#if it feels like i rambled in some parts please let me know please and thanks i wanna give ya'll quality content

[atlabeth]

(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 

You frown. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.  

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” 

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 

-

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 

“Fine,” you say. 

He frowns. “Really?” 

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 

“Am I not allowed to joke?” 

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 

“A couple spoonfuls but—” 

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 

“Do they have any leads?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 

“Want one?” 

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 

-

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 

Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 

“...Some,” Spencer says. 

“Like?” 

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 

“Spencer—” 

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 

He hangs up without another word. 

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 15

It's here!!! Finally, I am able to finish it! This chapter is a lil messy, I'll admit, and ended up twice as long as intended, but I'm hoping it'll be a good set up for the next chapter, which will feature a lot more Dracula :3 I am posting this a bit sleep deprived, so I apologize if it has several mistakes ;w;

Thank you for waiting, and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Turns out going home had consequences worse than you had anticipated. With time ticking by, and tensions beginning to boil with your step family, you decide to make several impulsive decisions in hopes of working on your deal with Dracula, or at least having something to show for it. Of course, nothing can go right, especially with Death tailing you, now can it?

CW: Physical and verbal abuse mentioned (You are mostly fine, no worries), extreme anxiety and second thoughts, slight face injury (just a bruise), impulsive shopping, mental rambling and overthinking, Death makes an appearance

Word Count: 6575 words!

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Looking in the mirror shouldn’t have been as harrowing as it felt at the moment.

If you were being honest with yourself, you could care less about appearances. You liked looking nice and all, but you didn’t always have the luxury of looking nice on a hunt when it involved… monster remains ending up splattered all over you.

That… and as you were growing older, you looked a lot more like your mother.

Not just in looks, but…

You hated how your eyes looked so sunken in. How there was an unnatural paleness to you. Like you were ill.

It certainly made you feel sick. You hated being reminded how your mother looked that last year before she passed.

Of course, it didn’t help that you had a massive bruise on your left cheek. Or how you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in… what, weeks? More so than normal anyway.

That, and you genuinely haven’t felt well since you came back home around 3 weeks ago.

“Ugh….” You groaned out, leaning closer to the mirror as your head throbbed.

At least you weren’t beaten bloody and bruised like you had been before… everything.

It had nearly been a month since you returned. As much as you would have liked to believe things would have gotten better after coming back home, that was nothing more than a pipe dream.

“Just who do you think you are, huh? Who the hell lets you stay here? Do you think it’s funny to pull that kinda shit? Huh?”

Jason hadn’t been happy at your return. Though you had a feeling he was more mad about you staying away and still being alive.

“Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, you dense fuck. I let you stay here out of the goodness of my heart, and you not only attack us, but pull a disappearing act?”

Eyes narrowing at yourself in the mirror, your reflection scowled with you as you remembered parts of Jason’s explosive reaction to you coming home that day.

Your step brothers and step father had been doing something involving recon for a mission of some sort. So they said, anyway. Not that they gave you much of an explanation anytime they left anywhere, unless it was somewhere fun.

Then they were more than happy to brag about going somewhere, and you weren’t invited.

Regardless, you didn’t hear much about where they were, but you got to hear all about how bad of a person you were for leaving like that. For having the gall to defend yourself.

The reflection of you in the mirror scowled even further, before wincing when you felt a twinge of pain from the bruise on your face.

Annoyance flickered on your features.

After you came home and were discovered by your family, the ‘scolding’ had certainly been one of the worst, but you would argue that wasn’t the worst part of coming back.

”I’ll have you know I could kick you out at any time. You are nothing but a freak. A parasite. At least your mother was worth something compared to you. All you do is sit around and do nothing, wasting our time and resources!”

Jason and your brothers had never been physically violent before. At least, not outside ‘training’, anyway.

Sure, there was the occasional shove, and a shoulder check here and there. Maybe a loose foot finding its way in front of your own…

Jason was practically in your face as he yelled, your back pressed against the wall as he practically cornered you.

“All you do is sit on your ass and run off to god knows where after throwing a fit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t toss your shit into the streets right now!?”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you.

“Shut up!”

Your eyes widened as a fist came at you-

…Only for your body to tense with one of your hands in front of your face as his fist landed a few inches from your head, now in a huge hole in the wall next to where you stood. No doubt you would be fixing that later.

Jason’s face was right next to yours, his eyes dark with a hatred that had your body tense, and your hair stand on end.

“Get out of my sight.”

Ever since that first night back, Jason had gotten scarily close to genuinely hurting you. He, and his oldest son, Mark, had grown increasingly aggressive.

It frightened you. Never had they seemed so irritated.

That was saying a lot, if you were being honest with yourself.

Sure, you feared what they could do to you, to your home. It was a small fear, one you kept a tight lock on. You hadn’t really felt scared of them. Not before they tried to lethally injure you.

Now you felt like a cornered animal half the time, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It felt like it was only a matter of time before things escalated. If something happened to you… You didn’t like to think what would happen afterwards.

The look in their eyes… You couldn’t help but compare it to a monster who was out for blood. A pure hate that made you feel ill just looking at them.

And with their aggression growing… it was looking more and more likely you faced something terrible happening with each passing day.

Not even a week had passed after Jason’s episode before you were shoved down the stairs. You thankfully had caught yourself, but instead of an empty hall at the top of the stairs like you expected, Mark stood watching.

His eyes were just as cold as his father’s. That same, piercing hate deep in his eyes.

“No one wants you here.” Was all he said, before he turned around and left, leaving you awkwardly hanging onto one of the rails.

Since then, Jason and Mark had made a point to let their displeasure known. You were either tossed around, or forced to do extra dirty work around the house. Jason made a point to tell you that he expected ‘more’ from you from now on.

Ignoring the fact you already did most of the house work anyway. Fucker.

Now they both made messes on purpose. Well, more ‘on purpose’ than before.

Kitchen? A wreck almost every night.

Living room? You were now picking up their disgusting clothes and messes.

Entry way? You were cleaning mud that was tracked in every other day. It wasn’t even muddy out front, so you knew they were doing this on purpose elsewhere to piss you off.

At least Seth kept his distance. He wasn’t pleasant, but he at least seemed to dislike outright trying to hurt you more than a shoulder check. If anything, he just told you to clean something or go shopping at inconvenient times.

Maybe toss something on the floor for you to clean up, but even he seemed to find that more bothersome than it was worth.

It still wasn’t great, but it only added to your ever growing stress.

“Things could be worse… I guess.” You mumbled, exhaustion clear on your features as your frown fell back to your neutral look.

You could have Dracula trying to kill you, along with everything else. No doubt that would have possibly either broke you, or had made everything worse. Your face scrunched up at the thought.

Though you winced once again, the bruise near your eye throbbing at the movement.

Jason and the others may not have outright been hitting you with their fists since you got back, but…

Letting out a gasp of surprise at the sudden sharp pain, you felt your body slam into the wall next to you as your body swung back in surprise.

“Oh sorry, did that hurt?” Mark mocked, throwing the bag he had ‘accidentally’ hit you with over his shoulder.

Motherfucker had waited around a corner just to swing a bag of junk at your head. You were lucky it didn’t directly hit your eyes, but…

You could feel your anger bubbling in your chest, and you sighed. At least you still had your sight, even if you worried the cheekbone had been damaged.

Whatever.

Turning the faucet on, you splashed some water on your face, waking you up a little bit as you trekked back to your room

Truth be told, it wasn’t just your step family causing you issues.

You had been spending what free time and energy you had on working on your deal with Dracula.

Something that still was weird to think about.

Entering your room and closing the door behind you with a soft ‘click’, you went over to your desk and sat down. Reaching down to the floor, you pulled out a specific notebook you had hidden under a bunch of random clothes and junk, and opened it.

Inside the notebook was what would be a bunch of gibberish, but was simply a cypher.

You didn’t dare write anything about Dracula somewhere where your step family could find it and read it. A phone was hackable, and just leaving a notebook around without precautions was begging for fate to mess with you and make things worse.

Flipping through the pages, you found your simple ‘To-Do List’.

It was messy, but when you came back home a near wreck, it was as good a place as any to start.

There were several different things written down, such as buying him a modern cell phone. Or building him a computer. Or even showing him some modern libraries.

You hoped he would at least be impressed by the internet, and the many archives it included. Though you were a bit nervous about the internet as well, not really wanting him to see how depraved humanity could be, where it was right out in the open.

Then again… the internet had a front row view on the good things humanity has done too. That, and it’s not like Dracula was unaware of how awful people could be, human or otherwise.

Perhaps you would only show him the internet archive or something. And how to pirate movies and books.

Movies and television were a whole different ball game as well on what to show him. You wondered if he’d like The Addams Family, or The Godfather. Or Psych, or Columbo or something.

Shaking your head, you wrote down a few suggestions to show him later. After you managed to figure out if you could even get internet working at his castle, of course.

You’d have to make a few calls to some people who knew how to keep their mouths shut, no doubt.

Even then, he may not even want it. That was something you had to consider.

“Though, perhaps…” you mumbled out loud as a thought entered your mind.

Perhaps you could just show him all that stuff at your cabin? Test the waters?

A part of you nearly snarled at the idea of anyone finding your humble sanctuary, let alone being allowed in it that wasn’t your late mother.

But you had way more at stake here. You had a deal to hold your end up on. Surely, your little abode was worth the entirety of humanity?

…You would consider it.

Then there was the fact you would probably have to get a phone or internet plan for Dracula.

Good god you had a lot on your plate.

That isn’t even mentioning the calls you had been attempting to make for blood banks for supernatural entities. With how busy they tended to be though, you ended up on hold nearly every attempt you made. No doubt you would have to send some emails and make an in person visit.

Great.

Staring at the list for another few moments, you sighed, putting the book down and putting your head in your hands.

“Fuck, how am I going to do this?”

The hope of the world was quite literally on your shoulders, all depending on your actions going forward. Yet, you had little to nothing to go forward with.

Not like you could just order a phone or computer parts. Even if it was illegal, your mail and packages ended up getting opened more often than not before you had a chance to even see them.

Jason would always smugly remark it was for ‘the family’s safety’, in case someone was trying to ‘get rid of the family.’

That was a load of shit, of course.

You knew it, Jason knew it, Mark and Seth knew it.

But there was nothing you could do. Even if you had a legal case of them fucking with your mail, if you made a fuss, you simply would get kicked out and lose your family home.

At least they stopped messing with your packages half of the time when you bought adult toys to embarrass them out of spite.

That was the first time they ever left you alone for a month. Definitely some of the most peaceful weeks of your life.

Anyway-

Rubbing your face, you gave your cheeks a small slap to wake yourself up, and sat back up in your chair.

Picking the book back up, you looked over it all once again, before adjusting some of your notes.

You would have to go buy a lot of this stuff in person yourself, and hide it in your car. Buying a new phone and computer parts would only make your step family incredibly suspicious.

Or annoying.

In fact, if you did manage to spin a perfect lie to get them off your back, you wouldn’t be surprised if your parts either went ‘missing’, or ended up ‘accidentally’ damaged.

Or someone in the family suspiciously gets a new PC while the parts you bought are missing.

Even though you had money in your own bank account, it wasn’t like you were rich. You had expected a lot of your family’s money to go to you before… well…

Not that it mattered.

You still had a means of making money from odd jobs and the hunts you were allowed to do before your step family called dibs, or when they didn’t want to do the icky jobs.

It just… wasn’t as much as you would like. But hey, you didn’t have the luxury of lamenting your expenses now. Lives were potentially at stake if you didn’t do this.

“So much for buying some new clothes… guess I’ll have to patch up some of my torn ones with some older clothe if I can…”

Oh well.

Another thing that was an issue was time.

You had more or less been on lockdown since coming back. Sure, you had a job or two for some minor stuff, but then you were stuck right back here.

With Jason and Mark, and Seth to a degree, being a lot more aggressive… You’ve hardly had a chance to even leave the house for something as small as grocery shopping without Jason getting on your ass about it.

He must have been serious when he got angry at you for disappearing. You still didn’t understand why, given how they talk about wanting you gone so much. Maybe they just hated the fact you would eventually come back.

Bah.

Scratching your head, you let out another sigh.

You were running out of time.

Dracula may have been patient so far, at least you hoped. However, that didn’t mean he would wait forever, especially when you mentioned a month as the time it may take to return.

Around a week remained, and the clock was ticking. Time was not on your side.

Neither was anything else, but if anything, you knew how to adapt under pressure.

“Okay… Everyone is out today. I can at least get a phone. Maybe even a few parts for a computer…”

There were a few places in town for parts. You had at least done research on places where you could buy these things earlier this month in a manic episode.

After that, you had to figure out a time to leave again for a few days. No doubt you’d get shit for it, but hey, at least you weren’t actively bleeding this time.

“I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” You mumbled to yourself, running a hand over your eyes with a groan. Even if you felt like you were a bag full of anxiety, you could at least try to hype yourself up.

With a deep breath, you closed the journal, and hid it once more.

Steeling your resolve, you stood up and grabbed your car keys, before heading out your bedroom door.

Leaving your home wasn’t hard, but it still sent some anxiety spiking through your heart as you locked the door behind you. Nor was driving down to town any less harrowing.

However, driving up to the giant building of a tech store at least put you at ease. As much as you hated crowds, it was somewhat relieving here.

If you by some rare chance saw your family or someone you knew, you’d at least have a crowd. You were less likely to be treated poorly in front of people who your family tried so dearly to put a mask on for.

Of course, you still were on edge. It was hard not to be in general outside of your cabin or family home. Your whip felt heavy under your jacket as you parked and walked through the building, both a reassurance, and a weight that had your hands twitching.

Crowds may be good in some ways, but for monsters, both man and supernatural, it was an opportunity.

You just hope no one would seek such an opportunity today.

Pushing through the turbulent emotions stirring inside you, you quickly made your way to the center of the store.

It wasn’t hard to buy a phone, though you did have a few things to consider.

Size, model, and brand.

The decision wasn’t difficult in the long run, but the image of Dracula with glasses and a teeny phone in his massive hands made a smile form on your face.

With the new phone in a bag to take home for later, you continued shopping. At least getting a phone was the easy part. You could buy a temporary cheap plan and number for it in store at checkout.

Somehow Dracula’s castle had cell service, if you remembered correctly. If the phone plan didn’t work out, you could at least show him some things, right?

It was enough to tide you over until you could make some calls about giving Dracula of all people an actual decent phone plan without all the strings of an identity in modern society. That was something that actually wouldn’t be too difficult. You hoped.

Regardless, it was computer parts that had you dreading being here.

There were different parts and different brands to consider, and in the end, Dracula might not even care about it.

You at least hoped he would like the parts to look at if he was uninterested in having a computer. At the end of the day, you could just use your laptop to show him things if need be.

At the very least, you knew Dracula liked to make things, if your family’s old journals were anything to go by. You liked to think he’d like to tinker with the parts for his own gain.

“What a headache… Could be wasting time and money for nothing…”

Maybe you should only grab a few things? And then if he isn’t interested, you could just give the parts to him to study?

You shook your head to yourself as you entered an aisle with a few of the parts you needed behind a wall of glass, and eyed your options.

Perhaps you should start with a cpu? Or perhaps some memory? Or rather-

“You sure like to take your time, Belmont.”

In an instant, the temperature of the building dropped severely, and you felt your hair stand on end.

Faster than a human could blink, you had your whip in your hand, and faced your adversary-

Only to freeze when you saw Death hovering next to you, uncomfortably close.

You blinked, and hesitantly lowered your whip.

“Um… hi?”

The skeletal cloaked figure tilted its head, its boney fingers thrumming on the handle of its scythe. All the while, your head was swimming as you tried not to panic.

Dracula may have been your family’s primary enemy, but Death, the entity, was never far behind.

“Hmm… You are certainly different from most of your kin before you.”

You decided to take that as a compliment.

Forcing your anxiety back down your throat, you managed to speak once more.

“Um… No offense, but why are you here? Is everything alright?” You asked hesitantly, yet tried to remain polite. Hold back any fear and aggression. You could do this.

Death was severely hated in your family, if a few journals were anything to go by. It wouldn’t hurt to remain courteous. At least you hoped.

You no longer were in Dracula’s castle, after all. Who’s to say Death might try and find a loophole and kill you here outside your family home and his master’s abode? Be done with this stupid peace treaty of sorts you had convinced the Lord of Darkness to try out?

Even then, you imagine he could probably get away with it, being Dracula’s second in command. In Death’s eyes, in the end, would it really be so bad if the Belmont dies? Get you out of the way?

It was Death after all. Even if the entity was punished, what was Dracula gonna do? Kill him?

You tried not to let those thoughts fester as the cold, blue fires in Death’s eye sockets bore into you.

It took a lot not to shudder in fear.

Death though, seemed not to notice, or care if you felt intimidated or not.

“I am here to see if you intend to return to my master, or if you are simply hiding away like a dog with its tail between its legs.”

That last bit alone caused you to scowl, and you had to stomp down the irritation that threatened to bubble in your gut.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, yes, I do intend to return. That's why I am out today, actually.”

You gestured with a nod of your head to the locked display that was in front of you, and Death’s ghostly eyes followed.

“I figured as a gift of good will, I could get some modern stuff for him here. I know you probably have a distaste for humans, but I can promise you and Dracula himself that the technological advancements made by them in today’s modern age may come across as intriguing.”

Wincing a bit at how that sounded, you rubbed your neck and ignored the twinge of pain.

“Not to sound vain about it, of course. Humanity has really flourished the past century or so with all sorts of advancements. Not just technology. I figured your Master would be interested, at least in a few areas to see if humanity’s advancements have reached his own.”

Death let out what you assumed was a hum, and just as you were about to turn and ask what the deity thought, a voice nearly had you jumping out of your boots.

“Hi there, can I help you?”

Spinning around, you nearly relaxed when you saw it was someone who worked here, though you quickly stammered.

“O-Oh, I uh-”

You spun around, panic running through your veins. You did not need regular people freaking out over Death itself being in a tech store-

Only to find no one there. Death was gone.

The room seemed to warm up again, almost to the point it was uncomfortably hot. Had Death’s presence really sapped that much heat from you and everything around you?

Swallowing your nerves, you spun back around to speak to the person who asked if you needed help. It wasn’t hard to put a mask back in place on your face, though you swore your heart never stopped hammering in your chest as you pointed out a few items you were considering.

That, and you tried to ignore how the employee eyed you, almost concerned.

Right. Bruise on your face. Skittish reactions. Great.

At least they seemed happy to unlock the glass display for you, asking you something about if you were building a computer. You could only mumble a response with a shaky smile, throwing out some explanation or another.

In truth, you could barely think as they brought the few items you had pointed to towards a register. How could you act at ease, knowing Death could quite literally be around any corner, watching you?

Could you even go home? It’s not like it would be hard to find your place of residence in this day and age, but you wondered if Death knew how to do so by regular means.

Which made the idea of going home and being followed… nerve wracking.

Sure, your place was warded to hell and back with ancient spells and hunting artifacts so no evil could step foot on your property, but…

That didn’t mean you were safe the moment you took a step outside, and you didn’t exactly like the idea of being shot at by a gun or a bow or something while taking out the trash, thank you very much.

Even then… were you comfortable with Dracula even knowing your home address in general?

You were in a fog of your own thoughts as you paid for the equipment you bought, only briefly being brought out of it when you noticed the price after everything was scanned.

No doubt you’d be feeling the loss of money in your bank account later. Ouch.

Thankfully, it was also easy to get a quick plan for the phone you bought as well, along with a phone number. Nothing fancy or long lasting, of course. No need to if Dracula was uninterested, or if was genuinely interested to the point of needing a decent one.

As the nice employee set it up, a part of you hoped this would help you and Dracula have a means of communication.

After all, you doubted the post office would deliver a letter to a giant castle in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

When they handed you the phone and receipt, you gave the employee a tired smile, before gathering your things and walking out the door.

The whole way to your car, you were looking back behind you, still wary of being watched. You hated this.

It was one thing to be followed by some asshole or a monster with a bone to pick, but Death itself?

Hopefully you wouldn’t be laughed at if you puked from how nervous you were.

After setting your stuff in your car and climbing in behind the wheel, you sat there for a moment as your engine roared to life.

It seems despite your warning that you’d need a month, it seems at three weeks you didn’t have any time left to spare if Death was making in person inquiries.

Gripping the steering wheel, you glanced up at the rearview mirror, and your neck cracked from how fast you turned to look back at it after looking away.

In it was Death, floating ominously, near empty eye sockets looking at you from behind your vehicle.

You turned around quickly, and no one was there.

Eyes narrowing, you looked back, and nothing was in your back seat. Nothing behind your car. Nothing in the area besides you.

“Oh, very funny. Didn’t you ever learn not to scare a hunter? Especially one who can actually cause harm? Not everyone’s fight or flight is flight you know.” You snarked out under your breath.

A part of you wondered if Death found this hilarious or not, scaring you. Did the being not have a care about scaring someone who could actually kill them?

Then again… if you were ‘alive’ for thousands of years, you wondered if you too would stop giving a shit and started doing dumb stuff like that for fun.

That, or Death was purposely trying to push your buttons so he could have an excuse to tattle to Dracula you ‘attacked first’. You hoped that wasn’t the case.

Shaking your head, you looked around your car one last time, hoping you weren’t going crazy, before focusing on heading home.

You’d give Death some credit, at least.

Scaring you like that helped jump start something in your brain where you no longer felt frozen in place. Even if Death damn near gave you a heart attack in the process.

The drive home was uneventful, but you felt as if your heart rate never truly rested after your mini adventure out shopping.

How could it? How on earth do you handle such circumstances? It was like trying to swallow claws as your anxiety tried climbing its way up your throat.

“You know, I can’t help but feel my life would be a lot simpler if I was born in a different family…” you mumbled, face scrunching up.

Maybe you’d be bumbling around in college by now, meeting some guy or girl who caught your fancy. Worrying about exams and dates, not whether or not offending one man could kill you and the entirety of the human race.

Whatever. No point mourning something you never had, right?

Your thoughts were a messy buzz as you pulled up onto your property, though it probably could be seen as humorous how quickly those thoughts came to a stop.

Slumping into your seat, you felt a new kind of anxiety and irritation bubble up in your chest.

“Oh, you are fucking kidding me.” You groaned out, spotting familiar vehicles in the driveway up to your house.

Why were they back so soon? Why?

At this point, your luck was a sick joke, you think. That, or just your life in general.

It looked as if everyone was back home, earlier than they should be, you might add.

Internally, you debated your options.

One, you could go in and get yelled at for disappearing without ‘a good reason’, eventually having to give some excuse as to why you were gone.

Or two…

Your pulse picked up as you thought about it. You weren’t exactly planning on leaving for Dracula’s castle today… But…

Strumming your fingers against your steering wheel, you bit your lip as you weighed the pros and cons.

On one hand, going today might get Death off your back. Though you hoped that at least seeing you shopping might have helped.

On the other hand…

You’d have to meet Dracula again, for the first time after being so injured… And no doubt you’d later have to deal with Jason and the others getting pissed at you again.

Then again… that was just normal at this point, just extra aggression. Maybe you should get out for a bit?

After all… You hated to admit how you were growing concerned with how more… open they were getting with their ‘grievances’. How long would it be before you were one wrong fall down the stairs, or turning a corner too quick?

Your face throbbed at the memory. The bruise on your face was just from a bag of junk. How long until it was a convenient bag of bricks being tossed instead?

Plus… You needed a break, you just worried about the repercussions. But…

You were tired. So so so tired.

There was an exhaustion that was deep in your bones.

Your head constantly ached, even more so after the bruise. You were always exhausted like you were on hunts often, no doubt from your lack of sleep.

And you constantly felt off while here, which you chalked up to always being on edge.

No doubt having to watch your back like prey in your own home for weeks on end was taking its toll with how you were constantly bouncing between feeling exhaustion and feeling sick.

You may be a Belmont, but the human body could only take so much stress before it began shutting down. Even you had your limits.

“Am I actually considering this…?” you mumbled, your brain in a fog as you tried to come to a decision.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have anything at the cabin, either… You had a few clothes there, and some non-perishable food….

With a groan, you put your head in your hands, and ran them down your face. You winced as your face ached at the action.

It was then like a switch was flipped, feeling the bruise again. You didn’t feel like dealing with this shit, and possibly having another incident while already injured.

At least… Dracula wouldn’t attack you. Hopefully. You could heal. Maybe.

Not that you expected him to take care of you while you were there. You could do that yourself.

…It just would be nice to be in a place where you could.

Hah… How many times was it going to be a shock for you each time Dracula, your family’s enemy, was the safer option?

With a sigh, you cracked your neck, and steeled yourself.

Looks like it was time to pay Dracula another visit.

—

The drive wasn’t as long as you expected.

Perhaps it was the good music that happened to be playing, or maybe it was your nerves. Who’s to say.

Pulling into the small dirt road leading up to your small cabin though had you rightfully nervous.

Was it safe? Did any monsters wander from Dracula’s castle and ransack your home?

Eyes naturally narrowing in suspicion as your vehicle came to a stop, you couldn’t help but start to think about it.

Technically speaking… You never said Dracula or his minions couldn’t destroy shit. Just to leave humans alone, for the most part. At least, what your working ‘treaty’ was. Perhaps you should discuss and iron out the details while you were here…

Should you have made a contract? Did supernatural beings such as Dracula even have to honor those?

Not like you could hire a lawyer to draft a contract for Dracula anyways… Not enough ones in the supernatural communities, let alone one that would involve themselves with Dracula without fearing for their lives.

No doubt there would be a few conflicts of interest, and you couldn’t just hire a human one anyway…

Blinking, you shook your head, before doing a quick glance over your property.

“C’mon… Don’t get distracted now.” You mumbled, climbing out of your car.

You did a quick look over the immediate property around the cabin, checking to see if anything had changed.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Even the inside of your small sanctuary had remained seemingly untouched.

Was it a miracle, or had Dracula purposely mentioned not to have this place harmed?

Or maybe he didn’t say anything at all? Did he even know this place existed, besides what you had mentioned? Did he keep his mouth shut to avoid anyone going looking to begin with?

After all, you had mentioned having property nearby, right? You couldn’t exactly remember…

Question after question filtered through your mind, and you groaned. You’d get nowhere if you just sat here and made guesses.

The only way to get answers and move forward, would be to actually visit the vampire.

So why did you want to put it off now?

Your nerves were like electricity in your gut, and you could only wring your hands together as you stood stuck in the small living room. It was almost like you were paralyzed, unable to do anything besides take a few steps here or there while your brain went haywire.

It wasn’t like you could go back. Jason would give you too much shit for it, and Mark and Seth would follow his lead.

Jason was a ticking time bomb at this point, you feared. You could defend yourself and all, but at what point was it too much?

With a groan, you ran a hand through your hair.

“God… I feel like a deer in headlights…”

Taking a breath, you tried to calm yourself down. Why was this so hard? Just go to the castle, and talk with him, and offer some of the stuff you had. At least you could offer the phone and bring the computer stuff later…

After a few more moments of heavy debate inside your mind, you came to a decision, before swiftly turning around and heading to the bedroom.

You’d… visit Dracula tomorrow.

Was it an excuse to wait? Yes.

However, you figured you’d be in a much better mindset after getting some rest after being away from your family home. You just hoped Dracula wouldn’t mind waiting one more day, even if you technically hadn’t even hit the deadline you set yet…

You could rest, eat, shower, and mentally prepare yourself the next day. Maybe you would look less pathetic for Dracula at least, compared to last time, and how you currently felt.

Although, you’d admit, you were a bit uneasy sleeping so close to the castle.

It was silly, really. You literally had slept inside said castle. By all means, you were in the snake pit while critically injured. Yet…

You felt safer there than here. Something you never thought you would ever think about your little sanctuary.

Here, you didn’t have Dracula’s direct protection.

Just how easy would it be for something to attack you if a monster sensed you? All it took was one disgruntled monster to figure out you were here…

By all means, it could even be spun that it wasn’t even one of Dracula’s minions, since it would be outside his castle. It was a grey area if the monsters outside the castle walls were under his direct control, you felt.

It wasn’t even your own safety you were mostly worried about.

Was it selfish or odd to be more worried about the cabin and the land? It was one of the last things you had of your mom untainted…

Well, if anything else, you’d destroy anything that tried to destroy this place.

That was your thought as you climbed in bed that night, trying to ease your nerves for tomorrow.

…Which is why when several flashes of lightning and thunder happened one right after the other, you nearly fell out of your bed.

Rain began to pelt your window hard, and the wind picked up a bit. You could even hear the trees shake outside from the weather as some branches brushed against your cabin’s roof.

“Was that from…?”

Dracula’s castle wasn’t far, not at all. A small walk away around a lake. It sounded as if everything was coming from the direction of his castle.

After a moment of listening to some more rolling thunder, you decided to close your curtains, and try to relax to the sound of the storm. If what you suspected was true, and Dracula was annoyed or upset… you didn’t exactly want to intrude and possibly worsen his mood.

As you warily drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder just what had made Dracula so upset.

[primus-why]

I Feel TFOne Could've Handled This Better...

Hot take but I feel like folks have been really generous with the take that OP was unable to find ~the perfect words~ in the heat of the moment (and thus should be given some grace) when he told D to stand down and "not be like Sentinel"... namely cuz I don't feel that the narrative supports this?

Like-- after all is said and done, OP doesn't reflect on that part of their split. He doesn't have a moment where he seeks validation or voices his regrets over the choice of his words, it's actually cut-and-dry. The narrative (as it stands) supports that OP saw D-16 acting up, so he called him out and stood on business, down to the last scenes where he's basically like "yeah it's a shame but y'all knew I had to do it to 'em."

It didn't have to be much! I'm not saying to absolve Megs, just show OP looking at things from a different perspective/contemplating a bit on that tough choice and the morality of the moment. Some examples of what I wish we had:

B-127 straight up blurting the obvious by later chatting with Orion like, "Wait so you told your best friend that he was acting just as bad as the guy who enslaved us for our entire lives and was torturing him like an hour ago? Oof. Seems kinda harsh." Then have some of OP's regret show on his face.

OP asking Elita-1 after Megs is banished if he did the right thing. Have Elita back his choice up, saying, "You should have seen what he did after you were... gone. It was terrifying. I know it was tough, but you made the right call." OP is grateful for the support, but a conflicted look still flashes across his face before he steels himself to look out towards the horizon... and the future.

Have OP walk past other mechs/former miners who didn't go with the High Guard saying stuff like, "Wish I could've given Sentinel a piece of my mind!" "Yeah, but I'm glad he's gone for good." "Ugh I miss everything." "Oh, it was crazy! Megatron picked him up and then he rrrrriiipped-- oops, hey there, Mr. Optimus... Prime... sir?" And have OP wave hello, looking a bit sick when they leave.

Post-credits scene with Starscream going on and on, asking Megs when they'll be back to teach the upstart Prime a lesson. Megs grabs his face to shut him up. "Patience, Starscream. The Prime thinks I'm no better than Sentinel... but I'll show him. He wants Iacon? He can have it. In the meantime we'll take the rest of the planet! Then I'll come back, crush Prime under my heel, and we'll take Iacon too. Sentinel's reign will barely be a footnote, because I'm about to become Optimus Prime's worst nightmare." The vocal performance would really need to sell this-- like picture Megs saying something like that from a place of anger and hurt, not so much a place of genuine evil or malice.

Basically instead of Orion's assertion being backed up as black and white/good vs bad, I wish we had some different opinions/reactions from the characters sprinkled in there. Like you can't tell me out of allllll the miners who weren't strong enough/willing to go with the High Guard and ended up sticking around that NONE of them were like "eyyo honestly?? Kiiiiinda glad Sentinel is dead. Wish I could have helped, tbh." like come onnnnn...

And you can't even argue that he's not an active threat-- I don't think everyone would see things that way! It's not just about the threat he physically has, but the threat he represents and is very likely to act upon if given the opportunity! He has a proven track record of not only being sneaky and conniving, but also capable of dealing some serious damage/killing people bigger and stronger than him, plus he has the backing of the Quints. All he'd need to do is wriggle his way out of jail and run off to his sponsors, then he'd probably be back to hurt more people! (If the Quints didn't just kill him out of incompetence lmao). There's a lot of "ifs" here, but I think it's a valid argument that not everyone would agree on what is the right or wrong way to handle Sentinel once he was down long enough to, like, do something about him.

I feel the situation needed a bit of nuance. In some way I wish they had kicked the can and had D and Orion bicker while Sentinel escaped, then have D get frustrated enough by the loss of Sentinel to point fingers (and his fusion canon) at Orion, who then falls and becomes OP. (Megs could still show some of thar emotion/remorse right after he does it too.) Not only would this open the door for a sequel, but tbh the Quint might have just killed Sentinel anyways and sought to deal with the miners uprising themselves lol. (Maybe that could have been an after credits scenes too instead of the B-127 bit??)

Would love to see a moment in a sequel where they have a calmer moment after arguing for a bit. Have OP mention how Megs was out of line, that it hurt and even scared him to see him act that way, and Megs can quietly point out "you said I was as bad as Sentinel... is that really how you see me? After everything we went through?"

Then OP can fumble the bag again lmao like "D, I... I'm sorry, that didn't come out right... but you still took things way too far..."

"Why am I not surprised-- your opinion is what matters the most! Maybe that's why you became a Prime, since you're so good at acting like the world revolves around you--!"

*gets interrupted by someone else before another yelling match ensues*

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)

[skzdust]

Hotel Showers

SMUT. MINORS DNI.

This fic was a request from @chanchansgirly (here) and part of my 500 followers celebration! The request was prompt #1, only one bed, with Chan, NSFW!

I hope you all like it!

Summary: Y/n and Chan get stuck in a very cold hotel room together... and there's only one bed.

Pairing: Bang Chan x Flustered!reader

Includes: only one bed trope, handcuffs, fingering, cumming inside (PLEASEEEEE USE A CONDOM IRL)

Word count: 1.9k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz, @jeonginsleftcheek

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

“Seriously?” You blinked at the desk attendant.

He smiled back at you apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid the blizzard’s got us more crowded than expected. The only room we have left does just have the one bed.”

You sighed. “Just give me the key.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walked back over to Chan, key card in hand. “Sorry, it looks like they’ve only got one room left, and it only has one bed.”

Chan smiled. “Oh, no worries. It’s just one night.”

“I can sleep on the floor if you want. Or in the chair. Those hotel chairs are surprisingly comfy sometimes. I mean, sometimes they’re just not, but, like, this one will probably be fine.” You found yourself rambling.

Chan laughed. “Y/n, if you’re okay with sharing the bed, that works for me.”

“Oh—okay.” You could feel your cheeks reddening.

He turned towards the elevator. “Lets’ go.”

You went upstairs to your room, and you pulled a book out of your bag to read while Chan was in the shower. You tried to stop yourself from thinking about that shower, about the water running through his hair, down his shoulders, over his abs, and lower…

You closed your book with a sigh, opting to doomscroll instagram instead.

The water turned off, and a few minutes later Chan opened the door. Thankfully for your sanity, he was wearing a shirt. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

You smiled. “Okay, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

You went into the bathroom. It felt strangely intimate, erotic, almost, to be in a bathroom filled with the steam from Chan’s shower.

You started your shower before you realized you’d left your body wash in your suitcase. You resigned yourself to hotel soap before seeing Chan’s little blue bottle on the shelf. He must’ve left it there.

He probably wouldn’t care if you used it, right?

You carefully squeezed some into your palm. It smelled good, masculine and clean.

You got out of the shower, dried off, and put on a T-shirt and sleep shorts. You regretted your decision as soon as you stepped out of the now even steamier bathroom. “My God, it’s cold.”

Chan laughed from where he was sitting under the covers. “I was just messing with the thermostat, doesn’t look like it’s getting any warmer in here.”

You gave a short exhale. “Of course.”

Chan patted the sheets beside him. “Here, it’s warmer in bed.”

You got in bed with him, burrowing under the blankets. “I guess a little bit.”

“Can I help?”

“Can… can you help?” You were confused.

“Can I touch you?” Chan’s smile was soft. “Just to help warm you up.”

“Oh… um, yeah, please.”

Chan reached towards you, pulling you into his arms and cuddling you close to his chest.

You were sure he was able to feel your heartbeat, because you could feel it all over your body, especially between your legs.

“Are you comfortable?” Chan whispered.

“Yeah, I’m really comfortable.” You pushed your head into his chest. “You’re warm, Channie.”

“Channie?” He laughed.

“I— sorry, I just, like, a nickname, you know, like, how, like, friends call each other nicknames. You know, like friends do?” You rambled.

“Y/n, calm down. You’re allowed to call me Channie. I would even go so far as to say I like it.”

“Oh.” You could feel your cheeks going hot.

He paused for a moment. “Wait.” He helped roll you over, so your back was flush against his chest. You could feel yourself growing wet at the manhandling.

He pushed his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply. You took a shuddering breath of your own at how his lips brushed your skin.

“Did you use my body wash?”

“Um… I forgot mine, I didn’t think you’d… mind.”

“I don’t… mind, exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I think it’s hot more than I think it’s a problem. Which is, in and of itself, a problem.”

“Why?” You breathed.

“Because we’re sharing a bed… catch my drift?”

“I think you need to spell it out for me.” You shifted, angling your hips against his crotch. You could feel a bulge forming already.

He hissed. “Y/n, don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” You whispered. “I mean it.”

You squeaked as Chan flipped you around again, and you were met with his piercing gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah.”

His hand drifted up the inside of your thigh. “How do you want it?”

You were a little taken off guard. “Want it? I— uh, inside me, I think.”

He laughed, then brought his lips up to your ear to whisper to you. “I mean, do you want it rough? Want to worship me? Want me to put you on a leash and choke you like a dog? Do you want me so bad you’d do anything for me?” He nibbled on your earlobe, and you shifted with a whine. “You know, if you’re into that.”

“Yes, Chan.”

“To which one?”

“All of it.”

He smiled, and you were caught off guard by his wide, ray-of-sunshine grin. “We’re gonna have fun. I’ll be right back.” He got off the bed, and you shivered at the sudden loss of his heat.

He shuffled through his luggage before pulling out a pair of leather handcuffs.  You didn’t even want to question where he’d gotten them or why they were in his suitcase. “You want these?”

Your eyes widened. “Ye-yes, Chan, I do want those.”

“Good girl.” He murmured, climbing back onto the bed. “I’m gonna tie your hands to the headboard, okay?”

“Yes, Channie.” You held out your hands. He guided you to lay back, and he fastened the cuffs around your wrists and then clipped them around the headboard. You tugged a bit at them, and you moaned when they didn’t give.

He just sat in front of you for a moment, watching you watch him.

“Beautiful.” He eventually mumbled. “Lift up those hips for me, and we’ll get your shorts off.”

You nodded, lifting your hips so Chan could slide your shorts and underwear off. You were soaked, and Chan dragged a finger through it before licking it clean. “Damn, all this over me just touching you a bit?”

“I— I mean, before, the shower, I was just thinking about— um, about nothing.” You stopped before you could make a complete fool of yourself by admitting to picturing him naked in the shower.

It was too late for that, though. Chan raised an eyebrow. “Were you thinking about me in the shower?”

You swallowed. “Uh… maybe.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You want me more than you’ve been letting on, don’t you?”

“Uh… maybe.” You said again.

His eyes raked over you. Once, then again. “Can I finger you, sweetheart?”

You felt a wave of heat rush through you, and you were hyperaware of your heartbeat again, pulsing through you. “Yes, please.”

He circled one finger around your entrance for a moment before beginning to press inside. You whined.

He paused. “Something wrong, baby?”

“No!” You squeaked. “Nothing’s wrong! Keep going, Channie, please.” You breathed the last word, and you were unsure for a moment if he’d even heard you until he hummed.

“Please sounds so good coming from your mouth, baby.” He all but purred, pushing his finger in all the way.  Your eyes rolled back, and a broken moan fell from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Please.” You whispered. “Another finger, Chan, please.”

“You’re asking so nicely.” He added another finger, as requested, and you arched your back off the bed.

“Fuck.”

“Can you take another?”

“Yes.”

He added in a third finger. You felt so deliciously full of him, and you absently wondered if his cock would fill you up as good.

He pulled out his fingers and licked them clean, keeping eye contact with you the whole time. His tongue lewdly lapped at his long fingers, making wet noises.

You moaned. “Please, Chan.”

He paused to raise his eyebrows at you. “What are you begging for, hm?”

“You.” You said honestly. “Want you, um, deep— deep inside me.”

“Shy all of a sudden?” He dropped his hand to your pussy, rubbing at your clit. “I’m gonna be deep inside of you in just a second, sweetheart.”

You pushed your hips into his hand, and he laughed. “Greedy little thing.” He pulled away to take off his shirt and pants, leaving him completely naked on the bed in front of you.

“Fuck.” You whispered. You’d known he was muscular, but he was absolutely gorgeous like this, sculpted like he’d been made by Michelangelo.

And his cock… he was big, and he was hard, and you wanted him so badly you were practically salivating.

“Can I fuck you now?” He whispered, his hands hovering over your hips, waiting for your consent.

“Yes, Chan, please, yes.”

You watched as he lined himself up with your dripping hole. “Ready?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

You put your attention to his face as he pushed inside, at the way his expression went slack as he went deeper and deeper inside of you. You tried to reach up to touch him, but the cuffs rattled loudly.  Something burned inside you. The restraints were turning you on.

His eyes snapped open. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just… it’s hot, not being able to touch you, while you touch me all you want.” You said shakily.

He smirked. “Good, that’s the goal.”

“Can you fuck me now?”

He pushed your hair back from your desperate expression, gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Yes, sweetheart.”

He started to rock back and forth, and it took a bit of adjustment before you found a position that was comfortable, but when you settled into it, it was heavenly. Chan’s cock hit spots inside you you didn’t even know existed, and you were soon seeing stars. You gently moaned with each of his thrusts, the sounds of his skin on yours and your moans and his strangled noises filling the room. Chan was so good at this, so good at figuring out exactly what your body needed.

Chan changed angles one more time, and you were suddenly crying out with every motion inside you. “Fuck, Channie, that’s so good, don’t stop!”

“I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart.” He grunted, his hands beginning to feel up your chest. “I’m not gonna stop. You feel so good around me, so warm, so nice and tight, fuck.”

You whined, glad you were being good for him.

Eventually Chan’s movements grew animalistic; his thrusts shorter, tighter. “I’m gonna cum, sweetheart.”

“Inside!” You moaned. “Cum inside, Chan, please, please, Chan, please— oh!”

You could feel him cum inside you just as your own orgasm hit, and you twitched through it while Chan collapsed on top of you.

Both of you were drained. Chan unclipped the handcuffs and took them off, and you cuddled under the blanket. “So cold.”

“It is.” Chan wrapped himself around you. “What do you say we take another shower, together, to warm up and clean off?”

You nodded, snuggling into his chest. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“That means we actually have to get out of bed, you know.”

You gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[brainddeadd]

Sugar Daddy Bang Chan

Bang Chan x f!reader

Synopsis: Chan becomes your sugar daddy, except y'all are in love

Warnings: daddy kink (duh), oral (m & f receiving and giving), unprotected sex (pls don't), breeding kink, face sitting, aftercare (always, no matter what), pregnancy - let me know if I'm missing anything

BestFriend!Chan, who was your friend first. You'd met years prior while he was a trainee, and the friendship had stuck. One day, he learnt that you were struggling with money and offered to help - insisted really, he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Channie, I can't let you do that."

"Yes you can, I'm offering."

"Channie-"

"Don't argue with me on this, please." He pressed his lips to your forehead and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "Let me do this for you."

BestFriend!Chan, who isn't surprised when you beg him to let you repay him in some way, he knew it was coming, knew there was no way you'd let him spend money on you and not do something in return.

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know Chan, but I just can't do nothing!" You're frustrated, hands swinging in the air. "I'll do anything, hell I'll even suck your cock, just let me do something to repay you!"

That gets Chan's attention from where he's sitting at his desk in his studio. He splutters but you barely notice, pacing back and forth as you ramble.

You're quickly cut off when Chan's hands fund your cheeks, eyes broing into yours as he looks for any sign of discomfort.

"Say that again." You try to tilt your head in confusion, but Chan's hands are holding it in place. He sucks in a shakey breath.

"You said you'd suck my cock." Your eyes widen and Chan fears he's made a grave mistake, hands falling from your face, stepping back as he scrambles to think of a way to fix this. His thought process is cut off when you sink to your knees in front of him.

There's a smile on your face when your hands find his thighs, eyes peering up at him.

"You don't-" another shakey inhale. "You don't have to."

"Oh Channie, I've wanted to suck your cock for years." He groans at that, eyes closing and head falling forwards as his hands flex by his sides. "Please, let me suck your cock."

He nods and yanks the chair over from behind him before reaching around you to grab a cushion from the sofa in the corner of the studio.

"Stand, baby, don't want you to hurt your knees." His hands help you stand, the cushion falling to the floor as he holds you to him, close enough that you can feel his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

"Channie-" you trail off and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, baby?"

"You don't have to-"

"Don't you dare tell me I don't have to worry about your comfort," Chan's voice is stern. "Your comfort is important, you're important."

Leaning up, you press a kiss to his lips, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he holds you close. Pulling away, you smile, hands moving to push at his chest so he sits in his chair.

"Let me, please."

"Let you what, baby? Use your words."

"Let me suck your cock, daddy," the look that crosses over his face is downright feral. Sinking to your knees on the cushion he's placed, it's easy to pull his cock from his shorts, mouth opening in shock at the weight and size.

"Fuck, baby, 'm guessing you like the look of my cock." Nodding you lean forwards to press a kiss to his tip, relishing in the hiss that leaves his lips.

"Fuck, Channie, you're so big-" Wasting no time, your lips part to take the tip of his cock into your mouth, hands moving to stroke the rest of his length, his hips bucking when he feels your tongue trail over his slit. Shuffling forwards on your knees, his tip slips further into your mouth, making him groan and grip the arms of the chair.

"Fuck, baby-" He's cut off when you hollow your cheeks and sink further down his length, one hand moving to cup his balls, gently rolling them in your hands, making his hips buck. "Baby-"

Pulling off, a trail of spit connects your lips to his tip, and you look up at him through your lashes.

"Fuck my mouth, daddy."

SugarDaddy!Chan who hopes to God that it wasn't a one time thing and isn't disappointed when you suck his cock again the following day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, takin me so well baby, fuck- Chan's running his mouth as his hands hold your head still, his hips bucking into your face wildly. "My pretty baby likes this, yeah? Likes the way I fuck her face?"

Moaning around his length, you know you must look pathetic, hand down your pants and makeup running as you squirm while he fucks your face.

"Listen to you, my baby's moans are so beautiful. Keep moaning for me, baby. Just like that. Keep moaning while I use you."

SugarDaddy!Chan who can't help but beg to eat you out after he's fucked your face.

"Baby, please, wanna return the favour."

"Channie, me sucking you off was returning your favour."

"Then let me eat you out cause I want to."

SugarDaddy!Chan, who fucks you for the first time after six months of your arrangement.

"Shit, pussy feels so good, fucken made for me sweetheart." He's got your legs over his shoulders as he thrusts his cock into you from above, body moving frantically, hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, cum for me baby, you gotta cum for me, cum all over my cock."

His hand moves to slap your clit harshly, your body shaking as your pussy spasms around his cock, a squeal leaving your lips.

"Fuck fuck daddy fuck I'm cumming, fuck, please don't stop, fuck-" Chan's hips are moving faster, thrusts harsher and sloppier as he hurtles towards his orgasm, grunts forcing their way from his lips.

"Where baby?"

"Inside daddy, fuck, fill me up, please, fuck-" your pleas for his cum are cut off by his lips sealing over yours as his warm cum floods your pussy, ropes painting your walls and seeping out the edges.

SugarDaddy!Chan who holds you close after he's cleaned you up, arms around you, hands stroking your skin. He presses his cheek to the top of your head and relishes in the feel of your skin on his.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who comes running when you call him on a night out with the girls, voice shakey and quiet as you whispered about the guy who's been bothering you all night. He's in his car before you've finished your sentence.

"Baby!" You hear him before you see him, his voice carrying through the door of the women's bathroom.

"Channie!" You're colliding with his chest a few moments later, his hand cradling the back of your head as he holds you close.

"Hi baby," he kisses your cheek. "You ok?"

Nodding, you press further into him, asking him to take you home.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who asks you to move in with him after that night. He claims it's because he wants you safe, but it's really because he wants you close at all times.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who slowly acts more and more boyfriend like, until the lines are too blurred to decipher.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who introduces himself as your boyfriend to everyone you meet, until one night, during post fuck cuddles, you ask him if he would ever date you.

"Would you.. ever date me? Like, for real?" He looks over, alarmed.

"We are dating for real!" His face falls. "Aren't we?"

"I don't know, we never made it official or said anything so I just kinda.. assumed we were- I don't know, fucking."

"We are fucking." His voice is monotone but his face panicked. "But we're also very much in love."

There's silence for a moment.

"Aren't we?" He sounds desperate, broken.

"I am." His body relaxes, arms tightening around you as he rolls to hover over you.

"I love you, baby," he grins and presses a kiss to your lips. "Now, be a good girl and let me show you how much."

[bunnygirllover45]

— The shape of love. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Kidnapping, implied punishment, ugly jealousy, some descriptions of body harm ( just wounds or bruises, and it doesn't get too graphic), lots, and lots of deranged ramblings, it gets very dark at times. This is narrated from the POV of the Yandere, you can read this as a 'letter' of sorts.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 997 (felt lazy and I didn't reach 1k lmao.)

There you go again, looking at me with the same eyes as always.

I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated moments like this inside my head since the last time. It's been a while since I've been this close to you.

The trembling of your body lets me know that your excitement is as big as mine, is your body perhaps unable to contain all those bubbling feelings?

I grab your legs, my hands softly pressing against the flesh, feeling it under mine —so soft and delicate, for a moment I thought that maybe if I pushed my fingers inside of it I could spread it like a cloud made of cotton— when I pressed I could fee the shape of your bones underneath just a little, the sensation made my own body tremble.

It’s a shame you’re still shy to my touch, even if it’s something simple like a small caress or a kiss on the cheek you’re always trying to push away from me, I would love if you to cling onto me more when I do it or have you begging silently to do something more. I know you wouldn’t tell me with words, you’re not good with them.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard you say my name since I brought you here, no?

I should tell you what it is now so you could say it between sighs and I could engrave the sound on the back of my brain forever — those sweet sounds could captivate me forever.

I wonder if you’d say my name with a kind voice, or you’ll just talk to me with the same indifference and fear that’s so characteristic of you. I do admit that is kind of endearing, wild animals were always more interesting than domesticated ones thanks to their hostility, it makes me want to approach them, stick my hand, and see if they’ll bite me, or would just run away and hide in a corner.

I wouldn’t mind if you bit me, I would love to bite you as well in fact, I would wear that mark proudly and I would make sure you do it as well, we could bite our fingers and pretend the marks are our wedding rings, a testament of our love engraved on our skin.

Hahaha — I’m rambling again, please don’t get nervous, you know I usually get lost in my thoughts when I’m here with you, especially when my hands are idly dragging across your skin  — nails and all — leaving red marks behind.

I’m just tracing small invisible circles on your skin and you’re already getting goosebumps, I think that when I touch you delicately like this is when you fear it the most, right? I’m always keeping the momentum, you’ll never know when I can dig my nails into your skin or grab you and never let go.

I press a simple kiss on the skin of your heel, dragging my lips across the length of your leg, what a celestial feeling, there’s nothing in this world that could compare to this mere sensation. You’re trembling again, that makes me smile.

Sometimes when night falls and there are no more thoughts left to think inside my head my mind begins to wander off the path, usually it doesn’t lead me anywhere in particular, but since some time ago I’ve had this constant thought; there are other  —people— that had touched you like this before?

I would like to think that I’m the only one who had the privilege to enjoy all of you, that no other mark of fingers or teeth that doesn’t have the shape of mine has been on your skin.

Thinking like that makes sleeping easier for me.

I’m thankful that right now you can’t speak to me, because if I made you that question and you responded to me that yes, other people had marked you like I did, I think I would had the impulse to tear apart each part of you that has been tainted by them.

Not because I hate you, on the contrary, I just think I couldn’t live with the idea. That you belonged to someone else even if it was just for a moment, what am I saying? I don’t even like the idea of you belonging to yourself.

But if I were to do that, I think I’d like to go to extremes no other people could; kiss your open wounds or taste your blood, that would be romantic, don’t you think?

I press my face against your thighs while I keep dragging my nails up and down your legs, I sigh again, tilting my head slightly to take a better look at you, I can see myself reflected in your own eyes now, how romantic, just like in the movies you like to watch.

I like the me I see in your eyes, I like the idea that it belongs to you alone, the idea of you keeping each small expression I make just for you, each blink would be like a small photograph you take of me and keep inside your head, aaaalll yours.

My mother used to tell me that love is only true if you can see it reflected in the one you love,

From your red cheeks — was I too rough last night?

Your bruised knees — If you would just learn how to sit properly at the table already, it would make our meals more easy.

Your beautiful hands — You should stop trying to take off your handcuffs.

Your shining eyes — Is that a small tear I see? Maybe I should reach it and lick it, I wouldn’t like to go to waste.

Yes, I think for the first time something she said made sense, now that I took a better look at you, I don’t think there’s any better proof of this —

You’re the truest, most beautiful form of ‘love’.

[seungfl0wer]

*Lee know Calling You Clingy*

Paring: Lee Know x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Arguing, Cursing, A sort of happy ending?

This is part of a series find the others here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Cutting up some veggies as you watched your boyfriend cook dinner, he was always so handsome like this so in his zone. As you got done cutting you brought it over to him. Standing by his side as he went to grab something you would hand it to him, He moved you would move. You thought to yourself how sweet this moment was however that’s not exactly what he was thinking. He was getting frustrated cause as much as he really loved when you helped the kitchen was too small for you both to be doing stuff.

“Y/n can you please give me a little bit of space” he said his tone sounding annoyed. You looked up at him feeling bad for bothering him so you slumped back into the chair. “Why don’t you set the table?” He asked seeing your reaction. You nod feeling a bit upset as you did so. You both sat down to eat finishing the delicious food fast before plopping yourselves down on the couch to watch a movie.

You wanted to make it up to him for bothering him while he was in his element so you wrapped your arms around him snuggling up to him. He let out a small sigh as you did so, you looked up to the man who was trying to focus on the movie. His face stern looking still with a hint of that annoyance from earlier. “Hey babe is everything alright? You seem on edge today?” You said softly trying to read his face. “It’s fine” he said blankly still keeping his attention on the tv.

“Love please, talk to me I can tell something’s up. Is it work? Did I do something?” You went on rambling before he cut you off “y/n please. Can we just watch the damn movie.” He hissed his voice harsher than it was supposed to be “can’t you at least tell me what’s wrong?” You said not wanting to drop it, although you probably should have. “For fuck sakes y/n!” He said turning off the tv and getting up “you have been- been so clingy lately. You have been up my ass since we came back from the US. Why can’t I just get a few minutes of just peace. First you won’t leave me alone while I’m cooking and now I can’t even watch a damn movie without fucking 50 questions!” His voice echoed across the room.

Your heart was pounding trying all you had not to cry “I’m fucking sorry I haven’t seen my boyfriend in almost a month, god fucking forbid me for wanting to spend time with him!” You hissed back. You stood up quickly walking to your room, you grabbed a bag and packed some clothes as Minho continued behind you. “It’s one thing to fucking miss me y/n but it feels like you’d want to sit on my lap while I take a fucking shit cause you “miss me so much” you act like we didn’t talk at all which again had me no fucking time to myself!”

You put your bag over your shoulder “Fine you want alone time so fucking bad! Then be alone Minho!” You said storming towards the front door. Your mind raced as you could feel the tears pulling at the corners. No. No crying he doesn’t get to see that. “Good! That’s exactly what I fucking wanted, I’m happy you get the fucking message now!” He said still yelling behind you. You bit your lip his words cutting deeper each time he spoke. You turned around quickly feeling the tears coming “fuck you Minho! I’m- I’m fucking done!” You spat almost running out the door you could hear him before you were out “me fucking too!”

You had gone to a friend’s house to stay she held you close rubbing your back trying to console you. Everything hurt, your head was spinning, your eyes red from crying cheeks stained with tears. “Want me to get some of that cake you like so much and we can sit and eat it while watching horror movies” she said smiling “why horror movies?” You said smiling a bit “cause at least dumb men die in it” she laughed making you laugh too. She was always such a good friend knowing exactly what to say and do to make you feel better.

After Minho calmed down a bit he sat back down on the couch. He turned the movie back on but quickly turned it off “damnit, even when they’re not here they ruin it.” He said throwing the remote back down to the table. He laid back on the couch looking up at the ceiling he felt a heaviness in his chest “no I wanted alone time” he said shaking his head “I wanted this..” his words trailed off. “But why’s it feel so bad.” He said with a deep sigh.

He looked at his phone wanting to text you but not daring too. He knew he was out of line but he didn’t want to be the first to admit. Your words ringing in his head though “I’m done.” What did you mean? Were you ending the relationship? The thought of this made a lump in Minhos throat. Surly you weren’t serious right? .. Right??

Almost a week had passed with radio silence on both ends. It wasn’t like either of you didn’t wanna message the other but neither of you wanted to do it first.

You had thought about things a lot, you decided about going home and just staying in the guest room. You knew Minho wasn’t home at the moment and all though your friend had a great idea “just move out while he’s not home, give him the ultimate alone time he wants” you couldn’t afford that right now. And quite frankly why does he get to keep the place and you move?

You walked into your apartment thinking of what exactly to do. Your head spinning a bit from thoughts “what the fuck am I even gonna say?” You said to yourself “are we even together anymore?” You sighed loudly you stood there for a good minute or two before making your way to the bedroom. You scrounged up most of your things moving it into the guest room you felt yourself wanting to cry again “fuck you” you said softly. You locked the door, put on some music and just curled up into a ball. You had fallen asleep quickly the feeling of being in your home making you sleep easier.

Minho had come home late walking through the door to see your shoes on the floor. His face looked confused before he heard music playing “did she come home?” He said to himself making his way to what was your shared bedroom. He looked over it seeing you had taken stuff he felt his heart sink. He saw the small light coming from under the guest rooms door making the thoughts of you moving disappear. He walked to the door trying to open it realizing it was locked he was about to knock before stopping himself.

He signed a bit walking to the living room, he slumped into the couch all sorts of emotions whirling in his head. He slowly fell asleep only to be woken up by the sounds of you coming out of the room. You quietly tried sneaking to the door your belly rumbling. He quickly turned his head to meet your eyes locking. You both were still for a second before he let out a soft “leaving?”

You shook your head no “7/11” you said trying to keep it short. You made your way to the door putting your shoes on “I- I can make you something.” His voice barely a whisper at this point. “No thank you” you said before leaving out the door. This is how it stayed for about a week. Minho tried talking to you and you just giving him one word answers. He came home from work you’d slink back into your room. He’d come into the kitchen, you’d leave just as quickly.

He started doing small things for you like leaving you breakfast in the morning, or buying your favorite drink to keep in the fridge. He usually did these things always being thoughtful in these sweet kind of actions. It made your heart hurt more. One of the days he made you your favorite lunch, he didn’t do it often because it meant going about an hour away to the restaurant to pick it up but he did. He did in the morning before he had to be at work driving there and back before his already long day.

When you saw it in the morning you started to bawl like a baby. Minho had come back home after realizing he left his phone on the counter. You were curled up on the couch listening to some of his solo music crying into a pillow. He stood there not wanting to bother you but wanting nothing more than to hold you and make things right. He started making his way towards you before you heard him your head shot up eyes meeting his. Your body moved fast tackling him almost knocking you both down.

“Min I’m sorry- I’m so sorry” you choked out tears streaming down your face ugly crying “I’m sorry for being clingy I’m sorry for being a bother- I’ll change I’ll give you more space I’m sorry I just can’t- I can’t do this anymore I miss you- everything hurts-“ you said between sobs and wiping the snot that was running down. Minho couldn’t help but cry at your words, he really had broken you. “No- y/n please don’t change, this all was because of me I’m the asshole I’m the one that should be apologizing.” He said his chest heaving.

“Don’t change please I’m sorry for calling you clingy please- I miss you, cling to me. Hold onto me for dear life please I need you..” he voice getting stuck in his throat. You’ve never seen him like this, he always kept his emotions under control but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Life has no meaning if I can’t spend it with you, if I can’t have you by my side with that shining smile of yours. The smile that I haven’t seen in how long. I ruined everything. I hurt you I ruined us things won’t ever be the same.”

His voice horse crying even harder than you now “you should hate me, you should want me to jump off a bridge. I don’t know- I don’t understand why you’re apologizing.” He was rambling on. You felt your heart just braking again, he was so defeated and part of you wanted nothing more than to tell him this is exactly what he wanted. And you’d be right, but you just wanted him back, wanted things back to how they were.

You pulled Minho down to the couch both of you sobbing trying to calm yourselves. You both cried for almost a full half hour before you spoke “Things.. things will be different either way.. you.. we gotta build that trust back up” you said softly clearing your throat. “Let’s start off slow ok?” You said lifting his head to make eye contact with you.

“Well start small and work on things hmm?” You said repeating yourself. He nodded “can.. can you come back to our room?” He said whipping his nose “eventually, I will let’s start off with just trying to talk through some things ok?” You said kissing his cheek. “I love you Minho but what you said hurt and will still probably hurt in the future. But I really do love you and would rather work on things and hopefully fix it than just to through it away so easily.” You said pulling him into a hug.

“Anything, I’ll do anything to show you how sorry I am.” He said his words muffled by your shoulder. You nod sitting there in silence both of you trying to gather your thoughts and catch your breath.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[rafesbabyg1rl]

You were asking for reqs for rafe x reader, if you are taking them, I have one in mind. In which rafe is extremely possesive of bsf reader, and gets easily jealous. One day she was at a kook party, and a guy approached her and they started to talk and that sh*t went down, rafe got aggressive and almost beat the guy to a pulp. Reader is like a shy cute innocent, bimbo type. And smut after the scene if you write it.

Summary: Innocent!reader X possessive!Rafe, bestfriend!reader X bestfriend!Rafe. Summary is basically the anonymous ask!

Warnings: Rafe is possessive of reader. Established friendship. Rafe almost beats a guy to death. Mentions of drugs (no actual drug use), alcohol consumption. Lots of smut; p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, SLIGHT degradation (some praise too). The classic 'what are we' at the end. The L word.

Word Count: 6.1k

Author Note: Hello Beauties! Thank you for the support and kindness you've all shown me. And thank you for this ask, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope I did your idea justice. Sorry that this is a bit long, it just sort of happened. Also, I hope you all enjoyed the holiday yesterday, well those that celebrate. I'm hoping to finish part four of The Watcher soon so I can get it out, life has just been so exhausting. Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!! Stay freaky y'all.

Your best friend, Rafe, had asked you to go to a party with him. Well, more like he had told you to go. Although it’s not like you’d ever miss the opportunity to party with your best friend. So, here you are; walking around the side of Topper’s house, looking for Rafe. You two didn’t come together, he got here before you. He knows you don’t love being around his ‘friends’ and their various illegal substances, even though he says he’s clean, he likes to have time with them before you get there. 

You round a corner, now entering the Thorton’s backyard. You look for Rafe as you work your way through the loud and busy crowd. You hear a friend call your name, you turn your head to her, and she waves you over. You approach her and a few others with a smile. You greet them.

The other girls chat amongst themselves as your friend speaks up, shouting over the music. “Hey!” She’s over enthusiastic per regular, probably a bit drunk too.

“Hey!” You shout back. 

She begins, “Oh my god! I have to tell you something. Guess who I saw—”. Usually, you’d want to hear all the gossip she’s about to ramble to you, but not right now. “Do you know where Rafe is?” You shout over her, cutting her off.

“What?” She asks, stepping closer to you so she can hear you.

“Do you know—” You’re suddenly interrupted by some guy standing beside you. You turn to face him.

“Hey.” He says, his tone confident. A cocky grin spreads across his face.

“Hi.” You smile politely, “Do I know you?”. You say hurriedly before turning back to your friend. She looks between you and the guy a few times before facing you and giving you a knowing smirk. You know what that look means and before you can say anything, she walks away. Leaving you alone with him. You roll your eyes at her playfully, although you really are annoyed that she didn’t tell you where Rafe is. 

Slowly, you turn your head back to the guy, flashing him another fake smile. He grins again before speaking, “No…no you don’t.” He pauses, stepping a bit closer to you so he doesn’t have to shout over the music as loud. “I’m Devin.”

Your fake smile is getting awkward, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about talking to him right now. “Nice to meet you, Devin. B-but I need to–”

Devin cuts you off, “Let me get you a drink.” 

You laugh shyly, “Oh...I-I’m okay, I actually have to…”

“Let me just get you a drink, it’ll only take a second.” He moves closer to rest his hand on your lower back for a slight moment, to get you to turn toward the drinks. 

Rafe was on the back patio sitting on one of the couches when someone had mentioned to him that they saw you. He went to go and find you, which is when he spotted you laughing with some guy, who moments later put his hand on you. Rafe’s already had a few drinks tonight, so his judgment clouded even more than usual, especially when it comes to you. 

As you walk towards the drinks, Devin’s hand falls and he follows close behind you. 

After a moment, you hear a mix of gasps and ‘ooohh’s’ from everyone. You turn to look behind you where everyone seems to be gathering. You find that Devin isn’t behind you anymore.

Immediately your eyes land on some commotion in the crowd, you squeeze through the ring of people forming around the area. Shit. You run forwards, pausing just before the fight. 

Devin is flat on his back, Rafe straddling him. Rafe has Devin’s shirt clenched in one fist, holding his head off the ground as he repeatedly drives his other fist into Devin’s face. 

“Rafe!” You shout. Keeping your distance, not wanting to get too close while he’s out of control. You’ve seen how he can get. In the years that you two have been friends, you’ve had to calm him down from countless fights, since nobody else can ever seem to do it. But, when nobody else steps in to try and stop the fight, you step closer, knowing something has to be done. “Rafe, stop! Stop it!” You scream. 

Devin’s completely unconscious, his nose is probably broken, but you can’t really tell; his face is a swollen mess of blood and bruises. You can’t stand here and watch anymore, and nobody seems to be listening to your cries for help. Because nobody is stupid enough to get in Rafe’s way while he’s like this. You step behind Rafe, putting your hands on his shoulders. You try to pull him back all the while trying not to get punched.

“Rafe! Look at me! Look at me, Ray!” Rafe turns his head to the side, momentarily stopping his actions, letting Devin’s head rest on the floor. You put a hand up to cup his cheek. Speaking quietly now as you plead to him. “Rafe…c’mon, that’s good, h-he’s had enough…”. Your tears slow, but your breath is still erratic as you look at the unconscious man. 

Rafe turns back to the guy, your hand falling from his face. Rafe pulls Devin’s head up, like he was going to punch him again. Instead, he lets go, letting the boy's head hit the floor. Rafe stands up without a word and grabs you by your wrist, tugging you away. 

Before you know it, you’re being shoved into your best friend's truck. His random mumbles don’t make much sense to you, talking about ‘he got what he deserved…Should’ve fuckin’ killed him…yeah, should’ve fucking killed him for that. Touchin’ what’s mine…’

When you get to Tannyhill, Rafe wastes no time pulling you into his room. You sit on his bed stiffly, waiting silently as he paces the room.

“Rafe?” You call out softly. “You okay? What happened back there? What was that?”

“He touched you.” Rafe states. His tone is low and rough, sending a chill down your spine. Even after all the years you’ve been his best friend, you still never know how to act when he’s like this. 

“Barely. He barely touched me.”

Rafe completely disregards what you say, shaking his head and blowing out a jagged breath as he continues to pace across his room, a bit slower now. “Why was he even talking to you? You were supposed to be with me. I told you to go to the party, not him.” 

You take your chance to get a word in as he spews out angry nonsense. “I was looking for you and he started talking, ‘wanted to get me a drink. I was just being nice; I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even want to talk to him, I was looking for you, Rafe. I don’t even see why that matters–”.

He pauses, looking over at you. His movements are sharp as he strides over to you. “Don’t see why it matters…?” He repeats your words, more for himself than to you. “It matters because you’re mine.” His words are sharp, definitely directed to you that time.

“Rafe…you almost killed him…because of me? I don’t get it Rafe; I don’t nearly kill all the girls you fuck.” You state.

Rafe lets out a breathy chuckle before speaking. “Still don’t get it, huh?” Rafe laughs. “God you’re so innocent. So naive.” He pauses, stepping closer until he’s standing in front of you, looking down at you as you sit on his bed. “I need you, y/n. I can’t…god, I can’t even fuck anyone else anymore without thinking about you. I can’t let anyone else have you, got that? You understand now?” He asks harshly as he runs a rough hand through your hair. 

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. You look up and nod weakly, causing Rafe to flash a devilish grin. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, his voice coming out low. 

“Yeah…” You mumble back brainlessly, too shocked by your best friend's confession. You had always thought Rafe saw you purely as a friend. Although thinking back, you don’t know how you ever thought that with how he acts, especially lately. 

No time is wasted as Rafe quickly leans down, capturing your lips with his. The first kiss is hesitant, and you don’t kiss back. But when he pulls away to look at you, trying to gauge your emotion, you lean in. Your best friend takes that as a sign to continue. His lips quickly find yours again. When he feels you start to kiss back, he escalates things. Kissing you more roughly now, acting as though he’s a starved man and your lips are his meal.

His hand moves from the back of your head to your throat, lightly squeezing. At first you don’t even realize, too distracted by the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth. But when Rafe squeezes your neck even tighter, you move your hands to reach up and wrap around his wrist in an attempt to pull it away. Your mouth still occupied by his, the kiss is too fucking good to break. It feels like everything you didn’t know you needed. He’s giving you what nobody else could, because only he knows exactly what you need and exactly how to give it to you. Your lack of breath reminds you of your situation and you pull away from the kiss momentarily.

Rafe’s grip loosens as he pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Tell me you want this.” He mumbles breathlessly. 

You search his eyes as you catch your breath. Nodding, you finally speak up. “I want this.” You say definitively.

Not even half a second later, Rafe’s body crashes down onto you, pushing you down so that you’re laying on his bed. Rafe has one arm beside your head, holding himself up as his other remains on your neck. He hovers over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. Rafe leans down, his lips attaching to your neck, kissing and sucking frantically at your skin. He’s been waiting so, so long for this. 

His lips find your ear, softly biting at it before whispering. “Let me take care of you, baby. You want that, hm?”. While waiting for your response, his free hand traces down the side of your body until it reaches the hem of your skirt. He moves his face to the other side of your head, giving some attention to your other ear. “Need your best friend to help you feel good…give you what you need, yeah?” His hand slips under your skirt, slowly gliding up your inner thigh, sending shivers through your whole body.

“Yes–” A moan escapes your lips, interrupting you. Your eyes meet his before you continue. “Please Rafey…need you…”

His lips meet yours at the same time his hand meets your clothed cunt. He kisses you sloppily, exploring every part of your mouth with his tongue. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, your touch sending shocks through him. He rubs you through your panties. He can feel as you grow more needy, the wet spot on your panties getting larger. 

He can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s wanted to do this to you for so long; he’s dreamt of this moment happening in almost every way possible, but this…he never could’ve imagined this feeling. “Fuck…you’re so wet f’me already.”

“Ray…please…” You can’t help but rut your panty-clad cunt against his hand, searching for friction. Usually you’re never this bold, but you’re comfortable with him. You always have been, he is your best friend after all. You just pray that he understands what you need. 

Except Rafe doesn’t respond in the way you had hoped for. No, instead he pulls his hand out from under your skirt, eliciting a whine from you. He presses a genuine, wet kiss against your parted lips before moving down your body. Rafe slides down, kneeling onto the floor in front of the bed. He grabs you by the back of your knees and tugs you down towards him until your ass is at the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, he swiftly removes your skirt. He spreads your legs, making them bend so your heels are on the edge of the bed. Eagerly, he presses wet, sloppy kisses up your inner thighs, his eyes trained up on you.

The sight of him like this between your thighs, doing exactly what you need…it drives you crazy. You lean your head back, letting out a moan as Rafe mouths at your entrance through the fabric your panties.

It’s not long before he’s peeling back your panties as well, sliding them off of you completely. Your legs threaten to close from insecurity, but your best friend is sure to hold them open.

“Fuck…this pussy’s even prettier than I imagined, baby. Soaked…just for me.” Rafe leans in, his mouth hovering just above your core. He silently asks for permission.

Being your best friend, Rafe knows that you’ve never done this before. No guy had ever wanted to date you while Rafe’s your best friend, they could see that you’re his, even if you couldn’t. 

His breath is hot on your bare center, he watches as you squirm and clench around nothing. Eagerly you nod, giving him permission. And within seconds his mouth is on you.

At first, he’s slow; gentle as his eyes continue to meet yours. He licks a warm stripe up your center, briefly pulling back to watch your reaction. Your head falls back, your mouth parted, and eyes closed as you experience this new sensation that your best friend is so generously giving you.

Rafe begins to lick and suck at you. His tongue circles your clit as he looks up, knowing you’d like it. A moan slips past your lips as your hand flies to the back of his head, the other gripping onto the sheets beside you. 

“Nnnghh…f-fuck, Ray…” You whine as his tongue fucks you relentlessly. He only mumbles against you in response, sending vibrations through your core. This felt even better than you had ever thought it would. When you heard people talk about sex, you didn’t think it could actually be this good. Though maybe that just has to do with the fact that Rafe’s your best friend, and he knows exactly what you need.

“Yeah?” One of his hands leaves your leg and moves to grope your tits through your clothes. “You like this, huh? You’re just a slut for your best friend, hm? Letting me have you like this…”

“N-need you…” You mutter, grieving the loss of his tongue on you. He stares at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Rafe’s mouth continues to work on you. His tongue gathers some slick from your entrance and brings it up to your clit, circling it with his tongue a few times before repeating the process. 

The feeling in your lower stomach is starting to build. It’s getting hard for you to sit still for him. It’s even harder for you to stay quiet. A plethora of moans escape you as Rafe’s mouth stays busy between your thighs. Your hand holds his head down, your other grips the sheets underneath you. 

“Rafe…please. S’too much, I can’t—” You whine. 

“Ah ah ah…stop running, baby. I got you. I got you.” Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you in place. “God,” He mutters breathlessly. “You taste…you taste so fuckin’ good. Hiding this from me all that time, hm?” He leans back down and continues his ministrations on you.

Your toes start to curl, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. Suddenly he stops and before you get the chance to look down to see why, one of his fingers is prodding at your entrance. “Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You nod, allowing one of his thick, long digits to slowly slide into you. You almost scream when he starts to move it, his mouth working on you at the same time. Rafe adds another finger, now thrusting two in and out of you. 

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good. Jus’ gotta get you used to this, hm? You gonna let your best friend be the first to fuck you?” Rafe asks. You nod in response, agreeing to his words. Rafe’s fingers spread apart inside you, stretching your hole, preparing you for his cock. His tongue pauses again as he looks up at you and correct his previous statement. “The only one to fuck you.” Rafe puts his head back between your thighs, his fingers fucking you mercilessly as his tongue sucks at your bud. 

You nod again, followed by a whine. “F-fuck…Ray. I-I think I’m gonna…”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Hm?” 

“Mhmm…yes, fuckk–” You respond, your fingers fighting to grasp onto the little hair he has. Your thighs begin to squeeze around him, causing him to pull his head up against the force of your hand on him. 

“Just a little more, baby. You can take it. I know you can. You gonna let me help you finish? You wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes! Please Rafey…please let me cum.” Your begging makes him chuckle briefly before going back down on you. His tongue moves with precision, working on you with a purpose; to make you cum. 

Without warning, the band in your stomach snaps. You scream out his name as his tongue circles your sensitive bud and his fingers pump in and out of you slowly. Your best friend continues to work you through your first real orgasm. You’ve never felt anything like this. Why the hell did you wait so long to do this with him?

“God…baby. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those pretty sounds.” Rafe carefully slides his fingers out of you, making you clench around nothing at the loss of him. He gets up from his knees, standing over you again. Rafe’s face glistens with your slick. His hand moves up to brush your hair back while he brings his free hand up to your mouth. “Open.” He orders. You oblige and he pushes two digits into your mouth. “Taste that? Taste how fuckin’ good you taste?” He pulls his fingers back, immediately moving down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips. Rafe climbs on top of you, his mouth finding the sweet spot behind your ear. He whispers, “You okay?”

“Mhm…better than okay.” You reassure him. Your legs are still shaking with the aftershock of your orgasm. 

“Good.” He mumbles against your skin. “‘Cause I’m not even close to done with you, baby. We’re just getting started.” He doesn’t wait before he’s pulling off your shirt, kissing down your chest. Soon after, he unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling it off of you and tossing it onto the floor somewhere. 

His lips are vicious, attaching to any and every bit of your skin. His hands gently cup your breasts, his mouth finding and attaching to one of your nipples. His eyes stay trained up on your face, he likes seeing how you react to his touch. He pulls back, straddling your lap. Your hand shoots out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to tug it upwards. He smirks and quickly does it himself, tossing it aside. He watches you like prey as your eyes skim over his bare chest. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, you have, many times. But no matter how many times you see him like this, you’ll never get used to it. You’ve never seen him in this way though. It’s different, more intimate. You’ve never shared this kind of intimacy with anybody before. And you’re glad you’re doing it with your best friend, whom you’re comfortable with. 

The low light of his bedside lamps reflecting off of his toned skin, damp with sweat. You let out a slow breath as you take in the sight. “Fuck.” You mutter. 

Rafe leans down, kissing and nipping at your earlobe. He whispers, “Like what you see?” He laughs. 

You nod your head eagerly. “Mhmm…”

“Use your words baby, you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” 

“I…y-yes.” You whine as you wriggle underneath him, trying to squeeze your thighs shut in search of some much-needed friction.

Rafe knows what you need. He knows that you’re ready now; ready to give him everything, let him take your innocence, your virtue. He uses one hand to prop himself up as the other works at his belt. Once you realize what he’s doing, you try to help him out, eagerly unbuckling his belt as he kisses you passionately, like he’s never kissed anyone else before you; like you’re the only girl on this fucking planet. 

Once his belt is off, you work at his pants. He leans up so he can tug them off, throwing them aside with the rest of the discarded clothes. All that’s left between the two of you now is the thin fabric of his boxers. You can feel his hardened form pressing into your leg as he kisses you, practically devouring you. Without thinking about it, you find your hand tugging at the waistband of his boxers. You beg. “Please”, your lips whisper into his ear as he bites at your neck. “Rafey…”

He leans back again, this time getting off of you and standing at the side of the bed and in front of you. You can’t help but touch yourself as Rafe frees himself from the constraint of his boxers. You watch as his hard cock springs up, hitting his stomach when it’s finally freed. He smirks, leaning down to remove your hand from yourself. 

“I got you, baby. I got you. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles, moving his hand over your core again. His strong fingers circle your clit. Your breath hitches as you watch him touch you, his other hand holding the base of his cock.

“Rafe?” You manage to ask through your cries. 

“Hm? What is it?” Rafe says your name softly, encouraging you to continue. 

“Will it hurt?” You’ve heard that the first time can be uncomfortable. And judging by Rafe’s size, this was going to be more than just uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to back out of the situation, you need this. You need him.

Your best friend’s expression becomes more serious as he looks at you. His hand comes up from your core to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “It might, baby. It might be a little uncomfortable for a moment, but I’ll do my best to make it feel good, yeah? I’ll go slow. And if you don’t like it I want you to tell me. You’re okay, baby. It’s just me, your best friend. I’m gonna take care of you. M’kay?” You nod in response, his eyes darting between your eyes to get a sense of what you’re thinking. Rafe clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah. Use your words, pretty girl.” His hand reaches out for your chin, tilting your face up towards him. 

“Please Ray…”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me…�� The words sound so vulgar coming from your sweet, innocent mouth. He’s never known you to speak this way, but he’s not against it. He pumps his fist over his cock a few times, his head leaning back as he lets out a groan. “Please Rafe…I-I need you in me…”

Your words snap him out of his amazement. “Atta girl.” He replies. You can feel his tip gently rub against your slippery entrance. Your warm juices on his cock feel better than anything he’s ever experienced. You’re like a drug to him. A drug that he can’t get enough of. 

He pulls back before you can get used to the feeling of him. He leans over you, reaching into his dresser drawer. When he moves back over you, you see the shiny square wrapper in his hand.

You place your hands over his as he tries to open the condom. “No…”

His head snaps up at you. “No…? No what?” He asks, confused. “You don’t want to do this?”

“No…Rafe, I-I want this. I just…I want to feel you. No…no condom.” You explain.

“Fuck, y/n. Are you sure?” Rafe’s disbelief and shock is very apparent in his tone. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m on the pill.” You confirm.

“God, how much more perfect can you fuckin’ get?” He chuckles, making you huff out a quick laugh. 

Soon his lips are back on yours as he uses his hand to guide his glistening, pink tip back to your puffy cunt. Slowly, he pushes into you, just so that the very tip of his cock is inside of you. He looks up to your face, pending your reaction. 

“F-fuck…Rafe.” Your hands move to his hips, pushing him further inside. Rafe gives in, pushing another inch into you. “Mnghh, fuck…Rafe.” Rafe settles there for a moment before giving you another inch or two. Each time he moves, he looks to make sure you’re still enjoying it, giving you a minute to adjust each time. When he finally bottoms out, you feel so…full. The pain is there, but it doesn’t last long, fading into a light discomfort as your soft walls mold to his shape. You involuntarily squeeze around him.

“Shiiiitt, baby…Squeezin’ me so tight.” He pauses to kiss you, his lips soon finding that soft spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. “M’gonna move now, alright?”

“Mhm…please…” You whine. You hook your arms under his, bringing your palms up to grip onto his back. Rafe continues to kiss all over your neck and chest as he slowly pulls out of you, until only the tip is left inside. Without warning, he pushes into you a bit quicker this time, with a bit more force than before. But you’re not complaining. You cry his name out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He begins to move at a slow, steady pace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. “F-fuck…” You yelp, gripping onto him even harder.

“Fuck, baby…your nails, they hurt.” He mumbles amusedly into your ear as he nips at it. Immediately your grip loosens. You feel terrible but can’t manage to muster up an apology since you can’t think clearly with how his cock is repeatedly kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“Faster.” You beg, pressing your forehead into his arm. He listens cautiously, carefully picking up the face. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. The new position allows him to hit an even deeper spot inside of you. When his digits start to circle your clit you almost let out a scream, making him chuckle. 

“Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?” He laughs as he fucks you senseless.

“Fuck…Rafey, no, I…I can’t. Can’t take it.” You moan, throwing your head back as your eyes squeeze shut. 

“You can and you will.” He speaks emotionlessly, overtaken by pleasure. Rafe’s hand moves from you clit up to your throat again, he applies a bit of pressure. Your hands leave his back and wrap around his wrist. Your eyes stay shut as your face contorts into that of pure bliss. His thumb slides into your mouth and you suck and bite at it, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feeling of him fucking you. You don’t see how you can ever stop; this feeling is…unlike anything else you’ve felt before. “You got this baby. M’almost there. You can let go, baby. Just let go f’me.”

Sooner than later you feel the newly familiar feeling of pressure building in your lower stomach. When it snaps, your body tenses up, a wave of moans escape your mouth as the band snaps and pleasure washes over you. Rafe continues to fuck you slowly, his movements becoming more sporadic than strategic.

“Fuck, where do you want it?”

“My pussy, please Rafey…fill me up?” You ask, eyes wide with tears as you look up at him. “Please?”

“Shit, you sure?” Rafe groans, barely able to hold on any longer.

“Y-yes...I’m sure.” Only seconds later you can feel his warm seed spurting out inside of you. Your gummy walls soaking him in as they squeeze around him, milking him for all that he’s got.

“Fuckk y/n. Do that again.” As he thrusts into you without any specific rhythm, you obey his words, squeezing tightly around his length again. Rafe lets out a guttural moan, tossing his head back for a moment before looking at you again, watching how well you take him, as if you were made for him. The way he fills you up you is like pieces of a puzzle, just meant for one another. “Shiiitt…you’re so fucking tight. Squeezin’ ‘round your best friends cock so good.”

After you’re both worked through your orgasms, he pulls out of you. You groan at the loss of him, feeling a big opening left where he had been. Rafe leans down to press a deep, meaningful kiss to your lips. He pulls back, wiping your hair and sweat from your face with a proud smile.

“God, baby. You did so good, so fucking good. That’s a good girl. My girl, yeah?” He leans down again, pressing a kiss to your neck. Rafe whispers in your ear. “m’so proud.” Before pulling away completely, he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks, your nose, and one final kiss to your forehead. 

You turn on your side to face him as he lay on the bed beside you. “Rafe…” Your voice shows your exhaustion, but also your hesitancy.

He turns on his side to face you as well, propping his head up against his hand. “Hm?” He says with a smile. He can’t help it, it’s impossible for him to see you and not smile after what you just did. 

You flop back down onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s too hard to say this while looking at his beautiful smile. “That was…” 

“Incredible?” He interrupts, his fingers lightly tracing up and down your arm. 

“What was that?” You blurt out, scared that if you don’t say it now then you never will.

Rafe’s smile fades quickly, he props himself up on his elbows, staring down at you with furrowed brows. “Woah woah, woah. Hey. What? What d’you mean?”

You give a light shrug, his fingers no longer moving over your skin. You avoid looking at his pretty eyes. “I mean like…what happens now?”

He sighs, laying back down next to you, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re my girl now, yeah? I thought that was obvious.” 

“Your girl? The Rafe Cameron I know doesn’t do girlfriends.” You say lightly.

“That’s because I never wanted one. I never…needed one, I’ve got you.”

“So…we’re friends?” You ask, attempting and failing at trying to hide your emotions.

“We are, aren’t we?” Rafe responds, not knowing what his words imply or how they’ll make you feel.

“Yeah…yea we’re friends.” You say dryly. 

He turns his head to face you. “Hey. Y/N. What’s wrong? Hey…hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing, Rafe. I’m fine.”

“Jesus, no you’re not. C‘mon baby, what is it?”

“Nothing!” You snap. You’re angry about your own reaction, feeling stupid once the words leave your mouth. Grabbing the sheets, you cover yourself up.

“Did I do something? What’d I do?” Asks Rafe, making you feel worse about yourself. It’s not his fault you feel like this. “Is it what we did? Look, I’m sorry if—“

You cut him off, not being able to listen to him blame himself. “I just…I don’t think friends do what we just did.”

“Jesus, y/n. Look…” He trails off, cursing himself. “Do you not wanna be my girl or something? ‘Cause I can—“

“No, Rafe. I just…I don’t get what you mean. Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He says, confused.

“Like…your girlfriend? Dating? Us?”

“Fuck. Yes, baby. My girlfriend.” Rafe says the word as though it’s a pain to say it. “Will you be my girlfriend? Please?” You could tease him about the way he’s practically begging you.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” You joke, not being able to resist. Rafe laughs, glad to hear your usual self. 

“Well, I’m kinda hoping that I’m your…boyfriend, now.”

“Hmm…let me think…” You say, tapping your chin as if this is something you need to contemplate. You can see his demeanor sadden from the corner of your eye, causing you to look over at him. “What’s in it for me?” You add, a smirk threatening to appear on your face. You can barely hold back your laughter at this point, but he still looks so sad, like a puppy who can’t have a treat. “Jesus Rafe, I thought you’d never ask.” You don’t even give him enough time to respond before you’re on top of him, his lips immediately seeking yours.

“Yeah? You mean it?” He asks between kisses, almost nervously. 

“Of course I do, Rafe. ‘Promise.” 

You always know just what to say to him to calm down his mind, he loves that about you. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. God, I fuckin’ love you.” Your eyes widen at his confession, you look down at him. He’s almost just as shocked as you are. He didn’t even know he felt that way. The words just slipped out, but they felt so right. “Fuck, no, I meant—“ Rafe starts, but you cut him off. You kiss him again,  passionately. This kiss shows him exactly how you feel, somehow being more intimate than having sex with him was. 

“I love you, Rafe. I promise.” You know how he can feel like everybody is against him, so you try to reassure him as much as you can. You’re the only one who’s ever made him feel cared for; he just never wanted to fuck things up with you. “Please just…can you promise me that you’ll stop beating up random strangers who talk to me? ‘Cause I don’t care about them, Rafe. I care about you.”

This is all so new, talking to each other in this way. But it’s how you’ve both always felt. “But y/n, he-“ Rafe pauses, reconsidering his words for you. He sighs and then mumbles, “Yeah…I’ll try.” He looks back at you, you with a stern look in your eyes. “I will. I promise.”

You smile, leaning down for a kiss. Quickly, things start to escalate again. Rafe flips you both over so he’s on top. He leans down to kiss your neck, sucking and nipping at it as he works his way down, kissing every inch of you. 

“Mnmh…fuck…” You moan.

Rafe smiles against your skin. “Yeah, baby? That feels good huh?” You only nod eagerly as a response. Rafe takes hold of his already hard cock, using his fist to pump over himself a few times, letting out a low growl. He rubs his dewy, pink tip over your sticky hole. 

You let out a moan, still being sensitive from your previous orgasms. “F-fuck…Rafe, m’too sensitive, s’too much.” You whine.

“Shh…shhhh baby, it’s okay. I’m not gonna do nothin’, jus’ wanna show you how proud of my girl I am.” His mouth works it’s way down, landing back between your thighs. Your boyfriend softly bites at your inner thighs, his eyes staying trained on you as your face contorts in pleasure. Eventually he finds your soaking core, lapping up the mix of your juices. You feel his fingers gather some of your arousal, mixed with his cum. Before you know it, those fingers are deep inside your throat. “Taste that, baby? Hm? Taste how fucking good we are?” 

You nod, whining when his mouth finds your core again. His tongue flicks at your most sensitive bud, making you jump. Although Rafe only holds onto harder the more you try to run. “Baby, it’s okay. Let me take care of you; clean you up.”

It doesn’t take long until you’re yet again, a shaking, crying mess underneath him. When his mouth works it’s way back to yours, you can taste both of you on his tongue. “Fuckin’ love this pussy. I fucking love you.”

You smile a weak, tired smile at him. He rolls off of you, flipping you both on your side so he can spoon you. He kisses your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing mindless shapes into your skin. “I love you too.” You respond as you drift off to sleep in your boyfriend's arms.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave more asks, I will most likely get to them at some point. Thank you!

[rosesanddecay]

Oscar Isaac Characters Eating You Out

Minors DNI

Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Anselm Vogelweide, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia x afab!reader (Pronouns and descriptions aren’t used for the reader)

CW: SMUT (did you look at the title?), pet names, slight size difference, fingering, face riding, mention of periods, slapping, toys, anal, dub-con, sub and dom roles, squirting, overstim/crying, untranslated Spanish, and possibly some other things (All are just brief mentions)

These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best. Not proofread or heavily edited.

(Lmk if you want more in the future)

Miguel O’Hara - Across the Spiderverse

Miguel is a tired man, always overworking himself with the Spider Society. All because he’s extremely thorough, never leaving something to be completed at a later date. Because of this, it’s not often he gets the chance to destress.

So, when it comes time to pleasure, he’s just as thorough. Miguel makes sure you feel just as much pleasure as he does.

Of course, because of his lack of free time, Miguel doesn’t care where or when it happens, he’s eating you out.

You’re in his office? Bend over.

You’re on your period? I guess he’s not beating the vampire allegations.

Pick a time or a place, he’s there, willing to thoroughly please you in whatever way he can.

Miguel is on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His claws gently pricking at the soft of your thighs as he holds you still.

If you squirm too much, he is glaring at you from overtop your heat, pinning you in place with one of his massive hands.

His tongue runs laps in your cunt, teasing your clit and slurping you up. He’s eating you like a starved man, letting out small growls every now and again.

Miguel will refuse to touch himself until you’ve climaxed multiple times. He has the stamina to keep going for hours, and this is just a warm up for him. Besides, he’d rather see either of your pretty lips wrapped around his length over his hand.

When you’re a trembling, sopping mess underneath him, he’ll finally stop. His lower face is shiny as he licks his lips and hungrily smirks at you.

“Don’t think this is over, mi amor. This is just the beginning…”

Marc Spector / Steven Grant / Jake Lockley - Moon Knight

Marc wants you to feel as much pleasure as possible, because while he denies it, a part of him is a people pleaser. He always puts his partners above himself, including during intimate moments.

Marc is experienced and he will take the time to know what you like. Marc practically memorizes your body and what gets you riled up. But if he has the choice, he has you on your knees as he eats you out from behind.

Marc has you bent over as his tongue hits that perfect spot, causing you to tremble and moan in pleasure.

He loves seeing you grasp the sheets as you bury your face in your pillow, to him it’s a sign of validation, evidence that he’s making you feel good.

His hands grab at your thighs and ass as he goes to town. If he feels you try to pull away, he’ll swat your rear until you stay still.

When his mouth starts to ache, Marc will pull up and insert his fingers instead. He’ll move them in the way that has your toes curling and has muffled screams coming from your pillow.

Of course though, he finishes the job with his mouth back on you, drinking up every ounce you give him. He’ll lick his lips clean and kiss your cunt in praise.

“You did so good for me, darling…”

Steven is the most insecure of the boys. He never had the chance to date before, so he’s always worried about making you feel good. He especially worries when he hears how Marc talks about your guys' time together. Steven wants to make you feel just as good.

But Steven isn’t as affirmative as Marc or Jake.

Steven will keep you on your back, his hands feeling his favorite parts of your body. He loves to caress you.

Steven likes to be thorough but also to go slow. He wants you to feel every little moment he makes.

His tongue hits the spots you love, but it’s methodical, careful.

Steven pleasures you as though you could fall apart if he were to be too rough. But if you grind your hips or grab his hair, he’ll go a bit faster.

He lets you have control, his goal is to make you feel good, so why wouldn’t he listen to you?

Despite being focused on you, Steven won’t hesitate to make himself feel good too. Whether it’s with his hand or just humping at the mattress in front of him.

He definitely gets pussy drunk, babbling as dines on you.

“So pretty… so pretty…”

Jake, on the other hand, prefers to be a bit risky.

As much as he loves private moments with you (like the other boys), the thrill of getting caught makes it more exciting for him.

He’ll absolutely eat you out in his car or in an empty alleyway. All because you dressed up pretty for him or gave him that perfect smile of yours.

Jake likes to be quick but efficient with you, at least in public.

Jake sinks to his knees and pushes you against the brick wall. His hand stays on your stomach, making sure you don’t scramble from his grasp.

He’d start slow, intentionally making you panic about getting caught, but as he gets quicker, you become a moaning mess above him.

Jake will smirk as he makes quick work of you, making you finish quicker than you thought possible.

“Tan perfecta/o, mi vida… tan perfecta/o para mí…”

All of them love you so much, so sometimes after a hard day, they’ll each take turns making you feel good.

Steven most likely starts, being that he’s the most gentle. He’s a good warm up and he’s good for calming down without actually stopping. But with the other guys there too, he definitely is being a bit more aggressive to keep up.

Marc and Jake will take their turns, teasing and riling you up. Just between those two alone, your position is constantly changing, there’s no chance you’re getting sore from being stuck in one place.

Each of the boys will make sure you feel good, prioritizing you above all else. They even monitor each other through the many mirrors littered throughout the apartment. They just want their darling to feel good <3

Each will take their time, only stopping when you’re an overstimulated, crying mess.

Soft kisses and cuddling definitely ensue afterwards.

“Our beautiful darling…”

Basil Stitt - Lightningface

Basil, the pathetic, desperate, possessive loner. He will do anything for your attention. He will follow your every order. You don’t even have to touch him, he’ll cum just from eating you out. He loves you that much.

Basil is aggressive as he eats you out, desperate to make you finish. Because if you finish, you’ll stay, despite his scars.

He moans and whimpers more than you do as you pull him deeper into your cunt. His hands grapple at every curve of your body, desperate to make sure you’re real, that you want him.

Why would anyone want a monster like him? Even his own girlfriend cheated on him before his accident happened.

As he tastes you, he desperately chases your climax.

He needs you to feel good. He needs you.

When your legs tense around his head and you start praising him, he starts crying and finishes as well, his seed staining the floor below him.

His head falls against your inner thigh as his tears fall fast. He grabs at you harshly, his fear causing his chest to ache.

“Imsosorry… staywithmeplease…”

Anselm Vogelweide - Big Gold Brick

Anselm is a weirdo, a big horny weirdo, let’s get that out of the way.

Anselm will touch you and do whatever he wants whenever he wants. This kinky switch of a man will eat you out in any way possible, and it’s never simple.

Per his request, he lies tied up with you over him. His arms are completely restrained as he lets you control the situation.

Your glittering heat flutters as he blows on you, smirking at every little reaction you have. He loves your noises, especially when you’re loud.

Eventually you sit on his face, and groaning happily, he licks up into you.

Your hips rock back and forth on his face, his nose hitting your throbbing clit harshly. You’re breathing heavily as Anselm eats you up, his beard scratching the back of your legs as your hips move.

Despite being such an odd man, he absolutely knows what he’s doing, like— he’s extremely talented with his tongue alone. With every squirm and noise you make, he’s watching you like a hawk.

Your high builds and comes crashing down quickly. But when you start to move off, he harshly demands you get back.

“We aren’t done yet, doll. If you don’t get back on, I’ll kill myself.”

Blue Jones - Sucker Punch

Blue doesn’t eat you out for your pleasure, no- it’s to prove a point.

He owns you, just like he owns all the people working for his club. And because he owns you, he has to make sure you know how good only he can make you.

You were in the dressing room when he approached you, his eyes hungrily scanning your body.

Whether out of fear or attraction, you do everything he asks. So when he asks you to strip bare, you do exactly that.

With his head between your thighs, it’s hard to remember that this man could kill you without a second thought. He’s just too talented with his tongue.

Running a club has its perks, including having lots of practice in making others feel good. With all this practice, this man will do anything to make you squirt. He sees it as a sign of victory, that his toy likes him the best.

Your back is arching as Blue hits your sweet spot. Your hips lightly hump his face and nose, chasing your high. His hands grip your legs, letting you ride his face more and more.

You squirt all over his face, causing him to hum in approval.

When you finish, he licks a stripe through your arousal. Blue’s eyes meet yours.

“Bunny, do you act like such a desperate whore with all the clients?”

Poe Dameron - Star Wars

Lover of the sky, Poe is known for being quite flirty. With the constant travel, Poe has had his share of hookups and romantic partners.

Which is why, of course, Poe would do anything to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

He’s cocky, sure, but when he brags about how loud he makes you scream, you know it’s the truth.

After a long day of travel, Poe is clinging to your cunt.

As his tongue runs laps through your folds, you tightly grip at his curls.

He’s already made you finish at least twice, and he’s desperate for another.

Your cunt is trembling from overstimulation, broken moans escaping your lips as you lazily try to pull him away.

With every faint tug of his hair, he pulls your body closer towards his mouth, not letting you escape.

His tongue circles your clit like a dehydrated man, wanting you to release and give every drop of yourself to him again and again.

When Poe gets you to release over his tongue once more, he doesn’t back off, speaking as he licks every drop.

“Just one more… Can you handle one more for me, baby?”

Nathan Bateman - Ex Machina

Nathan doesn’t eat you out normally, he much prefers using his fingers if he has to.

This man prefers making himself feel good above all else, he only tolerates making you feel good. Which is why he always makes you finish quickly or sometimes not at all, moving on to make sure he can get his pleasure from this exchange.

The only time he has eaten you out was when he walked in on you having a wet dream, mumbling his name as your legs spread under the blankets.

You wake up moaning loudly, Nathan tucked between your thighs, mouth to your aching core.

As he hits your sweet spot, you instinctively grab his head. His buzzed hair provides nothing to grip to as your hips sleepily grinds his face.

Everything feels extra sensitive and good, the lack of previous priority making you extra needy.

His beard provides a scratchy and satisfying feeling as his tongue laps up your soaked folds.

He doesn’t even acknowledge that you’ve awoken, now on a mission to make you finish on his mouth.

His hands grope at your waist and ass, gripping at all the soft flesh he can.

When you finish with trembling legs, he lifts his head, his beard glistening in your juices. His hand palms over his cock as he sits on his knees and stares down at you.

“Get up. It’s my turn.”

Duke Leto Atreides - Dune

Leto is a very busy man, but he does worship you when he gets the chance.

Constantly being needed by everyone, it feels nice to relax and give himself to the one person he wants to: you.

Sure, sometimes you’re under the table servicing him, but it’s not often he gets the chance to do the same for you.

He’s on his knees, worshiping your pussy like it is a divine god. Leto is praying to you with his tongue.

Leto is so focused on you, he can’t even acknowledge his own pleasure before he knows you’ve had some release.

He has to give his baby some extra care while he has the chance <3

His hands touch every inch that he can, worshiping all of you that he can.

Leto’s nose bumps your clit as he watches you like prey, he just loves your blissed out expression.

When you two make eye contact, he makes his assault that much more pleasurable. Whether that’s adding in his fingers or reaching deep into you with his tongue. Man loves his eye contact.

When you climax, he’s smiling and peppering kisses over your inner thighs.

“I still have time, shall we go for another?”

Prince John - Robin Hood (2010)

John is a man of pleasure, and he will devour you as long as he gets some in return. Just… never mention your ex or past relationships, he gets jealous.

He loves different positions and experimenting with you, as long as you’re both having fun or a good time, then he’s more than happy.

John, the whiny man, is begging into your cunt as you two eat each other up.

Your mouth is wrapped around his length as he laps up your warmth.

With each stroke of your tongue, he moves his in tandem. Every moan you gain from him, wonderfully rumbles your pussy.

His hands grasp and pull your ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh.

John eats you like a starved man, because despite his regal status, you are by far the best meal he’s eaten.

At least that’s what he’d be saying if it weren’t the end to your guys night of pleasure, and John didn’t need an heir.

He probably isn’t the most thrilled to be eating his and your cum out of your pussy, but it's you, so he can’t complain.

Together, you finish and clean each other of every last drop, leaving both of you exhausted.

John pats his shoulder.

“Come, rest your head.”

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Triple Frontier

Santiago loves to tease you. No matter the situation or place, he will edge you until you’re crying.

He likes seeing you as a whimpering mess, begging for some relief.

You were just on the cusp of finishing when Santiago pulled away, watching as you begged him to let you cum.

He’d chuckle and hold your hands hostage, not letting you get the chance to finish what he started.

As you start to come down from your high, he’d go back in, licking and eating your cunt out.

As you squirm, chasing your release, he’d cage your legs in place with his arms and hands. You’re not allowed to escape him or his constant teasing.

When he finally lets you finish, you’re a trembling mess, your hole clutching at his tongue as he eats every last drop.

“You’re so cute like this… maybe I should go again?”

—————————————————

Thanks for reading!

Lmk if you want me to add more of his characters or do a different set of characters (like Genshin men for ex.)

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ requiem of a cringe

did something embarrassing last night and was like "I need to go crawl in a hole and die. OR I could write"

type of post: blurbs characters: cater, rook, jack, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (the term "damsel in distress" is used in vil's part, but it's meant to be teasing and not indicative of the reader's gender), reader is yuu, rook is rook

I. Talks Too Much

It's not that you're trying to be annoying.

Your mouth simply moves faster than your mind, and before you know it, you've been talking for twenty uninterrupted minutes about... well... nothing.

You always notice that uncomfortable, irritated look on their face just after you're done. And then you keep rambling in an attempt to make it less awkward (it never does).

And now you're here, hiding in the hedge maze outside Heartslabyul, thinking about getting lost and never coming out of it.

Of course, if anyone were to find you now, it'd be him.

"Hey, hon~ you busy?"

"Please, not now, Cater," you mutter.

The boy stills, looking a little taken aback by how miserable you sound.

"Are you still upset about that thing at the Unbirthday Party? That was hours ago, babe! I bet no one even remembers,"

You physically cringe. The faces of your uncomfortable tablemates won't seem to leave your memory...

"I remember it," you murmur, burying your face in your hands. "I'm so annoying."

For once, Cater is quiet. A minute goes by, and you think he may have left, until you hear the grass crunching under his knees as he kneels down and pulls you into a hug.

"You are not annoying. And even if you were, it'd only make me like you more," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Understand?"

Your surprise at his change in tone doesn't stop you from hugging back. "Understood,"

You hadn't meant to say all of that.

You just spilled a potion you'd been working on for hours, and amidst your frustrated floor-scrubbing, you had vented about your entire week to your poor lab partner, a person you had been trying to impress all semester.

He had, gracefully, let you finish your rant, and then let you sit in it, just like the harmless potion now coating your knees as you cleaned up the floor.

Then, he awkwardly said: "That... sucks. I guess. I don't know what to say,"

There had probably never, in your whole life, been a person who looked more unhappy to be around you.

Afterwards, you found a nice spot in the woods behind campus to die.

You lie there, hoping nature would reclaim you before next alchemy class, when some purposefully loud rustling in the bushes catches your eye.

"Ah, Trickster! You really should not lie like that- a predator will take that as weakness, non? Are you injured?"

"Only my pride,"

"Talking about it will make you feel better," Rook says. It's more of a demand than a question.

You sigh. "I think I've done enough talking for... ever, actually,"

"Nonsense," he suddenly straddles your waist and pins your wrists to the earth. "I will not move until you tell me the problem, mon cœur."

You're like an animal in a snare. Once Rook has made up his mind, that's it. He will find out.

And so, with a sigh, you let him take the kill- that is, you tell him everything. Your whole, terrible week, the potion incident, the look on your lab partner's face...

When you're done, he's just. Smiling. "I see now. You are embarrassed,"

"Well... yes. You don't think that's embarrassing?"

He beams. "You are simply overflowing with beautiful emotion and passion for la vie! How could I ever find that embarrassing? You and I are not so different,"

In a weird way, that makes sense. Rook is never one to let shame hold him back from expressing his feelings.

He smiles at your pensive expression, and gives you a kiss on the head.

"Mais, next time you are upset, maybe you should come to me first, non?"

II. Clumsy

Forgetful, scatterbrained, oblivious, dimwitted are all words you've become used to hearing.

As well as a few colorful swears.

You have two left feet, even when you're not dancing- you're used to walking into walls, tripping, and dropping things- it just sucks that you have an audience now.

The first years that had gathered around the mess you made- tripping over your own feet and spilling the papers you were meant to deliver to Ace and Deuce all over the floor- are watching with grins and phones out.

You pretend they're not there, even with their taunts and whistles and laughter.

"Hey! Loitering is a waste of time!" someone barks. Literally.

You look up to see Jack moving through the crowd, scolding the other first years for blocking the hall.

When he sees you in the eye of the storm, on your hands and knees picking up your spilled papers, something upset takes his usually-stoic demeanor.

"What's the matter with you?!" he snarls at the boys. "Didn't anyone teach you any manners?! It's rude to stare- and laugh!"

His ears are flattened against his head when he kneels down beside you to help, collecting the papers, and putting them in your hands.

"Come on, we'll be late if you keep 'sittin there,"

Jack pulls you to your feet and gives one final snarl to the other first years before walking you off.

"...Thanks,"

"Eh? Don't mention it," he says. "Leona woulda had my tail if I just walked by..."

You know there's more to it than that, but you don't push. You're just happy he's forgotten to take his hand out of yours.

You can't handle being the center of attention.

For good reason, too- you're awkward, clumsy, and about the least graceful a person can get.

A true Ugly Duckling at a place like NRC. But Vil Schoenheit sees the swan in you. Perhaps that's why he's always been so patient and sweet.

It's a little distracting.

So much is obvious when he waves at you in the hall and, distracted by his smile, you walk right into a wall.

Though you can't see anything but stars after falling on your butt, the stares and snickers of everyone else are hard to miss.

Vil glares them away with a look that could kill twice over, and then stands over you as you lay on the floor.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I'll check you for concussion."

He brings you to Pomefiore and sits you down, shooing off a few curious underclassmen as he checks your pupils. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"Not really,"

"Then you'll be fine. Just a bump. You really should be more careful, though,"

You've heard that one before. Vil smiles at your dazed expression, and presses a cold compress against your head.

"This will help with the swelling,"

"Thanks," you mutter, still a little out of it. "You're my hero."

His eyebrows raise in true surprise, and then he chuckles. "And that makes you a damsel in distress?"

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before taking away the compress and kissing the red mark on your head.

"Don't think that being so cute is going to distract me. I'll make some time for lessons on poise this weekend,"

III. Unsociable

You'd think that being quiet and staying out of people's ways would get them to leave you alone, but it really just attracts more attention.

And after a grueling period of your tablemates making you the butt of every joke ("wow, I didn't know you could even talk!" "are you quiet because you hate us? come onnn, you can tell me!") you were ready to bury yourself alive.

"I don't ever want to leave," You mumble into the bundle of sheets and blankets on Idia's unmade bed.

"You could stay, y'know," Idia says from his desk, mindlessly scrolling through some gaming forum. "I should blackmail Crowley into letting you stay down here at least half the year."

"Couldn't it be the whole?"

"Nah. You need like, sunlight and stuff,"

"And you don't?!"

Idia snickers. "I'm built different. You know that. I get all my nutrients from blue light... You could at least stay for the weekend, though,"

You roll your eyes.

"...And I'll leak those normies' data. I'm sure I could get into their browser histories and have that emailed to their parents,"

Hm. You genuinely consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to give mercy. You're basically a saint.

"I think I just wanna pretend like I don't exist right now,"

Idia nods in understanding and pushes his gaming chair over to the edge of the bed, before crawling in and wrapping himself around you.

"That can be done. Pancakes tomorrow?"

Sure, there were people who talked to you, but you didn't talk back.

You just don't know how, you suppose. Every time you try, you end up saying the wrong thing, or are accidentally rude, or do something embarrassing.

You don't understand the references people make. You don't get social cues or hints. You have the social skills of an oyster.

Four months at Night Raven College, and you didn't have a single friend.

Well- except for him.

"How are you enjoying your tea?" Malleus asks, polite and curt as ever.

You take another sip- it's tangy, sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Some sort of Briar Valley blend that Malleus had imported just for you.

"I really like it,"

He smiles. "I'm pleased,"

One of the things you find so agreeable about Malleus is his simplicity. He often says exactly what he means; albeit, in a sort of 13th century Lord sort of way.

There's less stress with him. You don't have to pretend to be interesting, or outgoing, or cool. You can just be... you.

Because he likes you.

"You know," you say with a faint smile. "You're so nice to me. Sometimes I think that you're the only person I need. I could be happy with just you for the rest of my life."

You had meant that casually, but when you look back up from your cup, Malleus has this... look.

Wide-eyed, his lips pressed firmly together. There's even a dusting of color on his cheeks.

"Oh," you internally panic. Was that too much? Was that weird? Did you make things awkward again? Crap, you should have just acted normal, what's wrong with you?! "S-sorry, I-"

"Do you truly mean that?"

You go quiet, looking back at him with wide eyes. Your heart is pounding against your chest.

"...Yes,"

Malleus hums, his expression becoming more... pensive, and then...

He smiles. "I feel the same. Shall we go for a walk while the night is still young?"

[clrasecretdiary]

Why does she give a damn about me? | Spencer Reid x Reader

cutesy, cheesy fluff

In wich Spencer thinks reader is out of his league but she could not be more into him.

Content: Garcia is a queen as always, sunshine!reader

Warnings: Maybe some light lack of self steem from spence, but nothing crazy!!

He was used to it at this point. Being the weird kid in high school and college, Spencer never really expected anyone to be into him and, after being rejected a couple of times, he had practically closed himself off in that sense. But then, you came into the picture.

You are one of those girls that everyone seemed to gravitate toward, not only because of your beauty but because of your essence. You were genuinely kind, smart and good with people in a way he wished he was, maybe that’s why he was so drawn to you, you had all the qualities he wished he had and being close to you made him feel complete.

Needless to say that he was in love with you, it had started as an admiration and when he realized he was thinking about you all the time, but he was sure you would never be into guys like him, he was sure you’d never see him as more than friends.

–

You had joined the team a few years ago, you were excited to finally be doing what you really wanted when you joined the BAU, going out in the field and being on cases instead of just working a desk job all the time. When you first met the team, everyone seemed very welcoming but you felt yourself especially drawn to Spencer out of all people, at first he seemed distant but with time you noticed how sweet he was and how much he cared for everyone around him and god that man was so funny, you loved his weird science jokes and his magic tricks. How were you supposed to not fall in love with him? You asked yourself that question every time he brought you coffee in the morning or went on his rambles about some random thing.

After a particularly intense inquiry from a very drunk Garcia in one of the girls' nights she organized at her home, you told her your feelings for Reid and she made you swear you would act on it.

“Garcia, I'm not confessing. He's not into me like that, i’ll just ruin our friendship”

“Oh honey, he practically kisses the floor you walk in, he follows you around the office like a lost puppy and practically kills any officer that dares to be the tiniest bit mean to you. There’s no way he’s not into you, at least try pretty please” She says, doing puppy eyes at you. Garcia took her job as a cupid very seriously and was not going to let this be her first fail.

“Alright, i’ll try but if he ends up hating me you’ll have to bake me cookies everyday until i die” You say rolling your eyes and finishing your glass of wine.

“Ohhh i’ll be cooking cookies for you guys wedding!”

–

So, here you are holding his favorite order from the local coffee shop and gathering the courage to press the button to the elevator

“Hey are you fine?” A familiar voice calls you, when you turn around its spencer.. Great, guess you’ll have to do this right now

“Oh hi yeah, I was just um… meditating”

“Did you know meditanting has been proven to increase your memory and is also great for reducing anxiety. I really should start doing it, what method do you use?” Spencer says while pressing the button to the elevator

“Ummm breath in, breath out i think” You say, unsure how to respond

“That's actually one of the best ways as it oxygenates your brain and helps it work better, it can also help you feel more calm since deep breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system that sends a signal to your brain to tell the anxious part that you're safe and don't need to use the fight, flight response” He says, doing the little smile and head nod thing he always does after info dumping.

You smile back at him, as you both enter the elevator and press the button to the BAU floor.

“I brought you something” You say, handing him the coffee shop bag

He opens it and smiles at you “I can’t believe you remembered my favorites, thank you so much” You love that smile so much, all you can think about is how perfect he is and how there’s no way you can continue on without dating this man.

“Actually, I need to tell you something spence… I was thinking, maybe we could go out together as like, a date or something” You say, already blushing from the embarrassment you felt and how scared you were that he did not reciprocate the feelings.

“Really? Of course i want, to be honest i’ve wanted to ask you to be honest but i thought you’d never see me like that”

“Are you kidding me spencer? I’ve had a crush on you since we first meet”

The elevator gets to the office, and you both walk in blushing and joking about how you two were so blind to each other's feelings. As you get in, garcia passes by you two stopping to stare

“There’s something happening here…” She says, pointing between you two and pressing her eyes together as if she’s profiling you two

“I asked him out”

“Oh my god finally, you see? I’m always right, I don’t even need to ask what he said, look at Reid, he’s glowing, ohh i’m so happy” She says, walking out to probably tell the news to everyone on the team.

[miley1442111]

fix it together- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :) thank you guys for all the love on the first part of this!!!!

please don't read if you have emetophobia!!!!

summary: aaron said some horrible things. He's trying to fix it, right?

pairing: husband! aaron hotchner x wife! reader

warnings: mad angst, aaron is so mean, reader believes she is a bad mother, heartbreak, feelings of disappointment, reader is pregnant, talks of pregnancy, talks of vomiting and morning sickness, happy ending :)

part 1- fix it.

Aaron

The last few weeks had been… tense. Going back to work was fine and we still acted like a couple, don’t get me wrong. Yet, everything felt disgustingly different. The gifts hadn’t been working. The dates hadn’t been working. Every second of my days were spent thinking over what I’d said on that horrible night. Did I ask for an annulment? What was I thinking? I love you more than anything, I want you forever. Since the first date I’d known you were my girl, my forever girl. Every night I’ve been trying to make it clear to you that I want you. That I think you’re a good mother. Even the nights you'd stayed at Penelope's.

After Jack's birthday, you'd gone to Penelope's for 3 nights, I only saw you during the day at work, and even then you didn't look at me, let alone speak to me. You came home because you missed Jack.

Since then, you’ve been distant, focusing on work, or Jack more often than not. So I decided something. 

I made all the distractions go away. Jack went off to his cousin's house, and I pulled us out of work for a full week, much to Strauss’s annoyance. Only thing is that I hadn’t told you. 

Well, this better work. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Honey?” I cleared my throat, still groggy from waking up a few minutes prior. You weren’t in bed, you’d recently stopped our regular 5 minutes of hazy cuddling as we both wake up. My third favourite part of the day. My second favourite being when you come to me at 2:07pm everyday at work and give me a kiss, my first favourite being the kiss and hug you give me at the end of the day, just after tucking Jack in. All three had stopped in recent weeks.  

“Yeah?” You called from the bathroom, doing your regular morning routine. 

“I called us out of work,” I yawned and heard your quickened footsteps, then you appeared in front of me. You looked so beautiful, as always. A random and oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination. I started to sweat just thinking about it. 

“What? Why?! We have people who need our help, we have cases-” You started rambling as I got up and cupped your face, kissing you. 

“Because I need you. I need you to be you again,” I whispered against your lips, hoping this would work. “So we’re going to have a nice few days, yeah? Today we have your appointment and we’ll have another talk. Then we can just relax for the rest of the week.”

“The week?” you stressed and I rolled my eyes, kissing you again. Your lips were so perfect. You’d brushed your teeth, not that I mind your morning breath. Not that I mind anything about you. 

“Please,” I was begging and I wasn’t even ashamed. “Please honey,” I wrapped my hands around your waist, trying to persuade you. 

“Aaron-”

“Don’t call me Aaron,” You’d stopped calling me the usual ‘baby’ or ‘darling’, or my favourite ‘love’. “Please. I want to be normal again. I don’t want this distance, I adore you more than anything.”

I could tell you felt conflicted. I hurt you. I know I did. 

“Aaron,” another stab to my heart. “Fine, we’ll take this week off, and we can… talk.”

“Thank you my love,” I smile, pressing kisses along your exposed collarbone. You chuckled. I’d missed your laughter. I’d missed you.

“Ok baby, come on, I need to shower,” you giggled against me and I could feel my heart mending. Baby. I couldn’t stop the grin on my lips. I let go of you, but not before kissing you again. My perfect wife. 

“Can I join?” I smirked, and you scoffed. 

“Don’t push your luck Hotchner,” You chuckled. This was it. This is what it used to be. Flirty, loving, and fun. Before I ruined everything. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You

Forgiving Aaron was the easy part. Worrying if every parenting decision was the right one, was pure agony. 

Is it wrong to say that like that? Should I have done this a different way? Was that right?

And your brain’s personal favourite: 

What would Haley have done? 

You were beating yourself up about it all for the past few weeks. You felt you had ruined Jack’s birthday with your own insecurities, since he’d asked if you were alright the day after.

Telling Jack you were pregnant was a highlight from the past few weeks. He was ecstatic to find out he’d be getting a little sibling. He already wanted to meet them and he understood that there would be times where either of you wouldn’t be able to play with him when his sibling arrived. 

Aaron had been grovelling to the highest degree. Flowers once a week, date nights, house chores, taking paperwork from you so you don’t need to do it, getting any and all pregnancy cravings, and helping you deal with all your morning sickness and migraines. 

It was maddening. You were going to go insane if you weren’t careful. 

Yet, you felt like every second of every day was spent thinking about your parenting choices and just wondering if having another baby was even a good idea. Would your new child even like you? Would this ruin your relationship with Jack? What was going to happen when they grow up? Did Aaron really think your parenting is terrible? 

Ok, so maybe you haven’t forgiven him just yet. Or at all. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay back in bed, a book in hand as Aaron pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. You stared at the words on the page, trying to make sense of them when your brain was so clouded. Your levels of anxiety had risen greatly, which you both knew was not good for your baby. Aaron had been trying to lift some of the stress off your shoulders with his constant doting, but you knew that the stress was Aaron. From the moment you woke up to the minute you fell asleep, you felt like you were putting up a show. Being the perfect wife, perfect (probably shitty, you thought anyway) mother, perfect agent. It was exhausting. You wanted to go back to before, back to when you didn’t have to pretend everything was alright. 

You pushed him off you and lay on your side, a regular occurrence. Aaron felt dejected. He’d hurt you so badly, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it. 

“Baby?” he spoke into the room. 

“Yes Aaron?” You answered. 

“Do you still love me?” He asked in a small voice. He felt raw and full of emotion. Honestly, he was terrified of the answer. 

“Do I still love you?” You scoffed. “I think I should be the one asking that. You were the one mentioning getting an annulment.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that… I was just-” He tried but you shot out of bed, staring at him with an anger in your eyes he could only describe as animalistic. 

“ 'You just' what Aaron? What?!” You squealed, all the emotions that you’d let build up, coming out at once. “I’ve been trying to be a good wife, to be a good mother for the past 4 fucking years Aaron. I have been that for you, I have been that for you and Jack, and I’m so happy to do it because I love the both of you more than anything! And all I ask in return is that you love and respect me! That is what you promised me on your wedding day! You didn’t fucking do that. You threw our marriage under the bus and compared me to your ex wife, the second you got slightly stressed. I’m sure Haley did a much better job than me Aaron, I’m sure she did! But I’m here Aaron. I love you. I love Jack. I have dedicated my life to the two of you, to our family! And now I feel like I’ve made a mistake in doing that, because the second you get overwhelmed, I’m in the first person that gets thrown under the bus?! To get reduced to nothing by you?! That’s not fucking fair Aaron, It’s not fair! And the worst part is that I fucking forgave you weeks ago, but I can’t forgive myself! I feel like such a shit mother every single day! I feel like I’m failing everyday, and that our baby will fucking hate me because it’ll somehow know that I’m the second choice! That it’ll know you’d rather be with someone who’s dead! So don’t come to me asking stupid fucking questions like that when you know the fucking answer Aaron. You don’t need to humiliate me more than you already have.”

You walked out of your shared bathroom, down the stairs into the living room, and sobbed your eyes out. 

Aaron sat up in the bed, thankful that Jack wasn’t home today, but devastated by your words, and his actions. Why had he even brought up an annulment? 

He couldn’t even begin to dissect the feelings he had when the bile in his throat suddenly came on and he had to run to the bathroom, and spill it into the toilet. Your words hit him like a knife, throwing his own words back in his face in the most disgusting way to do it, directed at you. You were an amazing mother, an amazing wife. And yet, you thought you were worthless. He had made you feel worthless. He felt terrible. He didn’t want Haley. Yes, he’d loved her for a long time, yes their divorce was heartbreaking. But he loved you now, and he didn’t ever want to take that for granted. He’d gotten two people who loved him unconditionally, two people who loved him enough to have a child with him, two people that would put themselves in harm’s way for him. 

And he fucked it up. Twice. 

He followed you downstairs, standing in the doorway as you sobbed into the couch cushions, then walked over and put a hand on your back. You didn’t push him off, that must be a good sign, right? He moved you to sit on his lap, your head in his shoulder as he calmed you down.

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I was awful to you. I don’t want an annulment, I never want an annulment. I know it sounds bad but I was just so used to Haley hanging a divorce over my head for so long, it just came out. You are who I want, who I would choose, every single time. You are a good mother. You’re going to be a good mother. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. That I ever made you doubt me. I never want to hurt you like this again. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done, I’m so sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You let out a half chuckle- half sob and pulled away. “Aaron, I need you to swear to me that you will never fucking bring up us breaking up again, unless you actually mean it.”

“I swear.”

“And I need you to promise me that you’ll work on stopping all the reactive bullshit we’ve been doing,” You sighed.

“I promise.” 

“Then, I think we’ll be ok,” You smiled softly and kissed his cheek, settling your head back against his neck. 

“So we’re ok again?” He asked hopefully. 

“Not yet, no,” You stated and his hope vanished. 

“Honey-”

“We will be, soon.” 

He smiled again. You were his, always. Just as he was yours, always. Anything, you could get through. 

Together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

people that asked to be tagged: @michasia24 @pear-1206 @randomrosie01 @tonystankhere

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

[ohsweetmiko]

daisuke headcannons

daisuke [mouthwashing] headcannons!

happy holidays everyone! hope this brings you some joy during this holiday season. remember you are loved, and that people look forward to you. <3

warnings: implied fem! reader contains sfw, as well as nsfw. please read with caution!

loves and reblogs appreciated ❤️

SFW

· even if you guys are only just friends, he is always the first one to say good morning to you.

· wants to be the first one to put a smile on your face, especially on your bad days.

· hates sharing food, will swat away any hand that even comes close to him. however, only for you he will let his guard down.

· is obsessed with matching jewelry, especially necklaces, earrings and rings. letting you switch out his earrings is a must.

· loves being the little spoon. he just wants to ramble about his day as you hold him close to your chest. it’s always the best part of his day, aside from seeing you!

· pet names would include: love, baby, ma, sweetie, sweetheart, sugar, sweetener, mommy

· is obsessed with your scent. would openly just take a whiff, which would make you giggle. whatever shampoo you use—he needs to know. he’d randomly ask you during a cuddle session “how do you smell so good?”

· is an absolute gentleman. we all know this. will always hold the door for you and pull out your chair with a smile.

· loves watching you as you do something your passionate about. he loves to see you happy and smiling.

· he never really gives effort into his looks, but when you guys go out—thrown out the window. he’s panicking like crazy hoping he’s not underdressed.

· lives for when you play with his hair, especially while cuddling. he loves how relaxing it is for both you and him, as you trail your hand through his brown locs. loves when you pull it too

NSFW

· like i said, is obsessed with your scent. it turns him on so bad—even when you don’t even mean to. you guys could just be cuddling and suddenly he gets all hot and bothered muttering “..you smell nice.”

· mommy kink definitely. should’ve been expected as he has some bad mommy issues. one day you guys were fucking and it must’ve just slipped out. he was so relieved when you said it was fine and that it actually turned you on—is now his #1 pet name when making love.

· poor baby, please praise him. he loves hearing that he’s pleasuring you and that it feels good. it makes him so happy when you whisper how well he’s doing and how proud of him you are.

· hear me out—switch, but leaning bottom, a lot. i feel he’d be the best soft dom if you just need to relax and want him to take control that day. however most of the time your topping from the bottom, haha.

· very vocal in bed. he’s loud in and out of bed! huge, and i mean huge whiner. loves to whimper, as well as to be muffled by you. loves to be muffled by your pussy and chest.

· i think all mouthwashing writers agree he’s the aftercare king. like he’ll prepare a warm, soothing bath for you both and give you a nice massage after. of course it ends with a relaxing cuddle session, as well !

· loves your chest. sucking, squeezing, licking, anything as long as he’s touching your chest. loves putting hickies, definitely some of the deepest ones here.

· loves marking you. it messes him up so bad. he just loves showing everyone he’s yours and you’re his. also wants you to look in the mirror and remember he loves you. loves when you exchange the favor as well,

· makes him so flustered when anyone points out ones he thought he hid, or ones on his partner and they put the pieces together and find out what happened last night. (especially if you guys keeps your relationship low profile.)

· overall, this man is a walking green flag. i literally love him so much he’s my baby 🥹❤️