each grind of her hips sending shockwaves through your body that leave you gasping for air. You feel impossibly full, the steady motion of her beneath you making your head spin as heat coils tighter in your core.

“I—I don’t—” you start, but the words dissolve into a whimper as Agatha’s fingers slip under the hem of your cropped vest, brushing against your nipple.

“Don’t stop now,” Agatha murmurs, her voice like velvet. “You can do it, baby. Say it.”

Your answer is a garbled mess, barely comprehensible as you fight to stay coherent. The thrusts beneath you grow slightly firmer, and she pinches your nipple, drawing a broken cry from your lips. The steady pressure and her soft words blur together, leaving you utterly at her mercy.

Across from you, Rio is trembling, her fists clenched at her sides as she rocks forward slightly in her desperation. She bites her lip, her cheeks flushed as she tries to keep her composure, though her glazed-over expression betrays her struggle.

Agatha notices immediately. Her sharp eyes flick to Rio, and her lips curl into a dangerous smile. “¿Qué crees que estás haciendo, amor?” she says, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Stand up. Legs apart.”

Rio hesitates for a moment before obeying, her movements stiff and jerky. She stands with her legs spread slightly, her hands clenched into fists as she tries to keep still under Agatha’s watchful gaze. The air between the three of you feels electric, charged with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

“Good,” Agatha says approvingly. Her focus returns to you, and her tone softens. “Now, let’s finish this lesson with one more question.”

Rio swallows hard, her voice shaking as she asks, “¿Cómo se dice... we ate?”

Your mind is a haze of pleasure and tension, the words slipping from your grasp as you struggle to focus. Each deliberate thrust from Agatha beneath you sends fresh waves of heat through your body, clouding your thoughts and making it nearly impossible to form words. Your hips instinctively try to grind against her, desperate for more, but her firm hands keep you in place, controlling every movement.

“Co-com—” you stutter, but you can’t get the syllables out.

Agatha stills your movements suddenly, her grip on your hips tightening as she tilts your head to meet her gaze. The abrupt stop leaves you trembling, every nerve screaming for relief as the tension in your body builds to unbearable levels

“No te distraigas,” she scolds gently, her expression calm but firm. “Answer Daddy. Now.”

The commanding tone snaps you back into focus, and with a shaky breath, you finally manage to stammer out, “C-comimos.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Well done,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then her hands slide back down to your hips, and she resumes the slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gasping for air. This time, her thrusts are more purposeful, each one pushing you closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your vision blurs, your body trembling uncontrollably as you give in to the sensation.

“You’ve done good enough, sweetheart. No more questions. Now it’s time for you to enjoy yourself.”

Her attention shifts briefly to Rio, who looks like she’s about to unravel completely. “You,” Agatha says sharply, her tone brooking no argument, “will stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. Just watch.”

Rio’s breath hitches, her body trembling as she nods, her eyes fixed on the two of you. Her gaze feels like fire on your skin, but you’re too far gone to care, completely lost in the steady rhythm of Agatha’s movements and the way she keeps pushing you closer, her voice a soft murmur in your ear as you come undone.

Agatha’s hands tighten their hold on your hips, her fingers digging in just enough to anchor you to her. The slow, deliberate thrusts beneath you become a little harder, a little deeper, and the sensation sends shockwaves through your body. Each motion builds the pressure inside you, pushing you closer and closer to a breaking point that feels just out of reach.

“Such a good little slut,” Agatha murmurs in your ear, her voice a molten whisper that makes your toes curl. “You’ve been so good, finally learning some control.” Her lips brush against the curve of your neck, and her teeth graze your skin ever so lightly. “I want you to fall apart for me. Completely.”

Your body arches against her as she begins moving you faster, her hips meeting yours with a precision that’s almost too much to handle. The heat pooling low in your belly threatens to consume you, each thrust sending sparks shooting up your spine. You can’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips anymore, the sounds filling the room alongside Rio’s uneven breaths.

One of Agatha’s hands slips between your legs, her fingers circling your throbbing clit as her other holds you steady. “That’s it,” she coos, her tone laced with both encouragement and command. “Cum for me, darling. Let it take you over.”

Her voice, her touch, her presence—it’s all too much. The tension that has been winding tighter and tighter finally snaps, and the release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your entire body trembles as the pleasure surges through you, every nerve alight as you cry out, the sound raw and unrestrained. The slick evidence of your release soaks into the fabric of Agatha’s pants, sdrenching her completely and leaving a visible mess against her thighs. She doesn’t seem to care—if anything, it only makes her smirk widen, a flicker of pride in her darkened gaze.

Agatha doesn’t let up, guiding you through every second of it, her hands and movements steady even as your body shakes with the force of your climax. She whispers soft praises in your ear, grounding you as the intensity leaves you breathless and utterly undone. “Look at the mess you’ve made,” she chuckles, her tone almost teasing as her fingers trail lazily over the damp fabric. “Such a good little thing for Mommy.” Her lips brush against your temple as she slows her movements, her hands now soothing rather than controlling. “So perfect. I knew you could do it.”

You slump against her, utterly spent, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her arms wrap around you securely, holding you close as you come down from the overwhelming high. For a moment, the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing and Rio’s soft, stifled whimpers from where she stands frozen, obediently still but visibly affected.

Agatha strokes your hair, her voice a gentle murmur against your ear. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Her lips press against your forehead.

You let yourself melt into her, your body boneless and your mind hazy with satisfaction. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register Rio’s quiet, needy sigh, but Agatha’s warmth and the steady rhythm of her breathing lull you into a calm, contented state.

She slips out of you and holds you tight, her hands brushing soothing circles over your back as she presses gentle kisses to your temple. When she finally moves again, it’s to slip one strong arm beneath your legs and the other around your back, effortlessly lifting you into her arms. You can’t help but sigh and rest your head against her shoulder, utterly spent but feeling safe in her hold.

As she carries you toward the bathroom, her voice cuts through the stillness, firm but not unkind. “Rio, my love, go order us something for dinner—whatever you want.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Rio, still flushed and squirming with pent-up frustration, lets out a soft, frustrated sigh before nodding obediently.

“Fine,” Rio mutters, her voice tinged with both respect and disappointment. You catch the faintest hint of a pout as she heads toward the kitchen, her steps slow and reluctant.

The bathroom is dimly lit, the soft glow of candles casting warm light over the tiles. Agatha sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, steadying you as she kneels to turn on the taps, adjusting the water until it’s just right. As the tub fills, she helps you undress; her touches gentle but reverent, as though she’s still savouring every inch of you even in this quiet, intimate moment. When she lifts you into the water, you can’t help but let out a contented sigh as the heat soothes your tired muscles.

Agatha slides in behind you, her strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back against her chest. The steady rhythm of her breathing and the warmth of the water lull you into a peaceful haze, her presence grounding you completely. She holds you close, her chin resting on your shoulder as her fingers trace lazy patterns along your arms.

“You were so good for me tonight,” she whispers softly, her voice low and soothing. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” Her lips brush against your temple, and you lean into her touch, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling your chest with warmth.

After the bath, Agatha wraps you in a plush towel, her hands steady as she dries you off, and helps you into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you return to the living room, Rio has returned with bags of takeout, her flushed cheeks, and the subtle shift of her legs betraying her discomfort. Agatha smirks knowingly but doesn’t say a word as she settles you onto the couch, pulling you snugly against her side.

The three of you share the meal together; the atmosphere warm and comfortable despite Rio’s occasional squirming. She shoots Agatha a few pleading looks, but Agatha only raises an eyebrow in silent challenge, her arm tightening around you possessively.

“Eat,” Agatha says calmly, gesturing to Rio’s plate. “You’ll get what you need—just not tonight.”

Rio huffs softly but obeys, though her fidgeting doesn’t let up. You curl further into Agatha’s side, feeling utterly content as the soft hum of conversation and the flicker of the TV fill the room. It’s a quiet, peaceful end to a long, intense evening, and as you drift closer to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for the comfort of the two people by your side.

READ THE NEXT PART

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y'all already know what I'm gonna say... please reblog and comment if you enjoyed. I love reading what you have to say about it, it really makes my day <3

asks are open if you want to chat/have an idea you'd like to see

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taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @beezlebee16 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader

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redflagshipwriter · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost Driver Chapter One

masterpost

Four hours passed with no news or contact: it was time to see what had happened to his date. Danny sighed and tried to be philosophical about it. “Starting shit with Gotham PD and Batman is sort of a step up from fighting with the US government,” he told himself. “That’s just one city and one guy.” He jammed his feet into sneakers, grimly determined to find Jay. “And I’m a sneaky dude,” he pumped himself up. “They might never know I exist!”

At least Batman didn’t kill guys, so Danny didn’t have to check the morgue. Not like that would get Jay out of a date! He had kissed the back of Danny’s hand. They absolutely had to meet up again.

So, yeah. He had to find the bastard. Presumably Batman had arrested him. He was going to give Jay shit for that.

His first tactic paid off: there was clearly a ton of stuff going on at the main police headquarters, including a prison transport van with a frankly ludicrous amount of armed guards on it. Danny squinted at it. “...Alla that, for Jason?” He cocked his head to the side. “Am I impressed, or…” He screwed his face up into a frown. He didn’t know how else to feel about it. Impressed it was.

He was actually sort of grateful for his timing. Danny hunkered down and avoided being sighted by any cops or Batman. The prison van took off, escorted by a convoy of four flashing police cars. Danny felt his eyebrows crawl up his face.

What the fuck, Jay. What did you do, Jay. This sucks, Jay.

There wasn’t any rush to follow it, given that it had the name of the prison written on it. Danny googled “arhham”, “arhham prison,” and learned that he had misread it and that also, it was not a prison.

“They need to invest in a graphic designer,” Danny kvetched. He went back to the car that Jay had said he could use. He continued not thinking about the registration and how it was probably stolen or something. “H and K don’t have to look alike. We could live in a better world.” He turned the engine on aggressively and smacked the wheel for emphasis. He put on directions to the asylum and some top 40s pop music channel. Charli XXL burst into the night air cheerfully.

He hit the gas.

He drove too fast. He would admit it. Danny indulged a bit on the way to the militarized treatment facility. It soothed his nerves to hook sharp corners and drift a bit, to go intangible and invisible for a couple of blocks to subtly blast though a red light at 120 mph.

“Cool,” Danny muttered. He dropped the invisibility and watched a driver startle. He snickered as he passed them on the left. Maybe it was a little mean, but it was harmless and frankly, it was important ghostly enrichment to give a little spook now and then. Speaking of which, he let blinding rings of light travel up and down his body to switch to Phantom. Danny Fenton definitely couldn’t get caught breaking into a building.

Arkham was extremely inconvenient. He left his car in the employee parking lot and floated around until he found the loading bay where the police transport van was currently unloading one dumbass.

Ugh. The shit he put up with. Danny groused to himself and bobbed in the air outside the building as he waited, watching through windows. Mist welled up in his lungs as he got close. Danny felt himself wake up, looking out for danger. Figures that a place like this was haunted.

They wheeled a stretcher into a cell. Danny kicked his feet and waited. People went in and out. Then the stretcher came out, empty. Everyone but Jay left.

He waited a while longer before slipping down the hallway and into the cell. He ghosted directly through the door to avoid any issues with locks or alarms and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh,” Danny said, openly disappointed.

“Who is this?” purred the stranger. He had a weird habit of holding his eyes just a little too open. Looked like they were getting dry and itchy, they were red. To be fair, maybe they were irritated by the makeup the guy had on.

“Nothing, sorry for barging in,” Danny sighed. He raked his hand through his hair. “Sorry to bother you, dude.” He indicated the whole set up going on with a straightjacket and a chair with leather straps. “Seems like you are already busy. I thought you were my date.”

“I could be.”

Danny laughed. Then he blinked. “Oh, you’re serious. Sorry, you’re too old for me.” Now that he was really paying attention to the guy, there was something wrong about him. Not just the eye thing— something about the way he moved registered him as a possible threat. He wasn’t a ghost. Right? There was something about him that was familiar…

“Oh, I don’t suppose you were looking for Batsy.” The stranger came off weirdly coy. “No, no, he’s old too, to a whippersnapper like you. Oh.” He sounded delighted. “I know! I know!” He burst out into laughter.

“Uh…” Danny tried not to let how weirded out he was onto his face. “You alright, my guy?”

“Joker,” he said, suddenly serious. “I’m not your guy, boyo. Why, if my hands were free I would teach you some respect for your elders. Take you over my knee for a spanking like I gave your pretty boy date!” He laughed again, pitch getting higher and higher with each ha, ha, ha.

“...I don’t think you could do that.” Danny snorted. His hackles were up. He inserted a little more disdain into his tone. Man, what a creep. “He’s twice your size.” He started trying to rationalize this bizarro conversation away.

‘He’s probably lying, right? Or imagining things. He’s in that restraint for a reason. On the other hand… he’s probably genuinely dangerous to the average human. He wouldn’t be locked up like this if he wasn’t violent.’

“Oh, he grew up big,” Joker agreed. “Which is a shocker, after the spanking I gave him when he was this high!” He jerked as if he was trying to indicate a height with an arm. He was still bound. It could have been funny, but something was starting to read as seriously malicious.

“...Are you seriously telling me right now that you predated on my date when he was a kid?” Danny asked. It… Well, fuck, it was motivation for Jay to do something that involved this guy and Batman. Danny didn’t know Jay that well, but he could identify a motherfucker who liked tragic irony at a dozen paces.

‘I think this might be real. And I’m not imagining this: I think this motherfucker is in my jurisdiction. I don’t know what he is, but he is undeathly as hell.’

Joker blew a raspberry. “Poor dead little Jason Wayne,” he crooned. The hairs stood up on the back of Danny’s neck. He didn’t know that last name, but the first one matched. “All he wants is Daddy to love him, you know?” The sugary tone he used was outright gross. “If Daddy Bats really cared, surely he’d get rid of the things that go bump in the night!” He let his expression drop, blank. Then slowly a rictus smile spread over his face. “But he won’t.”

“...Right.” Danny stared. “And you don’t know where he went, right?” He checked.

‘He’s a creep for sure. I don’t like him being this close to Jason. Why was he out today? And why is he on full name terms before me? I don’t think Jason like, told him that personal information.’

Joker giggled. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what hole he crawled into”, he crooned. “But when I get out of here again- and I will, I always do!— I’ll be sure to toss a nice little grenade into it.”

“Huh.” Danny frowned. Not very helpful. But the bragging that he always got out…. It didn’t sit well with him. And no wonder. If Joker was some flavor of undead, a regular human facility might never be able to hold him long term.

After a moment’s deliberation Danny dug his phone out of his pocket and turned away for some privacy.

“Excuse me?” said the Joker.

Danny did the ‘quiet’ gesture with a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He hit two on his speed dial and kicked his toes against the floor as he waited for the call to connect.

“Hi, sweetie!” Mom gushed as soon as sound came across. “How are you, everything ok?”

“Yeah, hi Mom.” Danny went up onto his toes and bounced a few times. “Could you turn the portal on and poke your head in? I need to talk to Wulf.”

“Oh- yes, of course. Just a minute,” she sang out. Machinery roared so loudly that he winced and pulled the phone away from his face.

“Is that really your Mummy?” said the Joker loudly, because he was rude and couldn’t tolerate ceding conversational ground for a minute, jeeze.

Danny ignored him. “Actually if you could tell him that I’m hoping he could help me take… take out a…” he glanced at Joker. “A themed villain, I guess. He needs to go somewhere safer than the locals can manage.”

“Oh, that would be good enrichment for Mr. Walker,” Mom said generously. The sound quality changed as she put him on speakerphone.

“Fuck the police,” Danny said reflexively. “But I was thinking, like…” He frowned.

There were a lot of options. He could literally just toss the dude into the Ghost Zone and come back for him later without fear he would keep getting out. But it might be really annoying to hunt him down if he like, wandered around.

Oh. Hunt.

“Skulker!” Danny said brightly. “This would be really good enrichment for Skulker.” He could take the guy over to Skulker’s lair and let him play catch and release. Skulker loved those games.

“I’ll pass on the message.” The portal unlocked on the other end of the call, an unmistakable sound. “Bye, honey!”

Danny hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. He turned around to see the Joker was trying to wriggle out of his restraints. Was that possible? Probably, he decided. The guy kept getting out of here. He pursed his lips. “You’re safer from me if you stay in there,” he decided to warn.

Joker let out a hysterical cackle.

It went on too long.

Like, it went on and on. Danny crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, lifting his eyebrows as he waited for it to end. Jeeze.

“You’re funny,” Joker said. He licked his lips. It was uncomfortably loud in the cell. “A real jokester. A guy could get a little offended, you know? You’re stealing my schtick. Just like your little sweetie, come to think of it. I didn’t bring you together, did I?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “No, you gigantic loser. I’ve never even heard of you.” He ignored the affronted silence that garnered and opened up a gaming app to kill time.

‘I need to get Wulf a phone somehow,’ Danny thought idly. He matched two chocolate donuts and they disappeared in a cloud of sprinkles.

“Hey. I am talking to you.”

Danny gave Joker a thumbs down without bothering to look at him.

He stepped to the left. Then he shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked up in time for the ripple of interdimensional energy to coalescence into a vivid tear in the fabric of the universe.

Wulf bounded into sight and snatched him up in a hug. “Mia amiko!” (My friend!)

Danny hugged back hard enough to crack Wulf’s back and picked him up off the floor. “Amikinoooo,” he crooned. (Bestieeeeee)

Wulf kicked playfully at him. He caught himself with a scuttle of claws on the floor when Danny let go. “Mia panjo diris nenion embarasan, ĉu ne?” (My Mom didn't say anything embarrassing, did she?) It was mostly a formality. Of course Mom had done something embarrassing.

“ŝi montris al mi la bildojn, kiuj pruvas, ke vi rifuzis blovi vian nazon ĉe Disneyland kiam vi estis sep, ĉar vi sentis, ke ĝi estas embarasa.” Wulf grinned back. (“She showed me the pictures that prove you refused to blow your nose at Disneyland when you were seven because you felt it was embarrassing.”)

Danny sighed. “Why does she take those photos everywhere she goes?” He groused. Then he pushed his hair back off of his face and decided to ask if Wulf wanted a phone, before he forgot about it. “ĉu vi ŝatus havi poŝtelefonon?” (Do you want a phone?)

Wulf brightened. “Jes.” He shook out his ruff. “mi uzus ĝin por verki retmesaĝojn kaj fari Linkedin-konton.” (Yes, I would use it to write emails and create a Linkedin account.)

Danny opened his mouth to ask why Wulf wanted to have a Linked -In account. Then he shut it and nodded. Great. He’d try to get Wulf a phone, then. For his emails. Were you supposed to email on a phone? Was Danny using his phone wrong?

“Či tiu viro estas tre malbonodora.” Wulf gestured at Joker. (This man is very smelly.)

“Hey!” Joker said loudly. “I resent that remark, you know. I do not smell of anything except flowers. Daisies. Roses.”

“Jes, malbonodora,” Danny agreed. (Yeah, stinky.) He didn’t smell whatever Wulf did, but he was willing to assume the other guy was right. “Li estas fripono. Mi pensas, ke li vundis mian amikon.” ("He's a creep. I think he hurt my friend.")

Wulf growled.

Joker shut up for once. Danny shot him a little smirk. Wulf had no chill. He was a good bro like that. If Joker really had hurt one of Danny’s friends, then Wulf was gonna be his opp for life.

“Kion ni faru? eble ni povus peti Desiree certigi ke li neniam vundas mortonton denove.” Wulf struck a contemplative pose, claws stroking at his jawline. ("What should we do? Maybe we could ask Desiree to make sure he never hurts a mortal again.")

Danny nearly choked. Get help from Desiree? Like, make a wish that Joker would be incapable of hurting people again? Danny burst out into giggles. It seemed a little extreme. “Ne, ne,” he demurred. “Mi pensis doni lin al Skulker.” (No, no. I was thinking about giving him to Skulker.)

Wulf laughed. “Jes,” he agreed. “Tio estos amuza.” (Yes, that is funny.)

Danny gave him double thumbs up. “Mi vere dankus helpon pri transportado. Mi nuntempe rompas kaj eniras.” ("I would really appreciate some help with transportation. I'm currently breaking and entering.") He tried not to look too sheepish at that last bit, but it was relevant. Since he wasn’t supposed to be here, he really should keep a hustle on.

His friend tossed off a crisp salute. Wulf picked Joker up with one hand and leapt back through the portal while Joker was still saying, “What?”

“Neat,” Danny said, alone in a mental health treatment cell that looked a lot like a high security prison. He glanced up at the camera that had probably recorded his whole visit. Had there been enough ecto to ruin the feed? He didn’t know, and it was too late now. “Hmm.” He let his eyes glow green. They’d reflect light like a cat’s would. Then he went invisible.

If his ecto hadn’t shifted out the camera, that would at least give anyone who saw it the creeps. Danny snickered to himself as he tiptoed out of the not-prison to regroup.

That had been a total deadend. But it meant that Jay probably hadn’t gotten arrested.

Optimistically, he got out his phone to check if Jay had responded to his “You alive?” message. No dice. Blegh.

So. Batman. Danny grimaced. He had to talk to Batman. Right? Was there anything else? Not that Danny could think of.

Danny shuddered, feeling a bad case of the creepy eepies walking up his back. He still wanted to avoid Batman like he avoided parvo. But that ship had sailed, right? Batman knew who he was and where he lived. So he might as well meet the guy to get his information. “He’s probably chill,” Danny lied to himself. “And hey, he might be happy that I helped him out with Joker. Maybe he’ll be in a good mood.”

#red ghost driver #dp x dc #dead on main

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sirenedeslily · 3 months ago

Text

chris sturniolo sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through episodes of ‘regular show’, trying to decide which one to watch. but his focus kept slipping, drawn instead to you, his girlfriend, as you paced back and forth in the living room. you were on the phone with your mom, speaking rapid-fire spanish, venting about something that had gone wrong with the holiday plans.

chris couldn’t understand most of what you were saying, but that didn’t matter. your voice, so full of passion and emotion, made his heart race every time you spoke spanish. his eyes followed your every move, and a grin crept onto his face—he looked like an absolute dork, totally lovestruck.

you hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh and muttered, “mi mamá se pasa a veces…” shaking your head, unaware of how he was staring at you.

chris couldn’t help but ask, smiling stupidly, “what does that mean?”

you glanced over at him, amused by his goofy expression. “i said, ‘my mom goes overboard sometimes,’ but don’t act like you actually care what it means.”

chris shrugged, still smiling like you’d just told him the cutest thing in the world. “i care. it sounds cool.”

you rolled your eyes playfully and smirked. “yeah? would it still sound cool if i said… eres un desastre, christopher? like, seriously. look at this mess.” you gestured to the pile of clothes he’d left on the floor, your tone light but teasing. you knew exactly what you were doing—he melted whenever you switched languages on him.

his blush spread across his cheeks, and his grin only widened. “what’s that mean?”

you folded your arms, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard with the way he looked at you—like you hung the moon. “i called you a disaster. which you are.”

instead of getting defensive, chris chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, still looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “i dunno, it still sounds kinda hot when you say it. even if you’re insulting me to filth.”

you shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “dios mío, ¿qué voy a hacer contigo? you’re impossible.”

chris leaned back on the couch, his eyes sparkling with adoration. “whatever you just said, i’ll take it as a compliment.”

you picked up one of his t-shirts from the floor and threw it at him. “of course you will, silly boy.”

he caught the shirt and smirked. “that i understood.”

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ blurb based on this request !! i’m not a latina mami so google translate was used, i apologize primas :3

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe @ncm9696

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia

#sirenedeslily ✶ ˖ ࣪#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #blurb #fluff #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets fluff

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rejectedbytheempty · 2 months ago

Text

from the dirt we rise

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.2k

cw: your boyfriend is an asshole

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

“christ, going to visit my parents was your idea in the first place, don’t put this on me” your boyfriend lamented, sighing and folding his arms across his chest like a child.

your hands gripped the steering wheel with an audible squeak from the leather along with you gritting your teeth to avoid a number of profanities from slipping out. your boyfriend, nathan, had complained for months that you were never interested in his life, or that you hadn’t seemed as invested in the relationship as he was. never mind the fact that you would plan every date, or that he forgot your birthday and went out with friends instead, leaving you alone at home with a pint of ice cream.

being the good girlfriend you were, you suggested a road trip to go visit his parents, something you supposed you both wanted. you were dead wrong, apparently. the moment you brought it up, he seemed more ambivalent than happy about it and come the day of the trip, he dragged his feet all the way.

so now here you were, driving your car along the english countryside, because his was too nice to drive on all these dirt roads.

“nathan, i was trying to do something nice, for the both of us, and all i asked was that you some snacks for the way.”

he rolled his eyes, huffing with contempt, “yeah. and i did, for me. i figured you were getting your own stuff.”

you looked up to the roof of the car, muttering a silent prayer to whatever gods could hear. “fine, it’s fine. i don’t even care anymore, i.. i guess i should have clarified, i’m sorry.”

he just muttered some incoherent complaints and looked out the window. you sighed slightly and took the silence to allow yourself to admire the countryside rolling by in peace. the hills covered in lush, green grass, cows dotting the landscape. you could almost imagine living here, waking up to the sound of birds chirping for once instead of someone shouting bloody murder outside your flat’s window.

you smiled softly at the idea of walking outside onto the dewy lawn with your bare feet and not having to worry about some junkie leaving behind a used syringe. the daydream was interrupted by your boyfriend shouting your name. the front of the car had started smoking, plumes of grey billowing out from under the hood.

“shit!” you cried out, braking suddenly and jolting the two of you slightly in your seats.

“the hell is wrong with your car?” nathan asked, looking over at you with a glare.

“i- i don’t know. it was perfectly fine yesterday and i took it to the shops a couple of months ago for a checkup. do you mind checking under the hood?” you looked over at him.

he looked slightly taken aback at that, “me? i don’t know about cars, besides, it’s not my car that’s gone and killed itself. why don’t you go check?”

you supposed you couldn’t argue with his logic, it was your car after all, but you still scowled slightly as you put the car in park and popped the hood. you opened the door and stepped out, looking at nathan in the passenger seat, who took about .5 seconds of worrying before looking at his phone again.

you let out a frustrated grunt and stomped over to the front of the car, pulling up the hood. the smoke immediately rose up to meet your face and you waved it away, coughing and grimacing. after a moment of wafting away the smoke, you were finally able to look over your engine and.. all of that other stuff.

yeah, you knew nothing about cars.

you thought that maybe talking a look under the hood would automatically make you a mechanic, but apparently that’s not true. pulling out your phone, you tried to look up on google something along the lines of “my car is smoking. what do i do?” but you had not a singular bar.

groaning slightly, you shut your phone off and began to shut the hood and give up when you heard the crunch of gravel behind you. turning to look, you saw a beat-up old truck heading your way, stopping at the edge of the grass where you had pulled off the road.

you looked between the truck and your car where your boyfriend sat in the front seat, not even looking up from his phone, probably too busy playing clash of clans or some dumb shit like that.

what if whoever was in the truck was a serial killer or something and your boyfriend was too busy playing subway surfers to even notice you getting kidnapped?

you swallowed nervously as the door of the truck swung open with a loud squeak. out stepped a man that made you swallow for an entirely different reason.

he had dark brown hair and a thick, well-maintained beard. his bright blue eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled warmly at you, something so easy about the way he smiled that had your knees buckling. and if they did, then he could easily catch you with his arms, tanned and muscular, the arms of a man who spent his life working in some kind of physical labor.

“engine trouble?” he asked, his voice a deep, rumbling thing that made your brain go fuzzy.

“oh.. uh, yeah, maybe? i don’t know for sure. the car just started smoking so i pulled over to look at it” you said, finding it hard to talk with your mouth having gone dry. the sound of a car door opening and the sight of your boyfriend stepping out made your face fall slightly.

you have a boyfriend, right. almost forgot because you were too busy imagining those arms wrapped around- nathan speaking broke you out of your thoughts.

“who are you?” he asked, in a tone that made you wince. looking over at the stranger though, it didn’t even seem like he flinched at nathan puffing up his feathers.

“i’m john, nice to meet you,” john put out his hand for nathan to take. which he did, hesitantly, grimacing slightly at the force john used.

“right, i’m nathan.” he eyes flicked over to you, “not gonna introduce your bird?”

your cheeks flushed, “oh, uh, yeah” you stuttered uselessly before telling him your name.

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl” he winked at you. your mouth fell agape slightly and nathan inhaled a sharp breath, “what do you want, man? we got this handled.” when john’s eyes flicked back to nathan they hardened ever so slightly, even though he still sported a grin on his face.

“just thought i’d offer my help, i mean, it doesn’t seem like you know what you’re doing if you’re making your girl do all the work.”

at that, nathan’s face contorted with rage and he took a step towards john, whose grin only widened at that. after a second to process what happened, you immediately stepped in front of nathan, pressing your hands to his chest, “babe, stop. he’s- he’s just joking, right?” you looked pointedly to john, waiting for him to back you up. you knew it would only end badly if nathan wasn’t calmed down, not because nathan was going to hurt the stranger but because you definitely knew nathan wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

glancing between you and your boyfriend, john relented, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to offend you. i was just joking.” looking back to nathan, you noticed his nostrils flare slightly in discontent but he backed down.

“yeah, well, don’t do it again,” nathan huffed. you relaxed slightly, letting your hands slip down from his chest to by your sides again.

“look, i’ll make it up to you. i can tow your car to the nearest mechanic. i happen to know the guy and he can give you a friends and family discount” john said, eyes glancing between you and your boyfriend.

nathan eyed him suspiciously for a second but then nodded, “alright, fine.” john then looked to you and it took a moment before you realized he was waiting for your input. “oh! i didn’t realize you were asking me too. yes, of course, thank you, that’d be wonderful” you said hurriedly. nathan shot you a dirty look when john turned around to go grab some equipment from his truck.

“what the hell was that?” he hissed. “was what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant. “you, practically starry-eyed, looking at him. acting as if your boyfriend wasn’t standing right there” he glared at you. “i.. i wasn’t starry-eyed” you said softly, it was a weak defense but you couldn’t help but think he was right. a random man off the road looks at you for more than five seconds and you’re already on your back with your belly up for scratches. “whatever, we can talk about this after the car gets fixed.”

after john secured the straps between the cars he admitted that he only had so much seat space in his truck and that one person was going to have to stay in your car for the ride there. suffice to say, nathan wasn’t happy about that.

“can’t we both sit in the car?” he practically whined.

john shrugged, “i guess so, but there’s no use in adding any more weight to the amount i’m towing, takes unnecessary risk, right?”

nathan’s lip twitched in annoyance but he couldn’t really find a reason to argue with him, “fine, i’ll sit in the truck with you.”

john looked amused at that, “making your girl sit in the car all by herself? it’s really none of my business but-“”fine! she can sit up front with you, then. jesus,” nathan said, throwing up his arms and practically stomping his way over to the car.

you winced as he slammed the car door shut and looked apologetically over at john,

“sorry, he’s just.. stressed.” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “stressed, right.”

you bit the inside of your cheek at john’s obvious lack of belief but said nothing else to persuade him, it wouldn’t do any good. the truck door squeaked open as john opened the passenger side for you, gesturing with his other hand, “in you get, sweetheart.”

you blushed slightly at his casual use of pet names, muttering a small thank you as you got in. john shut the door and then got in on his side, sliding across the worn leather bench, his warm thighs practically pressing against yours. he wasn’t lying, the seating in here was limited and you couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if nathan had tried to ride up here with the two of you.

you’re honestly surprised he didn’t. something about john made you want to listen to him, and you could guess that even though nathan was stubborn, he subconsciously felt the same way.

“so, where were you headed? doesn’t seem like you’re from around here” he broke the silence.

“oh, uh, nathan’s parents’ house, he hasn’t seen them in a while, and we figured it was time for me to meet them since we’re coming up on our third anniversary,” you said, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“ah, the in-laws” he chuckled lightly.

“oh, me and nathan we’re not- i mean, we’re just dating right now. not engaged or anything.”

“three years and he hasn’t put a ring on that pretty finger? hm.” john frowned.

“nathan wants to take it slow. he doesn’t want to rush into anything,” you said, but it felt more like an automated response than something you actually agreed with. sure, there was nothing wrong with taking your time but anytime you brought up marriage or anything like that, nathan would get all defensive. it happened enough that you just stopped bringing it up altogether, and you hadn’t realized until now how much that had hurt you.

“sorry, i overstepped, didnt’t i? laswell’s always telling me i need to stop interrogating people, but old habits die hard.”

“you were in the military, then?” in hindsight you should have guessed something like that, from the way he stood with perfect posture or how he spoke from a place of authority, was likely an officer of some kind.

“yes ma’am, special forces. i served my time, but now i’m retired and trying to put it all behind me.”

you nodded along, “but old habits die hard” you said the words he left hanging in the air.

“exactly” he smiled over at you, making you melt into the seat.

collecting yourself, you cleared your throat then asked, “so what do you do now?”

“ah, inherited a bit of land from my grandad on my mum’s side. decided that when i retired, i would move to the countryside and start a farm.”

you laughed to yourself imagining him chasing around an escaped chicken but quickly stifled it behind your hand. he furrowed his eyebrows but looked at you more quizzically than the scalding expression nathan would have given you,

“and what’s so funny about that, miss?”

you shook your head, “nothing, really. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“no need to apologize, i like seeing you laugh” he said, something that slipped so casually from his lips it almost startled you.

“thank you” you murmured, looking out the window to hide your flushed cheeks. just in time to save your embarrassment, john slowed the truck to a stop outside a small mechanic shop that read ‘tav and riley repairs.’

a/n: this was so fun to write actually. idek what started this whole thing but i actually typed all of it in my notes app 😭 so sorry for possible errors and also lack of capitalization. i am a certified american writer so sorry if i get something wrong :(

but anyways, lmk if you guys want more of this or if this should be a dark fic or smth more wholesome and fluffy bc i could go either way 😈

#john price x reader #price x reader #johnathan price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod fics #farmer!price #price x f!reader

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lvrhughes · 4 months ago

Text

Haunted House | Q. Hughes

pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

word count: 1.48k

summary: Jack forces you to go through a haunted house with Quinn, leading to confessions from both of you.

warnings: none?

requested: no

not my gif!

“You got to come!”

Jack was begging at your door, almost on his knees begging for you to come to some stupid haunted house with him.

“Why? You know I don’t like scary things.”

“But Quinn’ll be there, he can protect you!”

“Oh I’m so sure your brother wants to have to look after me.”

Jack mumbled something under his breath, too quiet to hear before he returned to his begging, claiming he’ll never leave until you agree.

“I can do this all day, have fun begging.”

It was a strong line, until he began singing. Serenading your neighborhood with the out of pitch tune, causing a few dogs to begin barking before you begged him to stop.

“Fine, fine! I’ll go, just stop it!”

The smile on Jack’s face was almost brighter than the sun, his arms wrapping around your waist quickly to pull you into him for a hug, whispering thank you’s and ensuring that you’d be fine.

By nine, you’d talked yourself out of going, coming up with a fake sickness before Jack showed. Of course, why would he knock though? Walking into your house and scaring the shit out of you was his favorite part of having his own key to your house.

“Jack!”

Your heart was racing when he appeared behind you, looking over your shoulder at your laptop, which now lay on the couch from when you jumped in fear.

“Were you googling fake illnesses to get out of this?”

There was mock hurt in his voice, a hand to his heart while you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Too late, you’re coming.”

“Please-”

“Nope.”

Jack had dragged you to his car before you could speak, throwing the door open to shove you down beside Quinn in the back. Quinn softly laughed at the interaction, covering his smile with his hand while you tried to hide the blush from him.

“Didn’t want to come anymore?”

Quinn turned to look at you, making you scrunch your face in distaste at his question, urging him to laugh once more.

“I was trying to fake an illness when Jack broke in.”

Quinn all but burst out laughing at the confession, turning away from you again to laugh while you smiled at the sight.

You’d always had a thing for the oldest Hughes’ brother, and when Jack found out he was adamant that he could get you together. Nevertheless when you begged him not to try anything, he complied. Not without bringing it up every day though.

“I was thinking pairs for the haunted house.” Jack spoke, interrupting the peace that had settled in the car. “Was thinking of Quinn and pumpkin, me and Trevor, Luke and Seamus.”

The nickname resurfacing every October, coming from the once Jack had bought you a pumpkin spiced latte and you loved it, making it very known. You glanced at Quinn, noticing the sullen look on his face, feeling your heart drop.

“Yeah, that’s good.” Quinn’s words shocked you, glancing back at him to see the soft smile he sent your way.

It wasn’t long until you were stood outside the house, a soft breeze held a bit of a chill, forcing a shiver through your body as you waited.

“Here.” Quinn was quick to offer, removing the flannel from his body and over your shoulders.

“No, it’s okay-”

“You’re cold, take it.”

You knew arguing with him would be useless, having listened to countless arguments between him and Jack, so you stayed quiet. Thanking him softly for the flannel before slipping your arms properly through it, feeling the warmth of his left in it.

“Okay, Quinn and pumpkin go first.” Jack deemed, speaking only when he and Trevor reached the front of the line.

“What? Why us?”

The thought of entering the house brought a little shake to your voice, feeling Quinn put his hand on your shoulder as you spoke.

“We’ll be fine, we got to show them.” Quinn whispered, his head resting on your shoulder now as he leaned to speak, ushering you forwards once you nodded.

Jack sent a goofy smile and wave your way as you glanced back, leaving you to flip him off before walking in beside Quinn.

The entrance was dark, only slivers of light seeping to just cover the floor, Quinn walked ahead, his hand reaching back for yours within seconds of the door closing. You took his hand quickly, letting him pull you beside him so his arm could wrap around your shoulders. There was rattling and flashing lights, the room quickly darkening the further in Quinn led.

The sounds of chainsaws filled the halls as Quinn tried to find his way, keeping his hold on you while he turned down another hall. The shaking of bars beside you grabbed your attention, letting out a scream when a hand reached for you.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Quinn had you wrapped in his arms quicker than you could think, continuing to whisper calming words to you.

“Are we at the end?”

Quinn was staring at you with wide eyes, his pupils blown as he shook his head, indicating no. He moved slowly, maneuvering your body to walk in front of his with his arms around your shoulders. He walked slowly, letting you walk at whatever speed you decided while keeping his eyes open for anything that could scare you.

The end came quickly, Quinn whispering tips to you about where to go and what to expect. His hold on you never falling, keeping your body against his the entire walk, whispering reassuring words every so often.

“Quinn?”

Your voice was almost a whisper as you walked through the door, seeing the night sky again, lit with all the stars.

“Hmm?” He hummed a response, turning your body to face his.

“Why’d you call me baby?”

A dark blush covered his cheeks, his face almost a beet red now while his hand reached to scratch the back of his neck. He stumbled over a few words, trying to think up a logical explanation before letting out a soft sigh, returning his hands to your waist where they had laid before.

“Because that’s what I want to call you,” He took a breath, “I want to be the one who gets to hold you at night, I want to be yours.”

“Quinn.” He shook his head as you whispered his name, shifting his hold on you to pull you in closer.

“It’s okay, I know you like Jack.”

You almost burst out laughing at the words, staring at him with a dumbfounded look instead, which he returned quickly.

“I don’t like Jack, Quinn, I’ve liked you since Jack introduced us.”

His eyes widened at the confession, leaning back as if to see more of you before moving to cup your face.

“Are you serious?”

His tone was filled with disbelief while you laughed out a yes, moving your hands to run through the hair at the nape of his neck, softly tugging on the chain he wore while you moved.

Quinn was quick to move after you spoke, pressing a kiss to your lips instantly. His touch making your body melt into his, letting his arms hold you up while you continued threading your hands in his hair.

“HOLY SHIT.”

The screams of Jack and Trevor filled the moment, urging you to pull back from Quinn to see them running from the house, headed directly for you.

“Oh so you finally made a move?”

Jack’s tone was filled with attitude, his hand landing on his hips as he stared down his brother, leaving Trevor panting behind. Quinn simply rolled his eyes, pulling your body flush against his once more before more screaming filled the air.

Looking up to see Luke and Seamus running from the house, damn near clinging to each other as they ran towards the group. Luke arrived first, colliding with Quinn’s back, pushing you forward while he clung to the backside of Quinn.

“That was terrifying, never again.” He panted, still clinging onto Quinn like his life depended on it.

“I think even Pumpkin handled that better than you.” Quinn played, using the old nickname, before turning to his brother.

Shoving Luke into a headlock quickly, ruffling his younger brother’s hair while he complained, not fighting hard enough to get out. You watched from the side, slipping from Quinn’s grasp when he turned to mess with Luke.

“Hey on the bright side,” Jack spoke, gaining the collective attention, “Q finally made a move!”

The collection of boys shared cheers, shoving Quinn around the circle before returning him to you, allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders while his wrapped around your waist.

“Let’s go home now, hmm?” Quinn hummed softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as you nodded, letting him lead you back to the car, calling for Jack to hurry up and drive you home.

#mads writings!#quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #hughes brothers #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #vancouver canucks #canucks hockey

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justdontaskme · 1 month ago

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It Was Always You (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

A/N: Here you go, just as promised, the second part to this fic here. You should probably read that first to better understand this one. I probably should have proofread it again, but felt like I needed to get this out or it would forever sit as a WIP. So please enjoy and I hope to see you at my next fic.

After finally finishing what felt like the longest season of your life, you were ready for a long vacation surrounded by beaches with plenty of alone time for you and Alexia. Hawaii had been screaming your name since Christmas. The surprise planned proposal was just an added bonus for your good mood.

Ever since you had exchanged Christmas presents, Alexia had been very tight-lipped, deflecting any and all questions you asked about the upcoming proposal you knew was coming, just not when exactly it would happen. She refused to give you even the slightest hint.

While you packed for your two week trip to Hawaii, you felt discombobulated, running around like a madwoman as you packed and unpacked an unhealthy amount of times. Knowing that you were going to Hawaii with your girlfriend and coming back with a new shiny ring and a fiancee was driving you insane in the best kind of way.

As the trip came closer, Alexia started sharing pieces of the itinerary with you. The schedule was very flexible, allowing you to add in your fair share of ideas of things you wanted to do while on the vacation islands. There was a good mix of adventure, romance, and relaxation packed into a short two weeks.

This extra information also had your mind running on overdrive. You were googling everything that Alexia was booking, mentally calculating how likely her plans could lead to a proposal that day. You were dissecting every tiny morsel of information she was giving you. It led you down a long rabbit hole of what-if scenarios that was literally scrambling your brain.

But the midfielder knew how to keep you on your toes because there were just so many possibilities. It could be during a cute, romantic dinner or an adventure with a picturesque background for a proposal. It could be during a morning stroll on the beach or a helicopter ride over the beautiful island. It could even be next to a raging waterfall or underwater during a snorkeling trip. The possibilities were endless and you felt as if you were going crazy with each new idea that popped in your head.

When Alexia came home the night before you had planned to leave, the apartment you two shared was an utter mess. You had to fit a handful of outfits you could mix and match during your two week vacation. But you also had to prepare for the wide range of activities Alexia was planning for the two of you. Narrowing down what to wear was an obstacle all on its own.

“Almost done packing, mi vida?” Alexia whispered, slipping behind you as she looked at your bags over your shoulder.

She held in her chuckle as she noticed there were more clothes laid out everywhere in the room instead of in your suitcase. They were still only half packed, clothes hanging all over the bed. Some draped over your opened suitcase, others thrown haphazardly in a pile.

“I don't know what I’m going to wear, Ale,” you whined, leaning forward to grab a top and holding it up as you contemplated whether it would make the cut.

“Just pack some sleep clothes and swimsuits,” she said, her eyes falling shut as she laid her head against your back, loving the warmth and comfort of having you in her arms again. “You won’t be needing much of anything else.”

“But I want to look good. This is a special vacation,” you whined.

“You know I think you’ll look good in whatever you wear,” she told you, reaching over to pick up an item from your discard pile so she could neatly fold it and make a new pile.

You glared at her because you knew she was trying to keep you happy, but she was being no help whatsoever. It also irked you slightly that she was already fully packed, her bags sitting by the door, ready to be whisked away in the morning rush to the airport.

“Half the time you’ll be dressed in a nice little swimsuit, so it’s not like you need much else. Anything else you need, we can either buy there or you can borrow from me. Besides, the other half of the time, we could be in our room which means, you won’t really be needing any clothes,” she murmured, teasingly nipping at your neck.

You giggled at the sensation, nudging her away, as you twirled in her arms.

“I want to look cute for this,” you amended.

“You always look cute,” Alexia said, leaning down to press a kiss to your nose.

“You're not helping,” you grumbled, slipping out of her hold and sitting on the bed. The pout on your face was adorable, but Alexia could tell you were taking this whole situation very seriously.

“Don’t stress about this too much, mi amor,” she cupped your cheeks, making sure you were looking at her. “This vacation is about relaxing. You shouldn’t be getting riled up over this.”

“I know, I know. But this time it's special. And since you won't tell me what you're planning,” she rolled her eyes playfully at you trying to trick her into revealing everything, “I have to be ready at all times.”

“Good try, but how about I actually help you back your stuff?” Alexia deflected, wanting to help wind you down from this overthinking tirade.

You sent her a relieved smile, quickly nodding your head as you both got to work sorting through your clothes once more until you had a full suitcase. With one less thing to worry about, you slowly felt a bit of the tension in your shoulders momentarily wash away.

After you set your packed bags next to hers by the door, we flopped onto your couch, the mental exhaustion catching up to you. It didn’t take much coaxing from Alexia to get you to agree to order in food and relax before the whirlwind of vacation swept in.

But for the rest of the night you planned on enjoying the fleeting bliss before your mind could conjure up more scenarios to work you up again. And it was always so much easier to do that with your girlfriend by your side, arms around you, her softly humming into your ear to help calm you.

****

As soon as the plane touched down in Hawaii, you found yourself buzzing with both excitement and a tad bit of anxiety. All you wanted was to know when and where the proposal was happening. You wanted to be photo ready and emotionally prepared, so the surprise was killing you.

Even though it was supposed to be all happy, you felt like you couldn’t relax. Your mind refused to let your guard down completely. Thankfully, it all came in waves. You could indulge in the nice moments between you and Alexia, taking in the sights and emptying your mind for pieces of time.

What sucked was the slightly quieter moments that allowed your mind to wander. When you had too much time to think, you always overthought everything. Your head was constantly on a swivel as you searched for Alexia everytime she was out of sight for a moment too long. Then you’d think about the outfit you were wearing and if it’d fit the occasion if you were to turn and find your girlfriend on one knee, staring up at you with a hopeful smile.

Fortunately for you, your girlfriend was quick to step in before you could work yourself into a tizzy. She was good at redirecting your thoughts, whether it’d be to point out the beautiful scenery surrounding you on these magical islands or if it’d be as simple as unintentionally flexing her tanned and defined muscles that’d leave you flushed as your mind wandered.

Alexia was extremely attentive this trip, and you made sure to soak it all in.

The midfielder was an amazing girlfriend, but at times during the season, you and your relationship with the talented captain would sometimes have to take a backseat while she uplifted a legendary club and a thriving national team.

Even with you being on the same team, it could get difficult to balance everything. So Alexia, over the years, had come to affection overloading you in her break times, and you’d be a liar to say you hated it.

It had been almost a week of full bliss with your girlfriend in Hawaii and still no sign of a ring. You’d already gone on two breathtaking hikes, eaten at delicious hole-in-the-wall restaurants she had researched, and sunbathed to your heart’s content.

Each night so far had ended with a private, romantic dinner where the two of you would talk about anything and everything for hours. You found yourself throughout the trip feeling as if you had travelled back in time, and you were learning about Alexia all over again.

You reminisced on the dates you had been on at the very start of your relationship, and it reminded you so much of what you were feeling now. But instead of those crazy, scary nerves you had about possibly messing up a relationship before it even started, you now felt warm, loved, and safe.

The way the two of you had grown together throughout the years has been one of your favorite things in the world. Yes, the two of you would occasionally fight and argue, but in the end you were always in each other’s corner. Your bond allowed you both to step up and support each other whenever needed. When one of you felt down, the other worked harder to help bring you back up.

She was there to help heal you whenever you tried to deny you were sick even though you were coughing up a lung with snot running down your nose. She was there to lift you up when you felt your chances on your national team slipping away. She was there to make you smile whenever you felt upset about missing another milestone like a major birthday or even wedding in your family’s life as they lived a whole ocean away.

And just as she was there for you whenever you needed her most, you were there for her.

You were there to keep her company and out of her head and she watched endless game films after a tough match, win or lose. You were there to remind her to love whenever she and Alba got into any heated arguments that led to weeks of no contact between the two sisters. You were there to pull her from the depths of her despair when she tore her ACL and the devastating recovery that followed.

Each and every milestone in both your careers and life since the two of you made it official was shared and celebrated with one another.

Despite being in such close proximity to each other almost all the time between working and living together, there was never a dull moment. You took turns planning dates to help keep the romance alive. It was hard to feel like you never had anything to say because you two could talk for hours on end and still have more to add. And on the flipside, you could sit in complete silence and never feel an ounce of awkwardness.

You really felt like you won the dating lottery with Alexia.

This trip was needed for so many reasons, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. To begin with, you felt like you could decompress after what felt like a long, grueling season. There was also the opportunity to reconnect with your girlfriend, catching up on missed date nights or even spending quality time with one another that didn’t revolve around work. And of course, it was going to help move you two into the next step of your relationship.

You were ready to start the next day of your vacation, optimistic that today could be the day, just as you felt every morning since you woke up in the Aloha state.

While you had come to expect it, you still weren’t thrilled to wake up and find Alexia was no longer in bed with you. Being the athlete she was, and not being able to take off a full day, Alexia was always out for a morning run.

Checking the clock by your bedside, you saw that Alexia was due to be back any minute now, so you figured you’d get started on a quick breakfast to hold you over until lunchtime. With that in mind, you got up from bed, slowly sliding out from under the covers. The cold hardwood floors beneath you caused goosebumps to form up and down your arms.

There was a chill in the suite you were staying in. The warm air outside was nice and welcomed, but inside you both liked to keep the AC low, prompting you to search for a hoodie instead of turning up the heat. You knew Alexia packed one of her favorite hoodies, which also happened to be your favorite to steal, and you were dying to wear it right now.

Digging through Alexia’s stuff, you quickly find the hoodie you were searching for and throw it on. The encompassing smell that is purely Alexia immediately calms you. As you’re hugging yourself to warm up and breathe in her scent, you noticed something out of the ordinary in the back of the drawer.

Curiosity got the better of you, so you reached out and pulled out the offending item. A rather loud gasp escaped upon finding a black box sitting in the palm of your hand.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was. You knew she had to have hidden it somewhere, but you didn’t expect to find it before the time was right.

You couldn’t help yourself, your hand gently lifted the lid of the ring box, a small gasp escaping when you took in the ring perched in the middle of the box.

It was absolutely stunning. The diamond itself was just the perfect size for you, nothing too in your face but still big enough to catch the eye. The white gold shimmered along with the tiny diamonds set on the band, caging in the diamond in the middle.

The ring was perfect.

“You weren’t meant to see that yet,” you hear from behind you, snapping you out of the trance.

At the sound of her voice, you quickly shut the box in your hand, feeling incredibly embarrassed and insanely guilty. Slowly, you turned around, your eyes trained to the floor, afraid of her expression. Your mouth opened and shut a few times as you tried to find the words to apologize.

“It’s okay, mi amor. I’m not mad,” she reassured you, stepping into your personal space, her hands slowly taking yours.

You threw the box onto the bed, needing it out of your hands as you hid your face behind your fingers, mortified for messing everything up, “I’m so sorry, Ale.”

“Don’t be. In fact, I’ve been watching you for awhile,” she admitted, revealing that she’d been quietly standing at the door watching as you pulled the ring out and inspected it.

“I’m sorry, Ale,” you repeated, not even able to bring yourself to peek through your fingers to gauge her true reaction.

She shook her head, “Stop apologizing. I could have stopped you but I didn’t. Besides, you were going to see it soon anyways.”

Your jaw literally dropped as your girlfriend lowered down to one knee in front of you. “This isn’t how I planned it, but seeing you in my hoodie with the ring in your hand, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Alexia…” you breathed out, your voice wispy as tears began to well in your eyes.

“I’ve known since day one that you would be an important person in my life,” the midfielder started, reaching over to grab the ring box off the bed, opening it and staring down at the carefully crafted piece of jewelry. “Every day we spend together, I find another reason to never let you go and promise myself that I will do whatever I can to make you smile at me for the rest of our lives. I don’t want to wait to call you mine forever,” the slight crack of her voice told you she was nervous, despite you two talking about this very moment numerous times in the past. “Will you marry me?”

The question was barely out of her mouth before you were shouting, “Yes!”

With the biggest grin you’d ever seen, Alexia shot up, pulling you in for a deep kiss, as she slid the ring onto your finger. You pulled away from her, immediately hugging her close, not quite ready for her to anywhere but pressed up against you.

The next second the switch flipped as you both turned to celebrating this momentous occasion by slowly stripping each other of your clothes and finding the bed in your haste to feel one another.

After a few rounds, you found yourself lying on your back, Alexia on her side, watching you as one of her hands continued to trail innocent, lazy paths along your exposed body.

Both of you basked in the afterglow of your previous activities, the calm quiet allowing your minds to catch up to present.

“Will you tell me what you were planning to do? I know you had some crazy proposal actually planned out,” you said to her, turning over so you could face her.

She hummed, not quite ready to escape the state of bliss.

“Well your family and my family are actually flying in later today,” she started. “They know everything, so you’re going to have to pretend this never happened and act surprised when I propose. I think they’d kill me if they found out I already did it,” Alexia said, her voice wavering slightly because she would totally get berated by Alba and at least one of your sisters and possibly a brother.

Her admission started as a chuckle but quickly turned into a full belly laugh. Your laugh was infectious, and soon Alexia couldn’t find it in her to not join in.

“I like that. It’s like our little secret,” you said, sinking into the bed, Alexia leaning over until she was practically sprawled out on top of you.

She explained how your immediate families were coming in to witness the beginning of the next chapter in your life. The two of you agreed that as soon as you saw them, you had better act surprised to not arouse any suspicion. They were to keep any details about the proposal under lock and key.

Their first day there was meant to help them acclimate to the new scenery and time change. Alexia had planned a very chill day for that exact reason, allowing everyone to gather their bearings with a nice hearty meal and exquisite sights.

Your now fiancée then started to go into detail of how it was supposed to take place at a little private beach at sunset because it reminded her of that one sunset on a beach years ago where she first realized she loved you. And how a couple of weeks later, she took you back to that exact spot to confess it.

She showed you her notes on her phone about what she wanted to add to her speech, which was much longer and just slightly more heartfelt than the way she had thrown all caution to the wind, unexpectedly proposing to you in the middle of your hotel room.

Alexia went over every detail she had planned out, from photos and videos of the proposal to where she planned to take everyone to dinner afterwards. Each new detail made your heart stutter, as you felt the genuinity of each carefully masterminded idea.

While in bed with a new shiny ring on your finger, one you’d have to return temporarily so she could initiate the actual proposal in front of your loved ones, you realized you couldn’t stop grinning. You pictured everything she was saying to you, each little detail its own way of her saying she loved you.

The scenario you had playing in your mind was the exact way everything played out the next day.

It was the perfect second proposal from her. You couldn't wait to show everyone that you were now officially engaged to the love of your life.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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kaciidubs · 10 months ago

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Pearl Necklace

❣ Summary: In which Chris gives you a personally made pearl necklace. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 1.2k ❣ Warnings: Smut, no plot, blowjob, cum play ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Baby, Channie, Lover Boy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Pretty, Princess, unedited, ive been so busy with life and stuck in a writing rut so please take this as an unnecessary apology ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Baby…”

Your dramatic drawl came with the equally dramatic act of draping yourself over Chris’s body, effectively gaining his attention from whatever video he was watching on his phone as he happily welcomed your weight sinking him further into the couch.

“Can I ask you something?”

He laughed, tilting his head, “I’d be surprised if you did all that with the intention of not trying to get my attention - what’s up, baby?”

“Can you give me a pearl necklace?”

The twinkle in your eyes did nothing to explain away your sudden request - you weren’t the type to usually wear accessories as it was already, so the desire for a pearl necklace out of any other form of jewelry had him raising an eyebrow.

“Pearls? Like, pearl beads? I mean…” Glancing at his phone, he swiped at the screen to pull up Google, “We can look up some places that sell them if you really want it, I think I can find a few stores that-”

Your hand swiftly slipped his phone from his hold before locking it and stashing it near the couch pillow underneath his head, dismissing his growing confusion with a charming smile.

“Actually, I was thinking that we could make it together.”

“Oh?”

Do-it-yourself, of course - he loved when you had little projects you wanted to include him in, even if the outcome sometimes didn’t go to plan, it was the quality time that mattered the most.

“Sure, I’m down for that,” he sat up while you rose to sit in his lap properly, his hands resting on your bare thighs, “did you buy the stuff already? Do we need to go shopping?”

You shook your head, pink tongue peeking out to wet your lips, “Nope, everything we’d need is right here.”

A devilish swivel of your hips, loose pajama shorts almost becoming an invisible barrier against his worn basketball shorts, and his confusion spiked up once again.

“Pretty, what- Wait a second-” Hands gripping the width of your hips, he tried to will away the near instant reaction his body always had when it came to you, “What’s going on? I thought you wanted to make a necklace-”

“I do.”

Normally, your nod of agreement would’ve been enough to clear the air, but when you pulled your oversized t-shirt up and off of your body, the layers only deepened.

“So why are you taking off your clothes? Not- Not that I’m complaining, I just…” His train of thought began to trail off with the drifting of his eyes down your neck, following the contours of your collarbones to the swells of your chest he’d been acquainted with time and time again. “Are we actually making a necklace here or…?”

“We are,” leaning forward, you placed a featherlight kiss to his pouty lips, “we just need to do a few extra steps first.”

Chris designed a few pieces of jewelry in his lifetime, and though he wouldn’t say he’s an expert when it came to the actual crafting of the pieces, he’d be inclined to assume that the process of making a necklace didn’t involve his girlfriend on her knees, giving him the best head of his life - granted, he always considered everything she did for him as the best in his life, but his point still stood.

“Fuck… Just like that, baby- Oh, god-” His head fell against the back of the couch, a shiver running down his spine when he felt the tip press against the back of your throat again. “‘S so good, baby - you’re so fucking good, pretty girl.”

You hummed around his length, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly pulled off of him with a wet pop - lips glistening in a mixture of saliva and precum that put any form of lipgloss to shame.

“Just ‘good’, Channie?” Voice laced with teasing allure, you held the base of his cock as you laved your tongue along one of his balls, sucking at the skin and smirking at the kick of his leg in response.

He choked on a moan, one hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion while the other ran through his hair “Baby, please - I can’t- fuck- can’t really think while you’re doing this!”

Giving his other ball the similar treatment, you littered open mouthed kisses along the underside of his cock, “Mm… Can you look at me then, lover boy?”

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure when he had closed his eyes to begin with, but lifting his head and directing his full attention to you made him realize why keeping them closed was working in his favor.

Hypnotizing sultry gaze behind lidded eyes, your lips resting perfectly against his shaft as your hand gripped the base of his dick with practiced perfection - if he even dared to look any further then he’d see the utterly filthy line of saliva coating your chin, or the way your free hand was making itself busy between your legs.

The twitch of his dick was all you needed to feel to know that you had him right where you wanted him, a satisfied smile curving the corners of your lips as you pumped your fist.

“Ready to make that necklace for me?”

His breath hitched, lips parting to let out a shivering moan as he frantically nodded, “Y-Yeah- Shit, yeah - gonna make you look so pretty, princess.”

Your eyes sparkled, a giddy expression almost overtaking the utter lust exuding from you as you doubled your efforts with your hand - the wet, slick sound floating through the air while you jerked him off.

Chris fought the roll of his eyes as he focused on your goal-driven face, bucking into the drag of your palm as if he were truly fucking you, until the pressure in his abdomen became too much to bear.

“I’m gonna come, baby- Oh, god, yes- Y-Yeah, yeah-” His hand flew from the couch and wrapped around your own, angling his dick toward your chest with panted breaths, “I-I’m coming - I’m coming, f-fuck-”

The first splatter of cum landed directly on your neck, dripping its way toward your clavicle and between your breasts. Tilting your head back just a bit, you felt the warmth of his cum land around the curve of your neck, painting a shaky line of white against your skin with each shivering pass of your combined hands.

He let out a strained grunt as the last few drops dotted your cleavage, using your hand to thoroughly milk himself of the final remains before effectively melting into the couch with a worn sigh.

“So…” Giggling, you dropped your chin to get a better look at your exhausted boyfriend, “How do I look?”

Looking down, he noted the way his release seemed to follow the downward curve before either spilling down your collarbones or further filling out the line down your clavicle, adding a sort of teardrop design to your necklace.

“Honestly?” A breathless giggle escaped him as he reached his non-soiled hand out toward his phone, “How about I take a picture to show you, then we can work on adding some accessories to go with it.”

Safe to say, this wouldn’t be the last pearl necklace you’d receive from him.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 months ago

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A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit.

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office.

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut.

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen.

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.”

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in.

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s.

“Garcia!” Hotch called.

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk.

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office.

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off.

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said.

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator.

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said.

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway.

“You okay?” he asked.

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.”

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you.

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said.

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle.

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway, Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs.

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.”

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals.

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play.

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room.

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back.

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed.

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring.

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you.

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said.

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading.

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed.

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face.

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments.

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice.

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower.

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug.

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said.

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile.

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile.

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands.

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.”

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest.

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen.

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door.

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest.

“Garcia? What’s wrong?”

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone.

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked.

“He won’t,” Haley assured you.

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him.

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up.

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line.

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office.

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked.

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table.

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you.

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?”

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls.

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said.

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged.

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response.

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked.

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book.

“Little light reading?” someone asked.

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.”

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook.

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back.

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station.

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed.

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy.

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined.

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed.

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself.

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about.

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on.

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.”

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen.

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet.

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked.

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks.

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own.

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said.

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work.

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family.

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook.

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor.

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there.

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap.

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment.

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door.

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.”

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch.

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face.

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand.

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU.

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room.

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited.

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it.

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation.

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said.

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program.

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?”

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.”

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself.

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope.

He needed help picking out a ring.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #x reader

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brunchable · 4 months ago

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Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else.

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal?

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar.

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave.

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster.

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful.

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl.

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for.

Filth.

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them.

It’s me, of course.

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us.

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × ×

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you.

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you.

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × ×

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat.

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge.

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath.

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away.

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension.

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away.

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds.

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place.

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry.

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge.

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away.

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more.

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you.

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur.

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place.

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses.

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you.

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.”

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them.

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed.

Oh, shit.

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot.

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place.

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded.

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear.

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you.

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough.

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most.

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning.

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself.

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped.

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release.

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment.

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher.

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next.

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it."

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more.

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast.

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most.

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time.

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable.

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it.

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more.

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath.

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.”

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.”

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!”

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm.

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms.

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately.

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.”

Insatiable.

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender.

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.”

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it.

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way.

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on.

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you.

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go.

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!”

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed.

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you.

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you.

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass.

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie.

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.”

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy.

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.”

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him.

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you.

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement.

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it.

Which made it a thousand times hotter.

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . .

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.”

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock.

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.”

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.”

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.”

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space.

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle.

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy.

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you.

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.”

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his.

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you.

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything.

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles.

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life.

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different.

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing.

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body.

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust.

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated.

Goddamn, he was a lot.

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him.

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.”

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him.

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there.

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away.

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss.

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang.

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking.

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection.

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened.

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

904 notes · View notes

bunnliix · 3 months ago

Text

Little Doe

All I can say is that I went a lil wild writing this, and that this may have been sitting around in my google drive for months now. So here is what happens when I get inspired and maybe a bit unhinged

Pairing: Outlaw!Mingi x fem!reader Summary: You catch Mingi's eye, and he doesn't want to let you go wc: 1.4k AU: bouncy universe Genre: SMUT warnings: fem!reader, mean!Mingi, stalking, gunplay, being grabbed and held down, being stepped on, yandere-ish Mingi Smut warnings: DUB-CON/non-con?, threats, guns, praise kink if you squint, pet names (doe, love), breeding kink, breath play, talks of branding, talks of primal play, being pulled up by your hair, pain, non-con voyeurism Beta'd by the wonderful @skzdust

The heel of his boot pushes down into your back as you struggle underneath him. “Awww, look at this. You really think you’re gonna escape darlin'?” The boot wedges itself further into your back, as you feel a gun push into the back of your head. “I caught you, little doe, and now I’m gonna have fun with you, and if you try and run, well, let's say it won’t be fun for you.” You hear him say to you, as the gun pushes further into the back of your skull.

You stayed silent, not wanting to get yourself killed, but also not wanting to endure whatever this man would do to you.

“Cat got your tongue, little doe? C’mon, talk to me love. I wanna hear how pretty your voice sounds before I make you scream. Before you have no voice because I’ve made you scream so much that you’ve lost it,” he says, leaning down close to you, as you lay on the ground.

Flashback…

You had left the bar late one night, having had your weekly celebration with your friends. They had all left before you, leaving you in the bar filled with men, one of whom caught your eye, and not in the best way. He was staring you down like a tiger would its prey, you felt like if you stayed any longer, you’d be trapped. So you made your escape, or what you thought was your escape.

Walking out of the bar, you walk down the main road till you reach an alleyway that provides you a shortcut on your way home. You slip into the narrow path between buildings, thinking that you’d be safe now, not having seen or heard anyone follow you out of the bar. You get about halfway down the alley when you hear steps behind you, which pushes you to hurry to the other end of the alleyway. You don’t stop to look behind you, knowing it would only slow you down, and you never know if this person is alone or if there’s somebody waiting for you to look away before they swoop in and catch you within their claws.

You make it almost all the way to the end of the alleyway when your hands are grabbed and pulled behind you. You thrash around in the stranger’s grip, catching him off guard for a moment, allowing you to escape. You make it only a couple feet further before you’re forcibly pushed to the ground, a boot in your back as you struggle to get out from underneath it.

Back to the present…

“Now, are we going to do it the easy way, or the hard way, doe?” He asks you, his voice almost sickly sweet.

You struggled underneath him, trying to free yourself. His shoe only pressing down harder, making your attempts at freedom useless.

“I guess we’re doing it the hard way then,” You heard as you felt him move, as well as a hand snaking up your thigh, finding your panties and ripping them off your body.

“Well, I should thank you for wearing a skirt, making it so much easier for me.” He thanked you, as you felt his fingers on you, finding that you were soaked.

“Oh? It seems I’ve found a dirty little doe. Look at you, getting soaked over a stranger pinning you down and using you. Maybe I’ll just have to keep you after this. Use you for my own pleasure whenever I want, I’m sure you wouldn’t say no, would you, my pretty fucking cocksleeve?” You heard from above you as your hair was gripped, pulling your head up, as fingers appeared in front of your face.

“Suck. If you don’t, then I guess you want some pain, hmm?” You quickly take his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them diligently as he hums happily, or at least you assumed it was happily.

You felt his boot leave your back, as he rearranged himself above you, and you heard clothing being moved, as well as a zipped being unzipped and you knew what he was doing. You felt your skirt being flipped up and a groan as he laid his eyes on your pussy.

“Oh baby, little doe, I’m gonna stretch you out so much, no one else will compare by the time I’m done with you. You’ll want my cock to fuck you over and over again, nothing else will satisfy you.” He told you, as he pulled your hips upwards until you were on your knees.

A hand found its way onto your back, pressing down to keep you in position as you felt the head of his cock at your entrance as it pushed in. The stretch was more than you had ever felt before, but fuck it felt amazing and you knew, as he slid into you, that you’d never find another man to satisfy you ever again.

The man above you groaned, “Fuck little doe, you’re so fucking tight and you squeeze me just right. I’m just gonna have to keep you. I’ll keep you and you can sit on my cock all pretty, and I’ll fuck a baby into you too someday.” He rambled on and on as he slid back out before slamming back into you, his hips snapping into yours.

“Fuck, a pretty little cocksleeve, just for me. Maybe I’ll have to recreate this night over and over again, just to keep the memory fresh. Let you run and get all scared as I chase you. Maybe next time, I’ll trace pretty designs into your precious fucking skin, leave my own mark on you. Maybe I’ll even brand you.” You moaned at the thought of it. “Oh? Someone wants my mark on you permanently? Cute little doe. I’ll brand you, and mark your pretty skin with whatever designs I choose.”

Skin slapping skin was the only sound other than both of your moans and groans that could be heard, as you felt any sanity leave your body. You only wanted this man to fuck you for the rest of your life. He could use you for his pleasure, you didn’t care as long as it meant you getting fucked by him. Maybe he’d be nice enough to fulfill all of your dirty fucking fantasies. God, you’d beg on your knees if it meant he’d use you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he kept fucking you hard, your pussy squeezing him. He groaned and you felt his hand move from your back to your throat, gripping it tightly and pulling you up against him, your back to his chest. “Fuck baby, keep squeezing me like that and I’ll come. You want my come inside of your little pussy so badly?” He asked you, as you whined.

Your release hit you, washing over you like a wave without any warning. You moaned before whining as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. “Good girl, cumming on my cock. Fuck baby, I’m gonna come.” He groaned, as you felt his come inside of you as he came, holding you down onto his cock as far as you could go. You were so sensitive you whined in protest as he thrust a couple more times to make sure you had taken all of his cum inside your pussy. You slumped in his arms, unable to keep yourself up anymore, only held up by his grip on your throat.

“Aww, can’t hold yourself up anymore, my doe? Cute.” He told you, as he pulled you off of his dick, his come dripping out of you.

“Quite a performance there, Mingi,” you heard another man say, as the man, who you now knew was named Mingi, chuckled from above.

“Always the voyeur, aren’t you, Hongjoong?” Mingi answered the other man.

“Is it wrong to enjoy seeing you fuck yet another girl stupid?”

“No, but it does make you a bit of a creep, if you weren’t so attractive physically.” After replying to Hongjoong, Mingi hoisted your body onto his shoulder as he stood up.

“Come on lil doe, I’m taking you with me. Nobody’ll miss you, right?” He asked you, getting a whine in return, making him chuckle.

“Cute. And if anyone does miss you, then you’ll just have to tell them how much you don’t want to leave me. Because I know you won’t ever want to. No one ever does.”

Taglist: @callmeghostly @bethelighthalazia @palindrome969

#ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez smut #mingi smut #song mingi smut

359 notes · View notes

riddleriddles · 15 days ago

Text

ಇ margaret.

(delicate, part one)

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!shy!reader

summary. After the night of the ball, Mattheo couldn’t shake the thoughts of that girl. No matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, her image lingered in his mind.

add notes. hey guys, i kind of disappeared for a bit, but i’m back now (kinda of), and bringing more Mattheo because i just love him so much. I’ve been thinking about writing more and developing him a bit further, i still feel like I’m not doing him justice, so maybe there’ll be more of him from now on. And I translated this with AI this time, so let me know if it’s better than when I used Google.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

Mattheo was in the common room, immersed in a restless silence. The dim greenish glow of the fireplace was the only light, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. He stared at one of the paintings hanging on the wall, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. His eyes, though fixed on the painting in front of him, were unfocused. His mind wandered far beyond the room, lost in thoughts he couldn’t control.

In one hand, he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, occasionally bringing it to his lips with indifference. The bitter scent of smoke mingled with the heavy air in the room, but he seemed oblivious even to that. It was late—late enough that anyone else would have already been asleep. But for Mattheo, sleep was as distant as the faint moonlight barely creeping through the tall windows.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo was speaking incessantly, his excited tone filling the nearly empty room. He was recounting some Quidditch play with exaggerated enthusiasm, repeating details Mattheo had already heard countless times. Yet, Lorenzo’s words sounded like a distant buzz. It was impossible to care.

Because all that occupied Mattheo’s mind at that moment was her.

Mattheo hated it. He hated the weight of that involuntary obsession. It was as if she had quietly slipped in and taken possession of a space within him without asking for permission. He despised how his mind betrayed him, bringing back, like a cruel reflex, the memory of that smile she had given him at the ball. A shy, unpretentious smile, but one that had planted something within him—something he couldn’t name.

He knew how to handle girls. He always had. It was an art he mastered with ease, conducting encounters and flirtations with the skill of someone who knew the game well. But she… she didn’t play. She didn’t try. She didn’t need to. In fact, she had seemed genuinely surprised when he appeared beside her that night. And that unsettled him deeply.

“Mattheo, are you listening?” Lorenzo’s voice broke his thoughts like thunder, followed by a light pinch on his arm.

Mattheo blinked, reality slowly coming back to him. “Of course I’m not,” he answered flatly.

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, used to his friend’s lack of patience. “You’ve been off since that ball. Everything alright? Or did that girl actually get to you and your cold heart?”

“Don’t start, Enzo,” Mattheo replied with a frustrated sigh, leaning forward and crushing the cigarette in the silver ashtray on the table.

“Oh, it got to you,” Lorenzo laughed, teasing. “I’ve never seen you dance before. Especially not a waltz. And with a girl.”

“I was bored,” Mattheo lied, but the excuse came out with so little conviction that even he could tell how pathetic it sounded. He leaned back on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could push away the persistent images that kept invading his mind.

But if it was just boredom, why did he keep checking every room he entered, looking for her out of the corner of his eye? Why did that damn floral perfume seem embedded in his memory, like an echo that wouldn’t leave him?

The irritation burned inside him, slow and insidious. The way she had infiltrated his thoughts, occupying a space he hadn’t offered her, made him furious. She was like a riddle—and Mattheo hated riddles. Still, he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore her, even if he tried.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he suddenly got up. “I’m heading to the dorm,” he announced, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow in surprise, but his teasing grin remained. “Good night, broken heart,” he joked, but Mattheo didn’t respond.

When Mattheo reached the dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed with a low grunt, closing his eyes in a near-desperate motion. But the darkness didn’t bring the relief he had expected. On the contrary.

The first thing his mind conjured was the image of her bidding him farewell at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The soft smile she had given him as she closed the door, the light of the hall reflecting off her shiny shoes as she carefully descended the stairs, holding the hem of her dress. It was an annoyingly vivid memory.

He turned on the bed, restless. He tried to push the thoughts away, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. She wouldn’t leave his mind so easily. Not at all.

Days passed, dragged out, as if the universe was mocking Mattheo, torturing him while repeatedly playing those thoughts about her like a broken record. He tried to distract himself, searching for anything that would take him away from the constant irritation of being at the mercy of his own mind, but everything seemed utterly ineffective. Quidditch, and even the classes—which he no longer took as seriously—failed to pull his attention away and keep her image from his thoughts. And he hated it.

One day, Mattheo decided he would focus on the Quidditch practice. The cold wind sliced through his face as he flew with absurd precision, throwing the balls against the hoops with a force that seemed to expel his frustration along with them. But even then, something still distracted him. A simple glance at the stands and he realised: he was hoping she would be there, watching him. And the anger came back with full force. “This is ridiculous,” he repeated to himself, trying to refocus on the practice, but the truth was, nothing would pull him away from her.

That evening, the Great Hall exuded a vibrant atmosphere. The enchanted ceiling reflected a starry night sky, while floating candelabras gently spread a golden light across the long House tables. The sound of conversations and laughter mixed with the clinking of cutlery against silver plates. Platters overflowed with delicacies: succulent roasts, steaming bread, and colourful desserts that emitted a comforting aroma, filling the room with warmth that contrasted with the chilly air outside.

And then, there she was.

Mattheo saw her for the first time since that ball, and she seemed, if possible, even more enchanting. She was wearing her yellow and black daily robes, sitting near the centre of the Hufflepuff table, her face softly illuminated by the light of the candelabras. Her smile stood out among the crowd, and her hair, lightly tied up, seemed to catch the light in a way that made it glow gently. She leaned forward, laughing at something someone beside her had said—a trivial scene, but to Mattheo, it felt like the entire Great Hall had bent around her, as if the very room conspired to draw his attention to her.

In that instant, the buzz of conversations around him seemed to disappear, muffled by the intensity of his focus. He quickly glanced away, blinking repeatedly as he looked at his plate, his fingers tightening around the fork he was holding, as if that could push away the growing sense of discomfort. But the scent he had already come to know—that sweet floral perfume—seemed to linger in the air, even though she was metres away, as if the universe had decided to torment him.

The Great Hall, to Mattheo, had never seemed so crowded and, at the same time, so empty.

ಇ

The cold wind cut through the air in Hogsmeade that Saturday afternoon. The clear sky allowed the sun to shine gently, while the breeze stirred the leaves and flowers, which responded with a soft, rhythmic rustling. The small village was more crowded than usual, filled with excited Hogwarts students strolling through the stone streets. Between laughter and voices, the windows of candy, clothing, and curiosity shops made for a cozy, vibrant scene.

Mattheo walked calmly, having separated from his friends only a few minutes earlier. His hands rested in his pockets, and his mind was as distant as the mountains in the background. The sounds around him were nothing but muffled noise, unable to distract him from the thoughts that haunted him incessantly: her. He tried, in every way, to find a distraction, but it seemed useless. As if the universe insisted on mocking him, his eyes found her.

She was standing in front of one of the candy shops, looking undecided about whether to go in or not. With her hands holding her coat to protect herself from the cold, her shoulders were slightly hunched against the icy breeze. Her hair shone under the soft light of the afternoon sun, moving gently with the wind. She seemed so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Mattheo approaching. He stopped a step ahead of her, hesitating for a moment, as if the simple act of approaching her required more effort than usual.

Then, she saw him. Her eyes widened slightly before a shy but genuine smile appeared on her face. That smile had been haunting Mattheo since the ball. She seemed surprised, as if meeting him here was the last thing she expected.

“Hi… Mattheo, right?” Her voice was soft, a little uncertain, but filled with sincere sweetness. There was a hesitation in her tone, as if she feared he might not remember her or, worse, might prefer not to speak with her.

Mattheo exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For a brief moment, he was caught between the impact of that smile and her simple beauty. “Yeah, that’s right… What are you doing here alone… again?” he asked, a slight teasing tone slipping out unintentionally.

His eyes wandered over her face, as if trying to memorize every detail—the gentle curve of her lips, the faint blush coloring her cheeks, and the shy gleam in her eyes.

She laughed, a light and somewhat nervous sound, as her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from shyness. “I came to buy some chocolates. I don’t know how, but I ended up here. I think the smell of sugar drew me in.” She laughed at herself, as if finding her own distraction amusing.

Mattheo watched her closely. The calmness of that moment contrasted with the chaos that was unfolding inside him. This was the first time they were alone, without interruptions, and he realized that, although he had imagined this scene countless times in his mind, now he didn’t quite know what to say. He, who always had the right words, found himself momentarily lost. It was strange… and irritatingly fascinating.

“Actually, I was going to buy something next door…” he began, his voice coming out more casually than he had expected. “If you want company, maybe we could go together?”

She blinked, surprised, and then her eyes brightened with contained curiosity. “Sure, I’d love that. Maybe you can even help me choose something. I always get so indecisive in these candy shops.” She smiled lightly, her lips curving ever so slightly, but to Mattheo, it seemed like something monumental.

He managed a more genuine smile, feeling his own hesitation fade away. “Definitely. I’m practically an expert on chocolate, if you want to know.” He opened the door to the shop, inviting her in with a casual gesture.

Inside, the aroma of chocolate and sugar enveloped them. The conversation flowed easier than Mattheo had imagined, with her laughing softly at his ironic comments about the more eccentric sweets in the shop. He found that he enjoyed listening to her more than he had expected, and for the first time in days, his mind seemed less chaotic. It was as though being near her made everything a little clearer, a little simpler.

When they left the shop, both carrying bags full of candy, Mattheo felt a strange desire to prolong the moment. The cold wind didn’t seem so intense anymore, and the sound of her laughter echoed in his mind like music. He found himself looking at her again, noticing how the soft light of the late afternoon highlighted the delicate features of her face.

For a brief moment, he almost reached out to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, but he stopped. He didn’t want to be too forward. He didn’t know her well enough for such a casual gesture… at least, not yet.

When the sun began to set, they said their goodbyes. She smiled once more, a sweet and peaceful smile, before waving and heading toward the carriage with a friend. Mattheo stood there for a few moments, watching her walk away.

ಇ

The air around the lake was calm and serene, as still as the water that reflected the orange sky of the late afternoon. Only the subtle sound of the waves and the whisper of the wind through the trees filled the space. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over everything, as if the world had paused in that moment. She sat by the lake, her legs crossed and her eyes fixed on the water’s surface, as if trying to uncover some invisible secret hidden there.

Mattheo saw her from a distance, and his breath faltered for a moment. How was it that she seemed to be everywhere lately? He knew he should simply move on, pretend he hadn’t seen her, but it felt like an impossible task. It was as though an invisible force was pulling him towards her, persistent and inevitable. Perhaps it was the way the sunlight seemed to dance in her hair, or the almost untouchable peace that seemed to surround her, in stark contrast to the chaos she always left in his mind.

He took a deep breath, pushing aside the strange shyness that only seemed to appear in her presence, and made his way over. The sound of his footsteps on the grass caught her attention, and she turned her face towards him, her eyes lighting up slightly. For a moment, she seemed surprised, but soon looked away again, returning her gaze to the lake in a calm posture, as if trying to hide any reaction.

“Do you always run off here alone?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stopped beside her.

She shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Sometimes. I like the peace here. No one comes around except in the summer.”

“I see,” he replied, sitting beside her without asking for permission, though he kept a respectful distance. “It’s the kind of place that makes you forget you’re surrounded by so many people all the time.”

“Exactly.” She nodded, turning her face towards him. Her eyes briefly examined his face, as if she was assessing his presence. “Here it feels… outside of reality.”

He nodded silently, relieved that she didn’t seem bothered by his approach. “A good place to think… or to escape,” he added lightly.

She chuckled softly, the sound delicate and almost musical. Mattheo noticed how her eyes would close slightly when she smiled, and had to look away to the water, afraid he was staring too intently.

For a few moments, silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable. The cool breeze from the lake brought a sense of calm, while the reflection of the sky on the water created an almost magical scene. Mattheo tried to think of something to say, but her natural ease made it harder than he’d like to admit.

“So, do you come here often?” he asked, his voice coming out quieter than he’d intended.

She turned her face towards him, her eyes soft and curious. “Yes, it’s one of my favourite places at the castle.”

He nodded, feeling a small satisfaction from learning something more about her. Any detail was valuable.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your peace,” he teased, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips.

She shook her head quickly, sincerity in her response. “Of course not. It’s nice to have company sometimes.”

Her answer caught him off guard, and he felt a more genuine smile spread across his face. But realising how silly it must have looked, he cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the lake, picking up a stone from the shore. He tossed it expertly, and the small rock skipped across the water three times before sinking.

“You’re good at that,” she commented, sounding a bit impressed. “I didn’t know it was one of your talents.”

“There are many things about me you don’t know,” he replied, with a teasing tone, though not daring to look at her directly. He didn’t notice the faint blush that coloured her cheeks.

She laughed softly, but didn’t respond, and that left him restless. He didn’t want the conversation to end there.

“Do you want to try?” He offered her another stone.

She hesitated for a moment before taking the stone from his hand, her fingers brushing his briefly. It was a brief touch, but one that left a warm trace in his mind. She threw the stone with a little less force than necessary, and it sank almost immediately.

She laughed at herself, that sweet, light sound he wanted to hear forever. “Clearly, I’m not as talented as you.”

Mattheo chuckled at her failed attempt, but, to him, it was adorable. Everything about her was adorable—the way she spoke, how she smiled, how she moved. He was lost for her, and he knew it.

“It just takes practice,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual while holding back a smile.

The afternoon passed with laughter, casual conversation, and more attempts on her part to skip stones across the lake, all equally disastrous. But Mattheo didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Any excuse to stay beside her, watching every little detail, was more than enough.

And as the sun began to hide behind the trees, casting the sky in deeper tones, Mattheo realised that his affection for her was growing at an almost alarming rate. But he didn’t want to stop.

ಇ

During Herbology class, the afternoon was warm. The students were scattered around the garden, working with the magical and exotic plants they were being taught to handle. Professor Sprout was observing closely, walking between the rows, supervising everyone’s efforts.

She was focused, struggling with a bold plant that had, without warning, begun to wind itself around her arm. With every movement she made, the plant tightened, as though it had a mind of its own and no friendly intentions.

“Oi! All right there?” Mattheo’s voice suddenly called, close enough to startle her. He approached with that playful smile on his lips, and she hadn’t realised he had been watching her since the beginning of the class.

She jumped slightly, turning to face him while still fighting against the stubborn plant. “I’m fine, yeah,” she replied with a slightly awkward smile, trying to cover up the disastrous situation. “It’s just… I haven’t quite figured out how to deal with this little plant.”

Mattheo laughed. He found it adorable how, even with the plant practically choking her arm, she still tried to maintain composure. But he could see right through the façade.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, stepping close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of his cologne, mixed with a trace of cigarette smoke on his robes. It wasn’t unpleasant, but unmistakable.

Now, with him so close, she noticed details she hadn’t before: the discreet scar on his cheek that she’d never noticed, and another that she liked to observe on the tip of his nose.

He wasn’t wearing the usual green and black Slytherin cloak, only the white shirt and loosely tied tie. His sleeves rolled up revealed strong forearms. With an absurd ease, he began untangling the plant from her arm.

“Is this all you can do? Let a little plant tear you to pieces?” he asked in a mocking tone, inspecting the marks the plant had left.

“Or do you like the pain?” He laughed, gently taking her hand to examine it more closely. His hands were cold and rough, but the touch, surprisingly, was gentle, as though he was trying not to hurt her more.

“Of course not, shut up!” She quickly replied, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder while letting out a light laugh. “It’s just that this plant, in particular, is a bit more… complex.”

“Complex?” A smile formed on his face. “It’s just another stupid plant,” he said, gently releasing her arm. His words made her give him a small frown.

“That’s what you think!” She shot back, pointing a finger directly at his chest. “This ‘stupid plant’ is worth the effort if you learn how to deal with it”

“Ah, right. And I suppose you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” He teased, with a mischievous smile. She squinted her eyes at him, clearly not finding it funny.

“I’ll learn, alright?” She replied firmly, though he doubted her conviction would last long.

Mattheo chuckled quietly, stepping back a bit and crossing his arms while watching her with an amused— and something more, something he kept carefully hidden— look. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

Determined, she tried again. She touched the plant carefully, moving her other hand with a pair of scissors, but it didn’t work. As soon as she got too close, the plant grabbed her arm again, this time with more force, causing her to bite her cheek in an attempt to hold back the pain.

Mattheo rolled his eyes as he watched her make the same mistake, but when he noticed the discomfort in her expression and the visibly tight grip on her arm, his face shifted. He quickly approached.

“Wait, let me take care of this,” he said, taking her arm again, this time with more urgency. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Relax your arm,” he instructed, his voice low and firm.

She obeyed, relaxing her arm, and after a few seconds, the plant gave way. He released it, while she quickly pulled her arm back, massaging her sore wrist.

“I’m never going to finish this task,” she complained, still rubbing the spot.

“Stop whining,” Mattheo said with a cheeky smile, his voice firm but laid-back. “You’re just being too nice to the plant. That’s not how it works.”

His words made her glare at him with a challenging look, as though silently daring him to show her something better.

“Watch and learn,” he said confidently — perhaps a bit too confidently. He stepped closer to the plant, rolling up his sleeves to avoid getting his shirt dirty. He studied the position of the roots for a few seconds before grabbing the plant with far more force than she had dared. Then, with scissors in hand, he cut the necessary parts with precision, finishing the task effortlessly.

“How can you be kind to a plant like that? That’s not how it works,” he remarked, wiping his hands with a cloth.

She watched the scene with a strange feeling growing in her stomach. It was odd seeing him so forceful with something, as he always seemed so calm and carefree. His sleeves rolled up, his strong arms, the confident manner — something about it made her blush. He looked strangely handsome in that moment.

“Hm, you’re rather good at that. Another skill of yours I had no idea existed,” she said, regaining her composure as she bent down to gather the little fruits that had fallen to the ground.

“There are plenty of things you still don’t know I’m good at,” he said casually, with an enigmatic smile.

ಇ

The cold night wind blew gently across the castle courtyard, where she sat on one of the stone benches, reviewing her notes. Mattheo, who had a habit of seeking her out at night, was leaning against a nearby column, watching her in silence while pretending to be distracted.

“You know staring at me isn’t going to help me study, right?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the parchment in front of her, though a small smile played at her lips.

“I’m not staring, I’m just—” He began, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Well, well, look who I find here.” Cedric Diggory’s unmistakably confident voice cut through the air, and Mattheo immediately straightened up, crossing his arms as he observed the new arrival.

She looked up, surprised, and forced a smile, a little nervous. “Hi, Cedric. Long time no see.”

Cedric stopped in front of her, his bright, warm smile — the one so many people found charming — still intact. “That’s true. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Not at all,” she replied, looking away slightly, visibly uncomfortable. “But I’ve been busy with studies.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, observing the interaction with a neutral expression, but anyone who knew him well would notice the tension in his jaw. He stayed silent, but his gaze never left Cedric.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Cedric continued, completely ignoring Mattheo’s presence. He leaned in slightly, in a casual gesture, though it seemed a bit too intimate for those watching. “You know, I still feel bad about that night…”

She froze for a moment, a bit unsettled by the mention, before lowering her gaze. “Oh… Cedric, that’s in the past. No need to worry about it now.”

Mattheo frowned, curious and visibly suspicious, but he remained where he was, his hands now clenched into loose fists.

“Still, I want to apologise. You deserved someone who—”

“Cedric,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. Standing up from the bench, she looked away once more. “It’s really fine. I’ve gotten over it. We’re friends, right?”

Cedric’s smile faltered for a moment, but he nodded. “Of course. Friends.” He stepped back a little, seeming slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I hope to see you at the next match. It was good seeing you.”

“It was good to see you too,” she said, maintaining her calm posture, though still visibly shy.

Cedric waved one last time before walking away, finally noticing Mattheo’s presence, but not caring much about it. As soon as he disappeared down the corridor, silence hung between them.

“So…” Mattheo broke the silence, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Friends, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, sitting back down on the bench. “Yes, friends. You heard.”

“Because it seemed more like he was trying to… I don’t know… redeem himself or something,” Mattheo said, stepping closer, leaning against the bench beside her, his arms still crossed. “Is there something I should know?”

She sighed, closing the parchment. “It’s nothing important. Cedric was… just a disappointment, nothing more. And it’s in the past.”

He raised an eyebrow, the jealousy clear in his eyes. “A disappointment, huh?”

“Yes, Mattheo. A disappointment.” She looked at him seriously, though with a hint of amusement in her gaze. “And for your information, I feel absolutely nothing for him.”

“Really?” He leaned in a little, his face closer to hers. “Because it seemed like he still feels something for you.”

She shook her head, laughing lightly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He smiled, though there was something challenging in his expression. “If I’m ridiculous, then what is he?”

“Uninteresting.”

Her quick reply surprised both her and him. Mattheo blinked, looking a little less tense, and a genuine smile appeared on his lips. “Uninteresting, huh?”

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “Yes. And are you going to keep insisting on this, or will you let me finish studying?”

He watched her for a moment before grinning, leaning in even closer until their faces were dangerously near. “I think I can accept that… for now.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at the proximity. He noticed, but instead of pulling back, he just gave her a small smile before pulling away again, giving her space — but not much.

“Good luck with your studies, then,” he said, his voice carrying a tone she couldn’t quite decipher, before leaning back against the column and staying there, as if he had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

The silence took over them both again, but after a few minutes, he stepped closer still and, in a low tone, almost as if testing his words, asked:

“Was it him who made you cry that night at the ball?”

She was momentarily speechless, her face flushing slightly as she looked at him, nervous. She couldn’t meet Mattheo’s eyes, but the memory of that night still affected her deeply. Her fingers began to play with the edges of the parchment, looking for something to focus on.

“Yes…” she answered, her voice soft and hesitant. “It was him.”

Mattheo felt a wave of protectiveness surge within him. His eyes darkened for a moment, as if the thought of Cedric causing her pain bothered him deeply. He moved a little closer, his voice now laden with concern.

“He doesn’t deserve a single ounce of your attention,” he said, the softness of his words contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

She looked up at him, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. Even without saying anything further, she knew Mattheo was there for her, with no reservations, ready to protect whatever was necessary.

“I know,” she replied, a shy smile beginning to form on her lips, comforting yet tinged with vulnerability.

He watched her for a moment, a protective expression on his face, and then gave a slight smile, softer this time, as though he was finally understanding what truly mattered.

“Don’t worry,” he said, in a tone that seemed to promise something. “I’m here.”

ಇ

Mattheo stood in the dark corridor, hands in his pockets, trying to control the whirlwind of thoughts still spinning in his head. Enzo was beside him, observing his friend patiently. But the silence between them was growing uncomfortable. The tension radiating off Mattheo was almost palpable.

“Mate, you’re freaking out over this?” Enzo finally spoke, his voice low and bored, breaking the silence.

Mattheo looked at him, his eyes slightly irritated. “I’m not freaking out. I just… didn’t expect to feel this way, you know? I didn’t think I’d be so… bothered.” He took a step forward, stopping in front of one of the cold castle walls. “But he can’t just show up like nothing’s happened. And she… she seems so… calm.”

Enzo sighed, arms crossed. “You’re talking about Cedric, right?”

“Who else?” Mattheo muttered, almost growling, his eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall. “He shouldn’t be so comfortable around her. And what’s worse is, she doesn’t seem to care. It’s like just another conversation, just another interaction. But what am I, Enzo? A spectator? damnit.”

Enzo moved closer to him, not showing much surprise at Mattheo’s behaviour, but still visibly paying attention. “And you think she’ll start thinking about you if you keep doing this? If you keep torturing yourself, waiting for things to sort themselves out?”

Mattheo turned to face him, frustration clear on his face. “I know what you’re trying to say, but I’m not an idiot, Enzo. I already know what she feels, I’ve already seen it, she’s not the type to make things clear that easily. And if I try to do something, I’ll just make things worse. I’m not… like him.”

Enzo gave a tired smile, shaking his head. “Mate, you’re hiding behind this idea of ‘I’m not like him’. I know what you’ve got in your head, but… maybe you need to stop thinking there’s a manual on how to act here. Just go up to her. Don’t overthink it. You’ve got a chance, but if you keep going like this, you’ll lose it, and in the end, what will be left?”

Mattheo remained silent for a while, his gaze fixed on the floor. He knew Enzo was right, but the idea of approaching her still felt so distant, like he had lost control over the situation.

“She should be in the greenhouse,” Mattheo commented, his voice tinged with slight hesitation but also resignation.

“Yeah,” Enzo replied, already knowing where this was headed. “Now go on, or do you want to keep complaining for another hour?”

Mattheo looked at him, a little irritated, but also unsure of how to react. He knew what Enzo was suggesting wasn’t just about having a simple chat. He was telling Mattheo to open up in a way he didn’t allow himself to. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t let things continue like this.

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and started walking towards the greenhouse. Enzo watched him for a moment, his expression serious but still offering silent support.

The cold wind cut through the empty greenhouses as she stayed there, alone, organising her materials and rereading notes from the day’s class. The light from the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting an orange glow across the room. She was so focused that she didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” The familiar voice of Mattheo came from behind her, relaxed, with that trademark tone that made her roll her eyes — and, at the same time, smile.

She turned around, surprised, holding a quill in her hand. “You’re still here? I thought you’d have run off to the common room by now.”

“And leave you here alone, exhausted and lost in your thoughts?” He stepped closer with a teasing smile, stopping next to the counter where she worked. “Seems a bit irresponsible of me, don’t you think?”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just wanted to finish reviewing this before tomorrow.”

“Of course you did,” he replied, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the counter. “Always so diligent. But you know the plants aren’t going to run away if you leave them for tomorrow, right?”

She returned her focus to the notes, trying to ignore his closeness. “I’d rather be sure. Besides, if I head to the castle now, I’ll probably just get distracted.”

“So, you admit I’m a distraction.” He smiled, his gaze full of amusement.

She paused for a second, realising what she had said, and blushed slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” he tilted his head, his eyes watching her every reaction. “But it’s not like it’s a lie.”

She huffed, trying to stifle a smile as she returned to her materials on the counter. “If you’ve only come here to tease me, you might as well head back to the castle.”

“Maybe I came for another reason.” He took a step forward, now standing even closer, enough that she could feel his warmth, despite the cold around them.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, trying to maintain composure. “And what might that be?”

He hesitated for a moment, the smile fading slightly, but the sparkle in his eyes remained. “Sometimes, I think you’re the only person who hasn’t realised.”

“Realised what?” The question escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned in a little more, his face close enough that she could smell the faint scent of tobacco mixed with something woody. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the silence seemed louder than any words.

“This.” The word came out before he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, but confident kiss.

She froze for a second, surprised, before relaxing slightly. The kiss was gentle, as if he was waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t pull away.

When he broke the kiss, the smile returned to his face, now softer and almost challenging. “Maybe that clears things up.”

She was still processing what had just happened, her heart racing, words escaping her. “You kissed me.”

“And you liked it.” He took a step back, but his gaze remained fixed on hers, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation.

She sighed, a small, involuntary smile appearing on her lips. “I liked it.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and extended a hand to help her gather the scattered materials. “Come on, or Professor Sprout’s going to turn us into fertiliser for being late.”

Without realising it, she let him accompany her back to the castle, and this time, the silence between them felt comfortable — and full of new feelings.

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