#infidelity suspected person

[privateinvestigatorsuniverse]

How Do Infinite Investigators Help In Gathering Evidence Against Infidelity Cheaters?

An infidelity investigator rely on the high-end technology and advanced techniques to collect different sorts of evidence against the target. They do follow discrete methods so that the entire thing remains unrevealed. In fact, they always try to maintain confidentiality and adhere to the legal rules. So, moving on, let’s find out how they effectively gather proofs.

Following The Method Of Monitoring And Surveillance

An infidelity investigator uses different sources of methods that include the physical surveillance. They do discreetly keep eyes on the suspected target to track their whereabouts, interactions and movements. They even record the changes in the pattern of their behavior. Investigators knew the art of blending and staying camouflage so that the target can’t identify them.

Documenting The Video And Photographic Evidence

Infidelity investigators know well that visual proof always holds excellent importance in infidelity cases. They use different types of technically upgraded tools to take pictures of the target who is accused of cheating.

Relying On The GPS Tracker Devices And Other Tools

An infidelity investigator does incorporate GPS tracking tools. They do use the same by planting the GPS tracker into the vehicle of the suspected infidelity cheaters This give idea on the travel pattern and the destinations frequently visited by the target. In fact, they can even point out the often meeting areas. But in the meantime, the infidelity investigator always ensures that this is done quite legally following the rules.

Analysing The Activities On Online And Social Media Platforms

Infidelity investigators always analyse the digital presence of the suspected person. It includes checking profiles, social media interactions, and other suspicious activities of the target on online platforms. They even search for hidden messages or accounts.

Final Say

Hence, infidelity investigator experts combine all these different techniques to reach a concrete conclusion. Thus, they help clients stay informed about their relationships.

[punkshort]

Swept Away: Season Two

Chapter Three: Jet Lagged

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Between wedding planning and visiting with your parents, the mysterious letter you received gets forgotten. That is, until a certain someone rises to the top of your suspect list.

Chapter Warnings: language, allusions to smut but nothing explicit, fluff, reader has a rocky relationship with her parents, food and alcohol consumption, anxiety, mentions of a prior miscarriage, references to prior infidelity, angst, lots of wedding talk

WC: 6.6K

Series Masterlist

The sky was turning from black to dark blue, then from dark blue to a faint yellow on the other side of your bedroom curtains. Joel snored softly next to you, his bare, thick arm draped protectively across your middle most of the night while you laid there staring at the ceiling, mind racing. You hardly slept at all, and how could you? Not after a vaguely threatening anonymous note was slipped under your door while you were at Glenn's house for dinner the night before.

I know your secret.

Before Joel came out of the shower, you buried it deep in your suitcase until you could figure out what to do. Who was it meant for? You, or Joel? You didn't have any secrets. At least, none you could think of. So that left Joel.

The feeling of déjà vu was strong, and not in a good way. The last time you came to this island with Joel, he harbored a handful of secrets that caused such a deep divide that it followed you back home. You thought you were past all of that. He promised you he told you everything. The affair with Tammy, the rift between his daughter and brother... he bared his soul and you believed him. So, what other secret could there be?

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to stop jumping to conclusions. Just because someone somewhere claimed to know a secret didn't mean that you didn't already know the secret.

You should tell him. You knew you should, but when you glanced over at him sleeping so peacefully next to you, your stomach twisted at the thought of putting him under so much stress.

So, you chose to put it off. At least, for the time being. Hell — maybe it was a joke. Some dumb kids pulling a prank. Maybe it was meant for someone else. The hotel wasn't full, but if you recalled correctly, it was at about sixty percent capacity for the soft open. That left a lot of other rooms... and a lot of suspects. But there was only one person you knew for sure who shared the hotel with you at that very moment... someone who arrived late to dinner last night, someone who very well could still have an axe to grind.

But even if it was Tammy... what secret did she claim to know?

It didn't make any sense. There were too many unknowns and you had no idea what to do. Your heart began to thump faster again and you started to shift restlessly under the covers.

"Quit squirmin'," Joel's sleep-addled voice came from next to you. His arm tightened around your ribs as he spoke, stilling you.

"Sorry," you whispered. Your gaze drifted to the clock on your nightstand and you sighed. It was almost six in the morning. Your eyes burned from lack of sleep and your muscles were already sore from being pulled tense with nerves all night.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you answered quickly. Then you started to shift out of his arms. "Can't sleep. I'm gonna shower—"

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow to squint at you in the dark. You flicked the covers off and tried to sit up, but once again, Joel stopped you. "Baby—"

"I don't know, just... couldn't sleep," you offered weakly.

"You worried 'bout your folks?" he asked. He pressed a soft kiss behind your ear. "I'll make 'em come around, don't worry."

"It's not that," you insisted. One of his legs hooked around yours, ensuring you would remain in bed.

"Wedding stuff, then?" he tried with another kiss. You sighed, knowing you wouldn't be able to get out of bed without giving him an answer, so you nodded.

"Yeah, a little."

Joel made a low rumble in the back of his throat and his fingers began to skirt up your side. "Lemme help get your mind off it."

"Uh," you swallowed before finally wiggling out of his grasp. "Maybe later. I'm not really in the mood."

He frowned in the dark, watching your shadowy figure roll out of bed and grab your phone. "Alright..."

"Sorry," you mumbled once again before standing up. "I just have a busy day. I'm seeing my parents at lunchtime and then after I'm meeting Nadia in the ballroom to go over the seating chart and stuff. My head kind of hurts, too, and—"

Joel chuckled and sat up in bed to flick on his bedside lamp. "Darlin', stop," he commanded softly. "You don't need to do all that, my ego ain't bruised." You turned around in the doorway that led to the bathroom and shot him a tired smile. He looked so goddamn handsome in the soft glow of the light, with his loose curls all mussed and the sheets pooling around his waist, exposing his tanned, bare chest.

"Thanks," you breathed. His eyes met yours and he gave you a lopsided grin.

"Just wanna make sure you're alright, is all."

"I'm good," you told him confidently. And even though you really weren't, you managed to sell it because the worried crease between his brows smoothed and he leaned back against the headboard. Before reaching for his phone to check the countless emails he likely had, he eyed you up and down appreciatively and said, "You change your mind, you know where to find me."

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, then took a step towards the bathroom when Joel added, "I might be a little late, but I got time this afternoon. I'll meet you and Nadia in the ballroom."

You swiveled back around in surprise. "Really?"

Joel raised his eyebrows at you and slowly nodded. "Yeah, really. Told you I wanna help. It shouldn't just be up to you to plan all this."

Your shoulders sagged with relief and a big grin stretched across your face. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

Joel's lips twitched, then dropped his gaze down to his phone. "You have, but I always like to hear it."

With the letter somehow pushed to the furthest recesses of your mind, you excitedly jumped back into bed to straddle Joel's lap. His phone instantly fell to get lost in the sheets when his hands greedily grabbed at your hips, gliding over the silk fabric of your pajamas, and watched as you started to grind teasingly over his hardening length.

"Maybe it's better if I show you," you murmured seductively in his ear. Your teeth grazed his earlobe and he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why on earth do you have two engagement rings?"

You scowled and stared down at your hands. Suffice it to say, lunch wasn't off to a great start with your parents.

"One is from before he proposed," you explained, thumb rubbing against the gold band on your left finger. "It was just a gift."

You watched your parents exchange a private look before focusing on their lunch.

"What? What's the problem?" you pushed.

Your dad shrugged and you grew hypnotized by the way he mindlessly pushed his fork around his plate.

"Nothing, sweetheart. It's just... a lot," he murmured.

You glanced down at your rings again. "Well, I love them. I think they're beautiful."

"They are," your mother chimed in. "But you know us. Your dad and I... we aren't flashy people. This is—" she laughed lightly, "this is pretty flashy."

"Where'd you say you met Joel again?" your dad asked. His eyes finally dragged up from his plate to meet yours. "Can't imagine you ran in the same circles with his kind of money."

Panic seized your chest even though you had gone over your story countless times. Maybe your father being a retired detective had something to do with it. He had a tendency to come on strong with his line of questioning.

"We met through a friend of Celine's."

Technically, it wasn't a lie, is what you told yourself. Celine did consider Renee, her agent who connected her with various sugar daddy prospects throughout the years, a friend.

"Ah, Celine," your mom said under her breath. You struggled to hold back the snippy remark you had perched on the tip of your tongue. Your parents weren't ever thrilled with Celine being your best friend growing up. She developed early, and as a result, ended up getting attention from a lot of boys. For whatever reason, your parents liked to blame the behavior of others on Celine and her inability to resist puberty.

"She's doing great, by the way," you added instead. "She just got a new apartment in LA. Doing really well at work. Got a promotion a few months ago. She's been the best maid of honor with all the wedding planning, too."

Celine's real source of income was working for a fashion designer, but she was always getting extra money to keep her in a comfortable lifestyle from a sugar daddy. It wasn't something she necessarily kept a secret, but she didn't advertise it, either.

"That's lovely," your dad said in an attempt to sound sincere. He did a better job of it than your mother would have.

You took a bite of your salmon while the silence stretched on between you. You couldn't figure out why your parents had such an issue with practically everything in your life. It was really starting to get under your skin. Despite it all, you kept trying.

"Speaking of wedding planning," you said, breaking the silence, "after this, I'm meeting with our wedding planner in the ballroom. Do you guys want to come along? I can show you where the ceremony and reception will take place and maybe you can help me finalize the floral arrangements."

They had met you at The Parador for lunch at one of the restaurants on site, so there wasn't much room for an excuse to decline your invitation given you pretty much had to walk right by the ballroom to leave.

"Sure, honey, we'd love to," your mom said before your dad could respond. She reached across the table and pat your hand with a small smile, which you forced yourself to return. Your dad cleared his throat and wiped his mouth before nodding in agreement.

"Thank you," you told them softly.

The rest of the meal, you tried your hardest to see things from their perspective and give them a little grace. Your parents were right — they weren't flashy people. They didn't go on vacations and didn't own expensive things. It must have been jarring to see their only daughter living a completely different life than them, but your hope was by the end of their trip, they would come around a little bit.

After lunch, you led them through the lobby, which was now bustling with guests and employees hard at work. Soft classical music from the piano filled the air and you immediately perked up.

"That's Jioji," you told them, pointing out the middle aged Fijian man focused intently at the piano. "I hired him. That's my job — I'm part of the creative department, so I got to help hire people like him and the artist who created all these gorgeous paintings," you said while excitedly pointing around the room at the various works on the walls.

"Oh," your dad offered with a bob of his head. His eyes scanned the room when he asked, "I thought you always wanted to work in the film industry?"

"Well, yeah, I did," you faltered, "but the production company I worked for sold and I lost my job. It's kind of competitive out there," you chuckled. "But I really enjoy what I'm doing now. I didn't think I would be a good fit, but it turned out I have a knack for it. My boss is really impressed."

"You mean Joel?" you father said quickly. Behind you, your mom swatted him on the arm.

"N-no, not exactly," you replied. The smile began to slip from your face as you led them towards the ballrooms. "I mean, technically, yeah, he's everyone's boss. But my direct supervisor is a woman named Caroline."

They were silent as you approached the grand ballroom and you didn't dare turn around to confront them about their obvious distaste for everything you brought up right before you were going to meet Nadia. You just tucked the anger away for another time, while secretly hoping they got it all out of their system and the beautiful island would force them to relax.

The moment you swung the door open, Nadia's voice sang out your name from across the vast, empty space.

You waved at her with a huge grin and rushed across the polished floor to envelope her in a hug.

"You look stunning," you told her when you pulled away to take in her bright pink sleeveless dress and sparkling gold accessories to match. The colors did wonders to complement her dark skin.

"I was about to say the same to you," she smiled, "I hope you're not losing too much weight, the measurements are already final and the dress is nearly done."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not," you laughed, smoothing down the front of your dress before turning to your parents and introducing them to Nadia.

"So happy you could join us!" she exclaimed, then ushered you all over to one of the numerous round tables set up in the room. She had all of her plans, her laptop, her phone... pretty much your entire wedding sprawled out over the gleaming wood.

"Alright. I know you're busy, so let's get straight to it," she announced, tucking her straight dark hair behind her ears as she scanned the seating chart on her laptop screen.

"Uh, Joel should be joining us, but he mentioned he would be late," you said, checking your watch. "We can start without him."

"Joel's... helping you with the planning?" your mom asked next to you. You cocked an eyebrow at her, hackles already raising, but she quickly shook her head. "No, no, I mean... that's very nice. I didn't think he would be the type to, you know... care about things like this," she explained hurriedly. Her eyes drifted over your shoulder at your father. "Right, honey? Isn't it nice that Joel is helping out?"

"Yeah," your dad said breezily. When you twisted around to face him, you actually thought you caught a look of admiration cross his face. "That's real nice. I'm glad to hear that."

Okay. So maybe they were squashing whatever weird, protective instinct and they were coming around. Your mother did promise she would try, so you smiled at them both, glad to meet them halfway.

Joel ended up only being about ten minutes late. Considering how busy he was and how many people were always trying to get ahold of him, ten minutes late was essentially on time. You had been going over the hardest seating arrangements — the oddball guests that didn't have enough acquaintances to fill a table — when the doors swung open and Joel entered. Everyone's eyes snapped up to watch him murmur into his phone that he had to go and it was important before he slid it into the breast pocket of his navy blue suit.

"Sorry I'm late," he announced, then immediately went to greet your father first with a firm handshake and a wide smile. Next, he gave your mother a kiss on the cheek and told them both how happy he was they arrived safely before locking onto you.

"Sorry," he whispered again when he gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"Don't be," you assured him. Lastly, he greeted Nadia with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then settled in by your side.

"Alright. What're we workin' on?"

The rest of the afternoon went shockingly smooth. Your parents didn't know many of the people that were invited as a majority of the two hundred plus guests were work associates of Joel's, but whenever you found an opportunity to ask your mom or dad what they thought about seating placements for your friends and family, they offered their insight and more often than not, you took their advice. It seemed to please them both to be heard and it filled you with so much warmth to see them finally get a little involved in the most important day of your life.

There were some floral arrangements Nadia was asking you about, ones that, by the end of the afternoon especially, you hardly could give a shit about. The arrangements that would be pinned to the end of each aisle during the ceremony? The vase that would sit next to the guestbook? Nadia had what felt like one million suggestions of different flowers that could be obtained within your color scheme. Your eyes were growing cross eyed and you felt like you were on the verge of just letting her pick because they were all beginning to look alike when Joel spoke up. He must have sensed your tension because he placed a soothing hand on your lower back and said to Nadia, "I think roses would be just fine, right?"

Instantly, you felt relief when the pressure for you to decide was taken off your shoulders. You exhaled and felt yourself leaning closer to Joel, body and mind eager to just let him take over for a minute when your mother spoke from the other side of the table.

"Well, I thought the peonies really looked best, actually," she offered, catching your eye. "What do you think, honey?"

You opened your mouth, not even sure what you were going to say, and thankfully you didn't have to. Joel responded, instead.

"You're right, they do look better. Let's do that, yeah?"

He glanced down at you with an adoring smile, one that tried to silently convey, I don't care, either, but if your mom cares, let her choose.

"Yeah, Mom, you're right," you replied. You shot her and your dad a smile, then looked at Nadia. "Let's go with the peonies."

"Good choice," she chirped, typing away with perfectly manicured nails. "Alright! I think that'll do it for today. I'll make sure to send over the menu by end of day tomorrow for you both to sign, and then later this week we can meet up to go over the music and look into the fire dancers you wanted."

Thank god, you thought. You all said your goodbyes, then the four of you walked back across the ballroom, towards the lobby.

"There's a great steakhouse we went to last time we were here," Joel said while holding open the door for you and your parents. "If you folks ain't too busy, thought maybe we could get dinner tomorrow. We'd love to show you around the island, maybe get off the resorts a bit."

You could hear in Joel's voice that he was trying his hardest to put his best foot forward and give your parents an opportunity to get to know him better. It was so damn endearing that it had you melting into his side after everyone stepped through the door.

"Tomorrow?" you dad repeated, glancing quickly at your mom. "Uh, sure. We can do that."

"Yes. That sounds lovely, Joel," your mother added. She tossed him a tight smile over her shoulder that had you pressing your lips together. Why did it seem to require so much effort for the three of them to get along?

Whatever. You had bigger issues to deal with. One that was burning a hole in your suitcase back in your room.

You saw your parents off, giving them each a hug with the promise to get in touch with them in the morning, then headed back towards the elevators.

"I still gotta meet up with Tommy," Joel said regretfully, his hand dropping from your waist as you stood waiting.

"That's okay. I have some work I need to catch up on, too," you told him. When the elevator car doors slid open, you stretched up on your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.

"I'll be back by six, then I'm all yours," he promised.

You stepped onto the elevator and shot him a wink.

"Can't wait."

"How's your suite at The Sapphire?" Joel asked across the dimly lit table. You had gotten a table outside, underneath an overhang with the ocean just a few yards away. The beach was lit up with tiki torches, the fire casting a beautiful glow across the white sand, and you could hear dark waves crashing against the shore somewhere beyond.

It was peaceful.

"Oh, it's wonderful," your mother gushed. "It's so relaxing there. The pools are gorgeous and the view is to die for," she continued, glancing at your father with a wide smile and glassy eyes. Your parents weren't big drinkers so one glass of wine seemed to put your mother in quite the mood.

"Yes, we're enjoying it very much," your father added, then cleared his throat. "Thank you again — for everything. We could have paid, I wish you'd at least let us buy dinner..."

Joel waved them off and leaned back in his chair, glass of red wine in his hand while the server started to clear your plates.

"It's my pleasure. We both really want you to enjoy yourselves and not worry about a single thing," he replied. Joel's gaze met yours and he smiled before reaching for your hand.

You couldn't overstate enough how impressed you were with Joel. He was never, ever the type to suck up or kiss anyone's ass. But he was doing whatever he needed to do to get your parents to warm up to him. It made you want to crawl under the table and show him just how much you appreciated it right then and there.

Okay, so maybe the wine was getting to you a little, too.

"Only wish you took the private jet here," Joel told them. "That's a long flight, especially from Tennessee."

"That's too fancy for us." Your dad's tone was a bit blunt but he softened it with a quick smile.

"It wasn't so bad, anyway," your mom said with a shake of her head. "Right, honey? We met this lovely couple on the first flight. They were heading to Oregon. Freshly retired and visiting their daughter who had just given birth to a little boy. Cutest little thing, barely married a year."

She paused and her eyes flickered nervously between you and Joel for a moment.

"Uh, you know... not that there's any need to rush into having children," she followed up. "It's a big decision. Well, Joel, you must know that already." You couldn't be sure if your mother was being sincere when she mentioned Sarah or if she was implying he had made a mistake having her when it didn't work out with his ex. Either way, you bristled and straightened up in your seat while she kept talking. "You should probably give yourselves time to adjust to married life first, you know—"

"And just make sure," your dad said, saving your mother from her insane ramblings that was causing your cheeks to burn with embarrassment.

"Make sure... what?" you pressed with a frown. Joel's fingers tightened just the slightest bit around your hand, trying to silently pull you back when he heard the bite to your voice.

Your father shrugged, swirling his glass of wine, looking contemplative. "Just... make sure," was all he said in response.

Make sure. Make sure that you wanted children, a subject that hadn't even come up since your miscarriage, or make sure you wanted Joel?

He sensed your anger rising because Joel straightened up in his chair and said your father's name, pulling his attention from his wine up to Joel.

"How's retirement treatin' you?"

Your dad's face instantly relaxed at the topic change.

"Can't complain. I've had such a great time getting together with old work buddies, shooting the shit on the golf course or at the lodge. Certainly don't miss those long nights working, but damn... I'll admit," he said with a chuckle, "I do miss the rush of busting a case wide open. There's nothing quite like seeing all those puzzle pieces finally fitting together."

"What kind of cases did you work?" Joel asked. If there was one thing your dad loved, it was talking about his job. Joel clued in on that immediately, he was good at that. You could see it in his eye. The way he leaned forward, enraptured, giving your dad the exact reaction he wanted while he settled in and boasted about his stats and his most famous cases.

You had zoned out, already having heard your father tell the same stories countless times over in your life, but perked up when he said, "After that, I wanted something a little less heavy, so I finished out my career working white collar crimes."

Your dad gave Joel a small smirk. "Chasing after guys like you, as a matter of fact."

Joel laughed and you forced yourself to join in, although you were already growing tired and wishing your mother would drink faster so you could leave.

"Like me?" he repeated. "Well, I got nothin' to hide. We're all by the book, ain't that right, darlin'?"

"Mhm," you murmured. "Joel has a massive compliance team back home who makes sure every law is followed and every license is renewed. He wouldn't so much as put a shovel in the dirt without a permit."

Your father tipped his glass up to his lips, swallowing the rest of the liquid before setting it on the table and staring at Joel pointedly.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Everyone's got skeletons in their closets."

You saw the way your dad's eyes went from lighthearted to stern and you scowled. What the hell was their problem? Why couldn't you have just one nice meal without them trying to insult you or Joel?

To his credit, Joel rolled with it much easier than you.

"Unless you count that time when I was a teenager and I stole a candy bar and soda from the convenience store 'round the corner back in Texas, I'm clean as a whistle," he said. His expression was casual but you could tell by the way his jaw twitched he was growing annoyed.

"Texas? I was wondering where that accent is from! Where exactly?" your mother finally chimed in, snapping whatever weird tension your dad was bringing to the table. You must have told her at least ten times Joel was from Texas, but you let it go in favor of politely listening to them talk about the south and their favorite reasons for living there. Joel chimed in, as well, but he was just humoring them. You knew he didn't miss Texas much and he preferred city life, but you smiled and laughed when he tossed in his two cents about his childhood and the benefits of living in a close-knit neighborhood.

The second dinner ended and you finally had some privacy in the back of a town car, you turned to Joel to apologize.

"I am so, so sorry," you began. "I forgot how my dad gets. He's interrogated all my boyfriends in the past. I think it's some weird power trip thing, tried to intimate them with his job and scare them off."

Joel just laughed. "Gonna have to work a little harder to scare me off."

You relaxed a bit, sighing and rolling your tight shoulders as the car lurched forward, back to The Parador. Somewhere behind you, your parents were in a similar car going in the opposite direction and you had never felt happier that Joel insisted they stay elsewhere.

"I really thought this would be different," you said softly, staring out the window. "I thought they'd be happy for me."

"Maybe it's just takin' them some time to come 'round."

"Almost a year?" you questioned, turning your head in Joel's direction. "We've been engaged for eight months. Whenever I'd bring up the wedding, they'd change the subject."

"Well, they seemed alright at the end there," he offered with a shrug.

"Yeah, 'cause you got them talking about home," you said with a roll of your eyes. "The only thing they seem to like about you is all connected with being from the south, apparently."

Joel laughed. "Nuh-uh. I ain't from the south. I'm from Texas."

"Same thing."

"No, it ain't," Joel replied.

"Whatever. To them, it's the same thing."

You sat in silence for a few minutes, each of you replaying the evening in your minds and focusing on completely different parts because when Joel cleared his throat to ask his next question, it took you by surprise.

"Do you think they don't like me 'cause I had a kid with someone else?"

You tore your eyes away from your window. "Huh?"

It was hard to see in the dim lighting, but it looked like Joel was a little uneasy.

"The comment 'bout kids," he explained. He was trying to sound nonchalant but you could hear the undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice. "You think that's why they don't care much for me? 'Cause I had a kid outta wedlock or somethin'?"

You rolled the idea around in your head for a second. "Maybe," you said slowly. "I mean, they don't mention it very often, but they are pretty religious."

"And by marrying me, you'd become Sarah's stepmom," he added. "Maybe they don't like the idea of you bein' a mom to someone else's kid before havin' any of your own."

You scoffed and crossed your arms defiantly. "If that's the case, then they can kiss my ass," you spit. Joel chuckled under his breath. "I'm serious! If they really have an issue because of something like that, then that's just too damn bad. Sarah's a great kid and I'm honored to be her stepmom one day."

Joel's laughter quieted down but a smile still pulled at his lips. "Yeah?" he asked quietly. You met his gaze, his brown eyes filled with so much love and warmth and vulnerability.

"Yeah," you repeated. "Of course."

His hand stretched across the seat, seeking out yours. You unfolded your arms and linked your fingers with his.

"Thank you," he whispered. You tilted the side of your head back against the headrest with a smile.

"You don't need to thank me. I told you a thousand times: I don't care about anything else except spending my life with you."

"Even if we lose everythin' and end up livin' in a cardboard box?"

"Yep," you replied confidently. He laughed.

"You know what? I believe you, darlin'," Joel grinned, fingers tightening around your own. He let a moment pass between you before dropping his voice so the driver wouldn't hear his next question.

"You ever tell 'em 'bout the baby?"

The baby. A sharp ache ripped across your chest at the memory of your miscarriage after returning from Fiji the first time. You hadn't even known you were pregnant until you went to the doctor for what you thought was an unusually heavy period, but the guilt still sat heavy with you for a long while.

"No," you told him with a shake of your head. Then you rolled your eyes with a huff. "I can only imagine what opinions they'd have about that."

Joel hummed, his gaze drifting towards the window while his thumb soothingly rubbed your knuckles. He opened his mouth to say something else, then his eyes flickered towards the back of the driver's head and he changed his mind.

You noticed his hesitancy and wanted to ask, curiosity prodding at you, but then the driver pulled off the road and onto the winding path leading up to the front doors of The Parador, so you decided to tuck that away for another time.

The car pulled underneath the covered structure that extended from the front doors of the lobby, and one of the doormen hurried forward to open your door the moment the driver shifted into park. You took his hand with a grateful smile as Joel tipped the driver, then slid out of the car behind you. Once you stepped foot inside the building and you were finally alone, except for the guests that were casually milling around the open space, you tugged on Joel's hand, bringing him to a stop.

"What were you going to say in the car?"

You saw that uncertainty flash across his face once again and you frowned. What did he have to say that had him holding back?

Unfortunately, you wouldn't get your answer that evening. A familiar voice echoed across the lobby, calling both your names. You had to actively fight back the urge to scowl when Scott waved you down with a disgruntled looking Tammy in tow.

Well, that was one thing you had in common. Neither of you were interested in engaging in conversation that night, an interesting change of pace from Tammy's typical smug attitude. But she pulled it together with a fake smile just as they approached.

"Have a nice night?" Scott asked, nodding towards your semi-formal black dress and Joel's suit.

"Just got back from that steakhouse on the beach," Joel explained with a polite smile. "You remember — the one Glenn took us all to the first night we were here?"

Scott nodded as he recalled that evening. "Oh, right. That place was nice. Great view," he murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. "We just came from having dinner at the seafood joint you got here," he said, head tilting briefly in the direction towards the restaurants.

"Everythin' up to your standards, I hope?"

They both nodded and you had to bite the inside of your cheek at the way Tammy was flicking her hair and fluttering her eyelashes at Joel. What the hell had gotten into her? Maybe they had drank too much at dinner because even for her, it was pretty brazen, especially in front of Scott, who still remained clueless to his wife's prior affair.

"It was absolutely wonderful, Joel, but we wouldn't expect anything less from you," Tammy gushed.

Alright, now you knew it wasn't all in your head because you felt Joel stiffen next to you. It was fast, but you managed to catch it. Scott's smile faltered and he glanced in her direction, indicating he picked up on her tone for the briefest second before the mask slid back into place.

"You two must've tried it out already, I'm sure," he said, steering the conversation back to the restaurant.

"Actually, we haven't," Joel admitted. He shot you a quick look and you gave him a tight smile. "Maybe tomorrow, though."

"Ah, thought a guy like you would've checked everything out top to bottom first," Scott laughed. Tammy joined in and you forced yourself to smile politely before coming to Joel's rescue.

"Well, we've been a little busy with the wedding planning," you explained. "Also, my parents are staying at The Sapphire and we wanted to meet them halfway for dinner, but rest assured, we will check out every restaurant before the grand opening."

"Oh, that's right," Scott mused. "You mentioned your parents were coming in. Excited for the wedding, are they?"

"Yep," you replied quickly.

"Yeah, we can't wait, either. Knowing this guy, it'll be the party of the year," Scott teased with a playful knock to Joel's shoulder. The argument you had with Joel months ago over inviting them to the wedding filtered through your head, but you did your best to suppress those feelings and gave them both what you hoped was an excited smile.

"Oh, what designer did you go with?" Tammy asked. Her enthusiasm, fake or not, took you off guard for a moment. She laughed lightly at your delayed reaction and looped her arm through her husband's.

"Don't worry, you can tell me. You know I can keep a secret."

She shot you a coy wink that had your heart lodging itself in your throat. Was she really being so obvious right in front of her husband? You cleared your throat and forced yourself to answer her question.

"Oscar de la Renta."

She clapped her hands gleefully and said something innocuous about the designer but you just wanted to get the hell out of there. Joel must have noticed. Before either of them could carry the conversation further, he spoke up.

"We oughta get upstairs. Been a long day and all. But it was great seein' you both," he said with a practiced smile.

"Yeah, yeah, same to you. We're heading out to the beach to check out the bar and music, but let's grab dinner before we leave, yeah?"

Joel nodded and your stomach sank at the thought of having to see them again, but there really wasn't much of a choice. As Joel had pointed out in your argument over whether or not to invite them to the wedding, it would be really fucking obvious if you left them out. Then he had reminded you of how many people would be there and you likely wouldn't even see them the whole night before he dragged you into bed to make it up to you.

At the time, it was easy to give in. It made sense. But now that you were confronted with Tammy once again, it left a sick feeling in your stomach the entire way back up to your villa.

"What a shit fucking day," you muttered angrily in the elevator, staring daggers at the little numbers above the door until the car slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened.

"C'mon now—"

"I'm serious, Joel," you said with a little whine to your voice. "I was already at my limit after dinner. I didn't need to see Tammy openly flirting with you before having the balls to ask me about my dress, like she—"

You paused for a second, mind racing. Something that Tammy said struck you. Joel was saying something but you didn't hear him. Your feet continued to move, trailing after him until you reached the outside of your door as you replayed what she said to you.

You know I can keep a secret.

Was Tammy referring to her affair with Joel, or was she hinting at something else? The letter you found had somehow been completely forgotten all day, but now as you watched Joel unlock the door, fear crept up your spine and your eyes pinned to the floor, waiting anxiously to see if there would be another white envelope waiting when you walked in.

It felt like slow motion, watching him push open the door and step inside. You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring unblinking at the black floor until Joel flicked on the light. The room filled with a warm glow and you breathed a deep sigh of relief when you didn't spot another letter waiting for you.

"You want a drink?"

Snapping yourself out of your stupor, you followed Joel inside. You kicked off your shoes and shook your head.

"No, I think I've had enough at dinner."

Joel made his way to the bar anyway, pouring himself a bourbon and turning on the stereo to play some soft jazz while you hurried to the bathroom to take a moment for yourself.

Gasping for air, you hunched over the sink you claimed as your own, fingers curling over the edge while you dragged in deep mouthfuls of air. Your ears were ringing with Tammy's words — secret, secret, secret.

I know your secret.

Maybe the note wasn't a joke or a mistake. Was it possible Tammy dug up some dirt on Joel? Did she leave the note under your door?

You squeezed your eyes shut when the realization hit you, filling you with dread.

You were going to have to tell Joel about the letter.

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[pige0ns]

i love how much the current season of severance is characterized by interpenetration. the first season was cold and isolated. severed. the innies and the outies were separate, and the leaks between them mostly only ominous hints. a tissue in mark's pocket. a dream of black goo. a blue band aid. an orange book. a recording from the break room. of course a reintegrated petey could not survive in season 1. in a severed world, it is the person trying to become whole who is the doomed, ill-suited freak. willing lobotomy should be grotesque, but when it is sanitized by corporate and scientific aesthetics, it can seem like the civilized thing, and anti-lobotomy that is grotesque. anti-lobotomy that is homeless, unshaven, and dripping blood.

this is why the we we are is so successful as a conclusion to season 1. it is a shocking violation of the boundary that existed all season. it is not just an ominous hint, but a total, almost violent obtrusion. as transgressive as the act of cutting, but in the opposite direction. and it makes the violence of the original cutting more salient in retrospect. (it's in the name, too--"we" instead of "you"; a coming together instead of a separation)

and now, in season 2, in the aftermath of that boundary violation, the boundaries start breaking down even further. helena on the severed floor. mark's reintegration visions. gemma being herself, even deep inside lumon's bowels. milchick visiting their houses. gretchen visiting dylan. mark in the birthing cabin. the innies outside at the ortbo. burt and irving being influenced by their innie connection. mark and helena meeting in the restaurant. the literal sex and romance and infidelity, involving not just innies or outies, but innies and outies. representatives of the inside and outside physically, bodily, commingling.

and it's against this backdrop that the characters in season 2 have begun to confront the boundaries within themselves. they've begun to ask how different and how separate they really are. do innies and outies have different souls? is infidelity with yourself really infidelity? it's almost cliche at this point, but really: does love transcend severance? clear narrative roles of hero and villain are decaying. former antagonists like milchick and cobel are now something murkier. meanwhile helly and helena, once seemingly so distinct, have increasingly revealed their commonalities. both trapped, both drawn to mark, repeating lines like "she's not your wife." the emphasis on helena this season is key. helly and helena embody self-division, given their initially divergent characters, goals, and narrative roles--one a hero, the other a villain. so for their differences to erode, for helena to get closer to the screentime that helly got last season, signals that this is a story in which self-division itself is growing suspect, unstable, untenable.

and then there's mark's reintegration. if of course petey couldn't survive reintegration in season 1, then of course mark can't complete his reintegration in season 2. season 2 is not a story of completion, it is a story of transition. it is messy, ambiguous, ambivalent adolescence. mark might want his innie's memories, but he has given no indication that he wants or identifies with his innie's self. as protagonist and deuteragonist, mark and helly are natural foils, and mark's forced and unsuccessful reintegration process is in contrast with helena's unexpected inching towards "natural reintegration", to use britt lower's phrase. in "attila" we see helena with her hair and manners loose, however awkwardly, playing at aspects of helly in a way that mark scout, as of "the after hours" (when this is written), would not consider doing with mark s. metaphorically, mark cannot yet reintegrate because his halves are not aligned. but they're not separate any more either. they're overlapping. they're at odds. but what will make them align? i assume that is what the finale and next season are for.

[caelesjjk]

𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕕 - 𝕛𝕛𝕜&𝕜𝕥𝕙

⟶ title: entangled ⟶pairing: spidey!jungkook x fem reader, venom!taehyung x fem reader ⟶au: marvel au ⟶ rating: 18+ ⟶ genre: romance, smut, love triangle ⟶ wc: 7.6k ⟶ warnings: Mnetions of blood and a wound, drinking, Jungkook calls you Data and Taehyung calls you Pigeon, infidelity-ish?? (you'll see), two smut scenes: oral (female and male receiving) mutiple orgasms, overstim, unprotected sex (thats a no, wrap it up) few different positions, making out, sweet kisses, nipple stuff ⟶ summary: Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man.

He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend.

You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well?

Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world.

What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

⟶ authors note: hello darklings, its been such a long time. I apologize this took so long but it's finally here! I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of spidey!kook and venom!tae, they're truly my babies and I have loved writing them. This is only part one, I make no guarantees how quickly part two comes out, but I'll do my best I promise. I'm thinking probably four parts for this. enjoy! tell me all ur thots! Shoutout to M (@here2bbtstrash), Sav (@jeonjcngkook) and Kay (@tea4sykes) for looking this over and correcting my insanity and also assuring me that it's not terrible lol. Thank you all so much for your patience and help.

“So where is he?” your friend Penny says from across the table.

“He said he was coming.” You sigh, stirring your drink with the straw.

“He said that the last two times we were all supposed to study together.” Hoseok gives you a look that’s part sympathy and part annoyance.

“He’s working three part-time jobs. Not all of us have our parents paying for our apartments, Hobi.” You give him a playful glare and he returns it, followed by a poke of his tongue from between his lips.

Part of you wished you didn’t know Jungkook’s secret. That you could go back to the days where you were blissfully unaware of who he was. But back then, being stood up hurt even more because you didn’t know why.

Now you know. You know that Jungkook is Spider-Man. The infamous superhero  with powers he acquired from being bitten by a lab altered arachnid a few years ago.

He saved your life. Twice in fact. Both times it was because you were curious, too curious for your own good, and you had been suspecting something was going on with Jungkook. 

You followed him one night and watched in awe as he changed into his Spider-Man suit in an alleyway. And not just because he was Spider-Man, but because he was insanely gorgeous. You were hypnotized by the man who had been sitting next to you as your lab partner for most of the year. Who constantly hid his body beneath baggy clothes and bucket hats. 

You had always liked him a little more than you cared to admit. And after you found out the truth about him, your friendship grew into something more.

There weren’t any labels; you didn’t call each other boyfriend and girlfriend, much to your dismay. But Jungkook always told you that if the wrong person found out about the two of you, they could use you to get to him. And he needed to be able to focus on his whole saving the world gig, and not constantly worry about your safety. 

You understood. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting a little.

You manage to study a bit longer with your friends before deciding you were far too distracted. You call Jungkook on your walk back to your apartment, but of course he doesn't  answer. 

So now you wait. And you worry.

No matter how hot the shower water is as it hits your back, it doesn’t stop the worry. You just want him to be safe, even if he pissed you off by not showing up again. 

You wrap yourself in your favorite silky robe and get comfortable on your bed with some of your homework you didn’t finish with your friends, slowly getting immersed in all of the calculations and formulas that you love so much. They were a great distraction.

Not sure how long you’ve been studying, you get up to stretch and make your way to your apartment balcony, opening the doors and stepping outside for a breath of fresh air. 

The city is always loud, but up here it isn’t so bad. The traffic sounds far away and the lights are just flickers across the skyline. You might even think it was beautiful if it wasn’t for the constant bad lurking around every corner. Or maybe you had just heard too many scary things from Jungkook.

Sighing when he pops into your head again, you turn around to head back inside only to come face to face with the superhero in question. Seeing him hanging there upside down from your doorway startles you just enough to send you stumbling backwards towards your balcony.

Before you can get too far, or even fully scream, Jungkook is shooting a web at your torso, pulling you back and into his arms as he flips down onto his feet. Your head swims from how quickly it happens.

“Data, look at me.” Jungkook’s voice is slightly muffled through his mask. “It’s just me.”

“You scared me.” You look up at him as he removes his mask and shakes out his hair, eyes finally meeting yours. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been…noisier.” Jungkook smiles and you almost forget that you’re angry with him. Almost.

“What are you doing here anyways?” You shove against his broad chest and feel his arm release your waist. He sighs, following you inside your apartment.

“I know you’re upset I missed the study session…” Jungkook starts to explain, but you twist back around to face him.

“If my friends hadn’t seen you around campus now and then, they would think I made you up, Jungkook. You never show. It makes me look pathetic.” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for the next excuse.

“You aren’t pathetic, Data. I’m just…” Jungkook winces when he reaches for you, a hand moving down to his ribs in pain. “Sorry, it’s healing, it's  just slow.”

“What’s healing? What happened to you?” You let the fight go for a moment, closing the space between the two of you and moving his hand out of the way.

Beneath his fingers is a large cut, bloody but half-hidden by his suit. It looks angry and inflamed. What could’ve made a cut like this?

“It’s nothing. I’ll heal up in a couple hours.” He pulls your hand away, blood stained on the tips of your fingers. 

“It won’t matter how quick you heal if it gets infected. Come in here.” Your hand wraps around his and you pull him into your small bathroom. You steady him against your vanity and move to grab your first aid kit from the cabinet above your toilet. “Take that off.” You gesture to his Spider-Man suit.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jungkook teases, gingerly working his top half out of the suit. He hisses through his teeth as he peels the suit away from his ribs and lets it hang at his hips.

You are not the universe's strongest soldier.

Your eyes drift over all the dips and curves of muscle. A perfectly sculpted chest and abs you could literally eat off of are right in front of you, scrambling every sense you have in your head. You need to focus. Stay focused on the task at hand and not his ridiculously toned body.

“You okay, Data?” he asks, humor in his voice. That horrid nickname he had given you in your first year as lab partners is feeling more endearing these days. You clear your throat.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just tending to Spider-Man’s wounds in my extremely tiny bathroom.” You try to laugh but it doesn’t sound genuine.

You take out some bandages and gauze and get to work cleaning him up. But even as you tape down the gauze, you can visibly see the wound getting smaller. Super powers really are something else.

“Data.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality. 

“What?” You sigh.

“Please come here.” His hands reach for your hips and you give in, letting him pull you until you’re flush against him, suddenly nose to nose. “That’s better.”

“I’m angry with you,” you whisper, heart pumping a bit faster in the close proximity.

“I know that you are. I’m really sorry…I swear I wanted to be there.” You look down to see him slip his gloves off and sit them on the countertop before his hands come up to cup your face.

“Then what happened? You need to tell me.” Your hands wrap around his wrists.

“There’s something out there, Data. A…monster that we can’t figure out. It’s strong…and fast. Nothing I’ve ever seen before.” His thumbs brush the corners of your mouth. 

“What does it want?” 

“It keeps breaking into the Lab across the River. It’s looking for something. No one at the lab is being very forthcoming with information.” His forehead presses to yours. “But Mr. Kim is working on that part.”

Kim Seokjin, more famously known as Ironman. He was a mentor and a good friend to Jungkook. He was helping Jungkook navigate the new world of being a superhero and also gave him a job to help him pay for school. 

“Hasn’t Mr. Kim told you to call him Jin over and over?” you tease, hands coming up to rest against his chest. Jungkook laughs quietly, pulling you closer.

“He has. Guess it just slipped out.” His hands move down to palm your ass.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” You raise an eyebrow in question of his actions.

“Just feels like I haven’t touched you in so long.” His warm mouth finds your throat and he presses kisses to the skin.

“Two days is a long time?” 

“It is when it comes to you. Thinking about how much I want you gets so distracting.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, making you giggle.

“So what I did for you two days ago wasn’t enough?” You let your hands slither down from his chest and over the planes of his stomach.

“Never enough.” His nose skims over your jaw until you’re back face to face and his lips are devouring yours. “I’d like to pay you back.” 

“How?” You moan when you’re cut off by his tongue sliding into your mouth.

“Let me show you?” Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, taking your hand and leading you out of the bathroom.

Thinking he means to lead you to your bed, you start to pull him towards it, but he seems to have other ideas, walking you back out onto the balcony. He releases your hand momentarily to slide his suit back up over his shoulders.

“What are you going to show me out here, Jungkook?” You start to feel suspicious.

“Do you trust me?” He jumps up onto your railing with ease, still holding your hand in his.

“Not if it involves you swinging me around off the side of buildings.” You start to pull back, but his other wrist shoots a web at your torso; using his inhuman strength, he pulls you up onto the railing into his arms.

“I would never let you fall. Never. Just close your eyes for a few minutes. I promise it’ll be worth it, Data.” He touches your cheek gently, and even though you want to throw up every time he does this, you close your eyes and wrap your arms as tightly as possible around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Ready?” He whispers in your ear, one strong arm wrapping around your back.

You don’t verbally answer, just nod once before burying your face into his neck.

And then the solid feeling of being on the ground disappears and the sickening feeling of free falling is very apparent. You try to breathe, squeezing yourself around Jungkook as you listen to the whooshing sound of his web shooters discharge as he swings you between the tallest buildings in the city.

“You’re doing amazing.” Jungkook kisses your cheek. “Just another minute.”

You keep your eyes clamped shut until the curiosity becomes too overwhelming, making you dare to peek just the slightest bit. You see the sun setting on the horizon, orange and purple hues slowly disappearing beneath the river. As long as you don’t think about how high up you are, it really is beautiful up here.

You soak in the feeling of Jungkook holding you so tightly because you never know when the next time may be. You hate to sound so dramatic in thinking that way, but it really is a guessing game sometimes . Your hands loosen and slide up into his hair, making him look down into your eyes and smile when he sees how fondly you’re looking back at him.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, even though there isn’t a single soul that could hear you up here.

Jungkook kisses the corner of your mouth and then the other before the softness of his lips has your eyes fluttering closed. This kiss is only gentle brushes of lips, noses grazing in the sweetest way you can imagine, all the while Jungkook is still effortlessly swinging you between buildings.

He shoots a web straight up into the air, letting it connect to the side of one of the tallest buildings, slowly pulling the two of you up until he’s reached the highest ledge, tapping your thighs so you know it’s safe to put your feet down. You kiss him once more before you open your eyes and look out at the nearly complete sunset…a thousand feet in the air.

“Why are we up here, Jungkook? You know the heights..” He kisses you again before you can finish the sentence.

“Can we try something?” He smiles, and it’s infuriating. You’re too weak for this spidey boy. You sigh with exasperation.

“I’m already very wary of saying yes.” You look away from the ledge towards the top of the building, taking note of all the intricate filigree and gargoyle statues.

“Let me make you feel good…up here.” His cheeks heat a little when he asks.

“Is this some kind of weird adrenaline thing? Why would you want that?” Your voice cracks and you sputter, disbelief heavy in your tone.

“I think it’ll be intense…feel so good.” His lips move down and his teeth nip at your jaw.

“It’s insane…” You melt into his touch and the way his mouth sucks at your neck.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll take you home. And I’ll get you naked in your bed instead.” He pulls your shirt over your head, fully knowing you’re about to give in.

“Bed sounds so good right now…”

“Please, Data…just try it.” He tosses your shirt to the side, cupping your breasts and kissing the tops of them.

“What do I have to do?” You feel too good to let the fear ruin the way he’s making you feel.

“Lie back on the ledge, with your arms above your head and your wrists crossed.” 

You let him lead you down onto the ledge, every nerve in your body hot and on edge. Jungkook makes sure that you’re settled before he stands back up straight, looking down at you while you slowly move your arms above your head the way he asked.

“You’re perfect, Data.” Jungkook stares at you a moment longer before he aims his web shooter and traps your wrists together against the concrete ledge beneath you.

Your chest heaves at the idea of being completely helpless. He’s taken away your control and your ability to touch him as you please. 

He makes quick work of the sleep pants you had been wearing, tossing them away to join the gargoyles on the rooftop. 

“Jungkook…” you whimper when he lowers himself between your legs and lies down on his stomach so he can be face to face with your heat.

“Relax, okay? I’m gonna make it up to you.” He kisses a path down your thigh, sucking gently and caressing with his tongue.

You arch your back from the ledge when he pushes your panties to the side and his mouth finally makes contact with your pussy. Just a sweet kiss at first, then a deep, swirling lick to your clit. You pull against the webbing trapping you in place, fingers begging to be in his hair.

If only the citizens of his precious city could see him right now. Face buried and tongue lapping just for you. All of it for you and not for them.

You can feel tears start to form in your eyes from the way your orgasm is already so close to crashing over you. Jungkook has spent quite a bit of time getting to know your body and memorizing the things he knows that you like.

“Come on my tongue, baby. I’ve got you.” Jungkook soothes before his mouth is back to devouring you.

One particularly harsh suck to your clit while his fingers finally join in on the fun is what sends you over the edge, clenching around his digits in spasms.

You’re lucky that no one could possibly hear you all the way up here. The moans and groans that you both make while Jungkook licks up every bit of your arousal are beyond obscene.

“Please get this web off of me,” you huff between breaths. Jungkook slowly raises his head and with a smile on his shiny face, reaches up and effortlessly rips the webbing from your wrists. 

You jolt upwards, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your hands into his soft hair. Your mouths mold together automatically, your tongue tasting yourself from his lips.

“Did you like it?” Jungkook finally asks, pulling you into his lap.

“As long as I continue to pretend we aren’t thousands of feet in the air, I enjoyed it very much.” You both smile and you lean in to kiss the corner of his pierced lip. “You can’t always distract me with your extremely talented mouth though. I just…want you to try and be in my life.” You push some hair off of his forehead before he kisses your lips once more.

“It won’t always be this crazy, Data. I promise. I just want to make sure I help Jin as much as I can with this monster.” 

“I know.” You want to tell him that you wish you came first. That there’s always going to be another monster keeping you apart. But that’s the price you pay for loving a superhero. 

“Let me take you home?” He stands up, still holding you in his arms.

“Maybe let me put my pants back on first?” You laugh as he sets you down to retrieve your pants from a gargoyle statue. 

And then you’re back in his arms and swinging back to reality.

The sun is still warm even though fall is almost in full swing. Leaves are starting to change colors and slowly drop off the trees. You love the smell of them as they dance by you on the breeze.

Something you don’t love is the damn pigeons that have made their home in the nooks and crannies of all the old buildings on campus. They fly down from their nests and make nuisances of themselves with the students, trying to get pieces of food.

You’ve been continuously shooing them away as you attempt to do your homework. 

Sitting in the courtyard on top of a patchwork blanket, you’re lost in the numbers and formulas that keep you best distracted these days. So much so that you almost don’t see Jungkook before his head is in your lap and his smiling face is looking up at you, pigeons scattering about from his sudden movements.

“Good afternoon, Data,” he says cutely. You set down your notebook and pen, leaning down to kiss him.

“How nice to see you at school for once,” you tease, pulling his bottom lip gently between your teeth.

“Mm, things have been quiet for a couple of days. I got some sleep…and I missed you.” Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to lay down with him across the blanket.

“What are you doing?” You laugh and push against his chest.

“Making sure everyone sees me kissing you.” 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” You comb your nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. “If the wrong person sees?” 

Jungkook freezes for a moment, his eyes not meeting yours as his face scrunches in concentration. He abruptly sits up on his knees and you follow, looking around the courtyard.

“Something isn’t right.” Jungkook’s voice is low and quiet.

“What is it?” You continue to look around, seeing students walking to class or enjoying the sun in the courtyard like the two of you were.

Your eyes stop when you notice someone by the fountain taking photos with a professional type camera. His head of black messy hair is covered by a backwards black baseball hat. Long legs covered by snugly fit black jeans and his top half in a white button up, sleeves rolled halfway up in the most maddening way.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he’s suddenly looking right at you and you’re able to recognize who it is you’ve been drooling over. You feel embarrassment flood your face and body as you quickly look away, your heart racing in your chest.

Kim Taehyung. A photography student at your university. The best photography student if you remember correctly. You remember having a basic class with him your first year and he had seemed very nice. His smile was sweet, but the two of you didn’t talk to each other much at all. 

You did think he was absolutely stunning though, sometimes wishing you weren’t too shy to have spoken to him back then.

Your classes must have all been different after that, but you still see him around campus from time to time. Always taking pictures, but always alone. And last year he seemed to disappear altogether before reappearing when the new semester started.

When you get brave enough to look back up at him, you see he has his camera pointed at you, snapping pictures. You look away again so as not to alert Jungkook of what’s going on. Taehyung smiles when you look up out of the corner of your eye, before moving on to take pictures of something else. Why is your heart beating so fast?

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks, making you jump.

“I should be asking you that,” you manage to croak out.

“That weird sense of something being off is happening… I should go.” He starts to stand up and you grab his hand.

“What about this weekend? You’re still coming out with us right?”

He bends down and captures your lips in a quick but sweet kiss. “I promise I won’t miss it.” He gently nudges your forehead with his, making you roll your eyes with a smile as you watch him jog across the courtyard.

“Was that Jungkook?” Hoseok asks, sitting down across from you on the blanket.

“Um…yeah. He had to get to class,” you lie. Again. “Hey Hobi?”

“Yeah?” He stops grabbing books from his bag and looks up at you.

“What do you know about Kim Taehyung?” You nod towards the man with the camera, still taking pictures of some angel statues on the far side of the courtyard.

“He’s supposedly the best photography major at this school. He’s also…strange.” Hobi pretends to get a chill.

“Strange? Strange how?” You’re interest even more peaked than before.

“I don’t know, ____. I just heard some shit about him talking to himself all the time, and sometimes he comes to class all beat up.” Hobi brushes it off like it’s no big deal.

You don’t pester him any further, instead watching Taehyung as he takes a seat on a bench and starts scrolling through the pictures he’s taken on his camera. 

Maybe people are making things up about him because he’s different. People don’t like different for some reason. But you…you tend to be pulled towards the different. Or it tends to find you when you least expect it.

Saturday night has come and almost gone, and you’re still waiting for Jungkook to show up at Club Onyx to meet up with you and your friends. You’ve been waiting for hours and downing drinks the longer you go unanswered.

You’ve called and texted him over and over with no answer and are finally ready to just give up. Hobi gives you that pitiful look as you slam your phone face down onto the table.

“Fuck this, I’m getting another drink.” You don’t say it to anyone in particular and you don’t wait for anyone to answer before slipping into the crowd towards the bar.

“Can I get a Long Island please?” you ask the bartender when she approaches. You slouch down onto a barstool and see a familiar face on the other side of the bar.

Taehyung. Sitting with a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. The hat you usually see him wear is nowhere to be seen. Instead, his curly black hair has been somewhat styled over his forehead. He’s still wearing a white button up, but he’s left the top buttons undone this time, revealing the smooth skin of his chest.

“Here you go.” The bartender hands you your drink just in time for Taehyung to look up from his phone and see you already looking at him.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, taking your drink and making a break for the dance floor as quickly as you can. 

The song playing isn’t one that you know, but as you chug down your drink you start to care less and less about knowing the song and just let yourself go. You want to have a good time and not mope about Jungkook standing you up once again.

You let strangers grind against you as you move across the dance floor, arms raised above your head and your hips swaying to the beat of the song. You’re a little tipsy as you place your glass down on the nearest table, but not enough to not know what’s going on. 

A slower song starts to play with more of an r&b feeling. You watch as people start to pair off, the movements of their bodies making heat rush through you and settle on your cheeks and  neck. You start to turn back to find your friends when you feel an arm slide around your waist, making you jump from the suddenness of being touched.

“Easy there, Pigeon,” a voice as deep as the ocean and smoother than satin says against the shell of your ear.

You twist your neck almost too quickly, eyes landing on the face of Taehyung. Your breath nearly disappears completely seeing him this closely.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but you don’t try to move away from him. God, you should move away but you can’t.

“You need someone to dance with.” He smiles and says the words with a matter of fact tone.

“I should find my friends…” Your brain finally starts to catch up and you move from his hold.

“One dance, Pigeon. Would be a pity to waste such a good song.” 

“Why are you calling me Pigeon? I have a name.” You fold your arms over your chest.

“I know your name. But the pigeons at school seem to have really taken a liking to you, I couldn’t resist.” His boxy smile widens.

“You’re not being very convincing about this dance.” You try not to smile.

Taehyung puts his hand out asking silently one more time for you to dance with him. There’s that nagging feeling that you shouldn’t, but there’s a bigger part that says Jungkook isn’t your boyfriend, and he stood you up after he promised not to miss this night.

You take his hand.

Taehyung pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and gently pulls you towards him, spinning you around at the last second to press your back against his front. You gasp when you immediately feel him lean over you and press his face into your neck, his nose skimming your skin.

His big but delicate hands find your stomach, slithering down until they reach your hips, slightly bunching your dress in his fingers.

He gently moves his hips and grinds against your ass in the most tantalizing way, reminding you that you did in fact agree to dance. Taehyung groans quietly in your ear when the pace of your hips becomes quicker with more added pressure from your ass into his crotch.

You let yourself relax against him, head falling back against his shoulder and exposing more of your neck to him. His impatient mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he kisses a soft line across your skin.

“Can’t believe your boyfriend would leave you all alone out here where the monsters can find you.” Taehyung's deep voice vibrates through your body and settles into your core.

“I don’t have a boyfriend…or monsters.” The words come out sounding breathless as he continues to press your body closer to his.

“We think you do.” His long tongue traces the shell of your ear. 

We? You let it go because your brain is too foggy with lust to wonder what that could even mean right now.

“I don’t,” you repeat, pushing thoughts of Jungkook away for just a night. Taehyung laughs quietly, pulling your lobe between his teeth as his hands move up your chest to cup your breasts.

You don’t even care who sees the way he’s touching you right now. You’re becoming so turned on that you know your panties have to be absolutely ruined at this point.

“Come home with me.” He spins you around to face him just as the song ends, your eyes fluttering open as he cups your face in his hands.

“That…I can’t.” Your eyes search his, hoping it will make you realize that you need to walk away. Instead, there’s something that tells you you’re safe, but that you’re also in for a world of trouble. You don’t know how you know, you just do.

“I’ll make you feel so good, Pigeon.” His mouth is almost on yours, lips just brushing as he whispers. This man is fucking undeniable.

“Okay,.” you cave. You just want to feel wanted. You want to matter more than a stranger on the street. You want Taehyung to make you forget how much it hurts when Jungkook lets you down over and over again.

“Good girl.” His warm mouth slots with yours as he kisses you feverishly. Like he’s been starving for years and your mouth is his only source of sustenance. It’s hot, fiery, and all-consuming.

Not even sure when his lips leave yours, you’re suddenly being pulled by your hand towards the club exit. Your brain clears and you look around for Hobi or any of your other friends but you don’t see them. And honestly, you hope that they don’t. You hope they didn’t see what happened on the dance floor and you hope they don’t see you leaving with someone who isn’t Jungkook. That would be far too messy to have to explain.

“Did you drive here?” You squeeze Taehyung’s hand and he pulls you closer to him.

“I did. I didn’t even finish my drink, I promise I’m safe to drive.” He eases your mind as the two of you push out of the door and turn towards the parking lot.

But your mind is only at ease for a mere minute before you realize that Taehyung is leading you towards what appears to be a very, very fast motorcycle. Everything on it is jet black and ridiculously sexy. You wish you weren’t absolutely terrified.

“I’m not getting on that.” You stop in your tracks.

“Why not?” Taehyung grabs the helmet off the back and offers it to you. “I’ll even give you the helmet.”

“I just…that looks dangerous.” 

“It is.”

“Glad you’re honest,” you half-laugh.

“The bike is dangerous, but I would never let anything happen to you, Pigeon.” Taehyung swings one of his long legs over the motorcycle, straddling it as he waits for you to make a decision.

“We hardly know each other, Taehyung.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t keep you safe on my motorcycle, or that we have to know everything about each other to feel something.” He holds the helmet out again and you feel your mouth go dry at his words.

The danger aside, there is no going back if you get on that motorcycle with him. There is no way you would have an untainted conscience ever again. Every time you were with Jungkook from this day on, you would have to think about the fact that at this moment, you also wanted Kim Taehyung to fuck you.

That should terrify you more than it does.

You grab your phone and quickly open it to see no messages or missed calls from Jungkook. Your answer gets a little clearer as you reach out and take the helmet from his hand.

“Carefully,” Taehyung says, taking one of your hands and guiding you to straddle the motorcycle behind him. You settle the helmet onto your head, and Taehyung smiles widely when he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re ready. 

When he starts the motorcycle, the vibrations from the engine immediately flood your body. Your arms instinctively wrap around his torso as tightly as possible, and you wait once again for the world to go past you far too quickly. The same way it always does when Jungkook is swinging you between buildings.

When he pulls out of the parking lot, he doesn’t go too fast like you thought he would. He takes his time weaving between the cars and taxis, making his way through the busy streets and closer to the docks. 

You don’t entirely hate the motorcycle ride. Nor do you hate the way Taehyung laces his fingers through yours and holds them against his chest, or the way he brings your knuckles to his lips to brush a kiss against each one while he steers with the other hand. You don’t hate the way he sometimes moves that hand down to tap your thigh to let you know he’s about to make a sharp turn. You wish you hated the motorcycle ride.

Taehyung presses a button on his phone and a door on one of the warehouses starts to lift up. He pulls through it, parking the bike once inside. Your legs feel like jello when you take his hand to try and stand up, stumbling a bit in his hold.

“Okay there, Pigeon?” Taehyung grasps the sides of the helmet and helps you take it off. He sits it on the back of the bike before coming back to help you straighten out your helmet hair.

“It wasn’t terrible.” You smile and so does he, fire moving through your veins the longer your eyes stay locked with his. You quickly clear your throat. “So, you live in a warehouse?”

“I used to live in the city. It was just too…busy. I needed space.” He takes your hand and leads you towards some metal stairs. But before he does, you notice several more motorcycles parked inside the open part of the warehouse. Who is Kim Taehyung?

At the top of the stairs, it opens into a large open loft area that has a surprising feeling of comfort to it. There’s a kitchenette off to the right with just the necessities: a fridge, small table, stove and microwave.

The left side of the room appears to be the bedroom. A big messy bed sits against a headboard with intricate black vines carved into the wood. Soft pillows are haphazardly lying in all directions, some on the floor with their feathers scattered across the room. Taehyung visibly stiffens when he sees you notice them.

“Sorry about those…I think I might have a raccoon stuck in here somewhere.” He laughs and moves to kick the busted pillows under his bed.

Strange. He’s a little strange.

“Do you need something to drink?” he asks.

“Should I be worried about being here, Taehyung?” 

“What? No. No, I promise you’re safe.” He crosses the room and comes to stand in front of you, concern evident on his perfect face.

“I just…I don’t do things like this. I’ve never even had a one night stand.” You card a hand through your hair and Taehyung tips your chin up to look at him.

“Why does it need to be just one night?” His face softens and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“Taehyung…I don’t know what I’m doing.” It’s barely a whisper.

His head tilts slightly to the side before it spasms slightly, an uncomfortable look painting his face as he shakes his head and gets the spasm under control. 

“Stop it.” Taehyung grits between his clenched teeth, mostly to himself.

“Are…are you okay?” Your worry grows by the second.

“Sorry…I’m sorry.” He cups your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly, catching you off guard. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I’m not scared of you.” It isn’t a lie. You aren’t scared, but something is off. And you’re too stupid to leave. “Should I be scared?”

“Not of me.” He speaks as if someone else is in the room. 

His mouth finds yours again and lust takes the place of worry and concern. Taehyung easily grabs your thighs and lifts you off the ground as if you weigh nothing at all.

The next moments are a blur of clothing being stripped and bare skin coming in contact with hands and lips. Teeth scrape over nipples and long fingers drown themselves inside your dripping pussy. The warehouse echos with the sounds of your moans and his deep groans.

After your first thigh shaking orgasm, Taehyung sits on the edge of his bed and you kneel in front of him between his knees, taking his far too perfect cock into your mouth. You worship him with your tongue and make him come down your throat, his hands tightly gripping your hair.

Chills run through your sweaty body as he bends you over his bed and eases his cock inside you. Stars explode behind your eyelids while your fingers grip the bed sheets.

“He doesn’t fuck you enough, does he Pigeon? You’re so fucking tight.” Taehyung’s fingers dig harshly into your hips as he mercilessly pounds you from behind.

You can only moan in response, the coil in your stomach tightening and threatening to burst again. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes and stain the sheets you’re so desperately clinging to.

His fingers suddenly start to feel sharper, like they could pierce your skin at any moment, past the point of hurting in a good way.

“Stop,” Taehyung growls and the piercing feeling of his fingers starts to let up. If your brain wasn’t so fogged by your oncoming orgasm you may have questioned who the hell he was talking to.

“I’m so close,” you whine, feeling Taehyung press himself closer to you, one of his hands coming to the back of your head and pushing you deeper into the mattress. The new angle  makes you feel him so deeply that even your stomach clenches and the dam finally breaks; you’re falling off the edge of the most shattering orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

Taehyung’s hips stutter as you clench around him, making him moan deep in his chest. When you can no longer hold up your body, he grabs your shoulder and flips you onto your back, then immediately slides his cock back inside your overly sensitive pussy.

You’re so blissfully fucked that it takes you a moment to focus your eyesight on his face. Sweaty black curls sticking to his forehead as you lift your heavy arms and dig your fingers into his hair so you can pull his mouth down onto yours.

“I almost…I almost lost control. You feel so good.” His tongue swipes into your mouth as he angles himself to hit your g-spot with every hard thrust of his hips.

“Please come, Taehyung.” Your nails dig into his back and leave scratch marks across his skin.

“Never wanted anyone as much as I want you…fuck we want you so badly.” He buries his face into your neck as he thrusts once, twice more before you feel him spill inside of you. Hips bruisingly tight against yours as his cock twitches each time more cum fills you up.

“Holy shit.” You move your hands back to his hair and gently lift up to see his face. You swear when he looks at you that all the color has drained from his eyes. They’re solid white.

You gasp and blink once, seeing Taehyung’s pretty brown eyes looking back at you in less than a second.

“Wh-what was that?” You’re still panting.

“What was what, Pigeon?” He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek before he slowly pulls out and walks to his bathroom, giving you a chance to ogle his perfect little ass and the muscles of his back.

“I just…thought I saw something,” you say when he returns to the bed with a cloth for you to clean up with. You really need to get more sleep if you’re starting to see things.

“Did I hurt you?” Taehyung’s face is suddenly a lot more serious when he reaches out to run his fingers over the apple of your cheek.

You remember the way his hands felt on your hips. How they could’ve been on the verge of piercing through your skin. At least, that’s what you thought when it was happening.

Looking down at your hips, there’s obvious red marks from fingertips, but also scratch marks that just don’t seem like they could’ve come from Taehyung’s short cut nails. What the hell?

“I um…I think I’m okay.” You pull the covers up over your hips a little, hoping he won’t see.

“You should sleep here. I can take you home in the morning, I’m just too sleepy right now.” He pouts his mouth a little and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his side.

“Okay.” You’re admittedly too spent to call an Uber or argue with him about taking you home tonight. You just need to sleep. Sleep will fix everything. Tomorrow you will wake up and not feel like you’re losing your entire mind.

“…don’t ever fucking do that again…” You hear part of a conversation in your half asleep state. “I swear if you would have hurt her…”

Who the hell is Taehyung talking to in the middle of the night?

“She’s with the spider….liability.” A deep inhuman voice fills the empty air. Your eyes shoot open wide and every nerve is suddenly completely wired.

Are they…are they talking about Jungkook?

“She’s not. She said she’s not,” Taehyung’s voice answers, stress evident in his words.

“We should eat her now…” 

“No! You’ll have to kill me if you think you’re ever touching her. And we both know you can’t do that,” Taehyung yells.

You wrap the thin sheet around your naked body and slowly move towards the railing that overlooks the open part of the warehouse downstairs. You stay back far enough so not to alert anyone of your presence.

Looking down, you see Taehyung sitting at a table with his back towards you, wearing his black jeans slung low on his hips and nothing else. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

And that’s when it seems like the shadows around him start to move and your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Because not only do they move, but they have a face. A terrifying face that is seeping from the back of Taehyung’s neck and moving around him …as it talks.

“You’re weak for her,” the monster growls deeply, its huge teeth and unnaturally long tongue becoming more apparent as it moves into the light.

“We had a deal.” Taehyung seethes. “I’m literally the only person you haven’t killed when you bonded with them. You need me to get your symbiote friends home and I need you to take down that fucking lab.”

You can barely believe what you’re seeing or hearing. Is this the monster Jungkook was talking about? The one breaking into the lab across the river?

“Aren’t we friends?” The monster asks in a condescending way.

“Not if you hurt ____. She has no idea what she’s in the middle of and it should stay that way.” Taehyung holds his arms out straight and the monster starts to wrap its moving pitch black skin around him…its skin becoming his.

You’re so startled by the sight in front of you that you stumble back, knocking over an end table full of magazines and books. Fuck.

“Shit,” you hear Taehyung say before the monster has completely consumed him. What stands in his place is something you will never forget for the rest of your life.

The monster must be at least 8 feet tall, huge bulking muscles made of that inhuman black skin that constantly appears to be moving. Its  huge white eyes land right on you immediately, its  mouth and teeth pulling into a wicked smile as it jumps into the air and clears the railing in a single leap. You scream as the ground crunches beneath its feet when it lands in front of you.

The monster looms over you and all the breath in your lungs disappears.

“What…what are you?” you croak, fear freezing you in place.

“We…are Venom.”

taglist: @hanversace @chaelvrx @moonchild1 @rkivewritersblog @ungodlyjoon @ricecakeslove @jeonsweetpea @screamertannie @tearyjjeon @kookrecs @bintificreads @minisugakoobies

series masterlist | main masterlist | Part Two

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!? 

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag VII (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

{Happy MLK weekend! He would've wanted this!}

~

Your back rested against your headboard with your gaze fixed on your mirror on the other side of the room. You were staring at yourself, but not really. Your mind was somewhere else entirely, and you chewed on your lip as Rafe’s even breathing filled your ears. You glanced at him, taking in his sleeping form before meeting your own gaze in the reflection again.

You’d done many things to bring on Rafe’s wrath, most of them harmless. It happened so often that you now lived your life completely differently, hyperaware of every thought and every action from both you and him. After all, you had to learn from your mistakes, right? You had to guess the best course of action to avoid a violent outcome. It was always something harmless…

…but almost kissing JJ Maybank was not harmless.

Sneaking off to The Cut with Sarah and her friends was bad enough. There was no telling how Rafe would react if he knew…but almost kissing JJ? The thought of Rafe finding out about that was so nerve-wracking that it actually made you shudder. It didn’t even feel like something that actually happened at times because…you knew better. It was something so incredibly stupid that you couldn’t have done it…and yet…

You still thought about how close he’d been. You thought about that calming natural scent of him that was just so different from what you were used to being around. You thought about his nose touching yours, his chest grazing yours, and it wasn’t shocking that JJ wanted to kiss you. It wasn’t even shocking that he tried. What was shocking was that you wanted to kiss him too, that some part of you wanted to let it happen.

You frowned, sliding out of bed with a racing heart.

Was it that shocking though? Rafe was horrible to you…and JJ wasn’t. The other blond was nice and funny and his own history with abuse drew you to him. It didn’t help matters that JJ wasn’t afraid of Rafe in the slightest. You didn’t want to linger on just how dangerous that could prove to be, thinking to yourself that it had been so long since a guy talked to you and treated you like your own person capable of your own decisions.

It felt good…and you felt guilty for that.

Rafe was still your boyfriend…even if he wasn’t a very good one, and JJ made it clear that he didn’t respect that. Even more so now that he suspected something was very very off about your relationship. The look in his eyes that day was something you still thought about—the determination. It bothered you that you couldn’t tell if it was determination to find out the truth or determination for something else entirely.

Maybe both.

You leaned against your window, staring out into your yard with a heavy chest. Never in a million years did you think you’d find your mind caught between Rafe and JJ Maybank. You’d long written the other guy off as dangerous, but maybe you had a hand in this too. In some ways, you had encouraged him, even without realizing it, and maybe this was you paying the price.

Both your thoughts and your gaze drifted to the pool house.

You knew JJ had finally taken you up on your offer. You had seen a faint light on one night while everyone was asleep, and you remembered the way your heart stuttered at the realization. You had stared out of your window for hours—even long after the inside went completely dark—just frozen with the knowledge that JJ was only so many feet away. You hadn’t talked to him since that day at the Camerons’, but you definitely saw him in passing a few times, and you always pretended not to know.

You’d done so to be nice, to offer him a safe haven away from his father, but you couldn’t deny the temptation you felt to go to him. Just to talk. Just to be around someone who reminded you of what your life was like before that fateful nineteenth birthday. Just talking to JJ felt so natural and relaxing, and your heart ached when you remembered how happy you felt with him and his friends…but then you remembered his nose touching yours and his lips being so close to yours, and you’d feel…nauseous.

Rafe would snap your neck if he knew.

…and with that thought you turned away from the window.

You could not let yourself get caught up with JJ Maybank. He liked trouble and he hated Rafe and you were the perfect opportunity to take part in both. You weren’t stupid. You knew that some of your appeal had to come from your proximity to Rafe. You were “Rafe’s girl”, you had been for two years, and JJ wasn’t as mysterious as he probably liked to believe. You knew that he would absolutely relish taking you from him, even if only for a night, and you refused to be that stupid.

No matter how much the thought made your stomach flip.

You had only ever been with Rafe, and you’d long accepted that he was only who you’d ever be with, everyone on this God forsaken island fearing him and his influence too much to even try it. However, with the new presence of JJ Maybank in your life, you couldn’t help but to wonder what it would be like to sleep with someone who didn’t terrify you.

Even your first time with Rafe—when you’d still been in love with him—had been wrought with fear and pain and confusion. It was a hard truth to swallow, but you realized that you’d never experienced sex without fear. That made you incredibly sad, and you blinked back tears as you slid back into bed. It was wrong, and you could never act on it, but for a split second—as you laid down next to your boyfriend—you briefly entertained the thought of lying down underneath JJ Maybank.

You swallowed down a sigh as you watched Rafe snort another line, Kelce’s laugh reaching your ears as your boyfriend mumbled something that was evidently hilarious. The music from the party was muffled, and you brought your cup up to take another sip of some beer you didn’t even like. When Rafe said you both were going to some party, you’d actually expected to be at the party.

However, with one sweep around the room, Rafe realized that the party wasn’t as exclusive as he’d like, and he’d holed you both up in a room with Topper and Kelce ever since. Topper was scrolling on his phone while Kelce and Rafe played hot potato with the drugs in their possession. Truthfully, you didn’t see why Rafe refused to party downstairs all because a few Pogues were in attendance. Especially since if you’d figured this was how your night was going to go, you would have just stayed home.

Ever since Rafe got back from Charleston, he’d been on you like white on rice, but of course, your presence didn’t matter much once a few white lines were placed on a mirror. Swallowing down yet another sigh, you pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way to the window. There were far too many people in the yard and pool for you to be comfortable with, but anything seemed better than this.

You were downing the rest of your beer when someone caught your eye.

Your hand lowered, and your lips parted, thinking to yourself that this party was far less exclusive than Rafe knew. You supposed it wasn’t that weird to see JJ strolling into the yard, especially since he was with Sarah, but the sight of the familiar blond had you swallowing. Knowing that he was at the same party as you made you feel anxious for so many reasons.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

The words came out before you could stop them, silently wondering to yourself what you were doing. When you turned around, Rafe’s gaze was on you, and you didn’t think you liked the look you saw there. Your boyfriend’s lips were pressed together as he eyed you, and you didn’t miss his snort.

“Yeah, the last time you ‘went to the bathroom’ I had to track you down on the streets of Kildare County…all because you wanted some ‘air’.”

You rolled your eyes at both his tone and his words.

“I’ve been drinking beer for an hour. You want me to pull my pants down and pee in front of your friends? My bladder’s too full to be as embarrassed about that as you would be,” you threw at him, jutting your hip out.

The flare of Rafe’s nostrils didn’t escape you, and after a stretched silence, he merely jerked his head. You pretended not to feel the heat of his gaze as he watched you leave, and once the door was shut, you headed for the stairs instead. While you did need to throw your cup away, it wasn’t like there wasn’t a trash can in the bathroom. However, you wouldn’t admit to yourself the real reason you came downstairs.

On your way to and from the kitchen, you craned your neck, eyes scanning over familiar face after familiar face…but just not the one you wanted to see. You refused to acknowledge the disappointment that ate at you, and telling yourself that you didn’t want to push your luck with Rafe, you quickly hurried up the stairs because you did actually have to pee.

Despite how much you wanted to hide out in the bathroom, you made your visit quick, telling yourself it’d be just your luck for Rafe to give the drugs a break to time your absence instead. There was no telling what time Rafe would decide to leave, and you grimaced at the thought of what the night had in store for you. You’d just opened the door and turned out the bathroom light when a grip on your arm was pulling you down the hall.

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to process what was going on until your eyes passed over the back of a familiar head of blond hair. Your lips parted, too many conflicting emotions bubbling up inside of you for you to focus on just one. However, once JJ had you around the corner, fear quickly trumped the others.

“Are you drunk?”

Your question came out harsher than you meant, and—true to what you were learning was JJ fashion—the guy before you ignored it.

“I saw you downstairs.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you straightened. His blond hair was messier than usual, something you noted you kind of liked, and the long-sleeved shirt he wore was kind of big on him. You glanced at the way it just barely hung on his shoulder.

“You looked like you were looking for someone.”

His next words pulled you from your thoughts, and your gaze met his. That small smirk on his lips annoyed you, and you took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t. Is that what you followed me up here for?” you wondered.

JJ didn’t look like he believed you, but he clearly opted to let it go.

“When’s the next time you’re coming to the other side of the island?” he asked. “They kind of like you…even Kie.”

You felt your face fall at that, almost wishing that they didn’t. It would certainly make things easier, but knowing that his friends enjoyed having you around just as much as you enjoyed being around them… You honestly didn’t know if you’d ever hang out with them again, and that was what you told JJ.

“Why?” he scoffed. “…because of Rafe?”

You both knew your verbal answer wasn’t required.

“I get it, okay? I’m JJ. I’m a guy who also happens to hate him, but you can’t even have friends? You’re telling me he’d really lose his shit if you dared to tell him you’re going to hang out Sarah and whoever?”

“Those are your friends…not mine,” you weakly replied. “Just because I hung out with you guys for one day-.”

“Don’t give me that,” JJ cut you off with a frown. “Until that day I didn’t even know you could smile that wide.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, clenching your jaw. JJ wasn’t wrong, and that was why the whole situation sucked. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that you loved being around him and his friends and his environment only to immediately admit that Rafe would choke the shit out of you for even daring to talk to him.

“I should get back,” was all you said, ignoring his words.

“For what? It’s not like you don’t have time. I doubt Rafe is going to pull himself away from the drugs long enough to notice how long you’ve been gone,” JJ said with a shrug, judgement coloring his tone. “…besides I…”

JJ trailed off, a peculiar look on his face as he eyed you.

“That’s not only why I followed you up here.”

You struggled to hold his gaze, the sound of some cheers reaching your ears from downstairs. You had a feeling as to what JJ was going to say, and you desperately hoped that he wouldn’t. Some part of you was even tempted to just walk away and avoid this conversation forever if you could. However, another part of you desperately wanted to stay right where you were, remaining still even when JJ moved closer.

“The last time we talked,” he quietly started, eyes searching yours. “I was a little harsh…and I’m sorry.”

You swallowed.

“…but I don’t regret anything I said, just how I said it, I guess.”

You glanced away, eyeing the wallpaper in the hallway.

“I don’t regret anything I did either.”

Your eyes snapped to his at that, and you felt your heart racing. You could see it on his face that JJ was telling the truth, and you didn’t know how you felt about that.

“I would’ve kissed you…if you hadn’t run away,” JJ whispered in the dark hallway, and you exhaled. “Right in his house.”

“You…can’t do that,” was all you could bring yourself to say.

When JJ stepped towards you, you were finally forced to step back, shoulder grazing the wall. He tilted his head at you, eyes never leaving yours.

“Says who?” he wondered, tone serious. “Your boyfriend?”

He swiped his tongue between his lips, crowding your space, and the mention of Rafe reminded you that you’d been gone a long while, now.

“…because we both know it won’t be you.”

Those words had your nostrils flaring, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You ran away because you’re scared of Rafe…not because you didn’t want to kiss me.”

You hated how right JJ was, and you couldn’t even find the words to argue that.

“So what?” was all you could say, not even denying it. “Rafe’s my boyfriend, and you…are not. Sue me for being loyal.”

“I don’t think it counts if you’re loyal for the wrong reasons,” he threw back, and you scoffed.

“Are there wrong reasons for being faithful?” you incredulously asked.

“Well, being scared into it for one.”

You didn’t appreciate his tone, and you moved to turn away when he grabbed your arm again. When JJ pulled you against him, you sharply inhaled, and you reminded yourself that you really needed to get back to Rafe…your boyfriend. The heat of JJ’s hand bled through the sleeves of your dress, and against what your brain advised, you found your gaze drifting to his lips.

“I know you don’t want to be with him,” he breathed, and you blinked, eyes meeting his again. “Does he have something on you? Is it…some…Kook appearance thing I just don’t understand?”

Hating how many questions he was asking, you twisted out of his hold, stumbling away.

“Stay out of my relationship, JJ. I’m serious,” you threw over your shoulder.

You said it for both of your sakes, and you left the blond in the hall as you hurried back to the bedroom. Kelce and Rafe were playing their own music, the full effects of the coke hitting them, and you were beyond grateful. It seemed Rafe had been too high to notice just how long you were gone, and so all you could do was smile at him when he welcomed you with a sloppy kiss.

Topper was finally joining in when you glanced over, bent over the desk and snorting half a line.

“Bro, when I went downstairs to get a drink, you know who I saw?” the younger blond chuckled, wiping his nose. “Fucking Pope and your sister, man.”

Your heart had skipped a beat, only to relax when he continued. However, his next words shortened your relief as well as caused Rafe to pull away from you.

“How much you want to bet that piece of shit JJ is here too?”

You pressed your lips together at the mention of the guy who you’d literally just been in the hallway with, and you hated the way Rafe’s hands briefly tightened on yours. Your boyfriend let out a laugh that held no trace of humor, sadly shaking his head.

“Yeah, lets get out of here,” he scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

You hated the way Rafe pulled you along like being in the same house as people from the other side of the island was the worst thing imaginable. Doubly so ever since you’d gotten to know Sarah’s friends. You thought about what JJ said, about how they’d grown to like you, and this moment only reminded you that you would probably never experience that again.

As if to make you feel worse, you watched Rafe briefly pause once he was downstairs, and one glance around him clued you in on just what he was looking at. Perhaps ‘who’ was a more appropriate term, and your heart sank as Rafe strode along, pulling you with him. You were unsurprised—but no less disappointed and annoyed—when Rafe harshly bumped into JJ’s shoulder. Your eyes were wide when they glanced at JJ just as Rafe spoke.

“My bad, man,” your boyfriend drawled. “It’s a bit crowded in here.”

Nothing about Rafe’s tone was apologetic, and you pressed your lips together at the sight of a half-smile on his pink lips. Your eyes briefly met JJ’s, pleading as you could see the desire for a fight on his face. You knew that it wasn’t solely because Rafe had bumped into him, and when he glanced at you, he only scoffed.

“Very Rafe of you, Rafe,” JJ commented.

It was a harmless comment, but the coke in Rafe’s system wouldn’t allow him to let it go. Dropping your hand, he moved closer to the other blond, head tilted to the side.

“What did you say to me, Pogue? Huh?”

“Rafe…” you called reaching for him, but he shook your hand off.

His face was so close to JJ’s, and through the crowd, you could see Pope and Sarah hurrying over. When you looked over your shoulder, Kelce and Topper were only now coming down the stairs, unaware of the disaster about to happen. Wanting to prevent this fight for so many reasons, you grabbed Rafe’s arm again, pleading with him.

“Rafe, let’s just go.”

You didn’t know if it was the coke or Rafe’s second nature of putting his hands on you, but he didn’t even spare you a glance when he shoved you away, his hand on your chest forcing you to stumble back.

“Stay out of this,” he said, finally looking at you.

It was something he’d come to regret because JJ’s fist had connected with his face before he could even turn back around. You stumbled back some more in shock, recalling the last time they fought and just how violent and bloody it became. The party inside came to a temporary halt as everyone took notice, and by the time Kelce and Topper came over, Pope had joined in too.

Some part of you wanted to leave. After all, Rafe had gotten himself into this mess, but another part of you forced you to remain rooted to the spot. You wanted to make sure everyone would be okay, one above the rest, and oddly it wasn’t the blond that was your boyfriend.

You jumped when Sarah made her way to you, her hand on your arm as she pulled you close.

“Are you okay?” she asked as you watched some guys try to break up the fight.

You knew what she was referring to, and you nodded.

“Rafe’s high and…more agitated than usual,” you defended.

You only realized how it sounded when Sarah gave you a look.

“So? He shouldn’t shove you like that,” she spat, throwing her brother a nasty look as Kelce helped him to his feet.

You blanched at the blood on his face, recalling that both JJ and Pope had been fighting him, and it was clear your boyfriend was very angry about that fact. He barely spared Sarah a glance as he roughly told you to come on. Assuring Sarah that you’d be fine—even with coke in his system—you reluctantly followed after your boyfriend.

However, not without a glance over your shoulder. Your eyes met familiar blue ones, and your face fell at the anger still visible on JJ’s face. Telling yourself that was something you couldn’t concern yourself with, now, you hurried outside. Rafe was obnoxiously honking his horn as you hurried to his truck, and you were barely inside before he was speeding off.

You tuned Kelce and Topper out as they placated Rafe from the backseat, somehow convincing themselves that this wasn’t his own fault. Your gaze was fixed on the window as you crossed your arms over your chest, hating yourself for only being concerned about JJ and Pope in this moment. You hadn’t gotten the best look at either of them and even though it was two against one, you knew your boyfriend well.

He was never one to go down without a fight.

“…and what the hell was that about, huh?”

It took you too long to realize that the focus had shifted to you, and when you glanced over, Rafe’s blown out pupils were fixated on you.

“What?”

“You know what,” he spat between clenched teeth, glancing at the road. “What was with you and trying to stop me from kicking that Pogue’s ass?”

You blinked at him, unable to hide your feelings at his audacity.

“We were at a party, Rafe, and you were trying to start a fight. Was I just supposed to let that happen?” you wondered.

The other two in the backseat had grown quiet, either from nosiness or no desire to get in between Rafe and his girlfriend.

“It was JJ,” he slowly said to you. “Who gives a fuck if I give JJ a well-deserved beating?”

“Well, how did that turn out? Did you get what you wanted?”

The words slipped from your mouth so easily, and the look that Rafe gave you cut deep. He glanced at you again before a slow smile spread along his bloody lips, a chuckle escaping. When he reached over to rest his hand on the back of your neck, you swallowed. A shudder passed through you at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns into your skin.

“You better be glad that all I want to do tonight is find those Pogues and knock their teeth out,” he mumbled.

His words sounded so loud to you in the vehicle though, and despite how much you wanted to argue against that, you knew that you could never tell Rafe what to do. When he parked in your driveway, you didn’t spare him a glance as you hopped out, but you were sort of forced to when you heard him follow behind you.

His truck was still running, so you could only hope to guess what he wanted as he followed you to your door. Once there, he roughly grabbed your arm—so tight that you winced—and you leaned away when he got very close to your face. You eyed the blood on his own face, the messiness of his dark blond hair, and you prepared yourself for anything as he sneered at you.

“The next time you try to get between me like that, the next time you try to protect some Pogue, I’ll break your fucking fingers,” he hissed, nose pressed to yours. “Do you understand me?”

With the pain of Rafe’s fingers digging into your arm, you gave him a shaky nod. He roughly let you go, and you reached up to rub the sore spot, watching your boyfriend make his way back to his truck. Considering how high and angry he was, you didn’t expect him back for hours. You doubted that Pope and JJ were even still at that party, almost positive they’d left when you guys did, but knowing Rafe…

He'd drive around Outer Banks for hours just to find them and get them back.

With a shaky sigh, you turned and reached for your keys, but your movements were halted by a faint noise. You merely glanced up, not giving it much thought, but pausing in surprise when you saw none other than JJ standing in the doorway of the pool house on the other side of the yard. You almost dropped your small purse, gathering your thoughts before worriedly looking out into the road. With no sign of Rafe’s truck, you hurriedly stomped across the grass.

“You don’t know how many fences I hopped over and backyards I trespassed on to beat you here.”

That was his greeting to you, and you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was simply trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. You didn’t have the patience.

“Why did you hit him?” you demanded, and you watched JJ’s face cloud over. “I was going to get him to leave, to leave you alone.”

All traces of humor were gone from the blonde’s face, and you hated the way he looked down his nose at you.

“Was that supposed to be before or after he shoved you again?”

You snapped your mouth shut, frowning at the younger man. His blue eyes didn’t look so blue in this moment, and you didn’t miss the tick in his jaw as he stared you down. You blinked at JJ, your frown dissipating some as the realization slowly came to you.

“That’s why you hit him?” you slowly wondered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he breathed. “Did I need any other reason?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times before letting out a sigh. You glanced away, shoulders dropping, and you gently shook your head.

“JJ…” you looked at him. “Rafe was high…agitated… That was nothing, and especially nothing to start a fight over.”

“He shoved you!”

“…but I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me,” you tried to make him understand. “Just pissed me off more than anything.”

“…and at your door?”

Your heart sank with the knowledge that he saw that, and you let out a long sigh. You could feel the blonde’s gaze on you as your own found the ground.

“So, he grabbed me,” you said, shrugging at him. “You’re making this more important than it is.”

JJ looked at you like you were crazy, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“…because it is important, Y/N…” you were sure that the only other time you’d heard JJ say your name was the night of that first fight on the beach. “Your boyfriend isn’t supposed to shove you and grab you like that…”

How could you tell JJ that Rafe had already done so much worse? That in the grand scheme of things, a little shove and a tight grip really didn’t mean all that much to you? All things considered, today was a relatively good day when taking into account how things could’ve ended. How they still could end…

As if JJ read your mind…

“He doesn’t have to smack you around and put you in the hospital to be an abusive piece of shit,” he softly continued. “He shouldn’t be touching you like that…no matter how minor you think it is.”

It felt…odd to be standing in your yard having this conversation with JJ Maybank of all people. Even more odd, his concern for you left an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You could only describe it as warm, and you knew that he was right, that no matter how minor, none of it was okay. However, your relationship with Rafe had left ‘not okay’ territory so long ago that what happened today just didn’t faze you.

When you glanced up, JJ was staring at you, and despite the fact that your house was just on the other side of the yard…it felt like just the two of you.

“I would never…touch you like that,” he told you, stepping towards you. “No matter how angry at you I am…there’s just some things you don’t do.”

You struggled to swallow.

“You’re not my boyfriend, JJ…he is.”

“I know,” he quietly said. “…and you know I think you deserve a better boyfriend.”

“Of course, you think that,” you bitterly laughed. “You… Don’t try and make it seem like your intentions are pure.”

You tilted your head.

“You like the idea of fucking with Rafe.”

JJ raised an eyebrow at you.

“I could think of a thousand more ways to fuck with Rafe that don’t involve fucking his girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened sharply at that, and you blinked, fighting to ignore the heat in your face at his honesty. You felt paralyzed as JJ took another step towards you, and you were struggling to respond. JJ’s hand gently touched your cheek, and you shuddered at the feel. This didn’t go unnoticed, and you didn’t know why you didn’t stop him when his hand slid to brush along your neck too.

“You’re right,” JJ whispered, looking between your eyes. “I do like the idea of fucking with Rafe.”

Your chest felt so heavy, heart threatening to leap from it.

“…but I like the idea of being with you just a little bit more.”

“JJ,” you warned, reaching up to grab his hand.

His other found a home on the small of your back, and you reached back to grab that one too. You were sure it made an interesting sight—JJ trying to embrace you, and you with a half assed attempt to stop him. You ducked your head, but that didn’t prevent him from brushing his lips over your cheek, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

“I don’t respect your relationship, and I especially don’t care about your boyfriend,” he murmured against your skin. “…and you not wanting to kiss me solely because you’re afraid of him just isn’t good enough for me.”

You lifted your head at that, eyes stricken as you looked at him. His hand on your back twisted, clasping your own and holding it tight. Your nerves grew at that, and JJ’s face was serious as he gave you his undivided attention.

“Would you feel better if I just took it?” he wondered, making you frown. “I mean…”

He moved back, taking you with him.

“If I make you kiss me…then you’re not cheating, right?”

You furiously blinked at him at that, and despite how much you wanted to shake your head, you found yourself glancing at his lips instead. JJ spun you, and your back met the wall of the pool house. With nowhere to go, JJ pressed himself against you, and your breathing grew shallow. A voice in the back of your mind told you that he was right.

Some part of you didn’t want to be a willing participant in this, at all while another part desperately wondered what it would be like to kiss him. With you pinned against the wall, you could appeal to both parts, and you surmised that it was evident in your eyes because after swiftly pinning your wrists at your side…

JJ brushed his lips against yours.

It could barely be called a kiss at first, just the faintest touch of his lips to yours, but then you closed your eyes…and let out a sigh you didn’t know you’d been holding…and JJ completely swallowed it. His mouth completely covered yours as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands letting yours go to reach up and rest on your neck. You moaned at the action, and your head spun.

Kissing JJ felt like something you hadn’t felt in years. It reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with Rafe, when you weren’t afraid and apprehensive to lean up and press your lips to your boyfriend’s. Back when kissing him didn’t feel like a chore, an exchange, a plea from you to remain unharmed and an unsteady promise from Rafe that he’d no doubt break.

The feel of JJ’s lips moving against yours made heat swirl deep in your gut, and it twisted and twisted until you squirmed between him and the wall of the pool house. JJ’s other hand was on your waist, now, holding you in place, and it felt like everywhere he touched burned. You honestly could’ve let him kiss you all night, not sparing a second thought to Rafe.

…but unfortunately, that never lasted long, and your hands met JJ’s chest the moment cold blue eyes appeared behind your own. Your breathing was heavy, JJ’s too, and you stared at your fingers on his chest for a long time. You almost didn’t believe what had just happened, but the heat clinging to your skin helped ground you to reality and the fact that it very much had.

When you finally met JJ’s gaze again, you wished that you hadn’t.

The blond looked like the last thing he wanted to do was stop, and you started to wonder what was worse­—JJ yearning for something he didn’t even know…or JJ yearning for something he did? Your pink lip-gloss was all over his lips, and you just stared at the sight for a few seconds before swallowing, very aware of the tightness in your throat. You slowly slid from between him and the wall, and he let you, hand grazing your waist as you moved by him.

You felt like you were in a daze, walking on something unsteady like air or water. All you could manage to tell JJ was ‘goodnight’, stumbling back towards your house. You only looked over your shoulder once when you made it to your door, unsurprised to find JJ still standing there and watching you. You were quiet going into the house, and several parts of you were fighting.

On one hand, you were beyond terrified of what you’d just allowed to happen, and what that meant for you if you couldn’t hide it. The possibility of Rafe’s wrath had you shaking as you undressed the moment you made it to your room. On the other hand, some part of you was too focused on the memory of JJ’s lips to care. You couldn’t cool off no matter how much you tried, lying in bed for hours and staring at the wall.

When Rafe finally returned, you welcomed his apologies, actually receptive to his advances for once. It felt wrong to let him kiss you and touch you and fuck you all the while with an entirely different blond in mind.

[captain-barnes-writes]

Losing You (Lewis Hamilton)

Summary: When his infidelity is made public, Lewis loses the one person who loves him the most.

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem! Reader (with a bit of Carlos Sainz)

Warning: ANGST, if you blink there's mention of smut, Toxic relationship. Angst angst angst

She never wanted to be so wrong in her life.

She wanted the angst to leave her and to let her be in peace. She never wanted it to be this way. Never expected it to ever be this way. He was the person she trusted most, the person she loved most. 

What had gone wrong? 

When trust is broken, is there ever really a way to repair it? 

These kinds of thoughts were consuming the young woman as she paced through the living room. She was livid, but mostly just deeply disappointed. 

The bored look on his face as she talked about her day, the constant texts at night, the messages she sent and he read but failed to respond timely or at all. It made sense. It all made sense. He’d been pulling away for weeks now and she should have been more vocal about noticing this. Should’ve brought it up in any way that she could have despite her dislike of confrontation. 

Quite frankly, his indiscretions were something she suspected at times. Suspected could be an understatement. It was something she thought was inevitable with someone of Lewis’ caliber. A seven-time world champion, a celebrity everyone wanted a piece of—fans, models, every celebrity on the fucking earth it seemed.

He had this cool aura about him that made anyone feel comfortable around him, a kind-like welcoming disposition about him that not everyone had. He was all friendly chocolate crinkled eyes with a smile that could lure in anyone.

She had fallen right into a trap which once felt like a dream. 

Lewis Hamilton. Insanely attractive, so damn infuriating yet caring and loving whenever he wanted to be. Tears pooled at her saddened eyes at the thought of him no longer being part of her life. He had gotten to her in ways no one else had, cracked her exterior that wasn’t anywhere near as solid as the walls he put around himself to shield away any disappointment. More than 3 years of this back and forth, on and off relationship she had willingly partaken in because she was so drawn to him. 

Their relationship had been going on for so long, with ups and downs, so many breakups, so many moments of just plain faltering from his side. So many conscious choices he had made that were completely disrespectful towards what they had built together. She knew it wasn’t a healthy cycle, this, what they had going on yet she stayed because with time their heartstrings were entangled in a battle only he could win. 

The young woman was bewilderingly and eloquently in love with Lewis Hamilton. Her skin was crawling. It was itching at the thought of him. How could he?

She snatched the phone from the coffee table yet again to stare at the pictures that had caused immense grief. They were slightly grainy and a bit shaken, but it was unmistakably him. He was clad in a jacket she'd given him for his birthday and a black polo shirt he wore too often. He was standing in a slightly secluded area of a bar in Monaco she recognized all too well with his undivided attention given to a redhead whose black dress barely concealed her ass. His arm was at her waist and she looked enthralled at being in the presence of him. Who wouldn’t? He was a desirable race driver. It killed her that he was hers but no one really knew that…

Her boyfriend. Her Lewis. 

The next pictures pulled at her heartstrings creating a pain that was especially shattering to an already weakened heart. Lewis and the redhead kissing so disgustingly passionately without a damn care in the world. Without a care that she was here. That she was waiting for him to text her, to tell her that he had gotten home safe from his night out with the guys, that he had a good time with them and he would see her tomorrow. That she was his ‘baby’ as he came to call her months into the relationship and stuck with it. That she was the one who listened to him and who loved him despite his many flaws. 

Although she wished that those were the last pictures, they sadly were not. The last few pictures showed him leaving with her in a car that she could only guess led to other things that she really didn’t have the heart to think about. 

Get home safe! Text me so i know you got home safe ❤️

Having sent that before she fell asleep, and before her knowledge of these pictures, there was still no response to it. It was 11 am and there was nothing. Absolute nothing and it was making her head hurt. She felt her heart at her throat and it was getting harder and harder to suppress the whimpers and cries that were forcibly leaving her lips.

Was he still in bed with her? And if he was, had he felt any remorse, any ounce of guilt at the sight of a redhead instead of the usual woman laying next to him? 

She wasn’t going to put herself through this and text him again. He’d gone home with someone else that wasn’t her and she could barely stand the thought of him. He’d been unfaithful to someone who never once thought of being with anyone else but him. 

Despite the moments when their relationship was off, she never swayed. Never once did she indulge in the liberty of being with another man. Always loyal to the man who owned her heart. It didn’t matter if during those days when their relationship was halted, he would be seen in different events with different women. She never faltered.

How could she when she was so damn enamoured with the man she’d come to know for the last few years. That her skin would crawl at the thought of another man’s hands or lips anywhere near her body. She couldn’t even fathom the idea of fucking another man out of spite. It was suggested so many times by her friends, or better yet that she should leave, that he was not worthy of someone like her. 

Someone so loyal, so damn beautiful, kind and magnificent like you deserves someone who only sees you. Carlos had said to her once. Her wonderful friend for years. He was one of the few drivers who knew of the nature of their relationship. They lived in the same gated community and had ran into each other plenty of times building a friendship throughout the years. It was how she had met Lewis.

Carlos knew of Lewis’ ways, of how it hurt the beautiful girl whose eyes literally glimmered with love for the British driver. He not only shared the track with the man, but also partook in the same events that often had him witnessing Lewis talk with other women. It was normal in their career to be surrounded with plenty of women, it came with the job, but if one had a partner there should always be boundaries. There were none from what he noticed for the tattooed driver. 

She should’ve listened all those times she was advised to leave him, she thought. Now it was too late. 

With her dampened heart, she mustered all her energy and faced the world. She ran the errands she needed done around Monaco, keeping her mind busy as she didn’t hear anything from the race driver for the entirety of the day. 

Hours later, she found herself in front of her home yet again thankful that her day had gone by fast. A part of her hoped he’d be inside the house, having given him a key to it, so he could say something to her face. So he could come clean and not lie and that would be the closure she would be ok with having to this final chapter of her life with Lewis. But when she stepped into her home, it was empty except for the ball of fur that pounced on her legs. At this moment she was most grateful for Spots as he hounded her with licks and scratches and yearned for her attention and probably a heaping bowl of food. 

Lewis was nowhere to be seen or heard of for the rest of the day. So typical. He did this and blamed it on the fact that he was training arduously. But really, it only took a few seconds out of your day to text someone that you’re busy. 

It wasn’t until 8 pm came that there was a knock on the door. It was incessant as the seconds ticked by. She was frozen in place, couldn’t move a single limb at the sound of his voice on the other side of the door. She couldn’t face him,  the deep pain she felt was even evident in her physical state. Clad in oversized clothing, hair in disarray and a solemn face. 

She was still frozen in place in her living room when he used his key to come in. Her glossy eyes met his dispirited ones for what seemed like an eternity until she pulled herself out of that bubble and looked away. It was better for her heart to look everywhere else but him.

“What are you doing here?” Was all she could muster past her lips.

“You haven’t texted or called me, so...I’m guessing you...” His voice was low and eyes downcast as he trailed off, not even finishing his sentence. He didn’t need to, she knew what he meant. His demeanor didn’t resemble that of the Lewis she knew. His clothes were disheveled. His body had a sluggish tune to it, his eyes downcast and rimmed with dark circles. It was pitiful to say the least to see him this way. He was once brimmed to the hilt with confidence that oozed with every step he took. The man she once knew was not present.

She felt a minuscule sense of a triumphant feeling that she could at least make him feel guilty for what he did, it showed that she meant something to him. That their relationship actually meant something.

“What do you think?” She responded with a determined voice laced with venom. “You thought I was going to text you like all those times I did before? I deserve better than that.  I deserve so much better than this. I was so damn good to you and you...” Her voice wasn’t as courageous as it had been a few seconds ago. It was breaking slowly, but she lifted her chin up because this wasn’t the way she wanted things to end. She didn’t want him to see her at her lowest point and know that it was he who had broken her to pieces.

“If you didn’t want to be monogamous, damn well knowing that’s what I wanted with you then you should’ve let me know so this relationship wouldn’t have gone on for as long as it did. That’s what hurts me the most, you know?” She huffed loudly. She looked at everything but him until she did. Their eyes met, both grim and saddened. 

“Nothing else happened between that girl and I. I know what it must’ve looked like...I know. I would’ve been thinking the same thing as you too, I understand completely but please hear me out.” 

“Stop lying to me. Stop.” She cried out. Hands balled into fists that came in contact with his chest again and again. She was livid, so damn consumed in her own anger and pain that this was her release. He let her. He stood there with tear-brimmed eyes, shaky lips and let her pound at his chest. He didn’t fight it, didn’t make a single move to stop her. 

“We left that bar together, but nothing happened after. I couldn’t. She wasn’t you. I don’t know what came over me to even let myself get that carried away. I won’t blame the alcohol because that’s unfair and I should’ve been more responsible. But please believe me when I tell you that nothing more happened with this chick. I’m an asshole and a coward for even kissing somebody else, I know that, but we never slept together. None of that happened. Please believe me baby....” Lewis was desperate, his tone reflected that clearly as did his stuttering sentences. She’d stopped hitting his chest and he’d grasped her arm.

His skin felt so warm and yet he had been so cold to her and betrayed the person who loved him most. 

“You not sleeping with her doesn’t make any of this better. You didn’t sleep with her, but you sure were kissing her as if your life depended on it. I trusted you and I put up with so much because I loved you. That’s my fault for being dense, not yours. “

The last sentence stung. It was evident on his face as his brows furrowed and eyes downcasted to look at his feet.

She really had put up with so much.

How often had she heard the answers to her desperate questions, “she’s just a friend”, “she was just there”, “We were just talking” or the infamous “it’s just the tabloid making stories up yet again”. She had heard varied versions of the same answer so many times that at times she didn’t even bother asking. She just bottled it all up, packed it away to the back of her mind because she thought love would conquer it all. That he was hers only. 

Her questioning would always be hushed to a puddle of desperate moans. His mouth always finding its way to hers to soothe her mind, to stop the questions that would undoubtedly put all the puzzle pieces together. To find a mishap, find something that would make his girl leave him. He couldn’t have that, he loved her in his very own way. A selfish way. 

Fucking her in the most desperate manner, showering every single part of her body with wet kisses that would have her whimpering and squirming in his embrace. He complimented every part of her body. She would let whatever problem go this way, just succumbing to Lewis the only way they knew how to push any discussion under the carpet. Making love for hours. Hour upon hour and he would be insatiable as though making her finish several times would make her fully forget. 

Quite frankly it always worked. She would always let it go, she’d stop asking, she’d drop it all to just be ok. To be together and get to that one goal she had—have a future together. Yet unknowingly losing the one thing she most needed in order to open her eyes to the situation she was in—her self respect.

To Y/N, she had built a resistance to it all or she thought she had at least. To the tabloids of him being paired with different women because of the many events he attended and was photographed with models, singers, any socialite paparazzi could get their claws on.

It came with the territory, she would think.

She had always been so good to him. So patient, so kind and loving. She was always so understanding of his demanding schedule, supporting him even when he was thousands of miles away in a different country. 

Though it was tearing her apart, she knew she could no longer put up with his indiscretions. With a man who didn’t respect her, didn’t want her to be part of his world quite literally. She was done being his little secret.  

The on and off, the push and pull of their relationship…It was all hidden, pages of their love unpublished. If it ended now, no one would really know the extent of their relationship, the depth it had in their lives. There were only speculations of them being linked together. The rare photos of their outings. That’s all people had of them…moments that could be counted in one hand. Yet they had shared so much more than what the world knew.

It was so easy to bury this all away, for it to be drowned out by whatever comes next. Whoever came next for him.

Lewis would be fine. He would not be questioned about her. Why she wasn’t around the paddock, why she was no longer linked to his arm in his many social events, why he no longer posted her. They wouldn’t question anything because they had never done anything of the sort. The privacy in their relationship was really code for keeping it a secret. She had never really had a place in his life. Never really experienced the feeling of holding his hand out in public, the freeing feeling of being able to just be.

There was no such thing.

Quite frankly, coming to that realization that she was a simple speck in the universe that was his life was like cold water being dumped on her head. To her, her relationship with Lewis meant the world to her. Yet to the world, she was nothing to him. 

She tore herself away from Lewis, the warmth he ensued was no longer comforting. For the first time in her life, it actually felt suffocating being in his presence. She wanted to be away from him. 

“You didn’t want to confront me, didn’t want to pull the bandaid off. But putting off the inevitable, running away from it does not mean you can disrespect me. Making me look like a fool.”

Lewis was stunned to say the least. The young woman standing in front of him was as determined as he had ever seen her. Yes, tear-streaked and evidently hurt, but her head held high all the meanwhile placing distance between them. A composed woman whose aura screamed she was no longer putting up with his shit any longer. 

She sighed fervently. Met his reddened eyes yet again with nothing but contempt as he looked dumbfounded, mouth shut as he had nothing to say. He had no right anyway. Nothing could ever excuse his actions. 

“I’m letting you go, Lewis. I think I deserve so much more than what you’ve offered me. I need normalcy. I want to hold your fucking hand as we walk down the street, be able to just go somewhere to eat, just us not always with your friends. Yet we don’t even do that, we don’t go anywhere…We hide from the world. You hide me from the world as though I will ruin your career, as though I’ll ruin your sponsorships. When all I’ve wanted is you, us.”

She was really going to do it this time. She was weeping on the inside. 

“I am done. I am giving you the freedom you seem to need so you can fuck all the women you want. You already seem to have done it even while with me anyway.”

He wanted to fight this so ardently. His chest was heaving, lungs fighting for air. His girl wanted out and he felt like he was losing it. 

“I’ll change. I promise I will change, I’ll do anything just please stay.”

There it was. For the first time in his life, Lewis Hamilton begged. He would get on his knees if he had to.

“Stay with me. Let’s work through this, please just…” He trailed off, damn eyes staring at her with so much longing. 

“I don’t have anything to work through. I did my part as I had to. I never once laid with any other man. I never even thought of it, that’s the thing. You were enough for me, but I have never been enough for you."

She turned on her feet and began the short trek to the front door. Her shaky hands grabbing hold of the golden knob and pulled the heavy door open.

"You are more than enough for me."

"You've never acted like it. You sure as hell did not act like it last night."

"It's my biggest regret, Y/N. I will do better for you, for us. I promise you."

Lewis felt desperate, his words cracking as they slipped past his lips. How could he ever make it up to her? He had failed her.

“Please leave, Lewis.”

He shook his head.

“Baby please.”

“I’m really done. I need you to leave.”

“Don’t do this.” He was in front of her again, hands reaching for her but she stepped back again. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to feel the soft touch of his hands on her skin, she already felt like running into his arms again and forget about all of this. To let this all go and continue on like before. 

But she couldn’t. Lewis had crossed a line of disrespect they had no way of working through. He had publicly pursued another woman. He had disrespected her and the love she had for him. There was no going back from this. 

“I said leave, Lewis. I’m done.”

Lewis felt the rejection hit deep in his chest, prodding at his heart as he realized he had taken for granted someone who had loved him wholeheartedly. All her hopes and dreams were something he once shared too, but he had lost his way in the midst of his career and taken her for granted. Now he knew he owed her at least this—to respect her decision. Just that he knew he couldn’t do it without putting up a fight.

“I love you. I’ll always love you,Y/N. I’ll fight for us. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Nothing could ever fix this, Lewis. We are done. I need you to leave now.”

Their eyes met for what they knew would be the last time. Melancholy eyes filled with tears as a love once so beautiful had come to its end. Heartstrings that had been tied for years forced apart as he walked out of her home. 

Lewis struggled to put one foot in front of the other, stepping out of her home felt like stepping on shard glass. It was painful beyond belief. He had really let his girl down for a moment of weakness and now he was paying for it.

He regretted even turning around to look at her once again, she had already closed the door. She wanted out and he knew he deserved the way she had acted towards him, the way she so ardently wanted him to leave. He had fucked up beyond belief.

***

With what felt like a shattered heart, a torn life, Y/N felt as though she was mourning. Heartbreak was a type of pain she had never really experienced prior to Lewis. Their love had been otherworldly for the time they had lasted. Filled with so many moments of uncertainty yet also moments with abundant love. 

Hours tuned into days which turned into weeks. She carried on as best as she could and quite frankly the best she could do was just be in her own world. She barely responded to messages or calls. She kept to herself to try to heal, how could she face the world when she could barely handle any interaction without breaking down.

Carlos had tried reaching out through text several times. He started calling when it hit the 3rd week of not being able to contact her. She didn't know if he was aware about her silent breakup with Lewis, the two men weren't close at all nor did they ever really hang out. Did he see the pictures of her ex that had torn her apart?

Carlos was worried about the pretty girl who lived in his neighborhood. His friend. He rarely visiter her, knowing that certain boundaries were in place as she was with the British driver, but when his messages and calls went unanswered for weeks he knew something was wrong. It was how he found out about the pictures of Lewis and the redhead.

It was why she was silent on social media, her usual stories missing from his feed, it was why she never answered any of his calls. She was hurt.

He found himself in front of her home within minutes of finding out. He needed to know if she was ok.

She opened the door on the 8th knock.

"Carlos."

*****

NOT PROOFREAD. Also feel like this is all over the place but it was fun to write 🫶

[604to647]

Photocopies

2.2K / Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: You catch Javi off guard in the embassy photocopy room.

Warnings: Angst (sorry!), longing, some hurt (no comfort). Previous relationship, mention of past infidelity (or is it??). Mainly Javi's POV. Nicknames as usual (Pretty bird, baby).

A/N: This is a direct follow-up to Birthday Present, taking place S1/S2 Narcos, ~2 months after reader’s birthday; I don't think you need to read it but it gives some context. I'm sorry, there is no HEA for these two dummies yet, this is just another little one shot (not quite ready to commit to writing another long series!), but I hope those of you who remember them from Birthday Present will still enjoy seeing them again 🥹🥰

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Tagging @milla-frenchy who knows why 🥹😘

Mierda. 

Javier can see the consecutive flashes of the photocopier’s green scan light accompanied by the hum of the machine in repetitive use as he walks down the hall towards the U.S. Embassy’s main floor copier room.  It sounds like whoever’s occupying the photocopier is in the middle of a big job – he sighs with an air of unjustified frustration.  Such would be his luck when he’s already running late for his meeting with the CIA attaché. 

He rounds into the room chest first, ready to barrel over whichever unfortunate intern stands, however unintentionally, between DEA Agent Javier Pena and something he needs to hopefully get ahead of Escobar, when he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

It’s you.  You, with a thoughtful look on your face as you adorably chew your bottom lip while counting the sheets in your hand, surrounded by neat piles of paper covering every available flat surface in the copier room.

Mierda. 

Still preoccupied by your collating project, you haven’t looked up to notice that you’re no longer alone in the small, stifling room – out of consideration or cowardice, but most likely both, Javier loathes to disturb you.  He hasn’t spoken to you in nearly four months - he’ll be damned if the first time he does so causes you inconvenience.  He’s already done so much worse to you. 

Fuck it - those spooks can make do with one copy of his Satellite Repositioning request.  If the CIA needs a second copy so badly, let them come down and make it themselves, he convinces himself.  Javier steps back silently, slowly backing out of the room. 

“How many copies do you need?”

Stunned by the sweet lilt of your voice, Javier remains motionless.  He suspects that you don’t know it’s him, but rather you had felt another person’s presence in the room and your considerate nature simply offered what you intuitively knew was needed.  But to his surprise, your eyes meet his directly when he looks up; he searches them for any sign of distaste or distain now that you recognize him as your intruder, but sees nothing except sincerity.  Your hand is already outstretched, waiting for his form.

He should leave.  Say he changed his mind about needing copies.  Say he got lost in this building that he’s worked in for years.  Say something.

“Don’t want to interrupt you.  I’ll come back.”

You throw an easy, encouraging smile his way and wave your still reaching hand dismissively in graceful sweeps that only serve to remind Javier of how effortlessly charming you are; your voice an enchanting song with its lightness, “I’m going to be forever.  Come on, gimme.”  You wiggle your fingers playfully, beckoning Javier to give over his paper - not knowing you also call for his heart with this enticing gesture.

He can refuse you nothing, though you could never know that, and hands over his single sheet readily, “Just one please.”

You take his form and titter to yourself as you diligently set aside the stack you were organizing, careful not to lose your place before laying his paper face down on the glass to copy, “I’ll make you two, just in case.”

Though the sound of the copy machine whirling to life fills the room, the silence between the two people in it somehow rings louder.  Javier looks around awkwardly, his eyes taking in the goliath of paperwork that you were in the middle of taming – should he apologize for interrupting?  No, it would likely ring hollow to your ears; he’s committed worse transgressions for which he still owes you an apology.  But the lump in his throat compels him to engage you; he’s a man starved, ready to beg for any meager scraps of attention you’re willing to throw his way.

“I thought you had a secretary to do all this admin for you – is Renee away?”

You laugh and the sound chimes in Javier’s ear like a chorus of cathedral bells; he never thought he’d have the honour of drawing such music from you again.  “No, she’s here.  But when it’s big booklets for interdepartmental meetings, I just like to do it myself.”

Right - Javier knows this about you.  You take such prodigious care with everything, of everyone.  Any fool at the embassy, and there were many, could see you’re a powerhouse, work ethic and dedication unmatched, and completely deserving of the respect and praise you reap – he’s always been proud of you.

Handing him his two copies and original, you toss Javier another soft smile before turning back to your task.  Whatever this interlude was, whatever grace granted him a few moments of cordiality with you is gone now, and Javier takes the papers from you with a genuine, but melancholy, “Thanks.”  He heads out of the room, feeling somehow happier and yet just as lost as he has been these past few months.

“Javi?”

He’s stopped again, this time not just by your melodic voice, but the song of his shortened name on your lips – his own heart longs to sing back a response in duet.  Turning, he finds you already looking at him, the irises of your knowing eyes swirling with tenderness, 

“Thank you for my birthday present.”

How did you know?  Javier had been so confident in the stealth of his actions, he’s silence by the revelation that you know he left a gift on your desk two months ago.

“I wear them all the time,” you turn your elegant neck slightly to show Javi the silver hair clips, each adorned with a small, delicate bird, tucked prettily behind your ear.

He manages to choke out a confession, “I know.” 

He does know.  Like a lovesick magpie, Javi’s heart would leap every time he caught the flash of silver in your hair at the embassy: during the meetings you expertly lead that he had the privilege of attending, via quick glimpses of you as you hurried towards the breakroom with your colleagues for a much-needed cup of coffee, when he stole longing glances at you from the DEA’s offices down the hall from the windows that ran alongside your desk in Treasury.  Each time you wore them, it gave Javi a surge a pride (and some relief) to know that amidst all the pain he had caused, he could still bring you some joy.

You’re looking at him now, eyes shiny and full of emotion, “I love them – they’re so beautiful.  Thank you for having thought of me.”

Javi’s body carries him across the small room and into your waiting arms of its own accord. All the strength he strains to wield on a daily basis in order to stay away from you evaporating under that tender gaze he thought had been forever lost to him.

He holds you close but not too tight, unable to tear his eyes from the sweetness of your expression.  How could you still look at him with anything other than disappointment, hate?  Despite what he did, you remain good.  Kind.  Feeling.  You wash over him like an inevitable wave and Javi wants more than anything to drown in you again.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Baby.

Drinking in his soft utterance of the endearment, you earnestly study the man who was once yours.  Javi looks apprehensive and guarded, like he can’t quite settle into the tenderness of this moment – expecting at any second for you to shove him away, curse him.  Your heart aches to witness his anxiety – he’s still the man you knew, believed in: one whose bravado and tough exterior harbours a sensitive and deeply feeling heart, one who never thinks he deserves good things even when he extends himself for the sake of others.  You take Javi’s face into your hands, feeling the flex of his strong jaw beneath your palms as he inhales and swallows deeply at the loving gesture, still convinced this unexpected peace will be ripped from him.

“Do you miss me, Javi?”

How can he possibly answer but truthfully? Even if you weren’t looking at him so tenderly and with such vulnerability, Javi’s never been able to hide from you, lie to you. Insinuate falsities, yes. Mislead, perhaps. But outright lying? Never. How could the moon ever lie to the sun?

“Yes, pretty bird. Every day,” Javi closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours, sealing in the truth of his words.

He’s being selfish.  It’s selfish to want to pull out the knife that’s lodged permanently in his chest; the one he placed there himself when he broke your heart, to stab and remind him with every breath he takes of what he’s lost.  What he’s broken.

If he could remove the blade for even a moment, then for that moment he can be your Javi again.  The one you trusted to take care of your heart.  The one who was ever grateful that an angel like you saw something in him, something he thought had long been snuffed out by the savagery of the Columbian sicarios and the cruelty of Escobar.  The Javi you had patiently nurtured back to life with your compassion and gentle touch.  The one whose vow of love you never questioned; he hadn't thought himself capable of such devotion, but you had easily unlocked it from within him with your own.

Selfishness wins today.  Javi removes the knife and lets himself be that man again with a tentative press of his lips to yours.  Immediately, he’s overtaken by the honey of your kiss – every brush of your pretty pout reminds him of all his favourite kisses with you: soft, secret kisses in hidden corners at the office; hard and heavy make outs outside the embassy walls away from prying eyes; tender kisses of promises intended to be kept while on dates or just laying in bed; possessive, dangerous kisses used to muffle moans of pleasure not meant for the ears of any other; hungry and urgent kisses heralding toe-curling, earthshattering orgasms; and sweet kisses of affirmation after every declaration of I love you.

Javi kisses you to make up for every single kiss he’s missed since he kissed you last.  He kisses you like he has the forever with you he threw away so cruelly all those month ago.  He tightens his arms around you as you melt into his kiss, momentarily forgetting how to let you go again.  Your soft whimper of surrender into his mouth jolts him back to reality.  He doesn’t have forever with you.  You aren’t his, and you shouldn’t be his.  He’s been warned.

It’s time to put the knife back in and Javier knows it won’t just be his own heart he wounds when he does so.

“Baby, we can’t.”

“Javi…” The way you say his name now has none of the harmony that invited him in earlier; this is a plea.

“Pretty bird, I’m no good for you.  Look at you – you’re perfect and you have everything going for you.  Everything you are is beyond my wildest dreams – you’re destined for the kind of future that has no place in it for a guy like me.  You deserve someone who can give you the best things in life.  You deserve someone better than me.”

You’re shaking your head, ready to argue and Javier thinks, no – he knows you would prevail.  He’s come over to your side of every argument the two of you ever had - won over by your intelligence, your passion, or simply for the joy it brought him to give you anything you wanted.  He has to put a stop to this before your eloquence and kindness can disarm him, so he pushes the knife in further, “You deserve someone who can be loyal to you.”

Javier can physically feel the flow of air that rushes in to fill the space created between the two of you as you shrink away from him.

It’s as if he can see the cinema in your eyes replaying that horrible scene from four months earlier when you caught him bare chested and pants unbuttoned, with a half naked Vanessa on his couch.  And just like that, the ache of his betrayal is renewed and your hurt rolls off your frame in lines so thick Javier thinks he might be able to pluck them out of the air with his fingers.

He twists the knife, even though it kills him to do so, “I never got the chance to apologize for that. I’m sorry.”

You nod, otherwise unmoving - stilled by that old pain you thought you had buried dead threating to crawl up your tightening throat.

Javi’s shoulders hunch, drooping with a defeat of his own making, “Thank you for the copies.”

“You’re welcome, Agent.”

Agent.

And just like that he’s Agent again.  Not baby, Javi, or even Javier.  Just Agent.

This third time he goes to leave the copier room you don’t stop him and Javier is thankful; unable to trust himself should he look back at you, he doesn’t – Agent Pena sets his face to a grim scowl and stalks down the hallway away from the best thing that ever happened to him.  Grateful that you had the forethought to give him an extra copy of his form, Javier discards the top sheet before going into his meeting – it’s completely unusable: the words on the page blotted and blurred from tears he didn’t have the strength to prevent from falling, the ruined, damp paper evidence of his failures.

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

High Infidelity

Regulus Black x f!reader, Sirius Black x f!reader (mentioned)

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, slight mention of fingering, underage drinking, cheating sorry guys i couldn’t stop myself

summary: your boyfriend sirius and his friends have never felt welcoming. but his little brother is…

word count: 5.3k

a/n: once again i’m bad at summaries so basically you fuck regulus spoiler alert hahaha. inspired by taylor swift of course. she’s been inspiring too much smut from me tbh. anywaysss. hope you enjoy (my sneaky link “broke up” w me today and i’m devastated) so here’s this !!!

~~~

April 20, 1978

“That’s precisely what I was thinking Moony!”

“Are you sure Padfoot? I got the understanding that it was you and Prongs who shared thoughts.”

“I second that.”

“Honestly I believe if James didn’t have Lily, you blokes would be together.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, Sirius also has y/n as well.”

You felt the boy beside you brush your shoulder with his, and you gave him a smile. “Oh, yes.”

The conversation continued, but you zoned out once again. You played with the vegetables on your plate and tapped your foot. Anxiety was a common thing you felt during meals with your boyfriend and his friend group. They were wonderful, but you always felt they had something secretly against you.

You were a year younger than your boyfriend, you were in Slytherin, you were pureblood, and you were cordial with the other members of your house. You weren’t stupid enough to believe the Marauders didn’t suspect something bad of you, or the Gryffindor girls. Some of them were muggle born and while you didn’t care much for blood purity, you could tell they thought you did.

When you and Sirius had begun dating a few months earlier, you were far from oblivious to the initial disapproval of his friends. You could see the skeptical looks Lily would share with her friends; you could hear the small whispers in classes. It didn’t bother you at first, in fact, you understood their distrust. You thought it would go away with time. But by the end of your second month dating their friend, you realized it was never going to change.

Your relationship with Sirius in short was far from perfect. You liked him, of course, and he liked you. However, it was clear neither of you saw it lasting forever. Deep in the corners of your mind, you’d thought it that before, a life with the infamous Sirius Black. You imagined the two of you would get your own flat after you graduated, you’d be shunned of course by your family, but it wouldn’t matter because you’d have him. Realistically though, you knew that life would never be possible. If he didn’t care enough to tell you why he sneaks off on full moons, if he didn’t care enough to let you in on jokes, if he didn’t care enough to even assure his friends fully that you weren’t like the rest of your house, you’d never have a life with him.

Without thinking about it, your eyes drifted across the great hall to a certain person in your house. He sat straight with a smile on his face as he conversed with his mates. A piece of his hair was in his eye, you watched as he brushed it away. You always wondered why people said he wasn’t as good-looking as his brother. He was just as handsome in your opinion. He was tall, his eyes were starry, and his black curls were never frizzy. His accomplishments spoke for themself. Top of the year, star seeker for Slytherin, prefect, he was the ideal boy. His only flaw in your eyes was his obsession with Voldemort and blood purity. Though your family and his were close in that aspect, you never cared much for the topic. He did though.

Suddenly, his eyes met yours. You watched his smile falter for a few seconds and a different expression formed. You looked away quickly, your cheeks turned pink. That wasn’t the first time you’d been caught staring at Regulus Black during dinner. It was far from it.

~~~

That night you sat alone by the fire in your common room. You’d been invited up to Sirius’s dorm with a promise that the other Marauders wouldn’t be there, but you declined. Sirius was a great shag; it would be impossible for him not to be with how many girls he’d been with. Truthfully, you didn’t like the number of girls that came before you, but you never said anything. You simply weren’t in the mood that night for any more patronizing looks, so you opted to silently work on homework instead.

After some time of working, the door opened. You instinctively looked up and found your pulse quicken as you were met with the beautiful eyes of Regulus Black. He was with his friends, Barty Crouch Jr, and Evan Rosier, but his eyes were on you. You looked down at the sheets of paper in your lap and pretended to not notice the sound of Regulus telling his friends to go up to their dorm without him. When they left though, you were forced to drop the act.

“I thought you’d be up in the Gryffindor tower with all your blood traitor and mudblood friends,” he said after taking a few steps closer to you.

You swallowed and kept your eyes on your paper. “I wasn’t in the mood, and they aren’t really my friends.”

“Really? Y/n you’re shagging my brother I’m not daft.”

He was slowly getting closer; you could see his shoes in your peripheral vision. You subconsciously held your breath. You kept your composure as well as you could.

“Great observation Reg, not as if the whole school knows that. And besides, since when have you cared about that?”

“I always care when someone with blood as pure as yours taints it with someone like my blood traitor brother,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Plus, if you have forgotten I’ve caught you staring at me at least a dozen times within the past month.”

Your cheeks turned bright red. “About that-”

“Look at me.”

His sudden authority made a warm feeling spread in your stomach. Slowly, you lifted your head to look up at him. He was close, barely a foot away. There was an expression on his face you once again couldn’t fully understand. You watched him examine your blushing face in silence.

“Go on then, explain yourself,” he said after a few seconds.

“I didn’t mean to; it was just an... accident,” you mumbled, your eyes moving around the room as you spoke.

Regulus tisked and without warning bent down slightly and gently touched his fingers to your chin. You were speechless. “I prefer to be looked at when spoken to y/n it’s a sign of respect. Can you do that?” You nodded and he moved to his previous position of standing. “Continue.”

“Like I said it was an accident, I sort of space out a lot and I guess my eyes go back to our table,” you continued. You stared in his eyes the entire time as your heart began to beat in your ears.

“I would’ve believed that if it had happened only once or twice, but this has been quite a few times. What is Sirius not fulfilling you enough?”

“No, it’s nothing like that he’s great I just... I dunno. You’re just...” You found it hard to speak with his eyes on you. “I dunno all right? Let’s just forget it’s ever happened yeah?”

It was the truth. You really didn’t know what it was that made you stare at him. It was just something. He fascinated you with his complexity. Sirius was outgoing and popular, but Regulus was closed off and reserved. He’d only had one known girlfriend in Hogwarts, he only talked to his friends, and he was mysterious. He was the opposite of his brother. And you found it perplexing.

“If you say so,” he spoke after a moment. Then he turned and started to walk toward the staircase to the boy's dorm. But before he was too far, he looked back at you with a sliver of a smirk. “You can talk to me though, if you need to. You don’t have to simply stare because my brother is insecure.”

He disappeared up the stairs before you could reply. And you spent the rest of the evening with his words replaying in your head.

~~~

April 22, 1978

You sat at lunch; Sirius’s arm was draped over your shoulders, and he shook as he laughed hysterically at something James said. You tried to put on a fake smile, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was. There was something about the way Sirius held you that made you feel off. You felt almost trapped. You felt as though you were being tested or put on display.

As if it was a sixth sense, your eyes looked at the one table you’d been purposely avoiding. He was already looking at you, it caused your breath to catch in your throat. For a few seconds, the two of you stared at each other, what felt like a mutual feeling of understanding was communicated through your eyes. So, when he nodded to the doorway you understood completely what he wanted. And you agreed.

“I’ve got to run down to my dorm I just remembered I forgot my essay for McGonagal.” You made up an excuse. From across the hall, you noticed Regulus already walking toward the exit. “I should go get it before class.”

Sirius dropped his arm from your shoulders and smiled. “You’re too forgetful y/n/n, but be quick I was hoping to get a quick snog in before that dreadful class.”

“Right, I’ll be as quick as I can,” you said as you stood up. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring the eyes that were on you. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“I could never!” He exclaimed as you began to walk away.

Truthfully, you weren’t too sure of where Regulus went. You relied on the gut feeling in your stomach to guide you. With anxiety and anticipation flowing through your body, you made your way down a few halls before you found an abandoned classroom. The door was open a sliver, and somehow you knew it was the one.

He was inside, leaning on one of the desks with his arms crossed over his chest. “Close the door.”

You didn’t hesitate to listen to his request. Once it was closed you turned back to face him. “I don’t... I don’t really know what to say.”

“You looked like you needed to escape, you don’t have to talk,” he replied. His face was almost soft. “Am I the only one who knows how you feel?”

“You don’t know how I feel,” you mumbled.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Just because you haven’t told me doesn’t mean I can’t read your face. It’s almost unbearable how miserable you look while you sit there. Why do you do it?”

You only stared at him, almost starstruck. Has he always been so observant? Or was your pain noticeable? You didn’t know what came over you, but you only acted on it. Before you could stop yourself, you moved across the room until you were barely a foot away from him. Regulus has always been perceived as cold and rude, but in that moment, he looked at you with sincerity no one could deny. Regulus knew you. That was all it took.

Without another thought you grabbed his tie and crashed your lips on his. His lips were soft and warm. Unlike his brothers, Regulus’s lips didn’t feel as though they’d been kissed thousands of times. He felt far less welcoming but nevertheless inviting. But your senses came flooding back fast and you pushed yourself away from him.

You stepped back and covered your burning lips with your hand. “Oh my... I’m- I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have. Fuck I’m terrible.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I can’t do this. I have to go.” You cut him off as you began to move to the door, tears forming in your eyes.

The last thing you heard was Regulus calling your name before you ran down to your dorm.

~~~

April 23, 1978

He was watching you. You could feel his eyes burning into you through every class and meal. Is that how he felt all those times you’d stared at him? It was uncomfortable, to say the least. You tried to pretend he wasn’t, you really did. But it was nearly impossible. You made sure you were accompanied by Sirius or one of your other friends throughout the entire day until you weren’t.

You were just running to the bathroom. You thought it would be quick enough for him to even notice you slipped out of class. It was stupid of you to think that. Just as you were about to enter the girl's bathroom, you felt a hand grab one of your wrists to stop you.

“You can’t avoid this y/n,” he said softly.

You inhaled sharply, refusing to look at him. “Let me go Regulus.”

“I don’t care about what happened and I’m not going to tell on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he replied quickly.

“Then what do you want? I just- it was a mistake all right?” You felt your heart pounding in your chest. His hand was still on your wrist, your skin practically burned from the contact.

“Look at me.” His voice was hard. You turned slowly to look at him. His expression was soft, he looked almost... worried. “I know we’ve never been that close, but I suppose I’m now involved in your issues. You can talk to me; I want you to talk to me. You can’t keep all of whatever you’re feeling built up inside. It’ll only make you act out impulsively like yesterday.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It was a mistake. It should have never happened I was just... overwhelmed.”

“I know. And I don’t blame you.”

You hated how he said just the right words to make you fold completely.

“They don’t trust me. Even your brother. They seem to think I have some deep plot or that I want to murder the muggle-borns. It’s just... it’s too much Reg. I hate being constantly watched, it’s like they’re waiting for me to make a wrong move that proves their theories.”

“So, why don’t you leave?”

His question caught you off guard. Why didn’t you leave? You hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, you knew that you and Sirius were going to end eventually. But you hadn’t given much thought to how it would occur. Perhaps a mutual agreement? You didn’t know. And you told Regulus exactly that.

“Well, then it’s your fault you feel this way,” he replied.

You scoffed and pulled your wrist from his grip. “Thanks, Reg, you really know how to cheer a girl up.”

“Do you want me to lie and say it’s not your fault? Sorry, I’ll give it another go. It’s not your fault at all y/n, you’re being forced to be around my blood-traitor brother and all his mud-blood friends.” His voice was cold, but for some reason, it didn’t make you feel small. “Was that better?”

“Listen I know I have the choice but it’s just... it’s hard when you care about someone,” you said, ignoring his question.

He sighed and shook his head. “If leaving isn’t what you plan on, then I suppose you’ll have to settle on talking to Sirius about how you feel. I assume you haven’t done that yet?” You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. “Then talk to him and see if maybe that helps.”

“But what if-”

“If he reacts badly then you break up with him, it’s not that hard to comprehend y/n. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to our class, so no one gets any more suspicious.” He cut you off.

You were left outside the girl's bathroom with your mind racing, and your wrist still tingling where Regulus had held it.

~~~

April 25, 1978

It took you over a day to muster up the courage to follow through with Regulus’s suggestion. No wonder you weren’t in Gryffindor. The opportunity for you to speak with Sirius alone came after lunch when the two of you had a free period. As usual, you spent most of the time up in Sirius’s bed. So, as the two of you laid next to each other, spent from another good time, you decided it was a good time to bring up how you felt.

“Sirius,” you spoke softly. Your head was on his chest, your fingers drawing circles on his skin. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“’ Course love, anything,” he replied sweetly.

You inhaled deeply and kept your head down. “We’ve been seeing each other for a decent amount of time now and I’ve enjoyed it very much, but it’s just...” You swallowed. “Your friends... they don’t accept me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t you see how they treat me? They always give me these looks; they whisper about me. I’m sure they’ve all voiced their concern about me to you,” you answered.

“They don’t mean it to make you feel bad, they just you know... Lily is muggle-born, and so is Mary.”

“I’m aware of that. That has nothing to do with me, you should know I don’t care about blood status.”

“Well yes but your house, the people you are friends with, they care. You can’t blame my friends for being weary.”

You sat up and looked at Sirius, suddenly full of anger. “I am not like the other people in my house, and it’s hypocritical for them to judge me based on that. Have I ever proven myself to be anything like the other Slytherins?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing Sirius. I’m not like them, and it hurts that you don’t even bother to make your friends believe that.” You cut him off. You got off his bed and began to gather your clothes. “It’s clear I’m not welcome here.”

“Y/n-”

You began to button your shirt. “No Sirius it’s fine, I understand. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be welcoming, I suppose that assumption was wrong too.”

Just as you were about to bend down to retrieve your tie, you felt Sirius’s warm hands on your hips. Instinctively, you turned to look at him. He stared up at you with a frown on his face. You hated how perfect he still looked with such a sour expression.

“You’re right, I should advocate for you more. I’ll do that from now on. You are nothing like the other Slytherins, you’re perfect y/n. I’m sorry for not catching on to this sooner.” His words were sincere, you could tell. It made your anger subside.

“Thank you,” you said, a small smile on your lips.

“Now, can you get back into bed for a little longer?” He asked.

You nodded with a chuckle and slid back beneath the sheets. Though you felt relieved and happy at the outcome of your conversation, you couldn’t help but think about what Regulus’s reaction to the news would be.

For some reason, you knew he wouldn’t be pleased.

~~~

April 26, 1978

His eyes searched your face; you tried your hardest to keep your expression neutral. The two of you were up in the astronomy tower, the glow of the moon and stars your only source of light. You didn’t know why you felt almost ashamed telling him about the conversation you had with Sirius. Something deep within you knew the outcome wasn’t what the younger Black brother wanted.

“I’m a bit confused,” he said after a moment of silence.

“What about?”

“If the conversation truly went as you say it did, why aren’t you happy?”

“What do you mean? I am happy. I think I even saw a bit of improvement today,” you answered honestly.

Regulus only shrugged and turned to look off the balcony. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I really am happy Reg this is what I wanted. Now they won’t be so judgmental and perhaps I’ll start to finally feel welcomed,” you replied.

You stared at him for a minute. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminated his features in a way you’d never seen before. He was handsome. With his sharp jawline, his dark curly hair, and his prominent cheekbones how could he not be handsome?

Eventually, he turned his eyes back to you, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat. There was something intense in his light eyes that you couldn’t decode. It made heat rush straight to your face.

“All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “See you around.”

With that, he left. And you almost followed him, almost.

~~~

April 27, 1978

Something was wrong with you. Very wrong.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the one boy in Hogwarts you really shouldn’t have been thinking about. It was wrong, especially in the way you were thinking about him. You tried to distract yourself in every way you could. With your friends, with Sirius, with schoolwork. But nothing worked.

Perhaps it was the intense dream you’d had the previous night that kept your mind wandering. After all, who could simply brush off an intense sexual dream about their boyfriend's brother? It made you blush and feel ashamed each time it crossed your mind throughout the day. And when you saw Regulus around the school, you almost fell apart.

It was as though a switch had been flipped inside you. Gone were the innocent friendly thoughts you had about the younger Black brother. They were replaced by awfully inappropriate ones.

But you were determined to make them vanish. Because to act on such thoughts would be terrible.

Right?

~~~

April 28, 1978

Avoiding Regulus was hard given he was in almost all your classes, and he shared the same common room as you. But you tried your hardest. You spent the day clung to Sirius as much as you could, despite the fact you were upset with him. Being around him meant being away from his brother. That was the important thing.

Things between you and Sirius’s friends had not changed much. You wondered if he had even said anything to them. If he did, it didn’t seem like it. It hurt you, but it didn’t occupy your thoughts as much as it previously had.

Actually, it made you realize something you were too afraid to admit.

Regulus seemed to care more about your feelings than your boyfriend.

That thought scared you. And it only made your improper thoughts about him grow.

~~~

April 29, 1978

You sat up in the Astronomy tower with your legs dangling off the balcony, a bottle of firewhiskey beside you. For the first time in months, you couldn’t deal with your thoughts without a substance. Luckily your boyfriend had a stash of alcohol and was able to spare you a small bottle. So, you took it with a big thank you and practically ran up to the tower. You needed to clear your head. You needed to escape.

There was a slight breeze, it made you clutch your robe tighter around your body. The alcohol helped too. You took another swig, a sigh escaping your lips at the feeling. You liked the way it made your chest warm, and how it made the thoughts of Regulus fade.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps. You gathered the bottle into your robe but remained seated. Whoever it was, they’d catch you anyway. There weren’t many hiding spaces in the tower. So, you prepared for an angry Filch to scold you.

“I figured you’d be up here, your roommates said they hadn’t seen you, neither did my brother.” The gentle voice of the boy you were trying to avoid spoke.

You whipped your head around fast, your mouth hung open slightly. He was only a few feet away from you, and still getting closer. “You talked to him about me?”

“Told him we have a project together and he still wasn’t very welcoming. I see why you feel out of place now,” he answered as he lowered himself to sit beside you. “Care to share any of that with me?”

“Since when do you drink Mr. Prefect?” You questioned skeptically.

He shrugged. “I’ve indulged before, is that surprising? I am almost of age you know.”

“You just don’t seem like the type that’s all,” you replied honestly. You removed the bottle from under your robe and handed it to him. “I’m a bit ahead of you though.”

Regulus didn’t reply. Instead, he popped the cap off the bottle and took a few swigs. You watched carefully, unable to hide your smile when his face scrunched up from the bitterness. Even then, he was still beautiful.

“Wine is much better than this,” he said after a minute as he handed the bottle back to you.

You nodded. “Taste wise, yes, but this gets you drunk much faster.”

“Is that what you want? To get drunk?”

You nodded again and took a swig from the bottle. He had a point, firewhiskey tasted awful. But you needed it, especially since Regulus had caught you alone and even more because he looked far too good in the moonlight.

“I thought things were going to get better with my brother,” he spoke.

“I thought so too but it seems he isn’t good at keeping his word,” you replied with a frown.

Regulus chuckled and took the bottle again. “Well look at him, he’s a filthy blood traitor, what do you see in him?”

“He’s kind, outgoing, very fun to party with, and of course one of the most handsome boys in the school,” you answered. You couldn’t help but smile when Regulus rolled his eyes. “None of that matters though. We’ll be splitting up soon.”

“Yeah?”

The hope in his voice was undeniable. It made your heart rate quicken.

“Yeah. He’ll be leaving school soon and we never really planned to last this long anyway so it only makes sense that we’ll be splitting.”

As he handed you the bottle back, your fingers brushed. You held in your breath, your mouth suddenly felt dry, and a tingle began in the small place where his skin met yours. Your eyes met again and from the way his starry eyes suddenly appeared darker you knew he felt what you did.

You should’ve looked away. You knew you should’ve. You’d like to blame the alcohol for the way you felt, but Regulus Black had proven himself to be more magnetic than any boy you’d ever met so there was no use excusing it. So, despite the fact it was wrong, you didn’t move when he started to lean closer.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“I’m sure you are,” you replied. He was close, his lips only inches away from yours.

“Why’s that?” He asked.

His eyes were so beautiful, you could barely focus on the words that came out of his mouth. “Because you...”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his soft lips brush against yours. He was so gentle; you could barely even feel him. And after only a few seconds he pulled back. Your eyes remained closed.

“Because I’m...?”

“Reg, don’t make me ask you.”

“Oh, but I want to hear it so bad.”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

He didn’t hesitate to fulfill your request and soon enough he was kissing you with an intensity you weren’t sure you ever felt before. One of his hands fell to your waist, his fingers quickly untucking your shirt from your skirt. You let your fingers run through his curls as you’d imagined doing so many times over the previous days.

When he pushed you back and urged you to lie down, you did it. When he pushed your knees apart and slid between your legs you didn’t protest. It was terrible, you were cheating on your boyfriend with his little brother. But at that moment no thoughts could even register in your head. All you could think about was how good Regulus’s body felt against yours and how good he was at kissing.

Perhaps things moved faster than they should’ve. Perhaps they should’ve never moved in that direction to begin with. Either way, within only a few minutes both of your robes were discarded and one of Regulus’s hands was between your thighs. His lips remained on yours as he toyed with you, his soft kiss engulfed each of your moans. You traced your fingertips up and down his back, your hand under his shirt. He was soft but rough, he was perfect.

“I want you,” he suddenly whispered against your lips.

Your eyes opened, he pulled back a bit, and your eyes met his. He didn’t stop his fingers; you could barely think of what to say. “I want you too Reg.”

“Right now?” He asked.

“Right now,” you assured him breathlessly.

You watched him fumble with his belt for a few seconds before he distracted you with another kiss. He was intoxicating, to say the least. Every one of your senses was flooded with Regulus Black. The scent of his cologne, the feeling of his hands under your skirt, the taste of the firewhiskey he’d previously drank, the sound of his shallow breath, the brief glimpses you stole of his pretty face, it was almost too much for you to handle.

Once his belt was finally undone you felt him shift and you knew what was to come. You didn’t think of stopping him for a second. Instead, you threaded your fingers back in his black curls and held him tighter. He pushed your panties to the side and without warning began to slowly push his cock inside you.

You bit down on his lip, your back arched off the floor, and your thighs squeezed around him. He didn’t stutter with his movements and began to thrust in and out at a pace that made your head spin and your insides warm.

After a few minutes, he began to trail his mouth down your neck, the sensation making it impossible for you to stay quiet. You gripped one of his biceps with your hand and your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you. He was careful despite the heat of the moment, however. You were silently grateful. No marks would be left on your skin.

“Reg,” you moaned. “Fuck Reg.”

He staggered for a moment. “Are you okay?” The vibration of his voice on your skin made you almost moan again.

“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop,” you whimpered.

It would be impossible for you to know exactly how long it went on. But by the time it was over, you felt no effects from the alcohol you’d drank before. You came hard, arguably harder than you’d ever come in your life. Regulus did something to you that you couldn’t understand. So, when he asked if it was ok for him to finish inside you said yes.

The two of you laid next to each other in the aftermath, a few inches between your bodies. Sweat covered the inside of your shirt, and another substance leaked between your thighs. You only stared at the ceiling and the stars above as you steadied your breathing.

“I won’t tell,” Regulus said after some time.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly. You were still in a daze; your mind couldn’t process what had just occurred. You sat up, your back was already starting to ache. “I should go.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus sit up too. “Yeah, you should.”

You slid your robe over your arms and straightened out your tie and shirt. Before you stood, you made sure to grab the bottle of firewhiskey and conceal it under your clothes. You looked down at Regulus briefly, he was already looking at you. It made your face heat up.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’ll um... I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You escaped before anything else could be said and raced down to your dorm.

The whole night you tossed and turned in bed, your head full of thoughts that would not let you sleep. You cheated on Sirius. With his brother. It was almost unimaginable. You’d never thought of cheating before, it never crossed your mind. But there you were a cheater.

You just hoped Sirius wouldn’t ask where you were on April 29th.

Because he really wouldn’t want to know.

[gold-onthe-inside]

A No Body, No Crime song fic about Spencer’s partner seeking justice for their friend’s murder while trying to hide it from Spencer cuz he’s law enforcement. Maybe Spencer’s also investigating the case somehow - can be xOC

smells like infidelity

who? spencer reid x blake!reader (cont. from wrong person...) content warnings: infidelity, murder, gun violence and overall canon typical violence (i mean it, a person is murdered at the end, do not read if squeamish) word count: 2.2k songs: no body, no crime (duh) by taylor swift + still by niall horan a/n: i genuinely had a lot of fun with this one, thank you anon

If there was anything you had learned from being Alex Blake's goddaughter, it was how bureaucracy worked, or rather stopped things from getting done. The Syracuse PD chief had looked at you very empathetically, assuring you that his best detectives were on the case, which wasn't saying much from the state of his precinct. You'd done your research, looked at the number of solved missing persons cases they'd solved and you knew you had to take matters into your own hands, especially considering they'd let go of your main suspect.

Evelyn, or Evie as you knew her, had looked harried when you'd seen her last, barely eating her pasta, before confessing the greatest motive that could exist in a married woman's disappearance - an extramarital affair. "H-He's just different," Evelyn had said, bags under her eyes. "He's been drinking more, and I know what alcoholism looks like, alright? It'd-It'd be one thing if it was beer or whiskey, but wine? He doesn't drink wine, ever."

"Tastes change, Evie," you'd offered weakly, but even you knew it was suspect.

"Not like this," Evie had insisted, and you were fairly certain a vein was about to pop. "And it doesn't explain the pearls he bought from our account. Do I look like a pearls kind of girl?"

You had shaken your head, if only to appease her. "I have to say something, right?" Evelyn had asked. "I mean, I deserve some kind of explanation, we've barely been married a year!"

You had managed to calm her down enough to finish her meal and dessert, and you'd assured her that you had her back, and to call you if anything happened. She never ended up making that call. Another Tuesday night passed, nothing. You'd called her cell, checked with her workplace, all but her husband, until the police told her that he had already reported her missing. You had thought about telling Spencer, but it had only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other (which had been infuriating to tell Alex, with her smug 'I told you so' face). Instead, you had left Alex a voicemail, telling her what you were gonna do, and then headed back upstate to talk to her husband, some lawyer who you had thought was far too smooth to be real.

It was late evening when you used the knocker to his door, stepping back and looking around the front of the house. A truck was parked out front, and you frowned. You'd always thought he was too posh for a truck like that, and then you noticed the new tires. The door opened and you were face to face with a young woman, probably in her mid-20s, younger than you, younger than Evelyn too. "I'm looking for Harry Weaver?" you asked, keeping your tone polite, your eyes unmistakably catching the pearls around her neck and the velvet emerald wrap dress that you swore she had seen Evie wear a few Christmases ago.

"And you are?" she asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

"He knows me," you said, not indelicately, but it was in everyone's best interest if this woman got out of her way.

The woman looked you up and down, clocking that you were nowhere close in competition with her perfect blonde curls and petite figure, then stepped back. "Harry, love!" she called out, and you stepped over the threshold, the interior nothing like the truck standing outside. "Someone's here to see you." Her black stilettos clacked over the polished wooden floors, past a round table with a lacy table runner and what was clearly an expensive vase filled with fresh flowers. Noone should be this rich, was the first thought to occur, and then there he was, in a tight polo shirt, a Rolex on his wrist and sharp blue eyes that rivalled Pierce Brosnan, coming down a spiral staircase in polished dress shoes (seriously, who wears those indoors?).

His eyes sparkled in recognition of you. "She's here about Evelyn, no doubt," Harry said, holding out his hand for you, and you took it, smiling sadly, well-practiced, even though the fact that there was no ring on his finger made you want to twist his arm until it fractured.

"The police have no idea where she's gone," you said, dropping his hand, which he used to gesture for you to take a seat.

"Trust me, I've spared no expense in trying to find her," Harry said, his voice still smooth as butter. "My PI suggests it's stress. She wanted a fresh start and… Our marriage was in the way, it seems."

"It's the first I'm hearing of it," you said.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the woman asked. "Wine? We've got a great Merlot."

"I have to drive," you said, your face apologetic and helpless, and you swore something flickered in her eye.

"Harry, honey, what about you?" she asked, looking at the man who couldn't deny her anything.

"Sure, what's a small glass between friends?" he said and you resisted a scoff. His wife was probably dead, and he had killed her, and still had the nerve to play the cool guy around them.

The woman gave him a saccharine smile, walking away, and Harry looked at you. "It's not what it looks like," he said lowly. "I decided to work from home, what with Evie gone. The last thing I need is police showing up at my place of work, and I can't do a thing without Betty. She's my secretary."

How cliché, you thought. Having an affair with his secretary, seriously? Are we still in the 90s? "Of course," you said  placidly. "By the way, I wanted to ask, the truck outside, is that yours?"

"No, that'd be Betty's. Or rather, her father's. He, uh, used to fix boats or something, I don't really know," Harry said, waving his hand carelessly, before letting out a sigh. "Look, I know why you're here. I don't know what Evie told you, but it's not true."

"She's wearing Evie's dress," you said lowly, almost dangerous, your anger bleeding through.

"She spilled coffee on her dress and needed a change," Harry said and you scoffed.

"Evie's not gone two days, and you've gone and replaced her. I can't get my guy to replace my TV that fast."

"We had a fight, that's it," Harry insisted, looking at you. "She… She was convinced that I wasn't faithful, refused to believe me, I mean, she was getting hysterical."

"And then what, she just packed her bags and left?" you asked.

"No, she just… she just left," Harry said, looking broken, but you knew his ability to fake it. "You have to know… I love Evie more than anything. It's just this merger's been eating up all my time and she got the wrong idea. She's the only one for me, you have to believe me!"

"Is that right?" Betty asked, walking over with a bottle of Merlot and a glass of wine. "Evie's the only one for you?"

Harry swallowed, his eyes widening as Betty approached him, a sneering look on her face, and you could tell this wasn't about to end well. You're praying you're pressing the right numbers, sending it to the right person, your hand in your coat pocket.

"Betty, no, I-I only meant--"

"Evie, Evie, Evie, God, you never shut up about her," Betty scoffed, dropping the glass with every intention, the sound of it shattering making you flinch.

"Betty, baby, listen--"

"I have done everything to get you to look at me," Betty cried, staggering towards him with the bottle in hand. "You told me I was prettier than her, you told me!"

"Betty, calm down, you're getting hysterical," Harry said, hoping a firm hand would guide her, and you inched away, hoping to be imperceptible.

"Betty…" you said slowly, "what did you do?" Harry looked at you, frowning.

"You don't seriously think Betty--"

"Why not?" Betty asked, tears flooding her eyes, red and watery, her voice loud and shaky. "Or did you think itty bitty Betty was just some girl you could fuck and shelve away?"

"Betty," you said, swallowing, "did you do something to Evie?"

"God, I am so sick of that bitch!" Betty cried, looking at you, all but snarling. "She's gone, okay?" she yelled at you. "Get over it!"

"Betty, what did you do?" Harry asked, stepping forward. "Did you hurt Evie?"

"Stop saying her name!" she shrieked, swinging the bottle back to hit Harry right in the head and all you could do was clap your hands over your mouth as the man toppled over, his head hitting the polished floors with a crack. Betty didn't even look especially pressed about it, watching the supposed love of her life sprawled unconscious, glass and wine spilled all over the floor. At least, you hoped he was only unconscious, and Betty took a swig of wine, then put it down with a sigh, her hand slipping into her pocket to pull out a revolver.

"Betty, what are you--" She didn't even wait for you to finish the question before shooting Harry in the head and it was all you could do to not scream. Run. You should run. There's no way Alex and Spencer can get here before-- Betty raised her gun right at you.

"Sorry," Betty said, not sounding sorry at all, "Can't leave behind a witness."

"Wait!" You cried out. "Please! Just-Just tell me what happened. I-I just want the truth."

Betty scoffed, tilting her wrist. "The truth? Harry was sick of her, and I gave him what that bitch never could. But he didn't have the nerve to drop her. All that high society bullshit. So I did what he didn't have the balls to do. I killed her. Good thing Daddy told me to get a boating licence at 15. Not to mention the life insurance policy I get to collect in a few weeks."

"How are you gonna convince the police it wasn't you?" you asked, managing to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Oh, that's easy," she said, grinning at you. "You came here, convinced that Harry killed Evie, and you shot him out of revenge. And then I caught you after you dumped him," she gestured to Harry, "And guess who'd left their gun behind when you took him? So, of course, I had no choice but to shoot you in self-defence. Sorry, honey. Guess this is the end."

You swallowed, out of cards to play, and closed your eyes when you heard the faintest siren outside. "Not yet," you said, right before the door burst open, Morgan kicking it down, followed by Spencer and Hotch. You felt your boyfriend (technically, you hadn't talked about labels yet) wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you away from Betty while Derek and Hotch had the woman surrounded.

"She killed Evelyn," you kept repeating as Spencer ushered you out of the house and to the waiting ambulance.

"I know, I know, angel, we've got her now," he said, and you frowned.

"How did you get here so soon?" you asked, as you felt someone wrap a blanket around you, your gaze fixed on Spencer.

"Blake told me about Evelyn," Spencer said, shrugging. "I wanted to help, but JJ said if you wanted you'd ask for it, so, I worked it out on my own. Figured it had to be Betty. She owned the truck, had the boating license, knew enough about the law to get away with it."

You sighed, sitting on the edge of the ambulance. "Well, that's just embarrassing. I didn't realise it until she came out with that wine."

"That's okay," Spencer said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You don't have FBI resources at your beck and call." You smiled at the gesture, but Spencer still looked serious. "You do, however, have me at your beck and call. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to get you in trouble at work," you said softly. "I know Strauss doesn't appreciate you lot crossing red tape."

"I'd rather have Strauss mad at me than find you…" He couldn't even finish the sentence, he was that terrified of losing her.

"I know," you said gently, taking his hand in yours. "I should have asked for help."

"Hotch is getting Syracuse PD to drag the water to see if we can find Evelyn," he said, shaking his head. "I know these local precincts are overburdened and underpaid, but this level of incompetence in handling this case is…"

"Thank you," is all you have in you to say, and it's not enough. You have to kiss him, like it's your birthright, your hands on his waist, his large, spindly hands cupping your jaw as he takes your breath away. He pulled away, all too soon, having to remember that he was here as a professional.

"Come on, it'll be dark soon, and you're not wearing nearly enough layers for the forecast." You chuckled lightly, keeping the blanket around your shoulders, coupled with his warmth, as he guided you to the car. 

[himasgod]

King Deshret x Reader VI

Where you realize that you have returned to where it all began, and you make sure to attack the problem at its root.

(KING DESHRET IS BACK. Many of you will be wondering, hey, where is part V? Well, the answer is simple. I'm not uploading it in chronological order hehe, and that has been noticeable throughout the fanfic. I want you to first read this part without knowing the previous part, to make a little chronological disorder, which is what I like. Then, when I publish part V, you'll know where all this comes from heheje)

XVII.

You opened your eyes with a start, the echo of a stabbing pain still resonating in your chest. Your last memory was of Deshret’s cold betrayal, when his hand—the same one that once tenderly caressed your face—sacrificed you to satisfy Nabu Malikata’s whim. You had felt the warmth of life leave you, the weight of sacrifice crushing your soul, and darkness claiming you… but now, the desert air filled your lungs again.

Your gaze swept the place in disbelief. The palace was familiar to you, the golden walls and majestic columns unmistakable. The audience chamber was decorated for a solemn occasion, and in front of you was the marriage contract you had signed years ago.

Time had gone backwards. You had returned to the day your fate would be sealed, the one in which you gave your heart without suspecting the betrayal to come. But now, a spark of determination ignited within you. This time, you would change your destiny. You would not be a victim or a sacrifice. You would protect not only your life, but also your love, and you would make sure that your husband would never forget what you meant to him.

You took the pen with a firm hand, and to the amazement of the scribes and Deshret himself, you drew a new clause in the contract: an infidelity clause that demanded his complete loyalty to you. If he ever broke that promise, the consequences would be severe.

“Do you doubt me, my queen?” Deshret asked with a smile that hid a glint of curiosity.

“I just want to make sure that our union is protected,” you replied calmly, looking directly into his amber eyes.

The King, intrigued by your attitude, accepted without protest. His hand covered yours as he sealed the contract, and although his gesture was warm, you felt the responsibility to ensure that this time things were different.

XVIII

The next few days were filled with the bustle of wedding preparations, but you had something else in mind. While the servants decorated the palace, you worked on a special gift for Deshret. Under the guidance of Hermanubis, the most loyal of your friends, you commissioned the finest craftsmen to forge a bracelet of pure gold, adorned with elaborate inscriptions that you personally engraved.

These inscriptions were not mere ornaments; they were ancient runes designed to repel Allure, the supernatural power of attraction that some entities could exert over mortals. You knew that if you wanted to protect your love and your marriage, you must prevent any outside interference.

When your wedding day finally arrived, you wore a golden robe adorned with jewels that sparkled like the desert sun. Deshret awaited you at the altar, his imposing bearing matched only by the intensity with which he gazed at you.

“This is my gift to you,” you said, your voice barely concealing the pride and hope you felt. You offered the bracelet with both hands. “Promise me you will never take it off.”

The King took the bracelet and examined it closely. His fingers traced the engraved runes as a warm smile spread across his face. “I promise you, my queen,” he said solemnly before placing it on his wrist.

Your hands met, and in that instant you knew you had taken the first step toward protecting that which you held dear.

XIX

As time went on, your and Deshret’s relationship blossomed. Every anniversary and birthday, you gave him ornaments similar to the bracelet, each decorated with protective runes that reinforced your promise to each other. He accepted them proudly and wore them always, as a symbol of his love for you and the promise he had made to you on your wedding day.

However, your happiness was put to the test when Nabu Malikata arrived at the palace. The Goddess of Flowers was an imposing figure, her hypnotic beauty seeming to fill every corner with an almost tangible power. She attempted to use her Allure to captivate Deshret, certain that no one could resist her power.

But to her amazement, the King remained unmoved. He treated you with the same love and devotion he had always shown, completely ignoring the goddess’s attempts to attract his attention.

Frustrated, Nabu Malikata noticed the bracelet he wore and tried to persuade him to take it off.

“This bracelet represents a promise,” Deshret replied firmly, “and I have no intention of breaking it.”

The goddess, accustomed to always getting what she wanted, frowned. But her frustration only grew with time.

XX

One night, Nabu Malikata took advantage of a celebration to get Deshret drunk, hoping the alcohol would weaken his will. While he was sleeping, she tried to remove the bracelet from his wrist, but she encountered an unexpected obstacle: a blood lock, a spell that could only be deactivated with your blood.

At that moment, the chamber doors swung open, and you entered accompanied by two servants.

“Take him back to our chambers,” you commanded, your voice as calm as it was deadly.

Your eyes met Nabu Malikata’s, and in that instant, a silent exchange took place. Your gaze was filled with knowledge and defiance, a clear message:

"I know exactly who you are and what you intend to do. But I will not allow it."

The Goddess of Flowers stepped back slightly, aware that she had lost this battle.

XXI

That night, as you cared for Deshret, he woke and took your hand with a gesture full of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I should never have allowed anything to even try to come between us.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him with a soft smile. “Because I know that this time, you choose me, always.”

From that night on, Nabu Malikata never interfered in your relationship again. Though she remained an ally of the kingdom, she knew that the bond between you and Deshret was unbreakable.

XXII.

Over time, your and Deshret’s love became the foundation of a prosperous kingdom. You ruled together with justice and wisdom, uniting the desert under your leadership.

Years later, as you looked out over the vast sea of ​​sand from the palace terraces, Deshret approached you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"I had a strange dream today, my queen, one that has been roaming around in my head all these hours. Nabu Malikata stood between our marriage, and I fell into her arms. However, repentant, I made us turned back time… so we could live our lives again."

He grabbed your hand and began to kiss it with his lips, the whole back of your hand

"I would die for you. I would stay months, years, lost in the great deserts looking for your love. I would fight for you. I would kill for you. The massive golden walls of this palace cannot compare to your beauty. You are my greatest treasure, my queen” he whispered.

And in that moment, you knew you had beaten fate. This time, eternity was on your side.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[nadvs]

WAIT- You try not to believe any rumors but it’s difficult because you’re not really keeping up with Rafe like usual because it’s your first time with just the babies. And the postpartum depression and insecurity makes you feel like it’s true

» au masterlist

(continuation of this blurb)

and it kills rafe that his girl would buy into it, but she takes his defensiveness as an admission of guilt :(

the team has a new physical therapist and rumors start spiralling whenever rafe’s seen with her. his girlfriend knows this other woman is getting up close and personal with him and he has all these sessions with her since he wasn’t working out after the twins were born so he needs to ease back into playing, but she has such a hard time with it because of her baby blues and worries that he doesn’t find her attractive anymore.

she gets suspicious and never has time to connect with him and it causes a bad rift between them. it’s not until rafe comes back home after a string of away games that he crawls into bed next to her and finally holds her after days of not being affectionate with each other because he misses her so damn badly. she breaks down in tears as soon as his arms are around her. that night, in the dark quiet of their bedroom, they have their first calm discussion about it.

she learns that he’s hurt that she would think that low of him to suspect infidelity, and she tells him it’s nothing to do with him and all her own insecurities messing with her. once he discovers just how much he’s been struggling with everything, he squeezes her tight and kisses her so many times that his lips get tender. he tells her that she and their children are his world. it takes her a while, but she eventually regains her confidence in herself and in their relationship.

(continuation)

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l six

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: Joel opens up to you about a very traumatic loss; he makes a confession about his feelings towards you; you make a confession of your own and it leads to something more.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. fluff, infidelity, Joel and reader are having a full blown affair at this point, angst, talks of child loss (Sarah), lots of feelings come to the surface, two idiots realize they are in love. SMUT. oral sex (m receiving), size mention bc i will always be convinced our man is packing) unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up pls), reader discovers she likes praise, creampie.

word count: 8.4k

August 2024

The next two and a half weeks that had passed by had done so without major incident, but things had taken a somewhat complicated turn.

You and Joel still manage to see one another a handful of times even with the exhausting amount of hours he’s been putting into his patrol duties, though it isn’t nearly as often as either of you wanted or would have preferred. But there was no other choice.

After numerous sightings of a group of potential raiders earlier on in the month, Tommy had no choice but to assign every last competent, able bodied patrol person, including himself, to work double shifts to ensure the safety and security of Jackson. He and Joel had come across the remnants of a campsite just about fifteen miles south of the settlement and they worried the group was hiding out, planning a violent, ambush attack on the community when it was least expected. Tommy had done his absolute best to keep the word from spreading throughout the commune to avoid causing a panic, but he found himself having to fess up when people went up to him and all but furiously demanded to know the truth—the real reason behind why their loved ones were now being asked to be on the other side of wall twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

Joel, who you’d come to learn is one of the sharpest and strongest shooters out of everybody in Jackson besides his younger brother, reluctantly took on the role of lead patrolman. He had been assigned an absurd amount of double shifts to work, including the overnight routes, making it almost impossible for you to see each other. You’d understood he had no choice but to comply, but still—that didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with. Both of you tried to make the very best of what little time you managed to get together, but it hadn’t been nearly enough. As if not being able to see Joel wasn’t agonizing enough for you, the fact that he was out on the other side of the wall scared the hell out of you. The only way to keep yourself from losing your goddamn mind was to distract yourself.

You did everything that you could to keep your mind off Joel being out there. Burying yourself deeply into your work helped for the most part.

Besides that, Joel had asked you, as a favor to him, to keep a watchful eye on Ellie in light of his absence. You’d spend most of the day with her in the stables, you would have lunch with her in the mess hall along with Dina, and in the evening, you would go home and make dinner early enough to fix an extra plate of food for her so she had a nutritious homemade meal to enjoy instead of two decades old canned ravioli. You would take it over to her place and drop it off before Luke came home from the clinic. Ellie waited until it was late in the evening and he was asleep to return the plate back to you, and the two of you would take a lengthy, late night stroll through the town, keeping each other company for a while before heading off to bed. She hadn’t seemed to be all too concerned about Joel, but then again, Ellie had known better than you did that he could take care of himself out there just fine. If anything, you spending so much time with her had been more for your benefit than hers, and you started to suspect that just like Joel had asked you to keep an eye on Ellie, he had also asked her to keep an eye on you too. After all, you had made it abundantly clear to him that you were nervous about him being out on patrol while there was a possible threat looming in the shadows.

By the time the middle of August came around, no additional traces of the group had been found—they seemed to have vanished into thin air, causing a wave of relief to sweep through the town. Tommy and Maria finally decided to ease up and end the double shift assignments, allowing every single patrolman and woman to return to their normally scheduled work rotations. Joel went back to his usual early morning and afternoon patrol hours, which meant that the both of you could resume your clandestine meetings out behind the barn underneath the stars.

“I missed you,” you say, sighing out contentedly as you lean back against him.

You and Joel are sitting out on the large, vacant patch of field behind the barn, his soft, green flannel blanket acting as a barrier between your bodies and the itchiness of the grass the animals would graze on during the day. You’re nestled in between his long legs, your back against his warm chest as the two of you share the delicious, ripe peach he’d brought along with him as a surprise for you.

“Mm, probably not as much as I was missin’ you, sweet girl,” Joel replies with a hum before taking a bite of the fruit. Noticing there’s only a couple bites of it left, he reaches his arm around and holds it out for you, his bulging bicep straining against the sleeve of his faded black t-shirt. “Here, darlin’. Want you to go on and have the rest.”

“These will be out of season in a couple of months.” Giving a sad little pout to nobody in particular, you sigh again and sink your teeth into the peach. Through a small mouthful, you realize, “Who knows when we’ll ever get peaches around here again.”

Joel’s lips meet the spot on your neck right behind your ear and you feel him grin. “S’alright with me. I’ve got my sweet, perfect little peach right here. And I’ve got her all year round.”

You playfully elbow him in his chest. After polishing off the rest of the peach, you lick off the pit and toss it out into the distance.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to litter,” he teases.

“It’s biodegradable,” you retort with a tiny laugh as you leaned your head back against his shoulder and gaze up, admiring the stars that sprinkle the velvet night skies. “Or at least, I think it is. Come to think of it, I never paid much attention in life science when I was in FEDRA school. It was my least favorite subject.”

You gather your hair in your hand, bringing it over your shoulder to keep it out of Joel’s face. 

“Mm,” he whispers, licking his lips as his eyes fall to the delicate flesh of your exposed neck. He ghosts his mouth over your pulse point and his warm breath fans against your cool skin, prompting your eyes to flutter closed. “Just temptin’ me on purpose now, ain’t you, baby?”

“I would never do such a thing,” you object in an innocent tone, and he immediately clocks the smirk behind it. A comfortable silence falls over the both of you and while you’d normally welcome the peaceful, tranquil moment with him, tonight it feels impossible. You had gone so long without Joel over the last couple of weeks—at least, it had certainly felt long—and you realize one of things you’d missed most about him was the sound of his voice. “Ask me a question, Joel.”

“What kinda question can I ask, darlin’?”

Feeling brave, you offer, “You can ask me anything you want. No limits.”

Humming curiously to himself, he tries to think of something he hasn’t asked you before. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Really, Joel?” You snort, trying to mask your laughter as he rests his chin on your shoulder, the scruff of his beard tickling your skin as he presses his cheek against yours. “I just told you that you can ask me anything you want and that’s your question? What’s my favorite color?”

“Yeah,” he answers, simply. “I wanna know what it is.”

He turns his head, lifting it off your shoulder to brush a gentle kiss to your temple. Joel could not, for the life of him, even remember the last time he’d shared this kind of physical tenderness with anybody. Forehead kisses, holding your hand, all sorts of little tokens of affection he didn’t think he could still be capable of giving to someone came to him so naturally with you. You had brought out an entirely different side of him, one that had been buried beneath his rough exterior for well over two decades, and the part that Joel still can’t quite wrap his own head around is that you’d done it with such ease. He’d go as far as to say that you had done it without even trying.

“So?” Joel prompts you. “What is it?”

“It’s brown,” you answer. 

“Brown? Why brown?”

“Because. It’s earthy, it’s warm—and your eyes are brown,” you state, grinning to yourself as you feel his loud laugh rumble through his chest and against your back. “What about you? I mean that’s if Joel Miller even has a favorite color,” you giggle teasingly, placing a hand on one of his denim clad legs. You then add, “Actually, I’m kind of curious now. Do you have a favorite color, Joel?”

Joel hesitates, momentarily holding onto his answer.

“I do. It’s purple,” he finally responds after a brief bout of silence. “Purple’s my favorite color.”

“Purple,” you repeat after him, unable to mask the surprise in your tone. “Really?”

Joel chuckles. “What? That weird or somethin’?”

“Uh, sort of. For one, you just don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would have a favorite color in the first place—and even if you’d told me you did, I would have never in a million years guessed that it was purple,” you admit, sheepishly. You trace a small circle around his knee with your finger and curiously ask him, “Why is purple your favorite color?”

“‘Cause. That’s my daughter’s favorite color.”

You scoff playfully. “Come on, Joel. Ellie’s favorite color sure as hell isn’t purple. Her favorite color is green. But red’s a close second.”

When he speaks again, his voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him despite being in such close proximity. 

“I ain’t talkin’ about Ellie.”

At first, it doesn’t quite register, but after a moment of processing, the pieces click together in your mind. Joel has another daughter.

Your smile vanishes and you slowly turn around between his legs to face him. Looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, you utter, “What?”

“Her name was Sarah,” he confesses, softly. 

Was. 

Your throat dries at his use of past tense.

Because you know exactly what that means. 

Opening your mouth to speak, words fail you and you close it. You suddenly remember the way he would tap dance around certain details of his first life in Texas. Whenever he would speak about his life before the outbreak, he would be cautious, careful to watch himself and his words. You’d known Joel had been keeping something from you, something he wasn’t ready to disclose to you for one reason or another—but never would you have guessed that him having a daughter would be the secret he had been hiding.

By now, you’ve turned your body around and you kneel in front of him, sitting back onto your heels. Not wanting to push him too hard or too fast, you clasp your hands together in your lap and wait silently—patiently—for him to continue when he’s ready.

“Sarah’s favorite color was purple. She’d wear it all the time. Her backpack, her school supplies, they all had to be purple or she wouldn’t use them. When she was nine years old, she begged me to paint the walls of her bedroom purple. One day, I took her to Home Depot after school to look at all the different shades.” He laughs, musing, “Didn’t know there could be so goddamn many of them. Anyhow, I told her I’d think ‘bout it. I went back to the store the next day while she was at school, bought a couple cans of the lavender shade I knew she’d like the best and by the time she got home, I had it all painted for her,” he explains, a sadness glazing over the fondness of the memory. “She loved purple. It was the color of the t-shirt she was wearin’ the last time we were together on the night of the outbreak.”

Your heart sinks. “Joel, you don’t have to tell me—”

“S’alright, peach. I wanna tell you ‘bout her,” Joel assures you, reaching out for your hand and taking it in his own. “I trust you, baby. Trust you more than enough to tell you ‘bout Sarah.”

Nodding, you lace his fingers together with your own. 

“I was never married,” he starts to say, knowing whether or not he’d also had a wife before the world ended would be a question on your mind—that’s if it wasn’t already. “I was never with Sarah’s mom. I met her in high school and we’d been friends up through senior year of college. We started to date then, but after a year, we realized we weren’t a good fit together. We broke up and a couple months later, we found out she was pregnant with Sarah. Her mom and me, well we both made an agreement to co-parent her as best as we could. Just a few months shy of our daughter’s first birthday, she realized she couldn’t handle raisin’ a child at our age. I tried real hard to convince her to stick around and keep tryin’ but I couldn’t get her to stay. She bailed out on me, but the worst part of it was that she bailed out on Sarah.”

He stops for a moment and you give his hand a gentle, but firm, encouraging squeeze.

“As if bein’ a father to a baby girl didn’t scare the shit of me, being a single father made it all feel so much scarier, y’know? I was young, in my early twenties. I was always workin’ so damn much, tryin’ to build my construction business with Tommy. Now I had this tiny little person to take care of, and I honestly didn’t know how the fuck I was gonna do it.” Joel pauses, his sixth sense detecting that your knees have started hurting from the position you’re in. He closes his legs together and pulls you to sit on his lap. “It wasn’t easy, and I probably made a lot more mistakes than I’d like to admit. But somehow, I made it work and it turned out alright. Sarah was my best friend in the whole entire world. Hell, I loved her more than fuckin’ life itself. She could be a handful, but she was perfect in every single way. She was my sweet little butterfly, my ray of sunshine on even the darkest of days.”

Swallowing harshly, you ask, “What happened to her, Joel?”

Joel sighs, resting a hand on your bare thigh. His fingers skim the scalloped hem of your floral shorts. “It was the first night of the outbreak. We were tryin’ to get out of Austin. Me, Sarah, and Tommy. We didn’t know where the hell we were gonna go or what we were gonna do, but we just needed to get far away from the city. We got separated at one point when our pickup truck got into an awful wreck. I had Sarah in my arms ‘cause she couldn’t walk. She’d broken her ankle in the crash. Tommy told me to get her to the river where she’d be safer, said he’d find his way over there to meet us.”

Your heart begins to pound. Part of you almost doesn’t want to hear how his story is going to end—because in a way, you already know how it’s going to end. But if Joel is telling you about Sarah, it’s for a reason. He’s opening up to you, the way you’ve opened up to him. He’s sharing his heartbreaking loss because he trusts you—and Joel Miller doesn’t trust anyone that’s not his family.

Draping an arm around his shoulders, your fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck as you anxiously wait for him to recount the event that follows next, the event that will surely shatter your heart into pieces.

“The streets were crawlin’ with infected. One caught us in its sights and chased after us. Tried to dodge it through a buildin’ but it followed us, runnin’ us out into a field just a mile from the river. I didn’t think we were gonna make it—then, a soldier came outta nowhere and shot it dead. It felt like some kinda fuckin’ miracle. I thought we were lucky. I thought we were gonna get some help.” His voice grows hoarse, thickening with emotions he’s not too sure he can hold back this time. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was given the order by his command to kill us both, even though we weren’t sick. I tried tellin’ him over and over we weren’t infected, but it didn’t matter. He shot at us. He grazed me in my side, but Sarah—he got her. Got her multiple times. I was foolish enough to think it hadn’t been fatal. I tried gettin’ her up, begged Tommy to help me—but it was useless. Sarah died in my arms. Took her very last breath in some field outside of Austin.”

“God,” you whisper shakily, a sharp, painful ache shooting through your chest at the thought of him cradling his daughter’s lifeless body in his arms, her purple shirt soaked in crimson. “Joel, I don’t—I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.” Willing yourself to keep it together for his sake, you hold the back of his neck in your hand, fingers coaxing him to look up and meet your gaze.

“After that, I just didn’t see any point in carryin’ on anymore. I’d lost the most important thing in the fuckin’ world to me. I couldn’t see in the darkness now that my little ray of sunshine was gone. So, a couple nights later, I picked up my gun and tried to end my own life,” he confesses. Even though it’s been over twenty years, traces of shame still linger behind. “Put the barrel of a pistol to my temple. Told myself it was what I wanted to do and I pulled the trigger.”

Without thinking, you reach towards the scar on his right temple with your opposite hand, the one you’d noticed for the first time before he had kissed you in Ranger’s stall. You lightly brush your fingertips over the jagged, raised patch of skin. You’d wanted to ask him about it on several different occasions, but never had the courage to actually do it. Now that you know he’d gotten it from his own hand, it just makes the entire thing all that much more heart wrenching.

“M’sure you’ve guessed it by now, but I missed. I flinched and I missed. For twenty fuckin’ years, all I could do was wish I hadn’t missed. Spent a long time hatin’ myself for missin’ what should’ve been the easiest goddamn shot of my entire life. Then, Ellie came along.” Joel moves his hand, gingerly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. “And not long after her, I met you, sweet girl. The two of you came at me outta nowhere.” He can’t help but chuckle, remembering his first encounter with Ellie, the way she had flown at him with her switchblade clutched in hand only to end up thrown against the wall. “You both came outta left fuckin’ field and brought out sides of me I thought had been dead and buried for years now. You and her, you mean more to me than I can fuckin’ explain. You’re the most important things in the world to me now.”

Your breath catches in the back of your throat at his declaration. It’s not like you didn’t know Joel cared about you. Of course you know that. But the extent to which he did had been something of a mystery, at least up until this very moment.

“I didn’t know I could feel this way ‘bout anyone again,” Joel admits. He slides his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “Openin’ up my heart to Ellie, that was one thing. But openin’ it up to you? That’s been somethin’ else, peach. I don’t think you even realize the hold you’ve got over me and my heart. What really fuckin’ gets me is that you don’t even gotta try. All you gotta do is look at me with those eyes and give me that pretty smile of yours, and I’m fuckin’ done for. You’ve got me wrapped all the way around your little finger and then back again, baby. Y’need to know that I’d do just ‘bout fuckin’ anythin’ for you. You understand that?”

You stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Joel,” you stammer his name, your nerve endings feeling like they’ve been lit on fire. ��You really need to stop talking like that.”

“Why’s that?”

You don’t even think—you just blurt the words out before you can stop them.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The tables turn and it’s now Joel who is at a complete loss for words.

Embarrassed by your own admission, you begin to ramble nervously. “Look, I know it’s ridiculous. We haven’t known each other long, but I can’t help it. And maybe it’s for the best if you know where I stand and how I feel. You still have time to back out of this—”

Still holding your chin, Joel carefully brings your face toward his, silencing you by slotting his lips to yours. He moves to cup the side of your face in his palm, forgetting about any kind of softness as he greedily licks into your mouth. He’s kissed you plenty of times before and you thought you knew all of his kisses well enough by now, but you’d been wrong. This one is different from all the rest. His lips move against yours in a possessive manner, but not the kind of possessive you’re used with Luke. No, with Joel, it isn’t a possessive stemming from control and abuse, rather, it’s out of pure need, want, and desire. Even as his mouth devours yours, there’s still a sweet, loving tenderness to it.

“Joel,” you whimper against him. “I—”

You falter, unable to say those three words. There’s something holding you back—maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s knowing that once you say them, you can’t take them back. Not that you would. But it’s a big step, and you’re not quite ready to say it, even if it is how you feel.

And he feels the same.

He deepens the embrace.

I love you.

Joel might not be ready to say it either, but he hopes the way he’s holding you and swelling your lips with his puts your mind at ease and reassures you that you’re not the only one who’s falling.

You shift yourself in his lap, moving to straddle him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your mouths remain fused to one another. He reaches and grabs for every single part of you that he can, running his hands all over you from your shoulders down to your hips, dragging lower until they’re unabashedly cupping the delicious curves of your ass. You whimper in his mouth again and the moment your lips part, his tongue takes advantage, darting inside to start the heated, unhinged dance with your own.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers curling around tight around fistfuls of his t-shirt in an attempt, and a very desperate one at that, to keep yourself planted on the ground. You hold on trying to keep yourself tethered to planet earth, but with the way his searing hot mouth moves with yours in perfect unison, it’s impossible. You’re free falling without a safety net, and you don’t even care. 

Seating yourself completely on his lap, you feel the bulge of his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans and the wetness pools between your thighs.

Letting go of his shirt, you reach around him and bury your fingers in his curls, lightly tipping his head back as your tongue explores his mouth like it’s the first time all over again. Joel tastes like the sweet fruit you’d shared, a strange mix when combined with the mint from his toothpaste. But there’s something else he tastes like and you’ve tasted it several times before, however even after all this time, you still can’t figure out what it could be. It tastes like Joel. That’s the only way you can think of to describe it. It just tastes like Joel and it’s addicting and you want it on your lips for the rest of your life.

After a minute, you and Joel finally force yourselves apart, your lungs and his begging for oxygen. 

“Joel,” you choke his name between heavy pants for air.

“Baby.” He’s about as breathless as you are, possibly even more. “Baby, please. I’ve gotta have you,” he pleads, hands now splayed on the small of your back. “Please. I fuckin’ need you. Or else m’gonna lose my goddamn fuckin’ mind.”

“Barn,” you rasp out, releasing your grip on his hair. 

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows knit together. “Barn?”

“Barn,” you repeat as you climb off of him.

You’re unsteady—incredibly unsteady. Knees wobbling, legs trembling and feeling like they’re seconds away from giving out underneath you. But you hold a hand out to Joel, exhaling a tiny, labored grunt as you help him up off the ground. Grabbing his blanket, you give it a shake before taking his hand in yours and leading him around to the front of the barn. Dropping his hand, you use both of yours to slide one of the double doors open an inch or two and take a peek inside to make sure the coast is clear. You then slide the door open a bit further, just wide enough for you and Joel to slip inside. 

“Wait a minute,” he chuckles as he watches you slide the door closed. “How’d y’know it would be unlocked?”

“I didn’t know it would be unlocked. I was just hoping we’d get lucky,” you admit, beckoning him for him to follow you. “Come on.”

Through various cracks and gaps and open windows, enough moonlight filters into the barn, shining a decent amount of light into the structure—enough so that it’s not pitch black and you two are left stumbling around in complete darkness.

Joel glances around. The last time he’d been inside the barn was back in June for the summer party. He remembered it having been cleaned and cleared out for the event and now, two months later, it’s packed to the rafters with countless bales of hay. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised. But as he walks, piles of loose dried grass and herbs crunch underneath his boots and he remarks, “There’s fuckin’ hay everywhere, darlin’.”

“Um, yeah. What else do you keep in a barn?” you jeer lightly, earning yourself a small scoff from him. “Hey, at least they don’t keep sheep and other livestock in here, Joel. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Joel snorts, masking his laughter at the thought of walking into a barn full of animals instead of an absurd amount of hay. “Yeah, guess that’s fair enough,” he concedes. “Might kill the mood if that were the case.”

You lead him over towards one of the far corners of the barn, your eyes falling to a large, almost bed sized pile of loose hay. Draping the blanket over it, you stand upright and then freeze, your body flooding with nerves once you realize what’s inevitably about to happen between you and Joel.

You hadn’t done anything with him since the night he’d pleasured you out on his front porch. Of course you wanted more, so much more, but that doesn’t make you any less nervous. You’re so much younger, hardly have any experience—you’ve only ever been with one man, and even then, it hardly counts. It’s been such a long time since you’d found sex something you wanted, something you enjoyed. Whenever Luke touches you, it makes your skin crawl, but when Joel Miller touches you?

It sets you ablaze, leaves you needing more of it. Of him.

Part of you wonders if your touch makes him feel the same. What if it doesn’t?

His arms wrap around your waist from behind and you exhale the breath you’d been holding shakily.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Joel murmurs softly into your hair, sensing your pensiveness. 

“I’m just really nervous,” you blurt out.

“S’okay,” he says, quietly. “M’kinda nervous too.”

You’re slightly taken aback. “Really? What are you nervous about?”

Joel rests his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve both crossed a lot of lines already, peach. But this one? S’gonna be the one we can’t come back from,” he tells you. “Might be what seals the deal between us, y’know?”

Slowly, you turn around to face him. “Yeah, I know,” you respond, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. “And I know I should care, but I don’t. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“S’wrong,” he agrees with a tight nod. “But I don’t care either, sweet girl.”

Before you can utter another word about it, Joel crashes his mouth onto yours. He snakes one of his arms around you and lifts the other, cupping the back of your neck as he ravages you with his lips and tongue, kissing you with such urgency, such desperation that it melts you into a whimpering mess in his arms. Your mind is hopelessly lost in a thick, cloudy haze—all you can focus on is breathing him into your lungs like he’s the air you need to stay alive. His hands fall down to the hem of your white camisole and his mouth abandons yours to pull it over your head. He discards it, tossing it over his shoulder somewhere behind him. He then pushes your shorts and underwear down your legs and you kick them off along with your shoes. You’re now standing before him completely naked.

Desperate to feel his skin against yours, you take the hem of his t-shirt and clumsily tug it over his head, eliciting a laugh from him. You throw it somewhere over his shoulder to join yours and your hands eagerly meet his warm, bare chest for the first time. Biting down on your bottom lip, your trembling fingertips brush over several bumps and rough, raised patches of skin that you know have to be his scars. He has so many, and all you want to do is kiss each and every single one of them, but Joel has other ideas. He pulls you into his arms, flush against his chest, and he holds you tightly.

More often than not, Joel feels as if you’re not real—worries that you’re just a perfect, flawless figment of his own imagination. He doesn’t know whether or not you’ve caught onto what he’s been doing, but he steals moments like these whenever he can, moments where he stands there and takes you into his arms and holds you without saying a word.

It’s his own way of reminding himself that not only are you real, but you’re real and you’re his. Joel doesn’t care about the fucking ring on your finger. He doesn’t care that you’re promised to another man. He doesn’t care that he can only hold you in secret, that he can’t walk next you down the streets of Jackson in broad daylight and hold your hand while doing so. He doesn’t get to share a roof or a bed with you and he doesn’t get to join you for dinner at the table every night—maybe this isn’t how he preferred things to be, but he just doesn’t care. 

It doesn’t matter to him.

Nothing matters to him except for one thing.

Your heart belongs to him. It bleeds with his name.

You’re his. You’re all fucking his, and only his, in all the ways that truly matter.

And he is yours. 

Joel chokes out a strained groan as you press your plush lips softly against his neck, your tongue swiping across his pulse point. You firmly suckle his flesh, hard enough to break the tiny blood vessels underneath his skin and once you’ve left your mark, you trail your lips down his neck, eliciting another strangled noise from him. You sweep them over his collarbone, then down the length of his chest, showing each scar you come across with the affection it deserves. Your teeth nip and scrape at the softness of his belly and you quickly discover that it’s one of your favorite parts of him. Lowering yourself to your knees, your nose skims over the trail of dark, coarse hair below his navel and your fingers suggestively skim the waistband of his jeans.

His eyes widen. “You ain’t gotta do that—”

“I already told you, Joel. I want to,” you assure him, your voice low, sexy, filled with a lust for him and only for him. You make yourself comfortable, a challenging feat since you’d overshot the blanket and are now kneeling directly on the itchy, dried grass. It doesn’t matter, though—you’re more than willing to deal with discomfort for him. You place a hand on his hip and peer up at him. Your eyes meet his in the milky white moonlight. “You made me feel good. Please, just let me do the same for you?”

The nod he gives you is so subtle, so quick, that you almost don’t catch it.

He’d grown tense beneath your touch. 

You can’t help but laugh softly—not at him, but at the fact that he doesn’t realize that pleasuring him isn’t a want for you, it’s a need.

Gently, you pat his hip. “Relax, honey,” you encourage him, surprised at how the pet name rolls off your tongue with such natural ease.

Your hands reach for the button of his jeans and you swiftly undo it, then tug at his zipper. You start pulling the denim down his legs. Joel helps you, kicking off his worn, black leather boots before stepping out of his jeans, kicking the article of clothing off to the side. Heart racing in anticipation, you slide his dark boxer briefs down his legs, but stop short, breath hitching the second you feast your eyes on his cock. You’ve felt him through his clothes before, knew he was well endowed, but you’re still shocked to see just how big he really is. The mere thought of his hard, thick length filling you up and stretching your cunt makes your entire body ache with need. You can’t be certain how he’ll fit, but truth be told, he could tear you in half and you would thank him for it. 

Joel draws in a quick, sharp breath when he feels your small hand wrap around his base. Just as fast as he’d breathed it in, it’s knocked back out of his lungs when your other hand joins in and you run your fingertips along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He twitches in your hands—you’ve hardly touched him, haven’t even put your mouth on him, and he’s already teetering on the edge.

“Christ, baby. You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, I hope y’know that,” Joel croaks, tilting his head back to look up at the rafters as he silently wills himself not to explode too soon. His hips involuntarily jerk forward as you lick his tip, collecting his leaking precome on your tongue before wrapping your soft lips around it. Another loud, ragged groan tears from the back of his throat as you take him in slowly, inch by inch, further into your warm, wet mouth. Your own moaning around him causes a vibrating sensation, making it harder for Joel to keep himself from spilling into your mouth.

“Fuck, peach,” he curses, feeling the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat. He’s more than a mouthful for you, but you accept the challenge with eagerness and take him in further, gagging around him as drool dribbles down the sides of your chin. You, the same woman who just moments ago had said she was nervous about being intimate with him—whoever that woman had been, she was long fucking gone.

Joel’s eyes flit down and he sinks his teeth hard into his lower lip. He can see your silhouette as you work him with that pretty little mouth of yours. One glance is all he can handle before he’s squeezing his eyes shut, the pressure building in his lower abdomen and already dangerously close to reaching its peak. If Joel so much as looks at you again, he’ll come down your throat, and that’s not where he’s planning on finishing tonight.

You bob your head back and forth on his cock, your eyes watering each time he slips past the back of your throat—your cheeks hollow as you suck him greedily, and you alternate between that and stroking his long, thick shaft, your tongue swirling around his head.

Without opening his eyes, Joel reaches down with his hand and cradles the back of your head in his palm. The sounds that fill the barn are nothing short of obscene. His grunts and groans mixed together with the sounds of the moans you’d release in between your wet and sloppy slurping. He forces his eyes open and bravely takes another look at you, his heart slamming painfully against his sternum as you move your head faster, chasing his release as if you’re chasing your own.

“Fuck, baby—wait, stop. Need you to stop.” Joel’s hand leaves the back of your head and he cups your jaw, gently, but firmly, forcing you to release his cock from your mouth with an audible pop. “Ain’t gonna last much longer, not if you keep on like that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” you ask, smirking up at him as you wipe the mixture of his precome and your saliva away from your chin with the back of your hand.

Joel leans over and takes your arms, effortlessly yanking you up to your feet. His hand dives between your thighs to get a feel—to find whether you’re ready to take him or not. He slips two fingers between your soaked folds without so much as a warning, causing you to gasp out and grip his biceps, your fingernails digging into the firm muscle. Joel withdraws his hand from your cunt, admiring the way his digits come back coated with your slick. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours as he lifts his hand to his mouth and slowly licks his fingers clean.

That alone nearly makes you come undone, almost makes you melt into a pathetic, whimpering mess at his feet. 

“Joel,” you say his name pleadingly. “Please.”

Sliding his fingers out of his mouth, he steps forwards and curls them around your wrist. “What is it, my sweet little peach? Hm? What do you want?”

“You. I want you,” you answer. You’re quick to correct yourself. “No, I need you. I fucking need you—I need you more than anything I’ve ever needed in my life, Joel.”

Leaning down, Joel skims the tip of his nose against your cheek before bringing it down along your jawline. “Where, darlin’?” he whispers huskily, sending a shiver up your spine. “Where do you need me, baby?”

Your mouth falls open slightly unable to say it. You don’t know why you’re suddenly shy, flustered as if you just hadn’t been down on your knees gagging around his cock.

“Tell me, peach,” he coaxes you gently with another low whisper. “Tell me where you need me. Tell me where you need my cock, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.”

“Inside me.” Blazing heat floods your face. “I need you inside of me—I need you to fuck me. Please, Joel.”

“So polite ‘bout it, too,” he remarks. “What a good girl.”

Though he says it in a teasing manner, his praise nearly makes you collapse.

“You like that,” he realizes, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Yeah, baby? Y’like it when I call you a good girl?”

“Fuck, I—yes, I do,” you confess.

“C’mere.” Joel wraps an arm around your waist, hand splayed over your back as he lowers you down onto the blanket. He follows suit. You both let out breathy laughs at the way your naked bodies sink down into the pile of hay. Propping himself up with his arm, Joel looks down at you, his smile fading as a serious expression crosses his features. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, finger grazing the silkiness of your cheek. “Y’sure ‘bout this, peach? Ain’t too late to stop.”

Smiling softly, you lift a hand to the side of his face, your fingers stroking his graying beard. “I’ve never been so sure about anything, Joel,” you promise him. “If you could take a peek into my mind, you would see how bad I want this, how bad I need this—how bad I need you. I don’t want to stop.” And you don’t just mean the sex. You don’t any of this to stop—the secret, late night meetings, the stolen kisses, the illicit affair. “I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you, Joel.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

Joel reaches down between your bodies, gripping his base, pumping his throbbing cock in his fist before lining himself up at your sopping entrance. Adrenaline courses through your veins—every nerve ending in your body is going up in flames. You spread your legs wider for him, hoping he’ll understand the nonverbal cue. He does. He begins to ease himself into your cunt and you hook a leg around his waist, encouraging him to go deeper. The barn fills with the sound of his grunt and your loud cry at the initial stretch. He sinks his cock further into you until he bottoms out and you cry out again, feeling a delicious burning sensation as he cradles his hips between your thighs.

“M’gonna need you to relax a little sweetheart,” he whispers gently, ceasing his movements to give your body a chance to adjust to him. Joel takes advantage of having you pinned underneath him with your head thrown back and his lips latch onto your neck, hungrily. He fervently kisses his way down the column of your throat, nips his way to your collarbone—but unlike you, he’s careful to do so without leaving any kind of mark behind. He would give anything to have the freedom to leave traces of his loving all over you. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment and the way he’s buried inside you to the hilt that brings out the primal in him, but Joel wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around Jackson covered in his love bites. He wants everyone to know he’s the one who’d left them behind, needs them to understand that you’re his. But that isn’t possible. Joel lifts his head from the hollow of your neck and nibbles lightly at your chin. “You alright, baby?”

Forcing your eyes open, you lift your head and bring yourself to look at him. At first, you feel discomfort, but after a minute, your body finally relaxes around him and it subsides. It’s replaced with the burning desire to feel more of him. The pretty glow coming in from outside the barn illuminates his face and you smile. “I’m better than alright. I’m perfect,” you assure him. You place a hand delicately on his chest, feeling his heart thrum hard against your fingertips. “This is perfect.”

Joel kisses the tip of your nose. He slides out of you slowly, then right back into you in an experimental thrust that brings your body off the blanket, your back arching in sheer pleasure. It’s such a deliciously tight fit, and he almost can’t believe how fucking good it feels to be sheathed in your taut heat. He drops his head, taking your breast into his mouth, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple as he bucks his hips once more. He’s being careful. Too careful.

“Joel—I need you to move,” you gasp. You drag a hand down his chest and over his soft stomach, letting your fingernails rake lightly over his flushed skin. It’s warm to the touch, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Joel, please. Fuck me.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to tell him twice.

Joel releases the pebbled flesh from his mouth with a loud, lewd pop. He pulls his cock out of your dribbling pussy, then slams back into you with such force that he places a hand on the crown of your head, keeping you in place underneath him on the blanket. You wrap your own leg around him, locking your ankles together, your heels digging into the firm curve of his ass. You lift your hips just as he rolls his own right into them. The new angle gives Joel the opportunity to fuck you even deeper and he hits the sensitive, spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hold onto him, moans you’ve never heard come out of your own mouth before ringing in your ears and in his. He starts picking up his pace.

“Baby.” He’s breathless and speaks between every snap of his hips. “Fuck, y’feel s’good—s’tight around me—”

“Don’t stop, Joel. God, please don’t fucking stop,” you plead him, your finger burying themselves in his hair. “Keep going, just like that—fuck, you feel so fucking good inside me—”

You bite down on your bottom lip, adoring how Joel squeezes his dark eyes shut each and every single time the head of his cock brushes that one particularly deep spot inside of you. Knowing that you and your body has this kind of an effect on him, it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve spent the last couple of years allowing a pathetic excuse of a man—if one could even call him that—pick on you, say things about your body, and make you feel like your inability to conceive a child made you defective. Worthless, even. And here’s a real man, one who makes you feel beautiful with the way he talks to you, the way he kisses you, touches you, and fucks you. You’re not perfect by any means, but Joel Miller makes you feel what your own husband doesn’t.

He makes you feel like you’re enough. More than enough.

The barn fills with a combination of moaning, panting, and the sound of damp skin slapping against damp skin.

Glancing down at you, Joel shakes his head and warns, “Ain’t gonna last much longer, baby. M’so goddamn close.”

An unexpected wave of courage washes over you. Planting your hands firmly on his chest, you take him by complete surprise and slide out from underneath him. A small grunt escapes him as you push him onto his back. Amused, you can’t help but giggle at the shocked expression on his face as you guide him to lie down on the flannel blanket. Eager to see his reaction, you keep your eyes trained on his face as you straddle his lap. You grip the base of his cock in your hand and then slowly sink down onto him, your cunt greedily squeezing him as you slide down until you’re fully seated.

Joel’s jaw falls slack. It’s the most stunning sight he’s ever seen.

You, completely naked on top of him, your pouty lips plump and swollen from his kisses. Your smooth, supple skin glows in the moonlight shining through the open window behind you. All while every inch of Joel’s cock was buried deep inside of you, head nudging at your cervix. Eyes glimmering devilishly, the sexiest little smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Like what you see?”

He tries to speak, but he can’t.

You’ve rendered him speechless. 

Grabbing his hands in yours, you guide them to your hips. His blood roars in his ears and his fingers dig into the pillowy soft flesh, holding on as you begin to rock them back and forth. You throw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulder. The friction of your clit against his pelvis heightens your pleasure. Joel had thought he would be the one to topple over the edge first, but he’d been wrong.

Eyes pinching shut, you start bouncing yourself on his cock, your desperation mounting. You feel the tension between your hips coiling back tightly, ready to snap forward.

“Fuck, Joel��I’m gonna—I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ come for me, baby,” Joel encourages you, his fingers digging even harder into your hips. One of his hands abandons your side and he reaches up and gently takes your slackened jaw in the palm of his hand. He coaxes you to look down at him. “Need you to be a good girl and look at me, peach,” he instructs you, slipping his thumb between your parted lips. “Need to see that pretty face of yours when you come all over my cock, sweetheart.”

“Oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck!”

Crying out, you unravel and fall apart all over him, the ecstasy blurring the edges of your vision. 

It doesn’t take Joel much longer to follow. He lets out a low, guttural growl, choking out a string of profanities as he slams you down onto his lap and holds you in place, spurts of warm come coating your velvet walls. Your pussy squeezes him, draining him of every last drop.

You collapse forward onto him in a sweaty, whimpering mess and he wraps his arms around you. With him still inside you, you both lay there and try to catch your breaths as the high slowly but surely begins to wear off.

After a few minutes, Joel pulls out of you and he shifts your bodies, moving you so you’re now laying beside him. Tucking you against his side, he slides his arm around your shoulders and pulls you even closer. His other hand finds one of yours and he takes it, bringing them both to rest on his chest.

“You alright?” he asks you, lacing his fingers together with yours.

“I’m great,” you answer him tiredly, prompting him to chuckle. “What about you?”

Joel strokes at your hair. “Never been better, sweet girl.”

You groan. “Joel, don’t do that,” you mumble into his shoulder. “You’re going to put me right to sleep.”

He laughs again. “We’ve still got a bit more time, y’know. If you’re tired, you can take a quick nap. I can wake you up in ‘bout an hour when it’s time to head home.”

“No, that’s okay,” you decline the offer, worried he would accidentally fall asleep too. “I really wish we could sleep together—I mean, actually sleep together. In an actual bed. Not having to worry about anything. Just like normal couples do.”

“Well, we ain’t exactly a normal couple, darlin’.”

“No, we’re definitely not,” you murmur. You don’t even realize how sad you’d sounded until you feel Joel give your shoulders a comforting squeeze. 

Neither of you say anything else about it as you spend the next hour laying there, tangled up in each other’s embrace, waiting until it was time to go your separate ways.

[hvlcy0n]

BETTER THAN ME . choji tomiyama x fem! reader

+ choji doesn’t understand what’s so great about your stupid boyfriend, but then it turns out that he’s even worse than choji imagined.

+ 5k words

+ SFW (account is 18+). UNEDITED. toxic relationship. infidelity. pining. reader’s feelings are ambiguous b/c of choji’s pov.

+ the dimensions of choji’s character are so interesting. like yeah umemiya might've rewired his brain but there's no way that early season one choji just VANISHED entirely. like he might be boyish and happy-go-lucky but he's still gotta be a little fucked up and selfish somewhere. i hope i at least landed somewhere on the target with this one, even if it's the veryyyyy edge.

choji despises your boyfriend.

everything was so much simpler—so much better—when you occupied a permanent spot at his side, your presence a comforting constant in the mayhem of his daily life. although you never donned shishitoren’s trademark yellow jacket, you were its backbone behind the scenes, a pillar of support that grounded choji and kept him tethered to reality so that he could continue serving as a proper leader. he trusted you implicitly, whether it was to catch him when he impetuously launched himself into your arms or to offer an unbiased opinion on his dilemmas. 

it was no wonder that he eventually caught feelings for you. he wasn’t sure when the shift happened—when the sight of the soft smile painting your lips and your skin bathed in sunlight first made his eyes widen and his heart thrum in his chest; when his first instinct at a whiff of danger became ensuring he was planted between you and whoever he perceived as a threat; or when he first found his gaze lingering on your petal–soft lips as you chattered on about nothing in particular. but, it happened. 

he initially intended to test his luck as soon as possible, but togame was quick to reel him in, lazily advising him to back off and let his feelings settle so that he wouldn’t cause unnecessary friction. he knew how choji could get when a pretty girl piqued his interest and how it would be a brief whirlwind of ecstasy, coquettish touches, and shiny novelty before it would inevitably fizzle out. relationships weren’t really choji’s thing—he itched for excitement and adrenaline, and his attention span was limited. even you knew that. while he could be a good friend and strong leader, being a proper lover was something else entirely. 

but, unlike the other girls that choji would go for, you were already so cemented into choji’s life that togame was concerned that pursuing his little cat–and–mouse games and temporary infatuation would upend your bond entirely and knock choji off balance if things went south. you, on the other hand, were a sharp contrast to choji. you were never one to entertain fleeting attention or allow yourself to get attached to someone with the knowledge that it won’t last. even if choji’s confession didn’t make things awkward, togame reasoned that you’ve witnessed so many of choji’s flings come and go that you likely wouldn’t even take his feelings into consideration. 

that was the downside to your close friendship, after all—you’ve personally shaken hands with every skeleton in choji’s closet, and that was something that could not be undone.

begrudgingly, choji obeyed. but, much to togame’s surprise, choji’s feelings did not waver when left unattended to. nothing about his emotions were transient, as his best friend had suspected. if anything, his taste for you intensified, pluming into an electric, white–hot craving that drew him into your orbit like a papery moth to flame. the thought of calling you his not only sparked a sense of exhilaration, but it also plucked at the strings of his heart and caused a ticklish warmth to seep through his entire body. 

this was different. choji didn’t just want to have you—he wanted to keep you. and before he knew it, fantasies began to permeate his thoughts. he relished the idea of showing up at your house unannounced for a sleepover and making chocolate chip cookies with you at midnight, of tagging along with you for your errands and dragging you with him for his, of being able to kiss and cuddle you simply because he wanted to, of feeling the weight of your gaze on him and only him.

it didn’t matter if you wished to swallow him whole—to engulf him in his entirety and dissolve him into ash. in fact, the thought alone was enough to make him shiver with anticipation.

he had to have you.

choji was never one to shy away from achieving his goals, so he became bolder with his touches, finding new reasons to casually have his hands somewhere on your body. the stray pinky that “accidentally” landed beneath the hem of your shirt when he grabbed you to startle you; the hands that rested on your stomach and waist just long to toe the line of platonic affection when he lunged to wrap you in one of his usual bear hugs; the way he would press up against you in bustling public areas because of course, there’s no space—he slowly pushed your boundaries, nudging you closer and closer to the edge. testing the waters. searching for any sign of rejection.

he delighted in the way you received his affections in stride. it was a positive sign, he thought—the way your eyebrows would raise in incredulity and your eyes would darken in disdain whenever a man would try to worm his way into casually touching you was never lost on choji. yet, there you were, giggling and chiding him lightly when he would nearly bowl you over or skip rings around you in his excitement to see you.

you never pushed him away. a tingle would shoot down his spine whenever you’d give his hair a congratulatory ruffle or hurriedly snatch him up by the back of his jacket and pull him closer to you to keep him from wandering into someone’s path. he wanted—no, needed—more of it. 

as far as he was concerned, you liked him. 

so, what the fuck happened?

choji’s progress came to a screeching halt one overcast afternoon when you popped up at a group hangout with some random guy he’s never seen before in tow. at first, choji believed he was a fan of shishitoren who you just happened to stumble upon with how eager he’d been to shake hands with choji. he was amicable and outgoing, introducing himself as “kenji” before proceeding to compliment choji’s sneakers and jacket.

at first, choji was welcoming toward the attention and spoke with him genially. but the light in his eyes flickered when he watched you sidle up to kenji and lock your arm around his own with a content smile. why were you so chummy with him? in choji’s eyes, he was plain and forgettable, without a single striking feature that would set him apart from the crowd. he was such a stark contrast to you that the possibility of you two dating was so far beyond reality that choji assumed you just had a wacky family tree. 

so, when you planted a kiss on his cheek and introduced kenji as your new boyfriend, choji’s entire body froze, and all he could manage was a monotonous “huh?” after a few seconds of silence. 

your boyfriend?

your boyfriend?

your boyfriend?

the shift in choji’s demeanor was palpable, the glow in his eyes dimming entirely as a shadow of bitterness and thinly veiled distaste settled over his amber irises. the group, noting the sudden souring of the atmosphere, observed choji with a restless unease as he stood there in silence. you were too distracted to notice, cheerful voice cleaving through the thick, heavy silence as you launched into a condensed version of how the two of you had met. but, choji didn’t hear a word you said. he was preoccupied with staring at the man you’d dragged up to him, gaze calculating and curious as it swept over him from head to toe. 

he didn’t understand.

why did you choose someone like him?

you were self–sufficient and valued a sense of ambition in the people you chose to associate yourself with. however, whereas choji at least had goals, kenji was revealed to not only be unemployed but to also not have even an inkling of an achievement he wished to attain. normally, choji would’ve understood someone’s decision to simply “vibe.” it wasn’t even that long ago when all he wanted to do was laugh and have fun, but it was different coming from him.

what’s worse, as choji’s gaze drifted over his physique, he became positive that if push came to shove, he would be too weak to even hope to protect you. what good would he be as a boyfriend if he wasn’t even strong enough to ensure your safety? would he even be willing to take a beating for you if he knew he was outmatched? probably not. you’d need someone to walk you home at night and watch your back, especially in this area. choji could do it. of course, he could.

but, there was still something unsettling about him that choji could certainly sense but couldn’t place. at the time, togame had thought he was only reacting that way because he’d beaten him to the punch, but choji was positive that something was off. and he did not like it.

what did you see in him?

the next couple months of choji’s life were dreadful. it was as if you’d been stripped from his life, your sudden absence leaving a gaping hole that he couldn’t manage to fill. you started spending all of your time with kenji, abandoning choji in your wake and leaving him to flop pitifully around on his couch and search for some way to temporarily alleviate the sting. you were hardly around anymore, and whenever he did see you, you were hanging off this guy’s arm like some decorative arm candy and smiling like he was the greatest thing since fucking sliced bread. it was infuriating.

if only he hadn’t listened to togame. if only he’d approached you first. if only he’d taken the leap. if only, if only, if only—all of these fucking missed opportunities. what was he doing? choji was always a risk–taker, someone who would shamelessly pursue their goals and plunge headfirst into the fray. why was he just sitting here?

there had to be something wrong with kenji—something choji could use to his advantage to convince you to dump him.

and by the grace of whatever higher being watching over him, choji’s prayers were answered. 

free of the rose–tinted lenses that obscured your gaze, choji was able to take note of certain behaviors that slowly began to appear once you two hit the three–month mark. the superficial, forced undertone to kenji’s smile as he listened to you talk, the way you’d often complain about him reading your texts but taking hours to respond, how nonchalant he became about asking to borrow money from you—all of it made choji’s chest swell with an odd combination of relief and anger. 

he could be perceptive when it counted, and it was as if his eyes were finally able to pierce straight through kenji’s facade and perceive him for who he truly was beneath the meticulously curated persona he’d stitched together for himself. 

and choji was right.

he didn’t deserve you.

choji could see it in the faint, dark crescents sunken into the skin below your eyes and the sorrowful distance in your gaze whenever you would occasionally zone out. that bastard was whittling you down, slowly yet steadily siphoning your energy straight from your body. all of the “borrowed” money that was never returned; the new fluctuations in kenji’s mood that would spike from mellow to angry whenever he didn’t get his way, only for him to later placate you with affection and gifts and beguile you into apologizing for upsetting him; the gradual increase in his influence over what clothes you wore—you were being reduced to an empty shell of yourself.

it was even worse when choji finally snapped and began to openly complain about your boyfriend, vehemently pointing out why you should leave him, and you resisted. frustrated tears glimmered in your eyes as you insisted that you were “just going through a rough patch,” and that things would get better soon. after all, when you’d been cast out and reeled in so many times it made your head spin, all you could do was wait to be invited back into his arms, just like always. 

after all, it wasn’t as if he’d cheated on you, you’d argued. that would be unforgivable. according to you, he was still a good boyfriend, just emotional and insecure, which were issues that could be remedied through effort. disloyalty had always been a dealbreaker for you in both friendships and relationships, and it was only choji’s luck that it was the one thing that piece of shit hadn’t failed at.

it wasn’t fucking fair.

choji was certain this would never be an issue if you’d chosen him. why can’t you see that even now?

you’d begged choji to give him a chance and hang out with him just once, and he’d see that kenji wasn’t so horrible after all. after all, kenji seemed to really like choji. at first, choji was adamant that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, but all of his whining and griping and foot stomping were no match for the teary, pleading look in your eyes. he finally agreed, but only on the condition that you would go with him to get ice cream afterward—without kenji. 

that was enough to satisfy you, so you arranged for the two of them to meet, both of them settling on a little diner in the seedy area of town. it just so happened that togame had business along the same street, so choji excitedly proposed that they walk together and then split off to their respective buildings. however, when togame agreed, he didn’t realize that he would be subjected to another one of choji’s rants about how much better he is than kenji for the duration of their journey.

“this is so unfair!” choji complains, crushing a weed peeking from a crack in the sidewalk beneath the sole of his sneaker. he turns on his heel to face togame, who’s quietly strolling along three paces behind choji with his hands tucked inside his jacket pockets. “don’t you think so, kame–chan?” he walks backward, doing his best to keep up with his friend’s ambling pace. “why should i have to go? i already know i don't like him, and i’m not gonna change my mind.” spinning to face forward once more, he uses his momentum to kick an empty aluminum can laying in his path, sending it careening down the pavement. "'s stupid."

“you’re going because you can’t tell her no.” togame remarks teasingly.

“nuh-uh! since when?” choji scrunches his nose. “i’m only going so i can check this guy out for myself."

“no, you’re not.” he shakes his head. “if you were, you wouldn’t have dragged your feet for twenty minutes and complained the entire time.”

“‘cause he’s weird!” choji insists. “i don’t really know exactly what it is, but there’s something off about him. i don’t like the way he looks at her. it makes me feel all gross.” 

“he’s her boyfriend.”

“well, he shouldn’t be!” choji shoves his hands into the pockets of his shishitoren jacket. “ever since he’s been around, she’s looked like death.” his eyes narrow slightly, the boyish tone to his voice quieting into something sobering, something serious. “she’s different, kame–chan, and i don’t know what to do. she won’t listen to me no matter what i say.” he grumbles the last sentence.

“i know what you mean,” togame hums. “unfortunately, she’s in pretty deep. i’m not sure there’s much you can do.”

“what's so cool about him, anyway? choji huffs. “i’m way stronger than him, especially after ume–chan taught me how to make my fists heavier. i can keep her safe from all the weird, creepy guys. and she thinks i’m funny.”

“initiative, probably.” he muses.

“hey!” choji barks out, pointing an accusatory finger in togame’s face. “you were the one who told me i should wait! i was gonna make a move.”

for a moment, togame is silent as he reflects on their previous conversation. “oh,” he murmurs, eyebrows raising in realization, “i guess i did. sorry, man.”

choji sighs theatrically and stretches both arms above his head. “nah, it’s cool.” he folds his hands behind his head. “it just pisses me off.” he mumbles. “i wish there was a way i could just break them up. she’d be way better off without him leeching off her.”

“choji,” a low warning rumbles in togame’s chest.

“huh? c’mon, you know i’m right!” 

“i agree,” togame sighs, “but you can’t just run around interfering with people’s relationships.”

“well, yeah, duh. but this is different.” choji argues. when togame doesn’t look convinced, he presses on. “he never texts her back, he’s always borrowing money, and i don’t like the way he talks to her.” he ticks off the list on his fingers before shoving all three fingers in togame’s peripheral. “that’s three strikes, kame–chan. three."

togame nudges his hand aside. “i didn’t realize you were suddenly the king of relationships.” he snorts, and choji frowns, catching his dig at his past romances. “so, you got a plan?”

ah, a plan. he didn’t get that far.

choji practically deflates. “i mean, not really . . .” but then, he comes back to life the next moment, eyes gleaming. “but i’ll think of one!”

togame chuckles and reaches over to ruffle his friend’s hair. “yeah, you might have to wait this one out.” 

choji sighs heavily and returns his attention to his surroundings. he’s never been fond of this area, which was home to various pubs, run–down motels, and sordid love hotels; but kenji suggested the diner in the vicinity, and choji truly didn’t care where the two of them ended up. but, the more he considered it, the more curious he was about such a decision. is it some kind of a set–up? he sure hopes not; he’s wearing his brand new sneakers, and blood is too dark to blend in with the bright red fabric. at least he'll get there early enough to be able to scope the place out beforehand.

“ugh, i hate this place.” choji grumbles, scrunching his nose.

“me too,” togame admits. “‘s a shame that the only place they sell that limited edition ramune is smack in the middle of all this.” he gestures loosely to the towering buildings around them. “oh, yeah, turn left at the next corner. we’re still a couple blocks away.”

choji nods. “got it. but anyway, just buy a bunch of ‘em all at once,” he advises. “it’ll be easier that way, and you won’t have to come back as often! oh, oh! that reminds me! did you know that—”

“wait.” togame’s footsteps cease abruptly, and choji slows to a halt with him, puzzled.

“what’s up? something wrong?”

for a moment, togame stays silent, but choji takes note of the way his brows knit together and his eyes flicker to and fro as if attempting to comprehend the scene unfolding before him. “the hell is that?” he nods at something across the street, and choji curiously follows his line of sight.

no way.

no way, no way.

choji’s eyes widen in surprise when he spots kenji ducking out of some filthy alley a little way down the street, tailed by a dainty blonde who giggles and tugs at the hem of her denim miniskirt as if trying to smooth out the fabric. his heart pounds as he witnesses kenji hook a hand around her waist to draw her in and whisper something in her ear. there is nothing platonic about their embrace or the way the girl gazes up at him through her lashes, which means no chance of mistaking this as a friendship.

as choji stands there, not daring to breathe and the incessant throb of his heart echoing in his ears, a moment of clarity washes over him.

kenji is cheating on you.

a tangle of emotions engulfs choji’s mind. at first, there’s disbelief. in one fell swoop, it swallows him up like a torrent of icy water, shocking him down to the bone and causing a numbing sensation to bleed through his stiff body all the way to his extremities. all he can do is stand there motionlessly, processing. he can’t believe the irony of the situation—the opportunity that just tumbled its way into his lap. to be practically handed proof of the one thing that choji needs to have your boyfriend kicked out of your life—he almost can’t believe it.

once he realizes the truth of the situation, an effervescent, ticklish flood of joy sweeps away the stupefaction. he was right all along. a huff of incredulous laughter is kicked from his chest, a wide, cheshire smile spreading over his lips. he was right. he knew kenji was a shitty boyfriend. he knew he wasn’t the one for you. you had to break up with him now!

but, before long, his smug grin begins to wither as anger sets in. it’s a slow crescendo. lava wells in the pit of his stomach, bubbling and roiling and churning as it begins to rise higher and higher, scorching him from the inside out until heat thrums beneath his skin and any remaining glee is set ablaze. kenji is cheating on you. how could he? how dare he? suddenly, choji’s fingertips itch for a fight, hands balling into fists at his sides. 

he doesn’t even register that his body has launched itself forward until togame’s hand is clamping down on his wrist with an iron grip, halting him in his tracks and bringing him back down to earth. “whoa! you can’t just go chargin’ in.” togame flinches at the fire in choji’s eyes when he snaps his head around to glare at him, but he still doesn’t release him. 

“let go.” choji’s voice is monotonous, but the energy vibrating in his body is anything but.

“i’m doin’ you a favor here, man.” togame keeps his voice low to keep kenji from noticing them. “listen. if you go runnin’ up and knock his lights out, he’ll just go cryin’ back to her, and she’ll drop you for good. you need proof.”

proof.

there’s a beat of silence before choji snaps out of it, his indignation tempered by a sudden wash of lucidity as he realizes that togame is right. “ah . . . oh! good thinking. uh . . . a picture!” the idea flashes through his mind, and he hastily looks to his friend. “quick, take a picture!” he urges, having now returned to his usual exuberant self. “before they stop being all mushy!”

“uh . . . wait, okay.” blanching in the face of a time crunch, togame finally lets go of choji’s wrist in favor of anxiously fishing around in his pocket for his phone.

“hurry, hurry!”

“i got it,” togame yanks his phone free, only for choji to groan when togame begins fumbling with it, the perspiration on his palms causing the device to slip in his grasp. “the camera app . . . the camera . . .”

“gimme that!” choji snatches it out of togame’s hand and rushes to open the camera app. he feels as though he may burst a blood vessel when he centers kenji and the girl in the image and has to wait for the lens to focus properly. “come on, come on,” his tongue pokes out in concentration as his thumb hovers over the camera icon. 

he isn’t sure how many pictures he took, having spammed the button so relentlessly that the entire screen shone white for a split second. but with their blatant disregard for the public eye, he’s positive that each one is incriminating enough that kenji can’t weasel his way out of any accusations cast his way. he feels a stab of satisfaction as he tucks togame’s phone into his jacket pocket, blissfully ignorant to togame’s awkwardly extended hand.

“let’s go say hi,” choji leans forward slightly, gaze alight with a twisted thrill that sends chills down togame’s spine. his hand shoots up in an energetic wave. “oh, kenj—”

togame’s calloused hand slaps over choji’s mouth, muffling his voice. “don’t do that!” he scolds, leaving choji to stare at him with rounded eyes. “what if—” he recoils sharply when he feels choji’s tongue drag across his palm, and he instantly snatches his hand away, face contorted in revulsion. “ew, that’s disgusting, dude. you can’t just lick people.”

“why can’t i?” choji fires back.

“‘cause it’s nasty—”

“not that.”

“oh,” togame wipes his friend’s saliva off on his pants, grimacing. “you mean talkin’ to him? ‘cause,” he expels a long breath, “if you let him know now that you caught him, he’ll have time to think of a lie before he sees her next. you gotta let her bring it up so she can see how guilty he is for herself.”

“mm,” choji hums. “you sure that’ll work?”

“i might’ve screwed up before,” togame nods to where kenji and the girl are saying their goodbyes, “but i’m positive ‘bout this one.” he turns to face choji, and choji blinks. “i’ll send you the pictures. you should go see her now since kenji’s gonna be busy waiting for you at the diner. she may have been forgiving,” his eyes drift lazily back to kenji just in time to watch him slink off into the alley once more, “but i don’t think she will be this time around.”

yeah. choji shifts his attention back to where kenji and the girl once stood. that’s right. you don't harbor even the slightest tolerance for infidelity. when you see the photos, you’ll dump him for sure, and choji will be there when it happens. watching. waiting. the first one to comfort you. the first one to pull you into his arms and soak up your tears. the first one to witness the tumultuous storm of wounded pride and heartbreak that will inevitably envelop your mind and rip you apart at the seams. 

and when you finally—finally—shatter, choji will be there to collect the pieces.

that’s what “friends” are for, right?

[maypiles]

VERY TOO SCARILY SPECIFIC MESSAGE WANTING TO COME THROUGH 🥀

❗Take what resonates and leave what does not. Please don't try to force the reading this is very too specific message❗

So, today was supposed to be a cute little "pick a pile" day, you know, something simple, but nope, Spirit decided otherwise. I woke up with this weirdly specific download that hit me like a truck, and now here we are. I swear, Spirit is out here writing soap operas, and I’m just the messenger. If this post finds you, it's for you—or someone you know. Maybe it’s a sign, a wake-up call, or that nudge you’ve been ignoring for way too long. Either way, buckle up because this one’s not just a message; it’s a plot twist. Let’s get into it.

All right, buckle up, because Spirit is coming for your life today, and I’m just the messenger. First off, let me tell you, I don’t even listen to Billie Eilish, okay? except for that one TikTok trending line from "NDA": "You hit me so hard, I saw stars, you couldn’t save me, but you can’t let me go." That’s literally the anthem of this message. I woke up with that playing in my head, which means Spirit decided this needed to be channeled urgently. Whoever stumbles upon this post, it’s not just a coincidence. Spirit does not play around, and this message will either hit you right in the feels or make you think of someone who’s in this exact situation.

Let’s talk about what’s going down:

This reading is so tied to Pile 3 from my last post that it might as well be a sequel. If you picked Pile 3, or even if you didn’t but felt drawn here—hello, welcome, Spirit has entered the chat.

What Spirit is screaming at you about:

There’s a divine feminine in the spotlight here—a true Empress, possibly a Taurus (big Earth energy, though she’s got fire placements, don’t @ me). This is a woman who’s spiritual AF, the kind who probably keeps lunar moth symbolism somewhere in her Pinterest boards. Spirit is showing me snow, transformation, and the sun breaking through—a metaphorical rebirth.

This Empress is in a marriage or committed relationship with a fire sign masculine, and Sagittarius is loud here. But let me just say it: this connection is dead. D-E-A-D. It’s like a decaying fruit you keep trying to salvage but deep down, you know it’s only attracting flies. Sis, you’re not satisfied, and you’ve been suspecting him of cheating—maybe you’ve even gone full-blown FBI mode looking for proof. And guess what? You might not find anything in his phone because this isn’t just about infidelity. This is divine orchestration. (Spirit says you're manifesting him to. ArE yUo??)

About him:

(I hear spirit calling him a bitch 🙂)

Your fire-sign masculine (showing up as the King of Wands reversed) isn’t cheating out of malice. It’s not about you. He’s being karmically redirected, facing his own lessons. Spirit says this isn’t your burden to carry anymore. Let him go, let him learn, because you are being called to step up into your Empress energy. This is your moment.

And, oh, honey, let’s talk about the real tea: there’s someone else in your energy—a true Emperor (big Virgo vibes, but there’s a hint of water there too). I’m not saying this is a "right now" situation. This feels like a "right person, wrong time" scenario. You’ve been lowkey denying your feelings, but Spirit is like, "Stop lying to yourself." Dreams? Pay attention to them. That spicy one you had? Yeah, it’s not random. That’s the new person energetically knocking on your door (or could be someone you already know).

The storm before the glow-up:

You’re being asked to walk away, even though it feels like a storm. The Tower is here, loud and proud, because this divorce (or separation) will feel like a loss—but it’s actually your victory. This is your transformation, your cocoon-breaking moment. Yes, it might take time—Spirit says several months to a year and a half—but the delay is working in your favor. Why? So you can fully heal, step into your power, and reunite with your true soulmate at the right time.

Details Spirit won’t let me skip:

Uranus energy: Sudden changes, rebellion, chaos. This might feel overwhelming, but it’s the catalyst you need. Also, Uranus could be strong aspected in your chart or it could be your dominant planet or in your seventh house even. OMG IS IT 7TH HOUSE AQUARIUS?

Age gap: You might be older than your new person (the Emperor), and school or mentorship could be significant.

Health issues: Some of you might be dealing with migraines, anxiety, or even a literal broken bone. Take care of yourself.

Ancestry: Someone here might have Syrian heritage, listening to Syrian songs, travelled to Syrian, or that’s significant in some way.

Spiritual practices: You’re already intuitive AF, but Spirit is asking you to trust that. Your High Priestess energy is peaking, babe.

The cards are screaming:

The Ace of Pentacles and Empress are your starting and ending points. Spirit is giving you the tools to build something solid, something aligned with your true self. But first, you have to let go of what’s not working.

Your fire sign masculine (again, King of Wands reversed) is showing up with the Nine of Swords, Tower, and Five of Cups—he’s bringing chaos, regret, and heartbreak. Meanwhile, your Virgo Emperor (King of Pentacles) is all about stability, love, and real partnership. This is a 10/10 upgrade, sis.

But here’s the thing: Spirit isn’t just handing you this glow-up. The Hanged Man, Hermit, and High Priestess are asking you to do the inner work. Shadow work. Letting go. Closing cycles. And don’t rush the process—this transformation is meant to take time.

The Judgment, World, and Fool cards are here to say: You’ve got this. Close the old chapter, embrace the new beginning, and trust that you’re being divinely guided.

Spirit’s final mic drop:

Your outcome? Ten of Cups, Sun, Ace of Cups, and Emperor energy. You’re stepping into your divine alignment, creating the life you’ve always dreamed of. This isn’t just a glow-up—it’s a full-on cosmic upgrade.

So, sis, stop running in circles. Let go of the fear. The snow is melting, the sun is rising, and your wings are ready to spread. Transformation is here.

P.S. Don’t you dare ignore your dreams. Spirit is spilling the tea while you sleep.

EDIT: THAT BITCH OF SPIRIT ISN'T DONE YET

All right, let me just start this edit by saying Spirit is relentless and will not let me breathe. I was ready to hit post on this whole saga, but nooo, here I am dragging my oracle deck into the chaos because Spirit said, "We’re not done yet. Pick it up."

And guess what? The oracle cards came in guns blazing, like, "Hey, you forgot to mention that the Divine Feminine is basically scripting her entire life right now." Oh, you wanted closure? Nah, here’s a manifested trilogy, complete with cheating, divorce, a second marriage, and that one soulmate who’s been lurking in the shadows of your dreams like a rom-com waiting to happen. You’re welcome.

Let me spell it out for the DF here because Spirit has no chill:

1. Make the effort: That great love you want? It’s on the way, but only if you stop stalling and take the steps you’ve been guided to take.

2. Divorce: It’s not just a breakup; it’s a rite of passage for your soul’s growth.

3. Very soon: Time to get clear. What do you want? (Hint: it’s not what you’re clinging to.)

4. Calling in your soulmate: Prayers, visualizations, affirmations? You’re doing it. That soulmate? They’re clocking in.

5. True love: Spoiler alert: It’s the real deal. But you’ve gotta clear the karmic clutter first.

And can we just talk about this plot twist for a second? The Divine Feminine is over here manifesting the entire package—the cheating, the heartbreak, the rebirth, the glow-up, and the reunion with her Emperor. She’s scripting this life like it’s her magnum opus. Even Spirit’s like, “She’s got the vision, so let’s give her the drama to match.” LET HER COOK.

But don’t get it twisted. This is not just chaos for chaos’s sake. Every step is part of the Divine Master Plan™. Karmic lessons? Check. Shadow work? Oh, absolutely. And that second marriage? Let’s just say it’s not just about love—it’s about stepping into your highest self and finally getting what you deserve.

So, DF, if this reading feels like it’s dragging you, just remember: Spirit’s not being mean. Spirit’s being specific. Now go journal, light some candles, and make peace with the fact that you’re the main character in this cosmic soap opera. Stay alive, and may your karmic lessons lead you straight to your Emperor.

URGH 😩 let me just get this off my chest because I feel personally attacked by Spirit right now. Like, what do you mean "too specific"? Since when is being specific a crime? At this rate, my blog is going to turn into a full-on "channeled therapy hotline" because Spirit just keeps exposing people—and apparently me too, for reasons I do not appreciate. Let me tell you, I woke up with Billie Eilish in my head (again, Spirit, WHY), channeling your entire life story, and now it’s giving "TikTok psychic who accidentally goes viral for saying someone’s cat is named Buttons." Like, do you see how specific this is getting? Lunar moths, snow, Syrian ancestry, migraines? It’s like, Spirit, please chill before I need to call my own hotline for emotional support. At this point, I might as well start a TikTok because these pick-a-pile readings are out here turning into full-blown docuseries. Who even needs to pick a pile anymore when Spirit is like, "No, we’re just going to read you for filth directly and leave no room for ambiguity. DELIVER THE MESSAGE AND SHUT UP." And don’t get me started on the energy of this whole post. I feel like some of y’all are reading this and thinking, "Wow, this sounds like a private consultation." Like, yeah, it does, doesn’t it? Because Spirit doesn’t know how to keep things light. But fine, if this is what we’re doing now, let me just embrace my destiny as the internet’s most oddly specific tarot reader. My TikTok bio would probably say something like: "Tarot? Sure. But also your migraine, that spicy dream, and why your cat is staring at the wall—let’s unpack it." Anyway, to whoever needed this reading: I hope it hit. Because Spirit made sure it would. Now go handle your business, close those cycles, and let me go journal about why I suddenly feel exposed by my own cards. Stay alive. 💋

[ricflairdrip20]

Shattered Heart, Solid Friends - Emily Prentiss x Reader

sypnosis: After discovering her boyfriend’s infidelity, a woman leans on her friend Emily for support. As they share a night out, the bond between them strengthens, helping her find solace in friendship amidst heartbreak.

You’ve been dating your boyfriend for seven months, and everything felt like a dream come true. He was older—just your type—and had a way with words that left you weak in the knees. Unlike guys your age, he had it all: a job, a car, and a sense of direction that matched your high standards.

But lately, that dream was starting to crack.

He’d been coming home late, always glued to his phone, offering vague excuses about work stress. At first, you didn’t want to overthink it. Everyone has bad weeks, right? But as a profiler, you couldn’t ignore the patterns. He wasn’t just stressed. He was hiding something.

You told yourself you wouldn’t be that girlfriend—the one who snoops through messages or accuses without proof. But doubt had a way of gnawing at you, growing louder with every late-night text he hurried to hide.

Desperate for answers, you found yourself outside Penelope Garcia’s office.

Her world was a stark contrast to the horrors the BAU faced daily. Bright colors, fuzzy pens, and an army of stuffed animals filled her space with warmth. It was your refuge after long, dark days, and today, you hoped she’d lend her light to your dilemma.

“Hey, Garcia,” you said, stepping inside.

“Y/N! How’s it going, love?” she greeted, spinning her chair around with a bright smile.

“Alright…” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “Actually, I need a favor.”

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Anything for you, sugar plum! Spill the tea.”

You took a breath. “I think my boyfriend’s cheating on me.”

She gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

“Are you serious?”

You nodded, guilt and frustration twisting in your gut.

“Yes… but I don’t know for sure. That’s the problem. Listen, you’re amazing at what you do, and I hate to ask for something so personal. But I have to know.”

Penelope’s wide-eyed concern softened into determination.

“Of course, sweet pea. Where do we start?”

“His text messages… and maybe his social media. He’s on Instagram and Pinterest.”

She spun her chair to her keyboard, her fingers flying over the keys like a concert pianist. You watched in awe as screens filled with lines of code and login prompts. Less than ten seconds later, Penelope leaned back with a triumphant smile, her colorful nails tapping on the edge of the desk.

“Well, he did delete a few things. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

You pulled a chair closer to the screen, your breath hitching as your eyes scanned the messages. Your heart plummeted. Suggestive texts. Logs filled with inappropriate photos without showing their faces. You gripped the edge of the desk, your stomach twisting in knots.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the mouse and scrolled further, every line of text confirming what you already suspected. He’d been acting off for weeks, and now the truth was staring you in the face.

The messages revealed where he met her—his new co-worker. The flirtation had started innocently enough but quickly escalated into something more. Your chest tightened as you read their exchanges, each word a dagger to your heart.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Let’s keep it a secret.”

You bit your lip hard, fighting back tears as the finality of it hit you. He wasn’t just unfaithful—he was intentional, calculated, willing to betray you without hesitation.

This wasn’t the man you thought you knew. The proof was right there, glaring at you, and with it came the cruel realization: he didn’t value you the way you valued him.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Garcia whispered, her voice thick with emotion as tears welled in her eyes. She reached out as if to comfort you, her empathy shining through. Garcia was always like that—a flower blooming in a field of inhumanity. It was one of the things you loved most about her.

You swallowed hard, blinking back your own tears as you scrolled further. Then you saw her.

The woman in the pictures made your chest ache with a sharp, almost physical pain. She was stunning—blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, a perfect smile. The kind of beauty that turned heads effortlessly.

Typical.

Your gaze flickered to the reflection of your own hazel eyes in the darkened screen, framed by your brunette hair. A cruel voice in the back of your mind whispered that you couldn’t compare. You knew better than to go down that road, but the questions clawed at you anyway. What does she have that I don’t? Why wasn’t I enough?

The answer hit you with the force of a wrecking ball.

The next message spelled it out in painful detail: how much he admired her personality, her talent, her looks. Every word chipped away at your sense of self.

You couldn’t stop the spiral now. Was it really her, or was it you?

You stared at the screen, the betrayal sinking in like a knife twisting in your chest. The man of your dreams—the one who once made you feel invincible—had willingly destroyed everything you thought you had.

It was like something inside you died.

Your chest tightened as your mind spiraled, conjuring images of what they might be doing now. A motel? His car? The thought made your stomach churn. You reached for one of Garcia’s colorful trinkets, fiddling with it as if the motion could ground you, but the dread only grew heavier.

“Are you okay?” Garcia’s voice was soft, her hand gentle as it rested on your arm.

You sniffled, nodding even though it was a lie.

“I’ll be back,” you managed, your voice cracking as you pushed back your chair.

Without waiting for a response, you hurried to the ladies’ bathroom, the tears finally spilling over as you shut the stall door behind you.

You took a shaky breath, though it came out in uneven shudders.

Tears spilled relentlessly down your cheeks as the scene replayed in your mind, over and over, like a cruel loop you couldn’t escape. The messages. The pictures. Her face.

Your boyfriend—no, the man you thought you knew—was seeing someone else.

He must’ve gotten bored of you. That was the only explanation, wasn’t it? She was everything you weren’t: blonde, dazzling, confident. The kind of woman who lit up a room just by walking into it.

You clung to the memories of everything you’d done to prove your love. The thoughtful gestures, the unwavering support, the loyalty you gave without hesitation. You had given him your whole heart, your whole world, and yet…

It still wasn’t enough.

You heard the creak of the bathroom door opening, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey… are you okay?”

It was Emily. Her tone was soft, cautious, like she already knew the answer.

You didn’t bother hiding your tears or pretending to be fine.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then a gentle offer.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, taking a few deep, shaky breaths to steady yourself. Then, with trembling hands, you unlocked the stall door and stepped aside, letting her in.

“Oh… what happened?” Emily’s voice was soft, full of concern, as she gently stepped closer.

Your voice cracked as you tried to explain, the words tumbling out between shuddering breaths. You told her everything—the messages, the photos, and the crushing realization that the man you loved wasn’t who you thought he was.

Tears streamed down your face as you wiped at them with trembling hands, your throat tightening with every word. Emily didn’t say anything, just pulled you closer, offering silent comfort.

You let your head rest against her shoulder, your hand awkwardly supporting it as you leaned into her. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you from falling apart entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have used the work computer for something so personal. I just feel so—”

Emily gently pulled back, her hands on your shoulders as she looked you directly in the eyes.

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t feel sorry. If anyone should be sorry, it’s him. Your boyfriend—who, by the way, I’m really hoping will soon be your ex.”

You managed a weak nod, your voice cracking. “But… I love him.”

Emily’s expression softened, her voice low and steady.

“I know. Of course you do. You invested so much of your time and feelings into him. It’s only natural to feel that way.”

You nodded again, the tears continuing to flow freely down your face. Without hesitation, Emily pulled you into another hug, her arms wrapping around you firmly but gently.

In her embrace, you felt an unexpected sense of safety—a warmth that reminded you of being a child, nestled against your mother’s shoulder, the one place in the world where nothing could hurt you.

For a moment, the pain didn’t feel so overwhelming.

Emily offered a small smile as she pulled back from the hug.

“How about we go to lunch?” she suggested gently. “Just to talk. Get your mind off things.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the kindness in her eyes was enough to convince you.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding.

Lunch with Emily helped, if only for a little while. Talking through your feelings with her gave you a moment to breathe, but the weight of everything still lingered.

Later, when you returned home, you knew what you had to do.

Confronting him was harder than you imagined. The moment you mentioned the messages, his face hardened, defenses up immediately. What began as a tense discussion quickly escalated into a full-blown argument. Words were hurled back and forth—accusations, denials, and anger filling the air like a storm you couldn’t escape.

Finally, your voice cracked as you shouted the last thing you had to say, your heart breaking with every word. Then, without another look, you grabbed your things and stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind you.

The night air was cool against your tear-streaked face as you walked away, unsure of where you were going—only knowing you couldn’t stay.

You let the wind guide you as you kept walking, unsure of where to go. A bar? A hotel? A friend’s house? Each option felt distant, unappealing. Family wasn’t an option either—your parents were in Nashville, and the rest of your family lived all the way in Italy.

Your feet ached as you spotted a bus stop a few feet ahead. Just as you were about to settle there for a moment’s rest, the sound of a car slowing down beside you made your heart race.

Adrenaline surged through you as you thought of worst-case scenarios. A lone woman walking in the dark, carrying personal belongings—it was a recipe for disaster. As an FBI agent, you’d seen enough cases to know how these stories often ended. Your mind raced, mentally praying that your name wouldn’t end up on the bulletin board while your friends worked to solve your case.

“Y/N?”

The voice startled you, but it was familiar.

You turned toward the car as the window rolled down, and relief washed over you like a wave.

“Emily?”

She nodded, her eyes scanning your face with concern.

“Get in,” she urged softly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You opened the back door of Emily’s car, carefully placing your bags inside before sliding into the passenger seat. The faint smell of her vanilla air freshener was oddly comforting, a small reminder of familiarity in the chaos of the night.

Emily glanced at you, her brow furrowing as she took in your tear-streaked face.

“You okay?” she asked gently, though the answer was already written all over you.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I dumped him,” you admitted, your words raw. “As expected, he denied everything. Then we argued. It got… ugly.”

Emily nodded slowly, her hands resting on the steering wheel as she gave you space to continue if you wanted.

“Good,” she said softly after a moment. “Not that it got ugly—but that you stood up for yourself.”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Where would you like to go?” Emily asked softly, her tone calm and patient.

“Honestly? Anywhere is fine,” you replied, your voice still shaky.

She glanced at you, then asked, “Are you hungry?”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak.

Emily didn’t press further. She simply started the car, letting the quiet hum of the engine fill the space between you. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable, a moment to gather yourself.

After a short drive, she pulled into the parking lot of a cozy restaurant, the warm glow of the sign reading Nonna’s Trattoria. The sight stirred something inside you—a bittersweet pang of familiarity.

You looked at her, touched by the gesture. “Nonna’s?”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “Thought it’d be nice. You could use a little taste of home.”

“Thank you. Really,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “You’ve been so thoughtful to me.”

Emily smiled warmly, her eyes filled with reassurance.

“Always.” She gestured toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you both stepped out of the car and into the inviting glow of the restaurant.

The host greeted you with a cheerful smile. “Welcome to Nonna’s! Table for two?”

“Yes, please,” you replied, your voice steadying for the first time in hours.

As you followed the host to your table, the comforting aroma of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread began to ease the weight in your chest, if only just a little.

As you sat down, you couldn’t help but notice some familiar faces among the staff, including one of the elderly waitresses who always greeted you warmly when you visited. Her presence brought a small wave of comfort, a reminder of simpler, happier times.

When she came to take your order, you smiled and spoke in Italian, letting the words roll off your tongue naturally.

“Un’acqua per lei e un aperitivo per me. Grazie.”

The waitress’s face lit up, her warm smile deepening the lines around her eyes. “Che bello sentirlo,” she replied, jotting down your order.

Emily watched with a soft smile, her admiration clear. “I’ll never get over how effortlessly you do that.”

You chuckled lightly, the sound surprising even yourself. “It’s second nature, I guess.”

“I actually speak Italian, too,” Emily said with a small grin. “Though it’s pretty limited. Parlo anche francese, spagnolo, arabo, e russo. But my Russian? Let’s just say it needs some work.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Che poliglotta! And your Italian sounds great. Parli bene italiano.”

“Grazie.” Emily smiled, leaning back slightly. “So, tell me more about yourself.”

You hesitated for a moment, then began. “Well, I grew up in Nashville, so I have a soft spot for country music... but I also love heavy metal.”

Emily’s eyes lit up. “So do I!”

“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, excitement bubbling in your chest.

“Yes!” she laughed. “I’m sorry—go ahead.”

You smiled, thrilled to discover another shared interest. “So, even though I’m from Nashville, my parents are from Italy. They immigrated here a few years before I was born. When I was little, I went to live with the rest of my family in Italy for a few years to really experience the culture.”

“That’s amazing,” Emily said, clearly intrigued.

“I loved it there,” you continued, your voice softening with nostalgia. “Last time I visited was last summer, to see la mia famiglia. I miss them already.”

“I’m sure you do,” Emily said, her tone understanding. “I miss my family too. The BAU can be so demanding. Abito da sola e amo la mia indipendenza, but… I’ve been thinking about getting a cat. I want company.”

Your eyes lit up, a genuine smile breaking through the weight of the day. “Oh my gosh, I love cats too! They’re the cutest things ever.”

Emily chuckled. “Looks like we keep finding things in common.”

When the waitress returned, you ordered your meal in Italian, your accent flawless. “Penne alla vodka vegana, per favore.”

Emily followed with her own order, glancing at you with a playful smile as she spoke. “Polenta, grazie.”

The waitress nodded with approval. “You two speak beautifully,” she said, before heading off with your orders.

Emily leaned back, a twinkle in her eye. “Okay, so cats, music, and languages. What else do we have in common?”

“I do recall you complaining about dairy,” Emily said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you lactose intolerant?”

You nodded with a small smile. “Yep. It’s not a big deal, though—I can handle most things as long as they don’t involve cow’s milk.”

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What is it about cow’s milk, anyway? Why not cashew milk or almond milk? They’re so much better.”

You chuckled, shrugging. “Beats me. People are obsessed with it, though. Maybe it’s a comfort thing?”

Emily smirked. “Or maybe they just haven’t discovered the joys of oat milk yet.”

You laughed, grateful for the lighthearted moment amidst the emotional weight of the day.

After finishing your meal, a heavy silence settled between you. You looked down at your plate for a moment, then lifted your gaze to Emily, your expression softening.

“Emily, I really appreciate you taking me out tonight. I had a great time. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Emily smiled, but her eyes held a sincerity that matched yours. “Anytime, really. You know that. Would you like to crash at my place tonight?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you hesitated. “No, I wouldn’t want to impose…”

Emily waved off your concern with a soft laugh. “Hey, it’s no trouble at all. It’s better than walking around all night or paying for a hotel. You need somewhere safe to rest, and you’re always welcome with me.”

You smiled, your heart feeling a little lighter despite the weight of the day.

“Thank you, really,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

Despite the worst heartbreak of your life, a quiet sense of gratitude filled you. In the midst of all the chaos, you were thankful to have a friend like Emily—someone who didn’t hesitate to be there when you needed it most.