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artemisiasmuse · 3 months ago

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rafe cameron x sweet virgin!reader

she told you she celibate but she told me I can nail her shit

cw: mdni 18+, virgin!reader but has some other experience, lowkey a freak tho, toxic rafe, corruption kink : >, size kink, first times, rafe goes a lil crazy, sweetie pie reader x insane yandere bf rafe is lowkey my favorite trope

~ 6k words

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves <3 i didn’t read this over and i’m so sorry if there’s hella mistakes i will fix it later! this may or not be self-insert yes even that part

the trouble all began with sarah cameron and her big mouth. well really both of you were to blame, but you’d think she would be quieter when her older brother was lurking around. you were older than her by a few years, closer to his age than hers, not that it mattered though, rafe treated you like you were practically wheezie’s age. you didn’t let it sting you any more you had long gotten over trying to be seen as a woman in rafe cameron’s eyes. or maybe you just stopped watching him, he’s always noticed you but you felt out reach, until now. when he overhears his sister’s words he almost breaks the glass of water he’s holding.

“a virgin at 19 looking like you do is insane” sarah looked you up and down as you tried on the dress you’d bought together at the mall. you got shy at her words, you knew she wasn’t judging you but instead genuinely in disbelief that men weren’t throwing themselves at you. you had long mastered the art of looking unapproachable and uninterested after too many bad experiences.

“stoppp is it so hard to believe, you know how bad it’s been for me?” he really hopes no one sees him leaning against the wall next to his sister’s door, he’d look like such a weirdo. wheezie would never let him live this down, she’d barely held back on letting his little crush slip before. if sarah ever found out he’d be in another hell.

“fuck you’re right, if they can’t make you come what’s the point?” rafe winced at his sister’s words, willing away the temptation to gag. he was trying to focus on the fact that no guy had made you come before instead.

“you’re awful, but i’m done with men for a long time. im gonna focus on college and not waste time on them.” he relished in the twisted feeling that no one could touch you, even if the losers before had a chance they clearly couldn’t cut it.

“righttt being in a dorm filled with horny guys is gonna make that easier.” sarah deadpanned and you shoved her, seeing her point. you hadn’t thought about it like that.

“okay leave me alone i’ve been successful so far”

“oh my god speak of the devil, john b’s calling me over, can you cover for me? i’ll be back in like two hours max, promise.” you were a little disappointed she was leaving you but you knew how difficult it was for her to see him without someone covering for her. you nodded and pulled out your phone.

“fine but i’m ordering pizza,” rafe didn’t know if he should be terrified or elated that you two would be home alone for two hours. why did it have to be today that the rest of his family fucked off? was this divine intervention?

“save me a slice!” rafe could hear his sister rustling around, getting ready to go, so he did the same.

“you’re gonna be too busy eating di-“ rafe promptly ran off at that. he’d heard enough, his imagination would run wild with this new information.

it was half an hour later when, like clockwork, rafe made sure to be near the front door for the pizza delivery. he paid and tipped the guy, while you were making your way down at the sound of the doorbell. he hurries back upstairs, nearly running into you on the stairs. your eyes trace his pretty features and then land on the box in his hands, shock and horror cascading your face. rafe can’t believe that you look so good even now, you’re wearing a crop top with seemingly no bra underneath and high waisted sweatpants. to him you look like a model.

“hey! that’s my pizza” rafe laughs and continues up the stairs, you turn on your heel and follow him up. you’re kinda hangry and your pizza being held hostage is not helping your mood.

“i just paid for it so i don’t think so.” you both reach the top of the stairs but rafe isn’t stopping, he’s going to his room instead. this won’t do, he’ll lock the door and slam it in your face, you quickly move to stand in front of him blocking the path to his doorway. rafe thinks it’s cute that you think that would stop him, he feels a bit stir crazy over how small you look gazing up at him

“i’ll pay you back!” your hands shoot up against the doorframe, blocking entry even further. he wants to tease you a bit more but the idea of sharing a pizza in his room is way more tempting.

“nah it’s fine just let me have some.” you release your blockade and let him move past you, still with his-your pizza in his hold, following him mindlessly. if you were less hungry you would’ve realized eating pizza with your longtime crush and best friend’s brother in his room sitting on his bed was in fact not a great idea. but that fleeting concern is out the window when he opens the box and you climb onto his bed like it’s second nature. rafe does his best to stay concentrated on the present, it’s difficult when your shirt rides up and a sliver of your stomach is displayed, it looks so soft and untouched and he really isn’t hungry for pizza, he never was.

“i was gonna offer anyways for the record.” you say it while picking up a slice and rafe mirrors your action, laughing at your tone.

“yeah sure you were princess,” you ignore the way his voice sounds, the way he says your name, the way his room smells like him and it’s making your head spin.

rafe watches you eat transfixed when you lick the tips of your fingers, he can’t believe that he’s struggling to control himself over pizza but your words are ringing in his head.

“rafe do you have any napkins?” you hold up your greasy fingers and he nods his head dazedly, getting up to grab some for you and taking the pizza box off his bed with him. you move to get off then, looking around his room, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate if you snooped through his things so you just look at the pictures on the wall, the books he has. rafe finds you standing near his desk when he comes back, wordlessly handing you the napkins.

“i always forget you have a motorcycle.” your head motions towards the helmet resting on the surface of his desk.

“i don’t use it as much now.” he leaned back against the footboard of his bed, arms crossed against his chest as he watched you look at his stuff. he couldn’t figure out why you were still in his room, were you that curious?

“can i ride it? i’ve always wanted to try.” yeah rafe might just pass out now. you don’t even know what you’re doing to him, head cocked to the side looking at him so innocently he can barely hold back much longer.

“sure but i gotta teach you the basics so you don’t crash.” rafe is proud of himself for even stringing a sentence together in response. you notice a slight flush to his cheeks and ears.

“okay that’s fair.” you turn towards him, mirroring his form and leaning back against his desk. there’s a few feet between you but rafe thinks it would be so easy to lift you onto the mahogany and kiss you until you can’t breathe. his shorts feel so restrictive and he’s grateful he’s wearing black. he can’t hold back any longer, he has to know.

"is it true?" the words come out rushed, unsure of if they should even be said in the first place. but rafe’s not a quitter and he doesn’t shy away from anything really, even if the past few hours feel like a dream he would have in middle school.

"is what true?" your head does that thing again like a puppy and he nearly keels over, you’re too adorable for your own good. his gaze flits away for a second, he has to commit. your trusting expression and your airy tone make it all the more hard.

"no guy's made you come before?" you blink in shock twice before covering your face with your hands. this must be the most embarrassing moment of your life.

"ugh you heard that?"

"yeah you guys aren't exactly quiet" you might have to kill sarah cameron in her sleep, if she even comes back that is. you don’t know why you answer him, you could have just ran away but the magnetic pull of rafe cameron coaxes you to answer.

"yeah it's true" you sound defeated and rafe has to hold back a snicker, he watches you peer through your fingers at him, watching his expression.

"well i can rectify that..you know for the sake of mankind and all" there’s a smirk on his lips as he says the words that will haunt you forever. you’re sure he’s just messing with you and you huff a breath of disbelief. did he know about your little crush? you’d been hiding it so well for the past few years!

"don't tease me, rafe" you step away from his desk, moving to leave his room. even if it was just the two of you in the house you’d much rather sit in sarah’s room or watch the tv than be ridiculed.

"i'm not, it'd be a shame if a pretty girl like you gave up on men, especially for me." it’s almost as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water on your head when rafe cameron speaks. pretty girl the first time he’s called you anything that might suggest you’re not just his sister’s friend. the world spins on its axis and you try to grasp onto his words, try to understand that he might be genuine but you can’t. there’s still that voice of doubt telling you he’s just messing with you. rafe watches your expression go from shock to disappointment, you don’t believe him. he supposes it’s not that believable when he’s been purposefully avoiding you for a while. you must think he’s just messing with you, but he’s dead serious. he’ll just have to prove it.

“whatever rafe i don’t have time for your games.” you mumble it and leave his room, slamming the door a bit harder than you intended. the next few hours are torture. rafe cameron planted an insidious weed in your mind and it’s growing exponentially.

of course it’s not the first time you’ve imagined it, you’d often thought about what his long thick fingers would feel like. or how his biceps would feel under your hands if you held onto them for support. you’d fantasized about every part of him, even the tip of his nose. so the idea that it might just be within your reach had you spiraling. you took a cold shower, not that it helped, your underwear was still soaked after. no guy you’d been with had made you so wet, let alone before even touching you. it was as if the universe was testing you. a sick thrum in your body had found its way into your bones, vibrating with need and you paced in your best friend’s room thinking over all the consequences.

when you’d reached the conclusion that even if he was sincere it was still a bad idea, your phone pinged. a text from sarah that read: “i’m gonna be staying the night here, if you’re already asleep i’ll see you in the morning 🤍” with all your internal turmoil you hadn’t realized it was past the two hours she’d said. she would be out all night. you and rafe were home alone, all night. you swallowed down the lump in your throat, your heart pounding your chest. your feet were moving faster than your head, the pitter patter of your footsteps almost as fast as your heartbeat, and before you knew it you were in front of his door. you hesitated for a second breathing in deep once before knocking, the light was still on so you knew he was awake.

“yeah?” rafe did his best to hide the satisfaction he felt seeing you twitchy and shy in front of his door. you swallowed down again, looking up at him with as much confidence as you could. there was a few seconds of silence, he gave you the time you needed, looking down at you with bright inviting eyes.

“is your offer still on the table?” his face split into a grin, moving aside to let you in like you’d done before and with no hesitation you pushed past him. even the small graze of your shoulder against him set his skin ablaze. he was going to lose his mind.

“‘doesn’t really have an expiration date.” your mind was blanking at his every advance, you tried not to think about his words, you couldn’t afford to fall deeper for him.

“just don’t like tell anyone about this?” you murmured, watching him close the door behind you two and getting a bit nervous. if sarah found out you’d be in for hell. losing your virginity to your best friend’s brother wasn’t exactly a great conversation to have.

“i’m not topper don’t worry.” you believed him, rafe despite his other faults, was always respectful.

“can i kiss you?” you nodded fervently, rafe held back a laugh at your enthusiasm. he walked up to you slowly as if giving you the chance to run and slid his hands from his hips to the curve of your waist. you stood on your tiptoes, your arms going around his neck and rafe couldn’t believe this was real. maybe if he pretended it was a dream he wouldn’t be so nervous. he’d have to do just that. one of his hands cupped your face, thumb stroking along your cheekbone and your eyelashes fluttered closed at the touch. he pressed a tentative kiss to your lips.

his lips felt soft and you breathed out in relief after, as if some sort of spell was lifted. rafe kissed you again, this time letting himself breathe you in. you felt so small and delicate in his hold, he wanted to take his time with you. you had other ideas. kissing rafe cameron felt even better than you’d imagined, when he pulled back you surged forward this time, biting his lower lip making him groan into your mouth. another chill of desire wracked your body at the sound and you tested the waters by licking the seem of his lips. rafe pulled you even closer and bent down to kiss you deeper. his mouth opened and his tongue met yours. you tasted so good to him he couldn’t stop himself from sucking on your tongue slightly, making you whine in his hold. the sound flipped a switch in his mind, he wanted more of the sound, he needed to hear you say his name in that airy desperate sound again. a string of saliva connected your lips and snapped off in the middle, your breathing was heavy and his was too. you caught your breath all the while looking up at him, he held your gaze. the furrow of your brows grew deeper the longer you looked.

“we don’t have to do anything else.” him asking for consent again drew in another crushing wave of arousal, you were a lost cause. okay maybe your standards were in hell. even his cologne was better than any other guy, something woodsy and heavy, mature, not like the shitty ones you’d had to smell before.

“no-no i want to,” he’d have to ask you later why you looked so mad after kissing him, right now he had too much else to do. you could only watch as he lifted you by the grip on your waist, your legs going around his hips in fear of falling. he’d done it so casually you couldn’t process it in time. rafe set you down gently on his mattress, his weight pressed into you and your legs tightened around him. he kissed you again, already missing the taste of your lips, and leaned back. you realized what he was about to do as he sat back on his knees.

“no i-can you just come up here?” you felt far too shy for him to eat you out and although rafe respected your wishes he was a bit disappointed. he’d just have to make sure there was a next time. there were other ways to taste you anyways. he followed your lead, leaning back over you and kissing you again, tongue and teeth clashing together in need. one of his hands moved from your waist up and under the hem of your shirt, traveling up slowly until he reached the fat of your breast. the feeling of his fingers on your nipple jolted your body. usually you didn’t get anything out of a guy touching your boobs but him you were arching into his touch, huffing into his mouth. rafe loved how sensitive you were, reacting to every touch of his. he massaged the tit in his hand, reveling in how you squirmed underneath him. if you kept moving you’d feel how painfully hard he was in his shorts.

after giving up on kissing you he peeled off your crop top, trailing kisses down your neck. he bit at the skin and sucked, surely littering your neck with hickies. you smelled so sweet to him and he couldn’t get enough, biting hard in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. you squeaked at the feeling, shocked at how pleasure blurred the lines of the pain you should be feeling. being marked by rafe was transcendental.

“look at you, so fucking pretty.” you met his gaze, his eyes raking down your chest and back to your face. the compliment made your head even cloudier, you’d let him do anything he wanted already, and it didn’t even scare you. his mouth trailed lower, biting at the tops of your breasts before latching onto your nipple and sucking, biting and laving over the sensitive nub with his tongue. you writhed under him, desperate for some friction between your legs. you huffed out a breath in frustration. he took his time bruising your chest with his marks. everyone should know who you belonged to. he leaned back to admire his work, his eyes finally meeting yours and seeing your waterline filled with unshed tears. god he was being so cruel, you just wanted to come and here he was doing as he pleased.

“rafe can i have your fingers please?” he was about to take pity on you anyway but the desperate sound of you begging was too delicious to give up. he looped his fingers through yours, hands intertwined against the silk sheets next to your shoulder.

“fuuckkk when you ask like that how can i say no?” his eyes nearly rolled back in his head from your voice, he might just come from it alone. “how d’ya want them?” he knew, of course he knew, he just wanted to hear you say it. your lips were swollen from his kisses and you still managed to look so innocent under him, he wanted to mark every inch of your body so no one could touch you again.

“you know!” you huffed out, a pout on your lips that he kissed away, you still looked at him with frustration. your underwear was practically sticking to you now, you felt so warm and uncomfortable between your legs, desperate for friction. you’d never felt like this before, completely wrecked with need, unable to think about anything besides addressing your desire.

“spell it out for me, i can’t think clearly right now.” he kissed under your ear coaxing you into submission, a purr curled through you at the feeling. his lips were featherlight against you, soft and adoring and you couldn’t remember why you were holding back.

“‘wan you to fuck me with them.” it was a small mumble, slipping past your lips but rafe caught it nevertheless. his free hand hooked into your pants and pulled them down, you kicked them off and let him settle back between your legs. at least being out of your pants gave your legs some reprieve but the cool air only illuminated how drenched your underwear was. rafe’s large hand skimmed past your breasts to your stomach and rested against your waistband. he looked to you for admission and you nodded your head. instead of dipping underneath the band he trailed downwards, over the flimsy material. the ghost of his touch near your clit had you jerking under him, your hands flying to his shoulders. two large fingers pressed against the fabric, right above your opening, his fingers felt moist and he clicked his tongue at the feeling.

“baby you soaked through your panties, whose got you so worked up?” you whined, a pretty throaty sound that you’d been holding in and he vowed to pull more from you. his fingers were skimming along your opening, teasing the fabric and not quite touching you. your legs wanted to close on his hand but your hips moved closer, trying to make him touch you.

“you!” you screamed out, eyes squeezed shut as he removed his hand completely. you’d start leaking through them if he didn’t do something soon.

“that’s right me, not those fucking losers, just me.” his free hand, closed around your chin making you open your eyes and meet his. he looked crazed, pupils blown and overshadowing the blue with hooded eyes and a satisfied grin curling his lips. when you met his gaze he finally dipped his fingers beneath the band and pressed his thumb against your clit. he found it with such ease your eyes rolled back into your skull, gasping at the feeling of finally being touched. “i got you baby,” your legs spread wider for him, pulling him into you as his fingers slid through your drooling folds all the while his thumb ground against you. his fingers were so much larger than yours you could feel him everywhere. he prodded your hole with his index finger, grunting at how tight you were. streams of arousal kept pouring out of you, you needed him to do something. you squirmed under him again and rafe acquiesced, shoving his finger in. you were so tight and warm around him, slippery and soft walls hugged him as he stretched you out with one finger alone. “f-fucking tight,” he was gonna start soiling his shorts from the way you felt around his finger alone. he fucked you slow and deep, feeling along your insides for your sensitivity. he knew as soon as he found it because you screamed his name, hands clutching his arms tightly.

“feels weird,” he let you get used to the feeling, his thumb grinding against your clit. you were already feeling close and he’d barely started.

“poor pussy probably never felt this good huh?” you whimpered at his words, he was being so filthy and usually it turned you off. nothing about rafe could do that at this point. you shook your head, affirming his suspicions and his middle finger circled your opening. he was gentler this time, moving his fingers in inch by inch until you stopped clamping down. the pressure of him stretching you wasn’t unbearable but you didn’t know how you’d ever take more than his fingers at this rate. he accurately hammered against that spot, out for blood, while his thumb circled your clit. you were dripping onto his hand, coating him with your juices and the squelch of his fingers fucking into you filled the room. the sounds were so obscene you tried blocking them out with your pathetic little whines but rafe was determined to hear your soppy cunt crying for him. it wasn’t long before you felt the encroaching of your release and he knew it he could feel it in the way you clenched around him and whined when his fingers pulled out completely. one more carress of the sensitive gummy spot inside you had you seeing white. your vision blurred as you shook in your release, holding his wrist so he’d stop his motions, shivers wracked your body as you came the hardest you ever had. your walls fluttered around him, more of your release dripping down your cunt and soaking the sheets below. he was sick enough to leave them like that for the night, you smelled so sweet and he bet you tasted even better.

his fingers dipped out of your underwear and your eyes opened to watch him, probably a mistake on your part because just the vision of rafe cameron licking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste made you ready to go again. his eyes rolled back in his head at the taste, his eyes ground shut at the sugary flavor coating his tongue and teeth. he really hoped you’d let him have more later because now that he’d had a taste he wanted the full meal. you shivered at the way he reacted, your whole body on high alert from your orgasm, but even as sensitive as you were you couldn’t help but be greedy.

“rafe, can we go further?” his heart might just give out, you look nervous even now after he’s already addicted. he moves back slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and your eyes are drawn to his chest.

“thought you’d never ask.” you’re not even trying to hide how you ogle him, seeing him at the beach is one thing but in front of you, when you can touch him is another. rafe watches you reach a hand out, slightly out of range and moves closer to you, letting you touch him. your smalls hands traverse the expanse of his shoulders, his pecs, and trace the outline of his abs. when they reach the tuft of hair above his waistband, rafe has to stop you. the tiny fleeting touches make him twitch in his pants. he moves your hand to rest against his shoulder, pulling your underwear all the way off and looking down at how he completely drowns your body out.

“fuckkk can’t believe im the lucky one who gets to break this little pussy in,” he kisses along your neck, hands squeezing your waist and marveling at how diminutive you feel. he can’t wait to be inside you, he wonders if you’ll even be able to take him.

“s-so dirty” his words are heating up your entire body and you’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t arching into him. rafe moves to pull down his shorts, waiting a beat before he does.

“you sure you want this?” while taking your virginity was something he could only dream about before he needed to be sure.

“yes i want it to be you, i trust you.” you say it as normally as you can.

“we can stop whenever you want, like i said ‘offer’s not gonna expire.” you hope you can take it up even after this, maybe not even once or twice. if he could make you feel like this why would you need anyone else? then he pulls his shorts off and you start to regret your decision.

“oh-is th-that gonna fit?” his cock sprung out and slapped against his stomach, long and thick and way too big for you. you could barely take his fingers this would never fit. it looked so angry white precum dribbling down stark against the flushed pink curling along the veins and curving with him to the right. you wouldn’t survive this.

“you’ll do your best right?” you nod enthusiastically, you wanted to take as much as you could. “good girl.” oh, you’d have to explore that later. you nearly moaned at him calling you that. rafe caught it though, he knew your reactions well by now. he lined it up over your stomach, seeing how far it would go and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. your belly button was completely covered, not that it mattered he was halfway up your torso. rafe’s grip on your waist tightened, he’d ruin you for anyone else, stretch you out and mold you just for him. no one would feel as good as him and he nearly drooled at the sight.

despite how feral he felt, he made sure you were still wet enough for him to slip in, you were. his tip pressed against you, he let you drool onto him, juices swirling with his and making a sick plap plap plap sound as he tapped against you. he’s far wider than his fingers and you tried to relax. you motioned for him to come closer, his lips out of reach and you kissed him sweetly. when he could feel you relax he pushed in, instantly being shoved out. so tight he couldn’t even get the tip in. “fuuckkkk gonna have to marry you.” you don’t even process his words and he doesn’t really know he’s saying them out loud either. he tries again, pulling you slightly onto his length and you gasp at the stretch. you’re gripping him like a vice and it’s nearly uncomfortable but being inside you breaks something inside of him and he’s drooling into your mouth. you don’t even care you want more. “doin well angel-hah-taking me so well.”

the pain is an afterthought now, you want him to stretch you and fill you until you can’t breathe. you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything more in your life. so you do the unthinkable, you try moving down his length. rafe can’t be held responsible for his actions after that.

he gives into your silent plea, skewering you on his cock and pushing past your gooey rings of resistance until he’s halfway in. you held your breath the entire time as he curved into you, tip smearing precum along your walls as he molded you to him, his veins catching on your entrance and making you jolt at the feeling. you push at his chest, the pain making you scream his name as he lets you adjust. there’s tears trailing down your cheek that he licks away. he kisses you until the ache between your legs becomes distant, it’s salty and sloppy but it distracts you enough. rafe makes the mistake of looking down, sees the way you’re gaping for him and how it looks like he’s splitting you in half and he bottoms out. the snap of his hips against yours makes you moan, he’s filled you up now and you can feel him in your throat. you swear you feel him get bigger when you whine his name pathetically, his dick twitching inside you.

it’s too much and you try running from it, shoving up the length of the bed but rafe just pulls you back down. “t-too big hng can’t-“

“come on i thought you were-fuck-a big girl,” he groans into your ear, you shove against him once more and he slips out a few inches, just enough for you to relax. you can still feel him nestled against your cervix, he’s leaking into you and your thighs are coated in both of your arousal. you tap his shoulder for him to move again, pulling out until his tip is the only thing inside and then spearing all the way back in. the feeling makes you cross-eyed, his throbbing tip bumps along your sensitive spot until it nestles against you, as far high up as it can and you think you might be coming on every thrust because you’re so obscenely wet more slick just pours out of you every time. rafe knows it’s because there’s no space for anything but his cock and he can’t help but grin, watching your pussy engulf his length despite how small you are under him. every thrust sends your whole body upwards but his grip on you keeps you close, he’s almost fucking you back onto him.

“feels good hah,” you finally murmur into his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can drill into you better. his thrusts are deep and slow, letting you get used to the feeling but you don’t think you like it like this. if he’s going to ruin you he might as well do it properly. “h-harder.” rafe moans your name at your request, his voice sounds so wrecked you clench down at the sound alone.

“turned this pussy into a slut, ‘couldn’t even take-hah-two fingers now look at you.” really he’s proud of you, proud that he made you like this. although he wants to tease you he can’t hold back much longer either and it’s your first time so he’s gonna be nice to you. rafe pulls out and slams back into you setting a faster rougher pace, your skin is slapping against each other and you think he might bruise your hips. your head is shoved up the length of his bed until it threatens to bump against the headboard, he puts his hand between you and the wood, his other hand holding onto the frame for support. your legs are being bent and pressed to the sides and the new angle makes him hit that spot with blaring accuracy. a sick ring of white forms at the base of his dick and his balls are slippery from your arousal. you still have a vice grip around him, something he won’t get used to but is definitely get addicted to. the room smells filthy and the sounds of you chanting his name combined with the squelch of your cunt is pornographic.

“gonna be a good girl and come around my cock?” your walls flutter at his words, like his permission has you ready to come. you come undone with one more thrust, your cunt is milking him as if coaxing him to come. “fuck fuck fuckkkk.” he pulls out just in time to come onto your stomach, shooting thick gooey ropes onto your soft skin. the white contrasts the blue and purple that is starting to bloom around your neck and tits.

you blearily watch it happen, disappointed he didn’t come inside, but warm and fuzzy from your release. there’s one thought nagging you though as you rest comfortably on his sticky soaked sheets. “it wasn’t a one time offer right?”

“no fucking way, i’m never letting you go.” rafe looks at you like you’re crazy, he’s ready to propose. there’s no way in hell he’s making this a one night stand. after all he’s broken you in, now it’s the fun part.

taglist: @ggraycelynn

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callmecoke · 6 months ago

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sugar baby headcanons!

CW: Mention of sex work, This is sfw generally but still deals with adult topics so proceed with caution.

Tf141 x reader

What you’ve realised about your favourite mystery account is that A) it's run by multiple people, and B) At least one of them is called Price.

You can’t exactly pinpoint who the rest are or how many, but you’ve managed to identify a few common themes when interacting with the account.

First, you know who Price is, and you can almost always tell it's him when he’s interacting with you. He’s the one you go to first regarding bills and fees you physically can’t pay. Within seconds, he transfers you the money and never lets you thank him for any of it. He also does his weekly check-ins to make sure everything is good. “Have you eaten?” “How’d you sleep?” “Did you take your meds last night?” That kind of thing. He’s also the one who calls you ‘Dolly’, a nickname he reserved for you.

But you're also pretty sure this other guy (Simon) lurks in the chat when you’re streaming. He won’t ask questions; he just sends you random tips throughout the stream while he watches silently. He’s not as talkative as Price or the others, and that’s kind of how you know it's him. But you’ve realised that just because he’s quiet doesn't mean he doesn't want to talk. It’s quite the opposite. He enjoys hearing you talk about your life and day and silently rewards you. When you DM him, you even get a little conversation. Nothing more than money and a “Nice”, but still conversation nonetheless.

You know one other fellow spends most of his time in the livestreams and not in your DMs (Gaz). He’s the one who engages with you in conversation the most, asking endless questions about your life. And he always comes back on the next live stream, remembering everything you said in the last. He’ll want the update on that project you were working on for school or if that job interview went as well as you both had hoped. If you weren’t Live to complete strangers, you’d probably open up to him about stuff you’ve never told anyone.

Now…One more person shows up now and again, mainly in your DMs. Part of the service for the website is that people can pay you to take a selfie and give it to them. They can be dirty or completely innocent; it all depends on what you’re advertising. There’s this one person who rather frequently asks for pictures of you, especially those with you smiling. You know it’s a different guy from the others you’ve spotted because he’s the only one who's outright flirtatious with you. Initially, you were wary. A man spending a lot of money on pictures of your face and upper body just screams trouble. But you grew to trust the account, so when you sent them the image, you were surprised by how quickly he showered you with praise.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ll give a strong man a heart attack walking around that gorgous.”

“Makes me wonder how cute you look in person.” “I’m surprised no ones come along and snatched you up all ready. Can’t complain though. Means I get more of you to myself.”

You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight blush on your cheeks after reading his responses.

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 months ago

Text

𝙀𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙔𝙤𝙪 - Pt. 4

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ I’m warning y’all now… you’re gonna need a box of tissues 😭

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ (Unspecified) Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ Stalking (kind of)

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ None

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｔｈｒｅｅ】←

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The weight of the past few days had not lifted, not even when the workers – who were really slaves – began the daunting task of rebuilding the town. The ruins of what was once your home stood as a constant jagged reminder of everything that had been lost. The streets were still cracked and lifeless, but now there was a subtle sound of movement—men and women, unwilling but resigned, hauling stones and debris, trying to piece together what was left of the once-vibrant town.

Mark had been persistent, trying to convince you to return with him to the mansion. "It’s safe there," he had said, his voice soft but firm. "You’ll be comfortable. You won’t have to worry about anything." But you couldn’t bring yourself to step foot in that place again. As gut-wrenching as it was to see your hometown in its current state, the dystopian and unsettling feeling you got from his mansion was more than you could bare.

“I can’t go back there,” you said, shaking your head as you stood in the barely standing doorway of your home. “Those women?” You stared at him incredulously, and the weight of your eyes caused Mark to look away. “Everything about that place is just wrong.”

His expression faltered for a moment, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I’m trying to make this right. You don’t have to be alone here. You don’t have to struggle.”

“I’m not going back to that place,” you repeated, your voice strong with defiance and conviction. “I’d rather be here—” you gestured to the decaying remnants of your home, the broken walls and scattered furniture a silent testament to the life that was once yours. “Than live in that twisted, delusional version of reality you call home.”

Mark tried to argue, but you became more adamant and angry in your refusal. Seeing you this way was like having a vice clamped around his heart, and finally he relented. He didn’t like it—he made that very clear—but he didn’t push further. You weren’t sure if it was out of respect or because he didn’t know how to force you without risking something else he wasn’t ready to lose.

Now, night had fallen, and you sat on what remained of your old couch, your head in your hands. The workers were gone for the day, and the silence that had once comforted you now felt suffocating. You knew Mark was still watching you. You could feel it. His presence was always nearby, lurking just beyond your vision, even though he pretended to give you space.

You didn’t want his protection. You didn’t want to need him.

The sounds of footsteps outside the ruined walls caught your attention. You stiffened, your eyes snapping to the window. For a moment, you thought Mark had come to check on you again. But no one appeared. You frowned, swallowing the anxiety building in your throat. The feeling of being watched—it was almost unbearable.

As the night deepened, the cold began to settle in. The house was abandoned, forgotten, and the air carried a chill that had once been absent. You stood, pulling on the jacket Mark had given you days ago—one that smelled faintly of him—and walked to what remained of your bedroom. The bed was gone, replaced by a pile of rubble, but the space still felt familiar. The walls were cracked, and the floor was uneven, but it was your place. It felt like the only thing left of the life you’d known.

You sat down on the floor, your back against the wall, and pulled your knees to your chest, the dim light from the broken windows casting long shadows across the room.

The silence stretched on.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe, but the weight of everything kept pushing down. You should’ve been able to sleep—should’ve been able to find some kind of peace, even just for a moment—but your mind wouldn’t stop racing. The memory of your world before, the destruction Mark’s universe had wrought, the guilt in his eyes when he promised to fix it—it all blended together into a swirling storm of confusion and sorrow.

Suddenly, a faint noise from outside reached your ears. You looked up sharply, your pulse quickening. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the broken window for any sign of movement. There—just beyond the shattered glass—Mark stood, leaning against a tree in the distance, his silhouette barely visible in the fading light.

You knew he was there. You’d always known. But it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and closed your eyes again, trying to focus on the emptiness around you. You had to do this alone. You had to try to hold onto the fragments of who you were. You couldn’t let him keep hovering, couldn’t let him keep forcing you into his reality.

But the longer you sat there, the more you could feel his presence like a shadow, looming just beyond your reach.

Mark’s POV:

Mark stood in the distance, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, just as he had every night since you’d arrived in his universe. It had been difficult to let you stay here, in this decaying shell of a home, surrounded by memories of what had once been. He couldn’t understand why you insisted on staying. It was dangerous here—this universe was volatile, unstable—and you didn’t seem to grasp the danger that was around every corner.

But still, he respected your decision. You had lost everything. Your town, your life, your very world… and yet, you refused to come home with him. You had been clear about it. You needed space. You needed time.

He couldn’t give you everything you wanted, but he could give you that.

Mark’s mind was a constant churn of contradictions. On the one hand, he wanted desperately to be with you, to pull you into the warmth of his arms, away from the cold of this broken town. But on the other hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing you every time he allowed you to pull away.

You thought you were free, but the truth was, you were trapped there, just like he was. In this world, there was no going back. And the more he watched you, the more he realized that was the way he needed it to be. It wasn’t just the portal that was closed. It was everything that had happened since you’d arrived. He couldn’t let you go.

As he stood there, his thoughts swirling like a storm, he knew one thing for certain: No matter how much you fought him, no matter how much you pushed him away, he couldn’t let you out of his sight. Not in this world. Not when he had already lost you before.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

The night was cold, but Mark didn’t move. He stood there, watching, waiting, knowing that you wouldn’t admit it, but deep down, you were afraid. You might not admit it now, but you’d come to rely on him. You’d come to understand that he was all that was left of your world.

And despite everything that had happened—despite the dystopian nightmare that his universe had become—Mark would never stop trying to give you something worth holding onto.

Half a Year Later - Readers POV:

The sun shone brightly through the large front windows of the café, casting a warm, golden hue over the polished wooden tables and counters. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a comforting, familiar scent that had always signified the beginning of a day of routine—of normalcy.

You stood behind the counter, expertly pulling espresso shots and arranging pastries on display, as if nothing had changed. And, in a way, nothing had. Sure, the world outside the windows still held remnants of destruction—ruined buildings and cracked streets—but the café was your sanctuary, a small corner of the world that felt like home, even in this twisted alternate universe.

Your hands worked mechanically, preparing drinks for the workers who had poured in every day since Mark had gathered them to rebuild. They were mostly familiar faces—people you had known before, people who had somehow survived the end of the world. They had adapted, just as you had, finding ways to keep moving forward. Despite the strange air of tension that still lingered, there were moments of peace, small pockets of connection you’d found through these interactions.

You passed a cup of coffee to one of the workers who had once frequented the café back in your original universe. He gave you a warm, grateful smile, one that felt strangely reassuring. You exchanged a few words about how the rebuilding was going, and then he moved on to join the others, carrying his coffee like a small victory in the midst of the chaos.

You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope as you observed the bustling atmosphere. There was a sense of life here, a sense of community that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. People were making an effort to restore what had been lost. And that, you thought, was something worth holding onto.

Still, deep down, you couldn’t shake the persistent gnawing feeling of heartache. The world Mark had brought you to, the reality you now found yourself trapped in—it was wrong. You knew that. You would never stop knowing that.

But it didn’t consume you anymore.

For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again, even if it was just for a moment. Your world had been shattered, but in this café, you could pretend, for a few hours each day, that things hadn’t changed so drastically. You could laugh with the people who had become your friends, share in small, simple joys, and almost forget about the twisted version of Mark that lingered in the background of your thoughts.

Meanwhile, at the Mansion:

Mark sat alone in a dimly lit study at the mansion, his fingers absently tracing the edge of a glass on the table. The room was eerily quiet, the weight of solitude pressing in on him. His mind wandered, as it so often did, to the past—back to a time when things had been simpler. When he was... himself.

He closed his eyes, and the memory hit him like a flood.

It was a warm, golden afternoon. The two of you had been laughing so hard you could barely breathe. You were at a park, sitting on a patch of grass that felt like it was straight out of a dream. You were playfully teasing him about his latest mission, and he’d been trying—unsuccessfully—not to crack under the weight of your teasing.

“You really think I’d forget how to fly?” he’d said, pretending to be offended, but the grin on his face gave him away. He hadn’t been able to hold back his laughter.

“No,” you had replied, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “but you’d probably get distracted by a really cute puppy along the way.”

He laughed harder at that, wiping tears from his eyes.

You reached over, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a tenderness that he hadn’t known he needed, but now would give anything to feel again. Then, as if without thinking, you leaned in to kiss him—a soft, gentle press of your lips against his, lingering just long enough to make his heart skip a beat. When you pulled away, your faces were still inches apart, and there was that familiar warmth in your gaze—the kind that made him feel like nothing else mattered but the two of you in that moment.

“I love you,” he had whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

You smiled, your eyes softening, and whispered it back. “I love you, too.”

The memory burned so fiercely now that it took his breath away.

Mark’s chest tightened as the flood of memories washed over him. He could still feel your touch on his skin, the gentle, playful way you’d run your fingers through his hair. He could still hear your laugh—the way it echoed in his ears, filling him with a joy he had never known before, and feared he would never feel again. The moments had been so fleeting, so innocent, yet they were so deeply etched in his mind now.

He clenched his jaw, trying to hold the tears back, but the ache in his chest was unbearable. His heart wrenched with grief, the weight of all the loss crashing down on him. You were gone. And he’d failed to protect you. Failed to protect that love.

Mark ran a hand over his face, feeling the sting of tears threaten to escape. His vision blurred, and for a moment, it felt like the walls of the mansion closed in around him, suffocating him with the weight of his regrets. The luxury, the control, the power—none of it mattered. None of it could bring that moment back.

He had wanted to be the hero. He had wanted to save you, to make things right. But now, in the depths of the silence, all he could hear was the echo of your laugh, the whisper of your voice in his ear, and the painful realization that nothing—nothing—could undo the damage he had done.

Mark’s breath hitched, the tears finally slipping down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly, angry at himself for breaking, for feeling weak, but the ache was too strong. In that moment, all he wanted was to go back. Back to the world where you were still there. Where things hadn’t fallen apart. Where the love between you hadn’t been tainted by the darkness he had embraced.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, [Name].”

But the only answer was the soft, haunting memory of the life he had lost.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｆｉｖｅ】←

☆rivalriotrenegade☆

I know this one was shorter than the last two, just like the first one was pretty short - sorry for the inconsistency in length! I'm just trying to keep each part centered around a specific theme. I wonder if the next part will be a turning point for old Marky Mark and Reader... :')

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark graryson fanfic #variant!mark x reader #they just deserve to be happy god dammit 😭

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clarkeyzzz · 4 months ago

Note

okay here me out on this - you’re a youtuber and tiktoker who’s friends with the boys and always had a little crush on george, and he you, but you’re both cowards. it’s valentine’s day coming up and all the other boys have dates/are away and so are your girl friends so you say to george hey let’s do a friend v day like valentine’s day or smthn because he’s sad he doesn’t have a gf, he comes to your flat, you cook, watch rom coms, drink a lot of wine and you play games but you accidentally play a couples game 😉😉😉😉 and you end up doing the deed and in the end both agree to go on an ACTUAL valentines date the next day hehehehehe

A Valentine's Between Friends

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a friendly valentine's evening leads to anything but…

warnings: sexual content, smut (MDNI)

3.4k words (may have got a bit carried away)

note: Anon, thank you so much for the request. It's my first time writing smut so I hope you like it, sorry if it's awkward and cringy. If it sucks let me know and would love to get more requests.

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

It was the sort of cold February evening that made you want to curl up with a blanket, a glass of wine, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. The sort of evening that made you consider just not getting out of bed at all. Except for the fact that your phone was pinging with messages from the boys.

You groaned into your pillow, staring at the screen.

Chris had a date with someone he met on one of his spontaneous trips. Arthur was spending Valentine’s Day with a new girlfriend who he met through TikTok. Even your best friend was off on a family holiday. leaving you all alone.

You could already feel that aching hole in your chest. Valentine’s Day, of all days, was particularly terrible when you were single. The entire world seemed to be a constant reminder of the relationships you didn’t have. Of the fact that your phone was always empty, save for messages from your mates.

But then, there was George.

You had always had a soft spot for him. It started back when you all met, years ago, the banter, the cheeky comments, the laughs, the way he made you feel like you were always in on some secret joke. And now, well... now, it was just confusing. It had become a game of will-they-won’t-they. Neither of you ever crossed the line—too much fear of what might happen if you did. But god, how you both danced around it.

You hated the idea of spending Valentine’s Day alone, and so did he. So why not just make it a thing? A friend Valentine’s Day—no expectations, no awkwardness. You’d keep it chill.

You shot him a quick text.

“Wanna have an anti-Valentine's Day? I'll cook, we can drink wine, watch rom-coms and maybe play some games. Neither of us have plans, so why not? Let me know xx"

It didn’t take long before his reply came through.

"That sounds like exactly what I need. I’ll be over in an hour."

It was almost comically easy. But as the hour passed, you found yourself slightly nervous, unsure of what to expect. Was this just a chill night? Or was there something more lurking under the surface? You tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting everything ready.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, the sizzle of garlic in the pan mingling with the rich aroma of tomatoes—a simple, hearty meal to pair perfectly with the wine you’d bought. As you laid the table, each placement was a silent testament to the years of friendship that had intricately laced your lives together.

The sound of the doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. George stood there, hands buried deep in his pockets, his smile shy but genuine.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping into the warmth of your flat, the cold nipping at his heels. "This is a surprise. Smells like you've outdone yourself."

You chuckled, "Microwave meals are tragic on Valentine’s, even for friends."

He let out a laugh, sitting down at the table. "Fair enough. This looks pretty decent, actually. I’m impressed."

The evening unfolded with an ease that only true friendship could afford. Dinner was a merry affair, filled with laughter and nostalgic exchanges about past escapades with the boys. As the wine flowed, the barriers of mere friendship seemed to melt away, replaced by a tender connection that neither of you had dared to explore.

He grinned, taking off his jacket and hanging it up, glancing around your flat. "I’ve got to admit, this is a bit of a shocker. You’re actually being… domestic?"

"Well, thank you," you replied, smiling. "I even put some effort into it, just for you." You pulled the wine out of the fridge, uncorking it and pouring another glass for both of you.

The conversation flowed easily after that—easy banter, jokes about past video shoots, hilarious stories about the boys. But beneath the jokes, there was something soft lingering in the air. It was the unsaid, the little sparks you both danced around every time you spent time together.

As the evening wore on, the wine started to loosen your inhibitions. You moved to the couch, both of you nestled into the cushions, a blanket draped across your legs. The rom-com marathon began, and you both laughed at the ridiculous plot twists, snickered at the corny lines, but neither of you could ignore the growing tension between you.

"Should we play a game?" you asked, glancing at the coffee table where you had set out a box of games, most of them silly. "Something to pass the time? No pressure, I promise."

George gave you smile. "Yeah, I’m game. As long as it’s not too weird."

You grinned. "Oh, it’s not that weird. It’s just a couples game."

He raised an eyebrow. "Couples game? What, like Truth or Dare, but for couples?"

"Exactly," you replied with a laugh, though your heart was now beating in your throat. "But it’s mostly silly stuff. You know, harmless. Just a fun thing to do on Valentines."

You could see his hesitation, the subtle shift in his posture. "Alright. But I’m not kissing you, just so we’re clear." He finished his sentence with a cheeky wink.

You snorted. "Who said anything about kissing?"

With a shake of his head, George grabbed the card deck, and you both started drawing cards one after another, each more ridiculous than the last. The questions were harmless, at first: "What's your partner's worst habit?" and "What's their favourite food?" The game seemed lighthearted enough. Until it wasn't.

George drew the next card, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped it over. The room suddenly felt too warm, the air thick with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he read the card aloud: "Describe your most vivid fantasy involving the person sitting across from you."

Your eyes widened, and you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. The playful atmosphere evaporated in an instant, replaced by a crackling intensity that made your skin tingle. George's gaze met yours, his pupils dilating ever so slightly.

"We don't have to-" you started to say, but George cut you off with a subtle shake of his head. His voice low and husky. "No, it's okay. I want to answer."

"It's always the same dream," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're alone on a deserted beach at sunset. The sky is painted in shades of orange and pink, and the waves are gently lapping at our feet."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

He continued, his voice growing more confident. "You're wearing that white sundress I love, the one that shows off your shoulders. Your hair is loose, blowing in the sea breeze. I reach out to brush a strand from your face, and suddenly we're so close I can feel your breath on my lips."

The room was dead silent now, and you’re hanging onto George's every word.

Your heart raced as George's words painted a vivid picture, one that mirrored your own secret fantasies. The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity.

"And then?" you whispered, barely trusting your voice.

George's eyes darkened. "Then I kiss you. Softly at first, but it quickly becomes more. My hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You taste like salt and cherries."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your skin tingling with each word.

"We fall back onto the sand," he continued, his voice low and intense. "The waves crash around us, but we don't care. All that matters is the feel of your skin against mine, the sound of your breath catching as I-"

George's voice trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air between you. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that seemed to pulse with each rapid beat of your heart. You realized you were holding your breath, your body leaning towards George unconsciously.

"As you what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thundering of your pulse in your ears.

George swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. He looked almost pained, as if continuing would shatter some invisible barrier between fantasy and reality. But his eyes, dark and intense, never left yours.

"As I trace every curve of your body," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. "As I worship you with my hands, my lips, my entire being. In that moment, you're my entire world."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, your skin erupting in goose bumps.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the heat radiating from your flushed skin. George's confession hung in the air between you, electric and charged with possibility.

"I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you possibly respond to such a raw, intimate revelation?

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire swirling in their depths. "Your turn," he said softly, pushing the deck of cards towards you with trembling fingers.

Your hand hovered over the stack, suddenly aware of how this next card could change everything. With a deep breath, you flipped it over.

"If you could do anything right now, without consequences, what would it be?"

The question seemed to mock you, daring you to voice the thoughts that had been building since George began speaking. You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

"I..." you started again, your voice barely above a whisper. "I would make your fantasy a reality."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. George's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly rose from your seat. Your heart pounded as you crossed the short distance between you, each step feeling like an eternity. George's gaze followed your movement, a mix of anticipation and disbelief etched across his features.

As you reached him, you gently took the card from his hands, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Then, with a courage you didn't know you possessed, you lowered yourself onto his lap, your legs straddling his.

George's hands instinctively moved to your waist, steading you.

"We may not have a sunset, but..." Your voice trailed off as you brought your face closer to his, your lips mere inches apart. "We can make our own paradise right here."

George's breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you hovered on the precipice of something monumental. Then, with a soft groan, George closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

It was everything you had imagined and more. His lips were soft yet insistent, moving against yours with a passion that made your head spin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

George's hands roamed your back, tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together.

"I've wanted this for so long," George murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs stroking your cheeks as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You leaned into his touch, your heart racing. "Me too," you whispered back, surprised by the intensity of your own feelings.

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of desire and vulnerability swirling in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, this time placing a soft, reverent kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through your body.

When he finally reclaimed your lips, the kiss was slower, deeper, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You melted into him, your bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper, as if the question was as much for him as it was for you.

You leaned in slightly, your breath mingling with his. "I’m sure," you murmured, before closing the distance between you with a kiss.

It started soft—tentative. But as the seconds stretched, it deepened, becoming more urgent. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the rise and fall of his breath matching your own.

The world outside seemed to vanish. The only thing that mattered was the press of his lips against yours, the way his fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending sparks of electricity through your body. His touch was gentle at first, but as you shifted against him, something shifted in the air between you—a quiet hunger that neither of you could deny any longer.

"George," you whispered against his lips, a soft plea, and it was all it took. His hands moved to your face, cupping it as he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if he was losing himself to the moment.

You felt the intensity rise in him, in the way his hands wandered to the back of your neck, tugging gently, pulling you even closer. The taste of the wine mixed with the warmth of his mouth, and you could no longer tell where you ended and he began.

"Are you really sure?" he asked again, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes. I want this."

With that, the dam broke. His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, leaving a fiery path behind. You shivered at the feeling, the electricity between you both undeniable. Each kiss, each touch, built the tension higher, and soon, it felt like the only thing you needed was him.

The wine seemed to fuel your courage as much as it fueled your desire, and soon you were both lost in the moment, not thinking about anything but the way your bodies responded to each other. His hands roamed freely, each touch sending your pulse racing, while you met him with equal eagerness, your fingers tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

As things heated up, you both moved to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. George's eyes roamed over you appreciatively as you lay back on the bed. He joined you, his warm body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in another passionate kiss. His hands explored your curves, teasing and caressing. You arched into his touch, wanting more.

George trailed kisses down your neck and chest, taking his time to savor every inch of you. When his mouth found your breast, you gasped in pleasure. His tongue swirled around your nipple as his hand kneaded your other breast. The dual sensations sent waves of arousal through you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, urging him lower. He obliged, kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue against your sensitive flesh had you moaning. He explored you thoroughly

George's lips trailed lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your inner thighs. His warm breath against your sensitive skin made you shiver with anticipation. When his tongue finally made contact with your center, you gasped at the sensation. He started with slow, teasing licks before focusing his attention on your most sensitive spots.

As George's ministrations intensified, you felt waves of pleasure building inside you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on as your hips rocked against his mouth. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them in a come hither motion that had you seeing stars. Thel stimulation quickly pushed you over the edge into a powerful climax that left you breathless.

Before you could fully recover, George was kissing his way back up your body. You pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands roamed over George's muscular back as he settled between your thighs. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, igniting a fresh wave of desire. George gazed into your eyes, seeking silent permission. You nodded, pulling him closer.

He entered you slowly, both of you gasping at the exquisite sensation of finally being joined. George stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. Then he began to move, setting a slow pace that had you arching beneath him.

Your bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity, finding a rhythm that built the pleasure higher and higher. George's lips found yours in a searing kiss as he quickened his thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle and causing you both to cry out.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared passion - soft moans, gasps of pleasure, skin sliding against skin. The walls seemed to disappear, as if they were the only two people in the world. George's hips moved faster, his thrusts deep and primal, as if he couldn't get enough of her. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, urging her on.

You met his gaze, your breath ragged and your chest heaving. "George... I... I'm..."

He kissed you again, hard and desperate, silencing your words as he drove himself deeper inside you. "I've got you," he murmured against your lips. "Let go."

That was all the encouragement you needed. With a sharp cry, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. The intensity of your climax sent shockwaves through your body, your inner muscles clenching around George rhythmically. He groaned at the sensation, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final deep thrusts, George let out a guttural moan as he found his peak, trembling above you.

You both lay there panting, bodies intertwined and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. George's weight on top of you felt comforting rather than stifling. Sliding out, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead tenderly before capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

"That was..." he trailed off, seeming at a loss for words.

"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly. "It really was."

George rolled to the side, pulling you close against him. You nestled into the crook of his arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. A comfortable silence fell between you as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

George's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, sending pleasant tingles through your body. You tilted your head up to look at him, taking in his tousled hair and flushed cheeks. His eyes met yours, filled with warmth and contentment.

You both lay there for a moment, just breathing, both aware of the shift that had happened—of the line you had just crossed, and the new, thrilling tension that hung in the air. Neither of you spoke for a long time, simply enjoying the quiet intimacy.

"Well," he said, voice thick, "that… wasn’t how I expected the night to go."

You chuckled softly, catching your breath. "Yeah, me neither. But…"

"But?" he prompted, his eyes locking with yours, intense and filled with something new.

"But, maybe we should just go with it?"

He smiled at you, his lips curving mischievously. But when George finally broke the brief silence, it was with a soft chuckle.

"So… tomorrow," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. "I guess we're going on that Valentine's date after all."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "I guess we are," you replied with a smile, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft and full of a warmth that made your heart flutter. As his eyes met yours, you knew that everything had changed.

Outside, the night continued on, unaware of the transformation happening within the walls of your flat. But inside, on this unexpected Valentine's Day, you found yourself celebrating not just the day itself, but the beginning of something new and exciting. As you snuggled closer to him, your head finding its now familiar spot on his shoulder, you both agreed to take a leap into the unknown together. This was more than just a date on the calendar - it was a promise for the future.

Valentine's Day was no longer a dreaded reminder of what you lacked, but a joyous celebration of what could be.

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literaila · 2 years ago

Note

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

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bunny-1111 · 7 months ago

Text

Did I stutter? TN x fem!reader Part 2.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

WARNING: SMUTTTT, Reader discretion (18+) NO MINORSSSSSSS PLS

Authors note: first smut kinda nervous... this is a long one, I hope y'all enjoy <3

Part one here

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

What the fuck now, you think, making your way to the common room.

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s useless. Theo’s always been hard to read, kept his cards too close to his chest, but this feels different—like he’s dropped the mask just enough for you to glimpse something darker lurking beneath. Something you’re not sure how to deal with, what the fuck is next, this sudden dominance is not hard to accept but hard to understand.

When you finally return to the common room, Pansy lounges on one of the sofas, flipping through a magazine. She barely looks up when you enter.

“Well? Did he say anything?” she asks, her voice dripping with casual curiosity, but you know her well enough to recognise the gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"How did you even see us having a conversation?" you enquire, brows furrowing

"I saw you walk past, then I saw Theo walk back The opposite way with a tiny but telling smile on his face", she smiles "So tell me, what did he say? Did he ask you to the dance?" she continues.

You toss your bag onto the floor, sinking into the chair opposite her. “No, not exactly,” you mutter, more confused than ever. Your mind still replaying the look Theo gave you, the way he practically claimed you without saying a word.

Pansy arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of gossip. “Not exactly? That doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, spill.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. “He asked if anyone had asked me, and when I said no, he said… ‘Good. Keep it that way.’” The words feel strange in your mouth as if they don’t belong to a casual conversation but something heavier and more serious.

Pansy stares at you for a moment, then her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Oh, that’s rich. Typical Theo.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Pansy tosses the magazine aside, leaning forward like she’s about to reveal some grand secret. “He’s marking his territory, babe. Telling you not to go with anyone else, without actually having the guts to ask you himself.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? Was Theo staking some kind of silent claim over you? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and not entirely out of fear. There’s a part of you—a part you’re not sure you’re ready to admit to—that likes the idea of being claimed by him.

But that doesn’t mean you’re okay with the way he’s going about it.

“So what?” you say, exasperation creeping into your voice. “He’s just going to tell me to wait around for him while he ignores me at the ball?”

Pansy shrugs, unbothered. “Pretty much. That’s how these boys work. They want you, but they’re too proud to ask. So they’ll just… hover.”

You roll your eyes, sinking further into the chair. “I’m not going to just sit here and wait for him to make up his mind.”

Pansy grins, eyes twinkling with something dangerous. “Then don’t. Go with someone else. Let him squirm.”

The idea sounds thrilling, but you know it’s not that simple. Theo’s not the kind of guy you can make squirm. He’s the kind that would shut down any attempt to get under his skin, the kind who would lash out rather than admit any kind of weakness. And yet, the thought of pushing him—of seeing just how far he’ll go to keep you—lights a fire in your chest.

That's what you will do. Push him until he can't hold off any longer.

Toying with Theo was a dangerous game to play, even if you knew that, but if he's just going to sit there and not make anything happen, then, fuck, you need to take matters into your own hands.

Yes, you could just do the normal thing and pull him aside for a conversation, but now, where's the fun in that?

The next day, arriving at charms class, you don't take your usual seat with Theo and your friends. Instead, you skip over and find a place next to Anthony Goldstein, a cute Ravenclaw boy, who you knew would piss Theo off.

"Morning", you smile at Anthony. He looks at you, confused but excited.

"Good morning," he returns, starting what would become a cheerful conversation. As you laugh and talk throughout the class, you quickly glance over at a visibly upset Theodore and a very wide-smiling pansy. She knew what you were doing, and Theodore was catching on, too.

Theo’s eyes are burning holes into the back of your head, and you can feel it. Every time you lean in a little closer to Anthony, let out a laugh that’s just a touch too loud; you know Theo’s watching. It’s exactly what you wanted—his attention, focus, and jealousy. But now that you have it, it’s making your skin prickle in anticipation in a way you hadn’t fully prepared for.

Anthony’s sweet, too sweet. He’s charming, and he’s kind, but he’s not Theo. There’s no edge to him, no danger. And while the conversation flows easily enough, your mind keeps drifting back to the boy brooding in the corner, whose eyes haven’t left you since the class began. You know he’s seething. Good. He should be. He warned you to keep away from any guy who could want something off you, but you weren’t getting enough out of Theo, so he pushed this out of you, you determine.

As the class drags on, you notice the shift in the air. Theo’s presence feels suffocating, almost predatory like he’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You can’t help but glance over again, meeting his gaze for just a second—long enough to see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, and for a second, you think he might snap right there in the middle of class, but he doesn’t. He’s controlled, as always. And that only frustrates you more.

You knew you were aggravating him. You have no idea what the consequences are; you have a feeling brewing in your chest that you would find out sooner than later.

When your professor dismisses the class, you gather your things slowly, lingering by Anthony’s side, pretending not to notice the way Theo’s already standing by the door, waiting for you. Anthony smiles, oblivious, and asks if you’d like to walk to the Great Hall with him. You almost say yes, just to push Theo a little further, but before the words leave your mouth, you feel a hand wrap firmly around your wrist.

You turn to see Theo, his eyes dark and dangerous, staring down at you with a look that makes your heart race.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

You don’t even have a chance to respond before he’s tugging you out of the classroom, pulling you through the corridors, a man on a mission. You stumble to keep up, your mind racing to catch up with him, but there’s no mistaking the tension in the air now. He’s pissed. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you wanted.

When he drags you into a broom closet and slams the door behind you, your pulse is pounding in your ears. Theo’s still gripping your wrist, his fingers tight around your skin, and when he finally lets go, your breathe was still held tight, like he was the one who could allow you to exhale

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his voice cold, but his eyes—God, his eyes are on fire.

You straighten up, refusing to back down. “What do you mean?”

Theo takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours as he looms over you. “You know exactly what I mean,” he growls. “Sitting with Goldstein. Laughing with him. What was that, huh? Trying to make me jealous?”

You raise an eyebrow, refusing to show how much his proximity affects you. “Is it working?”

His jaw ticks, and for a moment, you think he might lose control. But then he surprises you—he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “You want to play games, fine. But you’re playing with fire, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re ready for what happens next.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. The tension between you is electric, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his body is coiled, ready to snap. You know you’ve pushed him to the edge, but you’re not backing down now. Not when you’ve come this far.

“I think I can handle it,” you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s enough to break whatever restraint Theo’s been holding onto.

“Are you sure?” he stalks even closer, leaning down to you, his fingers forcing your face up to his all you can do it nod as an unexpected wave of shyness hits you. Your heart drops when you hear a gentle but quick knock on the door, please, you think no one interrupts what might just finally happen. You both look at the twisting door knob, silence falls.

“Hey, it everything ok in here? It’s Anthony” your heart drops, Theo might spiral.

His hands loop around you, pushing you behind him, opening the door, “Everything's just fine. You don’t go following girls into broom closets all the time, do you? Shes with me. Now fuck far off,” Theo replied, slamming the door in his face.

You hear his footsteps quickly rush off

He flicks the lock of the door so quickly, so quick to kiss you that anything you feel melts away, in an instant, his hands are on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. His lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, like he’s finally letting go of everything he’s been holding back. You don’t even have time to think before you kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, harder, deeper.

It’s all heat and intensity, a wild storm brewing for far too long. Theo’s hands roam over your body, possessive and hungry, like he’s claiming every inch of you as his, his lips never leaving yours as his hands work quickly, almost frantically, to tug at the hem of your shirt. You gasp as his fingers brush against your skin, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Theo pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness.

You nod, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

That’s all he needs to hear. In one swift motion, he lifts you onto a surface, everything happening so fast you dont even know what he’s sat you on; all you can focus on is his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he moves between your legs. His lips are on your neck now, kissing, biting, leaving marks that you know will be there tomorrow.

Your hands fumble with his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. When you finally get it off, you run your hands over the hard planes of his chest, savouring the way his muscles tense under your touch. Theo groans against your neck, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. But you don’t care. You want more. You need more.

“Theo,” you gasp, arching your back as his lips trail lower, his hands working quickly to undo the buttons of your blouse. He doesn’t waste any time, pulling it off and tossing it aside before his mouth finds your skin again.

He’s everywhere—his hands, lips, teeth—and it’s all too much, not enough. You’re dizzy with it, consumed by him, by the way, he touches you like he’s been starving for it. For you.

He only stops for a second, his lips not far from yours but far enough to speak, “I can’t take you in a broom closet, alright? Let’s go to my dorm; you’ll be more comfortable” he quickly says, almost out of breath.

“Theo” you mutter “You can take me anywhere. Here’s just fine, please, I can’t wait anymore, please, I don’t want to waste another second” you whine, quickly joining your lips together again.

He doesn’t protest; when he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. “You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. “Fuck, no one else gets to touch you. Understand?”

You nod, your heart racing as you reach for him again, pulling him back to you. “Only you.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and there’s no going back this time.

Theo’s mouth crashes against yours with even more intensity, his hands gripping your hips as though he can’t stand the thought of being apart from you for even a second. It’s not just a kiss anymore—it’s a declaration of something raw and primal that neither of you have the strength to fight off any longer.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against you. You can feel the hard press of his body against yours, and it sends a wave of heat through you so intense it makes your head spin. His hands slide up your thighs, slipping under your skirt, and your breath hitches as his fingers brush over the thin fabric of your underwear. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, eyes dark with desire as they roam over your flushed face. “All worked up for me, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You want to come up with some smart reply, something to challenge him, but all that comes out is a soft whimper as his fingers tease the edge of your underwear, barely grazing where you need him most. Your body arches and pulses into his touch, silently begging for more, and Theo’s smirk deepens.

“Patience,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll give you what you want, but you must tell me what you want.”

Your pride screams at you not to give in, not to let him have that satisfaction, but the ache between your legs is too much. You need him, now. So, you swallow your pride, your voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

“Please, Theo. Please”

“Tsk tsk tsk, please, what? Come on, words, sweet thing,”

“I need you to touch me Teddy, need to feel you” You practically whimper

Your pleading seems to flip a switch in him, and suddenly his teasing stops. His fingers slip under the fabric, brushing against your soaked core, and you gasp, your head falling back as the sensation sends sparks shooting through your body

“Good girl,” he growls, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck as his fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Your hands grip his back exposed, your body trembling as his fingers work you over with an expert precision that makes it clear he’s been thinking about this for a long time. You can barely breathe, your mind going fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure as Theo’s thumb presses against your clit, drawing out a moan that you can’t hold back.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watches the way your body reacts to his touch. “Falling apart for me already. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, send you spiralling closer and closer to the edge, your body tightening with the mounting tension. You can feel it building, coiling in your stomach like a spring ready to snap, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you fall over the edge.

Theo must sense it too, because his pace quickens, his fingers moving faster, harder, and his lips find yours again, swallowing your moans as you cling to him. Your entire body is on fire, the pleasure so intense it feels like you might break apart at any second, and then, finally, you do.

The it hits you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You cry out, your nails digging into Theo’s shoulders as your body trembles beneath him, completely lost in the sensation. Theo doesn’t let up, his fingers continuing their steady rhythm as he helps you ride out every last shudder of pleasure. You can’t help but sink your teeth into his shoulder.

By the time it finally fades, you’re left panting, your body limp and spent as you rest against the desk, your forehead pressed against Theo’s shoulder. He’s breathing hard too, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, but there’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice a low growl as he brushes a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “No one else. Ever.”

You nod, still catching your breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Only yours,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Theo leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and for a moment, the intensity between you softens. His hands, once rough and demanding, now hold you gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid of breaking you. And in this moment, you realise just how deep his feelings for you run, how much he’s been holding back.

“You don’t have to make me jealous to get my attention,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. “You’ve had it from the start.”

You smile against his mouth, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him into a deeper kiss. It’s softer now, slower, but no less intense. Because even though Theo might be possessive and a little rough around the edges, you know that this, you, means more to him than he’s ever let on.

“Let's go to my dorm, alright? Get you cleaned up,” he smiles, leading you out of the now very messy broom cupboard. To your surprise, Anthony is waiting for you a few metres up; Theo moves your body to the other side of him so that it is Theo that is closest to him. When you both walk straight past him he casually says, “Don’t worry about that piece of shit, Ravenclaw, I’ll fix him up tomorrow.” You wondered if that should worry you, not a problem for right now though, your mind still racing with lust and love.

The next morning, you wake up with a warm, almost surreal feeling in your chest. Everything feels different, like the air’s lighter, the world softer, and it’s all because of him. Theo. Yesterday's intensity, the way his hands gripped you like he’d never let go, still lingers on your skin like a secret that only the two of you share. You stretch out on your bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the memories replay in your head. You can’t help but smile as your body remembers the feeling.

But then, of course, reality hits you in the form of Pansy bloody Parkinson.

She barges into the dorm room with all the subtlety of a troll, her arms full of bags from her morning Hogsmeade run. Merlin, that girl has a shopping addiction. "Good morning, sunshine," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she drops the bags onto her bed. "You’re glowing. What did you do? Save a baby unicorn?"

You roll your eyes, pulling the covers up to your chin, trying to hide the ridiculous grin that’s threatening to spill across your face. But Pansy, being Pansy, is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out drama, and she narrows her eyes at you.

"Hold on," she says, pausing mid-unpacking, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip. "What is that look? That is not a ‘just got a full night’s sleep’ look. That is a someone rocked my world last night look."

You burst into laughter, but it’s the nerves that I’m hiding something kind of laugh, and Pansy’s eyes widen like she’s hit the jackpot.

"No fucking way." She abandons her bags completely, climbing onto your bed and sitting cross-legged before you. "Spill. Now."

You bite your lip, wondering how in Merlin's name you’re going to explain this without sounding completely insane. But then again, it’s Pansy. There’s no hiding anything from her, and part of you wants to tell her, to relive every second of it by saying it out loud. So, you do.

"It was Theo," you admit quietly, your heart racing as the words leave your mouth. "Yesterday. We… we hooked up."

Pansy’s jaw drops so hard you’re pretty sure you hear it hit the floor. "Theo? As in Theo Nott? The same Theo who’s been brooding over you for months and never made a move?"

You nod, feeling your face heat up under her gaze. "Yeah, that Theo."

For a moment, Pansy is entirely silent, just staring at you like she’s processing this monumental piece of information. Then, suddenly, she lets out a shriek so loud it probably wakes up half the castle.

"Holy shit!" she squeals, grabbing your hands and bouncing on the bed like an excited child. "I knew it! I fucking knew he had it bad for you! So? Was it amazing? Was he, like, all dominating and rough like I always imagined? Tell me everything!"

You laugh, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you think about last night—the way Theo touched you, the way he claimed you, like he’d been holding back for so long and finally couldn’t anymore.

"It was…" You pause, searching for the right word. "Intense. And, yeah, he was definitely possessive. He kept saying I was his."

Pansy squeals again, throwing herself back onto the bed dramatically. "I knew it! I knew that brooding, quiet thing was just a front. Ok, you’re my best friend you owe me the whole story, Don’t miss a detail." as you explain step by step you watch her eyes widen and her smile grow

Before you can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door. Matteo and Blaise stroll in without waiting for an invitation, looking far too smug for your liking. Blaise immediately heads for Pansy’s bed, flopping down like he owns the place, while Matteo leans against the dresser, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"What’s with the giddy shrieks?" Blaise asks, raising an eyebrow. "You two plotting something evil this early in the morning? We haven’t even had breakfast yet"

Pansy rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. We don’t need to plot evil. It just comes naturally."

Matteo snickers, but his eyes flick to you, narrowing slightly. "Wait a minute… what’s going on? Why does she look all… flustered?"

Before you can even think of a response, Pansy, being the absolute traitor that she is, jumps in with, "Oh, didn’t you hear? Our girl here finally got some action. With Theo."

Matteo and Blaise both freeze, staring at you in shock. For a split second, there’s dead silence, and then, like a synchronised team, they both throw their heads back and shout, "Finally!"

Your eyes widen as Blaise shakes his head in disbelief. "I was starting to think you two would just brood at each other for the rest of eternity."

Matteo crosses the room, sitting on the edge of your bed and giving you a playful shove. "Took you long enough."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Can everyone just stop? This is mortifying."

"Mortifying?" Matteo laughs. "No, what’s mortifying is how long you two have been dancing around each other. Honestly, I’m just relieved one of you finally made a move."

Blaise leans back against Pansy’s bed, smirking. "Yeah, we’ve been placing bets on when it would happen. Matteo won, by the way."

You look up, horrified. "You’ve been betting on us?"

"Of course we have," Pansy says, grinning. "It’s been, like, the slowest burn of the century."

You sigh, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. As much as they’re embarrassing you right now, there’s something comforting in the way your friends are reacting—like they’ve all been rooting for this to happen as much as you have.

Blaise stands, giving you a teasing salute. "Well, I’ll leave you to bask in your post-Theo high. Just… try not to kill each other, yeah?"

Matteo follows him out the door, tossing one last look over his shoulder. "Finally."

Once they’re gone, you collapse back onto the bed, shaking your head. "I can’t believe them."

Pansy grins, lying next to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can. We’ve been watching this unfold for ages. I’m so happy for you."

“Thank you Pans”, you smile, turning as you lay closer next to her

“Oh! I heard the most unusual thing this morning. Draco told me,” she starts

“Go on” you giggle

“That Anthony Goldstein practically crawled to the hospital wing this morning, black eye, bloody shirt, it seemed pretty ruff” she continued “wait, weren't you sitting by him just yesterday?” you remembered.

Oh, Theo, he did indeed ‘take care of it’.

893 notes · View notes

the-halloween-jack · 18 days ago

Text

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human.

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge.

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable.

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there.

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last.

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection.

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night.

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question.

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind?

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception.

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation.

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added.

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself.

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work.

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady.

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open.

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch.

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #dc comics #jason todd angst #x reader #gotham #detective comics #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #dc universe #dc #the-halloween-jack #domestic jason todd #fluff #hurt/comfort

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midnighthazee · 20 days ago

Note

Thoughts on a HyunjinxChangbinxReader threesome with DP while the rest of the members watch?? Yes? No?

UMMMMM WOW ISSUES...ummm yeah sure! Let's do that... (I want that 👀)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex (let's be smart y'all), pet names, praise kink, somno, dacryphilia, rough sex, voyeurism, anal, double p, creampies (couldn't help myself), marking... i think that's it...

Word Count: 1992 words

You were currently passed out in Changbin’s bed, the clock next to it reading 12:38am. You were so tired from getting up early and dancing all day. As a choreographer, you were always dancing and you loved it, but today was more hectic than usual. You had two classes with children, which always drains you physically and mentally, and then your normal three sessions.

So when you got home, you showered immediately and then decided on Changbin’s room since it was closest to the bathroom. You climbed into his soft sheets and curled up with his pillow. You were out cold within five minutes.

Unbeknownst to you, the boys arrived home about an hour later, also tired and ready for bed.

“Where’s y/n? Anybody hear from her?” Seungmin asked, looking around the living room of their shared dorm.

“No. I texted her, but she’s not responding.” Felix pouted.

“She’s usually here.” Seungmin gestured to the couch.

You were notorious for being found asleep on the couch in an attempt to wait up for them each night. But tonight…the couch was empty.

The boys went to their rooms to drop off their stuff. Changbin opened his door, pleasantly surprised by your presence. He dropped his stuff carefully and left, closing the door quietly.

“She’s knocked out in my room.” Changbin told a few of them as he walked by their rooms.

“Why your bed?” Hyunjin asked, almost annoyed.

“Yah….my bed is the most comfortable.” Changbin argued.

“Chan has the most comfortable bed actually…” Felix interrupted.

“Is that why you’re always in it?” Minho asks with a smirk and pointed look.

Felix blushed.

Changbin went back to his room, the boys following. He quietly opened his door and went over to your sleeping figure. Hyunjin, standing next to him, reached over and peeled the covers back. Changbin was quick to grab his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna see her.” Hyunjin said, continuing to remove the comforter from your body.

You were wearing a nightgown - one Jisung had bought for you - and it was showing just a sliver of what Minho says is your best asset. One of your legs was hiked up, making your ass stick out as if beckoning to them.

Changbin and Hyunjin were growing hard in their pants, itching to touch your sleeping form. Hyunjin grazed his fingers over the swell of your ass and dipped in between your legs.

“Hyung..let her sleep,” Jeongin pleaded in a whisper.

Hyunjin pulled back, looking at his fingers that were coated in some of your wetness. He looked over to Changbin who, at the sight, was ready to cum in his pants.

“She must be dreaming about us.” Hyunjin smirked.

Changbin began removing his clothes, startling everyone lurking in the room.

“What are you doing?” Jisung asked.

“I’m so fucking hard right now…I need her.” Changbin whispers. “She told us we could use her if we ever needed to.”

“But she looks so cute like this.” Felix nearly whines.

Changbin moves onto his bed, legs in between yours as he slides his tip up and down your folds. Once it was coated, he hiked your leg a smidge more and began to push inside.

The boys wanted to give him privacy, but at the same time they couldn’t look away. And Changbin clearly didn’t care if he didn’t kick them out beforehand. Chan came in when he found everyone else in Changbin’s room.

“Hey…don’t wake her…” Chan insisted.

“I’ll be gentle…” Changbin says.

Your brows furrow, a whine escaping you. You shift slightly, but still remain asleep. Chan runs his fingers through his hair - he knows you are not going to be able to sleep through it. It’s only a matter of time before you wake.

Changbin bottoms out with a heavy sigh. He leans down and kisses the top of your shoulder. You were beginning to stir, the stretch of his thick cock waking you. He slides out just to the tip slowly, before pushing in once more. He starts to move at an even tempo.

Your brows still furrowed, sleepy moans being heard from you. You slowly blink your eyes open, taking in the room. As you do, you see a few of the boys watching you, rubbing their crotches. You were suddenly aware that someone was fucking you, And it was between three of them based on the stretch alone.

You moaned louder, trying to blink away the sleep as you relish in the feeling. God he felt so good, stretching you.

“Sorry baby. I couldn’t resist.” Changbin whispers in your ear.

You smirk, hiding your face in the pillow.

“Don’t hide from us, princess.” It was Hyunjin on your left.

You look over to him, seeing him naked as he squatted next to the bed. You whine, wanting him too - wanting all of them honestly. But you always took turns, giving everyone undivided attention. You hadn’t had two at once yet..but wow had you wanted it.

“Jinnie..” you whine.

From that tone alone, he knows exactly what you want. He stands up, stepping closer and offering himself. You adjust your position and then take him fully in your mouth. His head falls back, moans leaving his mouth as he feels your warmth around his cock.

Changbin has picked up the tempo, rock hard at the sight of you taking Hyunjin so well. The rest of the boys were also turned on, their cocks hard in their pants. Felix, Jisung, and Jeongin however were stroking themselves as they watched - their cocks in their hands shamelessly.

You could feel your orgasm approaching already and were clenching around Changbin.

“Binnie…” you whine between sucking and licking Hyunjin’s tip.

“I know, sweetheart. Cum for me.” Binnie says.

His words were your undoing. You came, pussy throbbing around him as he rode out your high. Hyunjin was holding your hair in a ponytail as his cock was stuffed down your throat. He didn’t move, just held you there.

Finally he released you, Changbin slowing his rhythm as you gasped for air.

“Good girl, princess.” Hyunjin says, squatting in front of you. “You gonna let me claim your ass today?”

You whine in response, biting your lip.

“Words, baby…” Changbin says with a harsh thrust.

“Ahh..yes. Please Jinnie.”

Hyunjin smashes his lips on yours before standing. Changbin lays down beside you and you turn so that Hyunjin is behind you, Changbin in front. You begin sucking Changbin, tasting yourself and his salty precum. You loved the taste - unable to get enough. You took him all, bobbing your head on his length.

Hyunjin was prodding your hole with his tongue, licking up some of your juices and groaning. Then he coated a finger before poking at your tight hole. You tried to relax, allowing him to penetrate.

He pushed his finger in and you dropped your head onto Changbin’s thigh, moaning. It was different but felt so undeniably good. He pushed in and out, his thumb pushing on your clit. You moaned louder wanting more. You pushed your hips back against his finger and he smirked.

Removing his finger, he stood and slipped his cock into your wet pussy. You moaned, taking Changbin’s cock back into your mouth. Hyunjin thrusted a bit, relishing in the feel of your gummy walls. Then he pulled out and lined up with your ass. He began pushing in, making you squirm.

“Relax for me, princess.” Hyunjin rubs your lower back, making your arch more.

He continues to push in, slipping inside and bottoming out with a grunt. You were bobbing on Changbin’s length, eyes watering.

“Aww is it too much for you, sweetheart?” Changbin coos.

You don’t say anything as Hyunjin leans forward. His body was flush with yours as he moved in and out slowly. It was too much but felt too good - like you couldn’t get enough.

“Making you feel so good, yeah?” Changbin asks with a tilt of his head.

You whine in response and Hyunjin moves faster.

“Ahhh…” you cry out, leaning up.

You squeeze your eyes shut as Hyunjin kisses your neck. He bites, sucking hard to leave a mark - his favorite thing. He loves using your skin as his own canvas to mark as he sees fit. He left a few more marks before you began quivering beneath him.

He held on tight as you came, peppering the side of your face with kisses. You could feel the sweat on his forehead as he did. Once you came down from the high, he carefully slipped out, earning a whine from you. Tears pricked your eyes, a few sliding down your cheeks.

Changbin wiped them away before pulling you onto his lap. He sunk you down onto his thick shaft and you threw your head back. You bounced, Hyunjin leaning forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as his hand teased the other. God you loved being used like this.

Your hand instinctively went to fist his hair, but the new buzzcut left you massaging his scalp instead. You moaned, feeling yourself ready to snap again. Hyunjin pulls away and positions himself behind you.

“You ready for me, princess?” Hyunjin whispers.

You lean down onto Changbin as Hyunjin teases your tight hole once more. He lines himself up and begins to push in.

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s gonna feel so good.” Changbin says, grazing his fingers up and down your sides.

“It’s too much..” you say.

But Hyunjin keeps pushing in. He gets his head in and slides, stretching you. Once he bottoms out, he stops to let you adjust. You felt so stuffed…but it felt so good.

They began moving, thrusting into you at alternating tandems.

“Ahh..fuck…oh-oh my god…” you fists the sheets as you let them use you.

“Fuck!” you hear from behind you. Pretty sure it was Jisung.

“Couldn’t hold out, Ji?” Changbin smirks.

“Ahhh…shit…” Felix follows suit, also cumming by his own hand.

By now everyone was jerking off to the sight of the three of you. The thought alone turned you on more, making you clench. But you were too lost in the pleasure to bother looking over.

“Oh, yes…” Hyunjin moans.

“I’m close…” Binnie says, groaning as he thrusts up into you. “Fuck, y/n.”

It wasn’t fast since you were so tight around them but you could feel every vein in their cocks with every drag along your walls.

“Me too…” Hyunjin pants, his sweat dripping onto your back.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” Changbin pins your arms behind your back.

“Yeah..like being our little toy? Fill you up with all our cum?” Hyunjin thrusts as hard and fast as he can.

With a grunt, Changbin jerks, his cock twitching inside you. You can feel the globs of cum filling you up. You moan loudly, clenching around them and milking Changbin dry.

“Damn baby…fuck.” He says, laying back and panting.

Hyunjin didn’t slow his tempo as he chased his own release. And when you clenched around him, it was his undoing.

“Shit..ahhh” Hyunjin grips your hips with bruising strength as he fills your ass with his cum. “Y/n….that’s my girl.”

He leans forward, kissing and nipping at your back. You can feel his sweat but you don’t care - you actually find it so hot. His body finally relaxes, his cock stops twitching, and he falls onto you.

“Come here, kitten.” Minho says, walking over to the bed.

Hyunjin reluctantly slips out, making you whimper.

You lay on your back and stick your tongue out as the remaining boys circle you to chase their own release. While Hyunjin marks your inner thighs, chest, and neck, the boys cum all over your face.

Felix comes over, kissing your messy lips. “Such a good girl, angel.”

“The perfect toy.” Seungmin says with a little slap to your clit.

You yelp in response, groaning as you get up to take another shower.

Thanks for the request @its-the-solar-system I hope you enjoyed it!!

TAGLIST: @butterflydemons @readr1221 @thecutiepieme @sillygoosegoose @kaleigh-2002 @stvrrylove @iknow-uknow-leeknow @estella-novella @staytinyluv @galaxy4489 @motheraiya55 @gaby105-skz @thatgirlangelb @hxnnielk @bookswillfindyouaway @ihttinniee @writeuntilthebitterend

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #hwang hyunjin x reader #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #changbin smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #skz hard hours #stray kids ot8 #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #changbin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #hyunjin hard thoughts #skz smut

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larrylimericks · 7 months ago

Text

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

#rest in peace liam #liam payne #tw liam's death #trying to process the sad thoughts #don't read if your own sad thoughts are too much atm #i've moved from shock to sorrow and now to denial #none of it feels real #tw death

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

Text

✨The smarter choice - 1/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile. Teaser

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8819

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The sounds of pots and pans clanking echoed through the kitchen of the bunker as Sam wiped down the countertops, his broad frame moving smoothly through the space. He hadn’t even noticed his older brother lurking nearby—Dean was always the one who loved to poke fun, and today, he was feeling particularly mischievous.

"You sure you want to bring her here, Sammy?", Dean’s voice rang out, teasing but with an edge of curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his younger brother intently. "I mean, the bunker’s great and all, but it’s not exactly a romantic getaway".

Sam didn’t miss a beat. He was used to his brother’s banter, though that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy him. "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s not like—".

"Not like who, Sam?", Dean interrupted, smirking. "She’s not a hunter like us, right? Just a normal girl, who doesn’t actually know what she’s getting herself into?".

Sam shot Dean a glare, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "She knows. I’ve told her everything. She’s not freaked out".

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure she’ll be able to handle—", he motioned vaguely with his hand, clearly meaning the life they led—"all this? The monsters, the blood, the nightmares?".

Sam was about to respond when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone from the counter. He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

It was you.

"Hey, I’m on my way. Should be there in 20. See you soon :)".

Sam smiled softly at the message, his heart warming, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who suddenly took a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"See, now that’s what I’m talking about", Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The great Sammy Winchester, the smooth talker. Getting some girl to text you emojis and all. You sure you're ready for her to meet this version of the family?".

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He wasn’t embarrassed by his brother’s antics—well, not totally—but he was more concerned about how you’d react to it all. You’d been really understanding about the supernatural stuff, but Sam knew meeting Dean was a different matter.

"I’m serious, Dean. She’s not like other people. She’s not going to freak out". Sam looked at Dean with a raised brow, as if daring him to argue.

Dean chuckled, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah, we’ll see. It’s just… funny to me. You spent four weeks talking about her and now—", he grinned, "now I get to meet her. What’s she like? You know, aside from being really into you?".

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’ll find out in twenty minutes, won’t you?".

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Guess I will".

Sam turned his attention back to the counter, his heart still thumping with the excitement of seeing you. He really did want you to meet his brother. He had been so careful about introducing you to this world, and now, with you so close, he hoped you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

But deep down, Sam knew the biggest challenge wasn’t the monsters or the blood—no, it was whether or not Dean would scare you off. That was always a risk when it came to Dean.

Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze shifted to Sam, that playful glint never leaving his eyes.

“But give me something Sammy”, Dean began. “She probably a little nerdy, huh? You know, like you”. He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. “I’m picturing a cute, bookish type, glasses the size of saucers, maybe even a ponytail, and some kind of vintage sweater”.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying his best to stay patient with his older brother’s antics. “Dean, you’re not even close”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between fond and embarrassed. “Oh, I know I’m close. You’re basically saying you’re dating a female version of yourself, right? So… same height, same awkwardness, same love for dusty old books, and all the same nerdy stuff that makes you… well, you”. Dean made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “You’re probably gonna end up sitting in a corner, playing board games, or—God forbid—watching documentaries together, right?”.

Sam sighed, fighting a smile. “She’s not like that, Dean. She’s…”. He paused, trying to find the words. You were a bit of a nerd—he loved that about you—but there was a lot more to you than that.

Dean was still going strong. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she doesn’t even know what a real hunter is. Probably thinks all this is just some Halloween stuff, huh? Well, good luck with that”. He laughed at his own words, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his brother’s skin. “Can you imagine it, Sammy? You, with your little nerdy girlfriend, sitting there, all cute, surrounded by textbooks and… and cats. So many cats”.

Sam shot him a glare, but it was impossible to hide his amusement completely. “You’re ridiculous”.

“Just tell me one thing. She tall? You know, like… as tall as you?”. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying getting under Sam’s skin, the older brother’s usual role. “Or is she one of those tiny, cute types you can just—”.

Before Sam could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting him off. His thumb quickly tapped on the message, and he read your text aloud, clearly amused.

“I’ve knocked like five times, Sam. Are you ever going to open the door?”.

Dean’s grin only widened as Sam read your message aloud, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. Dean, of course, wasn’t about to let up. “Guess she’s not the patient type, huh?”, he teased, leaning a little further into his brother’s space. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a little firecracker, Sammy. Or a tall one”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes”.

Dean leaned in, his voice taking on a more exaggerated tone. “A handful, huh? What, like a tiny, cute handful with her oversized glasses and a love for knitting?”. He chuckled, clearly relishing the thought of you fitting the quirky, innocent image he had concocted.

Sam was about to retort when his phone buzzed again. He quickly glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat as he saw your name flashing on the screen once more.

“Sam, are you seriously just gonna leave me out here? Open the door!”.

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter now. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to himself as he pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door, shooting Dean a look over his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Just wait and see”.

Dean was unbothered by the warning, following his brother with his eyes.

Sam ignored him and reached for the door, his excitement growing. He finally swung it open to reveal you standing outside, your hand raised in the air as if ready to knock once more.

You looked up at him, the tiniest hint of impatience in your eyes. “You know, I was starting to think you were ghosting me, Sam”, you teased, a playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

Sam stepped aside quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Dean was…”. He glanced back toward the kitchen, choosing his words carefully. “…distracting me”.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “It’s fine. But seriously, don’t keep me waiting next time. I was starting to feel like a door-to-door salesperson”.

Sam chuckled, gesturing for you to step inside. As you walked past him and into the bunker, you couldn’t help but glance at cavernous walls. The space felt huge, even more so because of your height. Not even reaching Sam’s chest, the bunker seemed almost overwhelming. Still, you moved forward with confidence, curiosity lighting up your features as you carefully stepped down the metal stairs.

“Whoa”, you said, pausing for a moment to glance back at Sam. “This place is… something else”.

Sam smiled, pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, it’s a bit much at first, but you get used to it”.

As your feet touched the ground, you ran your fingers along the edge of the war room table, taking in the ancient, heavy atmosphere of the place. Just as you were about to comment on it, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Dean appeared, beer in hand, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. “Well, well”, he said, his voice light and teasing as he approached. “What do we have here?”.

But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, Dean simply stared. He hadn’t been expecting someone like you—not even close. You were small, barely coming up to his chest, and the contrast between your petite frame and your confident presence was magnetic. The high-waisted jean shorts you wore showed off your curves in a way that made his throat go dry, and the fitted top you paired them with hinted just enough at your gorgeous figure.

Dean’s brain went blank for a split second.

“Uh…”, he started, his usual charm stuttering as he tried to find words. “You’re… uh… not what I expected”.

Sam cleared his throat, stepping forward and giving Dean a pointed look. “Dean”.

“What?”, Dean shot back, still unable to tear his gaze away from you. He gestured vaguely with his beer. “She’s definitely not nerdy”.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused as you crossed your arms and looked up at him. The size difference was almost comical, but you didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “And what exactly did you expect?”. There was a playful edge to your tone, but something in the way you held his gaze sent a strange jolt through Dean’s chest.

Dean blinked, quickly scrambling to recover. He leaned casually against the wall, lifting his beer to his lips. “I don’t know. Glasses, books, maybe a little cardigan or something”. He smirked, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. “I mean, you’re dating Sam”.

Sam groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Dean—”.

You cut him off, your smirk widening as you tilted your head. “Sorry to disappoint”, you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “No glasses. And I left my cardigan at home”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that”. He took another swig of his beer, though it did little to cool the sudden warmth spreading through him.

Sam stepped in then, clearly eager to move things along before Dean could dig himself deeper into the hole he was making. “Alright, let’s sit down. Y/N’s probably hungry”.

“Hungry? Or thirsty?”, Dean quipped, holding up his beer. “I mean, I could—”.

“Dean”, Sam interrupted sharply, shooting him another warning glare.

Dean held up his free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Food it is”. But as he turned to follow Sam toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back at you one more time.

You caught him looking, your lips curving into a small smile that sent his pulse racing.

What the hell is happening? Dean thought as he dragged his eyes away.

For all the teasing he’d thrown Sam’s way, he wasn’t prepared for this. You weren’t nerdy, awkward, or shy. You were gorgeous, confident, and way more than Dean had been ready for.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

The sound of your light footsteps on the bunker’s floors seemed to echo louder than they should have, or maybe that was just Dean’s heightened awareness of your presence. He tried to shake it off, forcing his thoughts back into his usual easygoing rhythm.

“So”, Dean began, his tone casual as his eyes flicked between you and Sam. “Sammy here been bragging about his cooking skills yet?”.

Sam sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Dean—”.

“Oh, come on”, Dean pressed, walking a little faster so he could fall into step next to you. He gave you one of his signature grins, the one that usually worked wonders on just about anyone. “He didn’t warn you that his idea of fine dining is throwing together a salad and calling it a meal?”.

You glanced up at Dean, amused by the way he towered over you. “Actually”, you said, your voice laced with playful curiosity, “he told me he made something special tonight”.

Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing toward Sam as they all entered the kitchen. “Special, huh?”. His eyes darted to the oven, catching sight of the lasagna baking inside. The smell was already wafting through the room, rich and savory, instantly recognizable.

“Lasagna?”, Dean asked, surprised despite himself. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Sam.

Sam ignored the jab, moving to check on the lasagna. “Figured you’d be less… disruptive if I made something you liked”, he said, adjusting the oven temperature and glancing at his watch to time it perfectly.

Dean smirked, picking up on Sam’s strategy immediately. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re trying to keep me quiet. Feed me comfort food, and I’ll behave, is that it?”.

Sam didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter opposite Dean. “So lasagna’s your weak spot, huh?”, you teased, your tone light but curious.

Dean turned his grin back to you, his green eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion. “Depends”, he said, dragging out the word. “You any good in the kitchen? Or are you more the ‘microwave and hope for the best’ type?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with an amused smirk. “I can hold my own”, you replied, not missing a beat. “But if I’d known I’d be competing with this”, —you gestured toward the oven— “I’d have brought something to prove it”.

Dean chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Well, that just means you’ll have to stick around long enough to show us, huh?”.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look as he turned from the oven to grab plates and utensils. “Dean, maybe try not to scare her off within the first ten minutes”.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just being friendly, Sammy”. He turned his attention back to you, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “I’m not that scary, am I?”.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Not yet”, you replied, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll let you know if that changes”.

Sam rolled his eyes, setting the plates down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, dinner’s almost ready. Can we all just… focus on eating like normal people?”,

Dean gave you a conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Sam. “You’re the one making the rules, chef”.

You caught the dynamic between them easily—Dean’s teasing, Sam’s patient exasperation. It was clear they had their differences, but there was no denying the bond between the two brothers. And as Dean reached for another nearby bottle of beer, cracking it open with ease, you found yourself wondering just how much of Dean’s charm was a front, and how much of it was the real him.

The next few minutes passed smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with Dean in the mix. As Sam checked on the lasagna one last time, you busied yourself helping him set the table. You grabbed utensils and napkins from the counter, moving around the space with ease as though you’d been in the bunker a dozen times before.

Dean, leaning against the counter with his beer, watched you with casual interest. “So, Y/N”, he started, his tone light, “if you’re not a hunter, how’d you end up with my nerdy little brother here?”.

You glanced up at him, amused by his bluntness. “We met at a bookstore, actually”, you replied, placing the last fork down. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and Sam swooped in to save me from picking the world’s most boring biography”.

Dean snorted. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he probably gave you some twenty-minute lecture on obscure historical facts before you even realized he was flirting”.

You smirked, shooting Sam a playful look as he turned back from the oven. “It was more like fifteen minutes”, you said with a shrug. “But to be fair, he was right. The book I was about to buy sounded awful”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “I wasn’t trying to lecture. I was just being helpful”.

“Sure you were”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Bet you even pulled the puppy-dog eyes, didn’t you?”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you seemed so at ease around them, or the way your laugh lit up the room, but something about you had him hooked.

“Sam’s told you about… you know, all the crazy crap we deal with, right?”, Dean said, changing the subject as he leaned in slightly,

You nodded, your expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah. He’s been easing me into it. It’s… a lot, but I’m getting there”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And you’re not freaking out? Most people would’ve run for the hills the second they heard the words ‘demonic possession’”.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s a lot to take in, sure, but Sam’s been really patient about explaining things. And honestly? I think what you guys do is incredible. It’s scary, yeah, but also… kind of amazing”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by your sincerity. He wasn’t used to hearing people talk about their work like that, especially not people who weren’t hunters themselves. “Huh”, he said after a moment, a crooked grin forming on his face. “You might be tougher than you look, short stuff”.

The nickname made you laugh again, and you couldn’t help but shoot back, “Careful, Dean. I may be small, but I can hold my own”.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that”, Dean said smoothly, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Bet you’ve got a hell of a right hook for someone your size”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it”.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was headed. “Dean, maybe stop interrogating her and let her breathe for a second”.

Dean waved him off, his attention still fixed on you. “Relax, Sammy. We’re just getting to know each other”, He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more casual. “You got a day job, or are you just spending all your free time keeping this guy out of trouble?”.

You smiled at Dean, enjoying the banter. “Actually, I’m a fitness coach”, you said, leaning casually against the counter.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “A fitness coach?”, he repeated, his tone equal parts impressed and intrigued. “Didn’t see that one coming”.

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you looked up at him. “Why’s that? You don’t think I could handle it?”.

Dean tilted his head, giving you a quick once-over, and while his expression remained playful, there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I think you could handle it just fine”, he said. “But man, Sammy must have his hands full. What, you got him running laps between cases now?”.

Sam sighed, clearly trying to stay out of the conversation, but you were quick to play along. “Not yet”, you said, shooting Sam a teasing look. “But I’m thinking about it. He could probably use the cardio”.

Dean barked out a laugh, his head tilting back slightly. “Oh, I like you”, he said, pointing at you with his beer. “You’re a smartass. Sam needs more of that in his life”.

You grinned at Dean’s comment, enjoying the playful energy in the room. “Oh, trust me, he gets plenty of sass from me”, you said with a smirk. Turning to Sam, who had been quietly tolerating Dean’s antics, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his bicep—the highest point you could easily reach without him bending down.

“Just kidding”, you mumbled teasingly as Sam gave you a soft, amused smile. He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss against your forehead in return, his hand grazing the small of your back as he murmured, “Thanks for putting up with him”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you grabbed the last glass and placed it on the table. “I think I’m handling it just fine”.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two of you, the ease of your affection and the way Sam looked at you. There was something about the way you and Sam moved together—comfortably, naturally, like you’d been part of this world for longer than the few weeks you’d actually been dating—that made something twist uncomfortably in Dean’s chest.

Dean took another sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to chase away the nagging feeling in his chest. He leaned back against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his jaw tightened subtly as he watched you and Sam. There was something about the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Hell, he barely even admitted it to himself.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Dean Winchester didn’t do jealousy. No, this was just… him being protective. Yeah, that was it. He was just making sure you were really who Sam thought you were. Making sure Sam wasn’t setting himself up for another heartbreak. It had nothing to do with the way you smiled when you looked up at Sam, or the way your laugh seemed to linger in the air, soft and warm.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from you. He focused instead on the beer bottle in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. “How long until dinner’s ready, Sammy? I’m starving over here”.

Sam shot him a glance, clearly catching the faint edge in Dean’s tone. “It’s almost done”, he said, moving to check on the lasagna. “You can survive a few more minutes”.

Dean smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, good thing you went all out. I wouldn’t survive another night of your rabbit food experiments”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean glance up despite himself. “Rabbit food?”, you teased, looking between the brothers. “That´s about your love for salad?”.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. “He’s talking about the one time I made a salad with kale”.

“It wasn’t a salad”, Dean shot back, pointing at Sam with his beer. “It was punishment. Nobody eats kale by choice”.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring a kale smoothie, huh?”.

Dean couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “You’d better not. I’d kick you out on principle”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, busying himself with pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

Dean’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. He wasn’t jealous. He was just… protective. Yeah, that was the story he was sticking to.

Dean watched you as you moved around the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the bunker like you’d always been there. It was unsettling how natural it all seemed. His eyes followed you, and he took another sip of his beer, determined to shake whatever it was that had him so off balance.

But then you leaned over toward him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Your thigh brushed against his, the contact sending a jolt of heat up his leg. Before he could react, you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I fucking hate kale”, you whispered, your voice low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in your tone.

Dean froze for a second, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process the sudden proximity, the soft warmth of your leg against his, and the quiet intimacy of your words. Then, almost involuntarily, a grin broke across his face, quick and genuine.

“Good”, he murmured back, his voice equally low. “Means I don’t have to kick you out after all”.

You laughed quietly, the sound sending a ripple of something warm and unfamiliar through him. Dean blinked, his grin fading slightly as he tried to steady himself. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he sat down at the table. He told himself it was nothing—just the heat of the moment, the way your laugh had hit him, or the accidental brush of your thigh. It didn’t mean anything. He could shake this off, no problem.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not with the faint trace of your perfume still lingering in the air or the way your mischievous smirk had seemed to sear itself into his brain. Dean shifted again, leaning forward slightly in his chair to subtly adjust himself under the table, hoping like hell neither you nor Sam noticed.

Sam, thankfully oblivious, placed a plate in front of Dean and another in front of himself before sitting down next to you. “Alright, dig in”, he said, shooting you a small smile. “Let me know what you think”.

You grabbed your fork, glancing at Sam with a grin. “No pressure, right?”.

Dean snorted, hoping to distract himself from his predicament. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry. This is probably the best thing Sammy’s ever made. Not that the competition’s stiff or anything”.

Sam shot Dean a dry look, but you laughed, your shoulders shaking slightly. The sound sent another ripple of heat through Dean’s chest, and he focused hard on cutting into his lasagna, the knife scraping against the plate.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Sam said sarcastically, turning his attention back to you. “I’m glad someone appreciates the effort”.

“I think it’s great”, you said after taking a bite. “Seriously, Sam. This is amazing”.

Dean grunted in agreement, though his focus was less on the food and more on keeping his gaze off you. The way you leaned forward slightly when you laughed, the way your lips curved around your fork—it was too much, and he knew if he let himself keep staring, he was going to lose whatever shred of composure he had left.

“So, Y/N”, Dean said, forcing himself to speak, his tone casual as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “You like it?”. He gestured vaguely around the bunker, doing his best to sound normal despite the tension knotting his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not exactly… cozy”.

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. “It’s definitely different”, you admitted. “But honestly? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like something out of a movie”.

Dean smirked, though he avoided looking directly at you for too long. “Yeah, well, wait until the pipes start rattling in the middle of the night. Real cinematic experience”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He just hates doing maintenance”.

You laughed again, and Dean felt his resolve waver. He grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one go just to have something to do with his hands.

The meal continued, with Sam and you trading stories while Dean chimed in occasionally, mostly to toss in a sarcastic comment or crack a joke. But the whole time, that nagging feeling sat heavy in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the heat pooling low in his stomach.

It was going to be a long night.

The meal wrapped up smoothly, though Dean spent most of it trying to keep his focus on his lasagna. By the time the dishes were done, Sam had his sleeves rolled up, his hands wet from drying the last plate, and you were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with him about your plans for the next day.

Dean lingered nearby, his fifth beer in hand, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on you.

Finally, as Sam dried his hands and set the dish towel aside, he stepped close to you, his palm brushing down the small of your back in a way that seemed almost instinctive. “Ready to call it a night?”, he asked gently, his voice low, the kind of tone that was meant just for you.

You glanced up at him, reading the softness in his eyes. Sam wasn’t one for late nights, not unless a hunt demanded it. His mornings usually started early with a run or a workout, and you knew he valued his sleep schedule more than most.

But you? You weren’t tired at all. You were used to staying up late, whether it was working on plans for your clients or just relaxing with a spicy book or a show.

Still, you smiled at Sam, your hand brushing his briefly. “Sure”, you said lightly. “If you’re ready, we can head to bed”.

Dean, who had been pretending to check the contents of the fridge for the last few minutes, glanced over at the exchange. Something about the way Sam’s hand stayed at the small of your back made his jaw tighten again, though he quickly covered it with a casual tone. “Wow, Sammy, calling it a night already? It’s barely nine. You getting old or what?”.

Sam shot Dean a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Some of us actually like starting the day early”, he said, his hand still resting gently on you. “Not all of us are night owls”.

Dean smirked, leaning back against the counter with his beer. “Night owl? Please. I’m just making sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you’re catching your beauty sleep”.

You laughed softly at that, glancing between the brothers. “So what, Dean? You stay up all night patrolling the bunker or something?”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark of mischief. “Something like that”, he said, his tone easy. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He just watches bad movies and eats junk food when he should be sleeping”.

“Hey, classics aren’t bad movies”, Dean shot back, pointing his beer bottle at Sam. “And nachos at midnight? That’s living, Sammy”.

You grinned, folding your arms. “I think I’m with Dean on this one. Nachos at midnight sounds way more fun than an early morning run”.

Dean’s smirk turned into a full grin at your response, his eyes glinting as he looked over at you. “Finally, someone around here with taste”.

Sam rolled his eyes at your comment, though there was no mistaking the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you two can bond over junk food another time”, he said, his hand brushing gently against your back again. “I’ll leave you to it, Dean”.

You glanced back at Dean, your smile softening as your eyes met his. “It was nice meeting you, Dean”, you said warmly, your voice genuine. “I can see where Sam gets his sense of humor now”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the way your words—and that smile—made his heart skip a beat. He forced a grin, though it felt a little stiff. “Yeah, you too”, he said, his voice a bit quieter than usual. He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than he intended. “Goodnight, short stuff”.

You chuckled softly at the nickname, turning back to Sam as he led you toward the hallway. Dean stayed rooted in place, leaning back against the counter with his beer as he watched the two of you disappear from sight. The sound of your voices—low and comfortable—faded as you headed down the hall.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before muttering under his breath, “What the hell, Winchester?”.

He downed the rest of his beer in one swig, the bottle clinking softly against the counter as he set it down. Shaking his head, Dean turned back toward the fridge, already looking for something to distract himself from the way his heart had stubbornly refused to settle all evening.

But the image of your smile—soft, genuine, and directed at him—lingered, refusing to fade. And no amount of nachos or bad movies was going to fix that.

Inside Sam’s room, you looked around, taking in the neat, utilitarian setup. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a certain comfort to it that matched Sam’s personality. The shelves lined with books, the neatly folded bedding, and even the scent of him lingering in the air—it all felt cozy and inviting.

Sam moved across the room, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a simple white shirt. He handed it to you with a soft smile. “Here”, he said, his voice low and gentle. “This should be comfortable for the night”.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing his briefly as you gave him a small smile. “Thanks”, you said, though there was a slight edge to your voice that you hoped he didn’t pick up on. You’d been dating for weeks now, and while things between you and Sam were great, there was a tension simmering under the surface that you couldn’t ignore.

Sam hadn’t made a move to take things further, not once. No matter how many nights you spent together, how much time you spent in his arms, he never seemed to push for more than kissing and light touches. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect his pace; you did. But you were only human, and lately, the frustration had started to build.

And tonight? Tonight was unbearable. You couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the lingering energy from dinner, the way Dean had looked at you with that mischievous grin, or the way Sam’s hand kept brushing against the small of your back. Whatever it was, it had you wound tighter than a spring, and your body was practically humming with need.

You turned away from Sam as you began to undress, your fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, aware of Sam sitting quietly behind you, his presence filling the room. The air felt heavier than usual, like a current of unspoken tension buzzed between you.

You slipped off your top next, leaving your bare skin exposed for a moment. You weren’t wearing a bra—something you’d normally think nothing of, but tonight, it felt impossible to ignore. The cool air brushed over your skin as you reached for the oversized white shirt Sam had given you, the fabric soft in your hands.

Pulling it over your head, you let the material fall into place. It was so big on you that it nearly reached your knees, the hem swaying slightly as you moved. The sleeves hung past your wrists, making it look more like a dress than a shirt, and you couldn’t help but glance down at yourself, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally turned back around, Sam was already in bed, propped up against the pillows with a book in his hands. His eyes flicked up as you moved, and for a brief moment, you caught something in his expression—a flicker of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You good?”, he asked, his voice soft as he closed the book and set it on the nightstand.

You nodded, climbing into bed beside him and pulling the covers up to your lap. “Yeah”, you said quietly, though your voice felt strained. You couldn’t shake the awareness of him next to you, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, or the warmth of his body so close to yours.

He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into. As he settled back into the pillows, you found yourself lying rigidly on your side, staring into the darkness and trying to will away the storm of frustration building inside you.

The shirt you wore smelled like Sam, wrapping you in his familiar, comforting scent, but it only made things worse. Your body was on fire, and every little movement—his hand brushing the covers, the sound of his breathing, the shift of the mattress as he adjusted his position—felt like a spark igniting something deeper within you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the ache that had settled low in your stomach. Sam’s steady, calming presence had always been enough to soothe you, but tonight, it wasn’t working.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do about it.

Meanwhile, in the war room, Dean sat slouched at the map table, his boots propped up on the edge as he cradled a large glass of whiskey in one hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting faint shadows that danced on the tabletop. He swirled the drink absentmindedly, staring into the space ahead of him but seeing nothing—nothing except you.

He let out a heavy sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you leaning toward him in the kitchen, your thigh brushing his, the warmth of your breath on his skin as you whispered, I fucking hate kale.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything—the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the way you fit so effortlessly into the space that had always felt so cold and utilitarian. And, of course, the way you looked at Sam, the softness in your eyes that made it so damn clear how much you cared about his brother.

Dean scowled at the thought, tipping back his glass and draining the rest of the whiskey in one go. He set the glass down with a muted thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened as he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a little admiration. She’s cool, that’s all.

But the ache in his chest said otherwise.

The thought of you in Sam’s room, wrapped in his arms, made Dean’s stomach twist in a way that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as though he could physically dislodge the thought from his brain.

“This is ridiculous”, he muttered under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment before taking another sip, the burn doing little to drown out the frustration bubbling inside him.

He didn’t get it. You were with Sam—his brother. You were off-limits, plain and simple. And yet, there was something about you that felt like a punch to the gut every time you smiled.

Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The faint creak of the bunker’s pipes echoed in the distance, a reminder of how quiet and empty the place felt most of the time.

But you’d brought a kind of energy into the bunker that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been missing. And it was driving him insane.

Dean drained the second glass of whiskey, letting the burn spread through his chest as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze drifted to the door that led to the hallway.

“Get a grip, Winchester”, he muttered to himself, shaking his head again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps entering the war room. His first instinct was to expect Sam, coming to lecture him about something—or maybe just checking on him—but when he turned, he froze.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, looking a little out of place, your bare feet pressing softly against the cold floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as you tugged your hair behind your ear, mumbling, “Sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom. Didn’t mean to interrupt”.

Dean’s gaze lingered, the whiskey in his hand forgotten as his eyes took you in. You were wearing Sam’s oversized white shirt, and on your smaller frame, it hung loosely, nearly brushing your knees. But the cool air of the bunker seemed to cling to you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the faint chill had tightened your nipples against the fabric of the shirt.

He forced his gaze back to your face, his throat tightening. “Uh… yeah”, he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the left”.

You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks”, you murmured, your voice soft. But instead of immediately leaving, your eyes flicked to the map table, then to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean followed your gaze to the glass of whiskey in front of him, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking back to yours as he lifted the glass in a mock toast.

“Don’t tell me you’re a whiskey girl”, he said, his voice light but carrying that unmistakable edge of mischief.

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile as you stepped further into the room, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the cold tiles. “Maybe I am”, you replied, your voice soft but with just enough challenge to make his smirk widen. “What’s wrong with whiskey?”.

Dean chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Nothing”, he said, his tone teasing. “Just didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re walking around in Sam’s shirt, looking all cute and innocent, and here you are, eyeing my drink like you’re ready to steal it”.

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you refused to let him fluster you. Crossing your arms, you leaned slightly against the edge of the map table, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I was just wondering why you’re sitting here all alone in the middle of the night”, you shot back. “Doesn’t seem like your usual scene”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick comeback. “Huh”, he muttered, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “What about you? Thought you’d be in bed, snug as a bug with Sammy by now”.

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him. “I couldn’t sleep”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine curiosity. “And you ended up here, instead of the bathroom”, he said, gesturing around the room. “Lucky me”.

You laughed lightly, tucking your hair behind your ear again as you glanced at the map table. “I guess so”, you said, your smile lingering as your eyes returned to his. “But seriously… is whiskey your midnight snack now, or what?”.

Dean chuckled, reaching for the bottle and pouring a small amount into the empty glass beside him. He slid it toward you, his smirk returning. “Why don’t you find out?”.

You glanced at the glass, then back at him, your brow lifting slightly. “Is this how you get all your guests to stay up late with you?”, you teased, taking the glass in your hand.

Dean leaned back in his chair, watching as you reached for the glass. His lips parted slightly, and without even thinking, his tongue darted out to wet them, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake whenever his nerves got the better of him—or when his thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.

His gaze flicked downward, almost involuntarily, landing on the curve of your chest beneath Sam’s oversized shirt. The fabric shifted slightly as you raised the glass to your lips, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet.

Dean’s eyes lingered for a second too long, his grip tightening around his own glass as he caught himself staring. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face. You didn’t seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you were just too good at hiding it. Either way, it only made the tension in the room thicker, more suffocating.

You set the glass down. “What?”, you asked, your voice casual but with a glint of curiosity. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden. Did I say something wrong?”.

Dean smirked, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “Nah”, he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of whiskey. “Just thinking”.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “About?”.

He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say something cocky, to deflect like he always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he shrugged, his voice dropping slightly. “About how you’re a hell of a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for”.

Your eyes widened slightly, the soft flush in your cheeks deepening as you let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”, you said, your tone light but tinged with something warmer.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening. “You should”.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, heavy with unspoken things that neither of you seemed ready to address. Dean’s chest tightened as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear again, the movement so simple yet somehow mesmerizing.

You bit your lip lightly, your arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver ran through you. The cool air of the bunker combined with the cold tiles underfoot wasn’t doing you any favors, and the oversized shirt you wore didn’t provide much warmth. You glanced away from Dean, suddenly feeling more vulnerable under his gaze.

Dean sighed softly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. The sound drew your attention back to him just in time to see him stand up, his broad frame now looming over you. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he felt larger somehow—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken energy as he closed the space between you in just a few steps.

“Here”, he muttered, his voice low and rough as he reached for the flannel he’d been wearing. The movement made his biceps flex beneath his gray T-shirt, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care—as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and held it out to you.

Before you could say anything, Dean gently draped it over your frame, the fabric settling around you like a warm cocoon. It smelled like him—faintly of whiskey, leather, and something distinctly Dean. You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how close he was.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch”, he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something warmer, almost protective.

Dean tugged the flannel tighter around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it to make sure you were warm. The gesture was meant to be casual, maybe even brotherly, but as he shifted closer, his hips inadvertently brushed against your belly.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t mean to react, but the unmistakable press of him against you—even through his thick jeans—sent a jolt of heat rushing through your body. Your gaze flicked up to his face, and you saw his jaw tighten, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came.

Dean froze, his hands still resting lightly on the flannel draped around you. He’d felt it too, the way his body betrayed him at the worst possible moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to push down the flood of sensations threatening to overwhelm him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension that had been simmering between you all night boiled over, the air crackling with an intensity that made your pulse race. You weren’t sure what to do—what to say—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning ever so slightly closer to him as if drawn by some invisible force.

Dean’s hands dropped from the flannel, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a half step back, his expression unreadable as he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should, uh…”, he started, his voice rough and uneven, “you should probably get back to Sam”.

His words felt like a bucket of cold water, and you blinked, stepping back yourself as you clutched the flannel tighter around you. “Right”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should”.

Dean nodded, still avoiding your gaze as he grabbed his glass from the table and drained what was left in one swift motion. His other hand raked through his hair, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Goodnight, Y/N”, he said, his voice softer this time but still laced with tension.

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you turned and walked toward the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the tiles. As you disappeared around the corner, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching a glimpse of Dean standing there, his shoulders tense, his head bowed.

Dean didn’t move until he was sure you were gone. When he finally sat back down, his elbows resting on the table as he buried his face in his hands, he muttered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the ghost of your touch and the warmth of your body against his lingered, driving him closer to the edge than he cared to admit.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick

#jensen ackles #dean and sam #sam and dean #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x y/n #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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mediocre-shark-tales · 2 months ago

Text

Heat Exhaustion

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Trigger Warning - Panic Attack

It was late, far too late to be awake when I had a flight to catch soon, but my mind wouldn’t quiet down. I was lying on my bed, my phone resting on my chest as I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. The past week had been a whirlwind—another podium, more speculation about Max and me, the journalist still lurking in the shadows, and now… Max knowing the truth.

I should have felt relieved that he was on my side, that he wasn’t going to expose me, but instead, I felt like the walls were still closing in. Every day was a balancing act, a game of deception that I had to play to protect what I loved. And even though I trusted the few people who knew, the fact remained that they had all found out by accident.

I never got to choose who knew the truth about me.

Until now.

My fingers twitched as I lifted my phone, unlocking it and opening the group chat with Kimi and Ollie. They had been checking in on me more than usual, sending casual texts but always slipping in a "How are you feeling?" or "You sure you're good?" I appreciated it, but I also knew they were picking up on things I wasn’t saying.

I hesitated before finally typing.

Me: Hey, are you guys up?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Ollie: Yeah, what’s up? Kimi: Everything okay?

I chewed on my bottom lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This wasn’t something I could just say easily. But I needed to get it out.

Me: I’ve just been thinking a lot about last weekend. It was… a lot to handle.

A pause, then—

Ollie: Yeah, we figured. You’ve been kinda off. Kimi: Not talking as much. That’s not like you.

I let out a soft breath, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest. They noticed.

Me: Yeah… it’s just hard to explain sometimes.

Kimi: You don’t have to if you’re not ready. But if you ever want to, we’re here.

That was the thing—I did want to.

I had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, maintaining the act, making sure no one ever saw too much. I had gotten used to it. But Kimi and Ollie were two of the people I had grown to genuinely care about on the grid. And I wanted them to know me the way that Franco, Lando, Oscar, and now Max did.

I wanted to choose them.

I gripped my phone tighter before finally typing out the words.

Me: Actually… I think I want to tell you guys something. Something big.

The typing bubbles popped up immediately.

Ollie: Okay…? Kimi: Now I’m curious.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the screen, willing myself to go through with it.

Me: Every person who knows this about me found out by accident. I never really got to choose who I told.

A pause. Then—

Ollie: What do you mean? Kimi: Are you saying… you want to tell us?

My heart was pounding. This was it.

Me: Yeah. I do. I trust you both, and I want you to actually know me.

There was a longer silence this time. For a moment, I wondered if they were freaking out, if they were regretting saying they’d always be here.

Then—

Kimi: Wow… okay. When? Ollie: Yeah, whenever you’re ready, we’re here.

I let out a shaky breath, a warmth spreading through my chest.

Me: How about after media duties on Thursday in Qatar? Just us, maybe in my hotel room. I want to finally show you who I am.

It felt strange to say it like that—show them who I was. But that was the reality. No one besides Franco, Lando, Oscar, and now Max had seen me without the baggy clothes, the helmet, the entire disguise I had carefully built. Kimi and Ollie had only ever known Ghost. Now, they would finally meet me.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, as if they were thinking hard about their response. Then, finally—

Ollie: We’ll be there. Kimi: Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.

I exhaled deeply, my shoulders slumping with relief as I locked my phone and pressed it against my chest.

For the first time, I was choosing who to trust. I was deciding who got to know the real me. That made all the difference as my mind began to relax, I was able to fit in a nice nap before my alarm woke me to leave for the airport.

—

The seconds dragged, stretching unbearably as I sat on the edge of my hotel bed, my hands clenched into fists so tight that my nails dug into my palms. My helmet was still on, the visor down, the only thing keeping me hidden for just a little while longer. My hoodie felt suffocating, but I didn’t push it back. Not yet.

I had been so sure when I texted them.

I had spent the whole week telling myself this was the right thing to do, that this was the moment I would finally get to take control over something that had been out of my hands for far too long. Every other person who had found out had done so by accident—Franco, Lando, Oscar, even Max. Each time, it had happened without me choosing it, without me deciding I was ready.

This time, I had made the choice. I had typed the words out myself, I had asked Kimi and Ollie if they would come.

So why did I feel like my heart was about to beat out of my chest?

I exhaled sharply, my knee bouncing as I tried to shake the feeling off. This is nothing. This is just another reveal.

But it wasn’t, not really.

Because they weren’t just my teammates or my rivals. They were my friends. And they had become my friends without knowing who I really was.

What if this did change things?

What if they looked at me differently? What if they started treating me like I was fragile? What if—

Knock knock knock.

I jolted upright, breath catching in my throat.

The moment was here.

For a fleeting second, I considered staying put, pretending I wasn’t in, sending them a last-minute excuse that something had come up. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t do that. I had come this far, had spent years hiding, and I was so tired of it.

Swallowing down my nerves, I forced myself up, my feet feeling heavier than usual as I crossed the room.

Another knock, gentler this time.

They were waiting.

I reached for the handle, hesitating just long enough to take a steadying breath before pulling the door open.

Kimi and Ollie stood there, both looking equally nervous.

Their eyes flicked immediately to my helmet, to the way my hoodie draped over me, and I saw the realization hit them—that I was shaking.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ollie said immediately, stepping forward slightly. “If you don’t feel ready, we won’t be upset.”

“Seriously,” Kimi added, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “We don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. It’s okay if you change your mind.”

Their kindness nearly broke me.

I clenched my jaw, gripping the edge of my hoodie sleeves, trying to hold myself together. They were giving me an out—offering me an escape with no strings attached. And for a second, a small part of me wanted to take it.

But I had spent so long not having a choice.

I wanted this.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slightly. “I want to do this. I need to.”

They studied me for a long moment, like they were trying to make sure I really meant it.

Then, finally, Ollie gave me a small smile, one that told me he understood just how much this moment meant to me. Kimi nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” Kimi said simply.

I stepped back, letting them inside. The door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly, the room felt so much smaller.

The weight of what I was about to do pressed down on my shoulders.

I turned to face them, my hands still trembling slightly, but I clenched them into fists again, trying to ground myself.

“One rule,” I said, my voice quieter than usual. “No matter who is under this helmet… you can’t tell anyone.”

Ollie’s expression softened further, his brows pulling together like he could see just how much this meant to me. “Of course. We’d never do that.”

Kimi nodded firmly. “We promise. We wouldn’t risk losing you. We have come to care for you as more than just a competitor.”

The words hit harder than I expected, my chest tightening at the sheer sincerity in their voices.

They didn’t care about the mystery, about the reveal itself.

They just cared about me.

I inhaled sharply, feeling a lump form in my throat as I lifted my hands to my helmet.

This was it.

The final moment before the truth came out.

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the edges. My mind screamed at me to stall, to wait just another second, just another minute, but I forced myself to push through the fear.

They’re your friends. They won’t leave. They won’t treat you differently.

Slowly, I lifted the helmet off.

The cool air hit my face first, followed by the flop of my hair from within the casing.

For a second, neither of them moved as an eerie silence filled the room.

Then, Ollie’s eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly as he blinked in pure shock. Kimi’s reaction was quieter, but his expression shifted instantly, his brows raising in understanding.

The weight of the moment pressed down on me, my heartbeat hammering so loudly in my ears that I swore they could hear it.

Seconds stretched unbearably, and then—

Ollie let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his lips twitching up into a grin. “No way.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head with something that looked like disbelief before his lips curled into a soft smile. “That’s why you were so nervous, huh?”

I nodded slowly, unable to find my voice.

Ollie let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Mate, you’ve been fooling the entire world.”

Something about his tone—light, teasing, not at all distant or different—made the tension in my shoulders loosen slightly.

Kimi tilted his head, studying me for a moment before nodding. “This… actually makes a lot of sense now.”

I blinked. “It does?”

Kimi hummed in amusement, tilting his head as he studied me. “Yeah… the way you’ve been moving, the way you’ve been hiding. It wasn’t just about keeping your identity a secret, was it?” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “It was about making sure people saw you as a driver first. Not just a name… and not just because you’re a girl.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. They got it. They really, truly got it.

Ollie’s gaze lingered on my face for a moment longer before something seemed to click. His eyes widened slightly. “Wait a second…” He squinted, like he was trying to place a distant memory. Then, his jaw dropped. “No way.”

Kimi’s brows furrowed before realization dawned over him too. His expression softened in understanding. “Holy shit. You’re—” He hesitated, almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud. “You’re Jack’s little sister, aren’t you?”

A sharp breath left me at the sound of my brother’s name.

I nodded slowly.

Ollie let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair as the memories seemed to come rushing back to him. “I knew you looked familiar! You were at a race a few years back, weren’t you? I remember Jack talking about his sister being in the paddock for a weekend, but you were—” He gestured vaguely. “You looked different then. You weren’t…”

“Disguised?” I offered with a small, wry smile.

He let out a chuckle. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head as a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “This explains so much.”

Ollie looked at me, his expression shifting from disbelief to something softer. “Why didn’t you just race under your real name?”

I hesitated, my fingers curling into my hoodie sleeves. “Besides the problems with my parents, I didn’t want to be just ‘Jack’s little sister.’ I wanted to make it here on my own. No expectations, no assumptions—just me, proving that I deserved to be here.”

Kimi nodded in understanding, his eyes holding something that looked like respect. “And you did.”

Ollie grinned, nudging me lightly. “Yeah, you really did. And honestly? This makes you even more of a legend.”

That hit deep. I let out a slow breath, my nerves still there but quieter now, replaced by something warmer.

Kimi’s smile softened. “We’ve got your back, okay? No one’s finding out from us.”

Ollie nodded. “Yeah. No matter what, we’ve got you.”

Relief crashed over me in waves, so intense I almost felt dizzy from it. For the first time in a long time, I chose to tell someone my truth. And I had chosen right.

—

The weekend’s sessions had been utterly brutal. The relentless Qatar heat wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was suffocating. It clung to my suit, turned every breath inside my helmet thick and stifling, made every movement feel sluggish. Sweat dripped down my back, pooling beneath layers of fireproofs, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn't peel the suit away between runs like the others did. I couldn’t press an ice pack to my neck, couldn’t dump water over my head to cool down.

I couldn’t even drink properly.

Every other driver could remove their helmets, take a quick sip from their bottles between debriefs, but I had to wait until I was alone in my driver’s room. The few stolen moments between sessions were the only times I could rip off my helmet, gulp down as much water as I could manage, and try to regulate my breathing before I had to suit back up again.

And qualifying was proving just how much that was wearing me down.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my trembling hands to stay steady on the wheel as I threw the car into the next corner. My arms ached from the relentless force pressing against them, my gloves were damp from sweat, and the heat inside my helmet made my head pound.

But I didn’t lift.

I couldn’t.

This was my last chance. One more lap to break into Q3. One more lap to prove I could push through.

I kept my foot down, forcing the car to its limits, wringing every ounce of performance I could from the tires. But as I rounded the final turn, the rear snapped—just a fraction, but enough to jolt my exhausted system.

I corrected it instantly, instinct taking over before my brain even had time to register the mistake. But the damage was done.

A few milliseconds lost.

Milliseconds that could mean the difference between moving forward or falling short.

I held my breath as I crossed the line, waiting—praying.

Then the radio crackled to life.

“Good job, Ghost.” Diego’s voice was steady, but I could hear the tightness behind it. “You just made it into Q3. Sitting P10 right now.”

Relief crashed into me, but it was quickly smothered by exhaustion.

“You’re not alone up there,” Diego continued. “Franco’s through too—P8. We’re happy with this, but let’s see if we can get something better out of you.”

I swallowed, my throat dry as sandpaper.

They wanted more from me.

They always wanted more.

And normally, I would have fought for it. Normally, I would have dug deeper, found something extra to give.

But right now?

Right now, I wasn’t sure if I had anything left.

My fingers twitched against the wheel, muscles trembling from heat exhaustion. I could feel the sweat pooling beneath my suit, soaking into the balaclava under my helmet. Every breath inside the confined space of my visor felt too warm, too thick, like I was breathing in steam.

I needed water. I needed air. I needed to be out of this damn suit for more than just a few stolen minutes between sessions.

But there was no time for that.

Not yet.

I forced myself to key the radio, my voice rougher than usual. “Understood.” My throat burned from dehydration, but I ignored it. “Let’s go again.”

There was a pause. A small one.

Then Diego’s voice returned, softer this time.

“Copy that. You got this, Ghost.”

I exhaled sharply, rolling out of the pit lane for the next run.

I had to.

—

By the time I pulled into the pit box, my body was on the verge of betraying me completely. The heat had wrung every ounce of strength from my limbs, leaving me trapped in my own skin, suffocating inside my race suit. The weight of exhaustion pressed down like a physical force, making my grip on the wheel feel distant, almost nonexistent. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even as I tried to flex my fingers in my lap. My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the stale, burning air inside my helmet making it impossible to get enough oxygen.

As the pit crew jacked up my car and rolled me back into my side of the garage, I let my head fall back against the seat for just a moment, forcing myself to blink away the dizziness creeping in around the edges of my vision. The helmet felt like a furnace, trapping the heat against my skin, suffocating me with my own exhaustion.

I turned my head slightly, vision swimming, and caught sight of Franco already out of his car. His face was drenched in sweat, but he still had that easy, confident smile as he laughed with his engineers. How? He had been in the same conditions, pushing just as hard, and yet he looked… fine.

Then his eyes landed on me.

His grin widened as he raised a hand in a wave, but the second I lifted mine in return, his smile disappeared. His brows drew together, the concern sharp and immediate.

I knew exactly what he had seen.

The way my hand trembled violently, the sluggishness of my movements, the way my shoulders sagged like the weight of my own body was too much to carry.

Before I even attempted to move, Franco was already striding toward me, his playful demeanor completely gone. He reached the side of my car in seconds, one hand braced against the halo as he leaned in slightly, scanning my posture beneath the helmet.

"Hey," he said, voice quieter, serious in a way that sent a fresh wave of panic rolling through me. "You good?"

I forced myself to nod, even as my head swam. Say something. Don’t look weak.

But the moment I shifted, trying to push myself up, my body collapsed against the seat, arms going weak and useless.

"Shit—"

I barely had time to register Franco moving before his hands were on me, steadying me before I could even attempt another escape. His grip was firm but careful, as if he knew how close I was to completely shutting down.

"Oi, Nico!" Franco called over his shoulder, urgency lacing his voice. "Need a hand here!"

Footsteps rushed closer, and then Nico’s familiar presence was beside us, his voice calm but sharp. “What happened?”

“She’s overheating,” Franco answered before I could.

I wanted to protest, to tell them both to back off, but I didn’t have the energy.

“Come on,” Nico said, his arm sliding under mine as he and Franco braced me between them. “We need to get her cooled off before she passes out.”

Their help was the only thing keeping me on my feet as they guided me toward the drivers' room, my legs barely responding beneath me. Every step felt sluggish, like walking through molasses.

Inside, the temperature difference was immediate, the air conditioning hitting my suit like a wave of relief, but it wasn’t enough. I was still burning up, my skin damp with sweat beneath the layers of fireproof gear.

"Helmet," Franco said, tapping the sides. "You need to get it off."

I lifted shaky hands, fumbling with the latch, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Before I could even try again, Franco was already reaching for it, carefully undoing it for me.

As soon as the helmet came off, cooler air rushed against my flushed skin, and I gasped like I had been drowning.

“Here.” Nico pressed a cold water bottle into my hands, his expression unreadable but firm. “Drink. But go slow.”

I brought the bottle to my lips, the plastic slick in my shaking grasp, and took a sip. It felt like heaven against my parched throat, but even with the relief, my voice still came out hoarse.

"Thanks."

Franco crouched in front of me, his green-brown eyes searching my face for something, his usual teasing smirk nowhere to be found. "You shouldn’t have pushed that hard."

I shot him a weak glare. "Like you didn’t?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not amused.

Before he could fire back, a knock sounded from the door followed by the nervous voice of some team staff.

“They need you both for post-qualifying media duties.”

Franco turned so fast I thought he might break something. “Are you kidding me? We just got out of the cars, and it’s boiling out there. We are barely upright right now.”

The team member sighed. “I know. I tried to push it back, but the media’s already set up. It’s non-negotiable.”

I closed my eyes for a brief second, letting out a slow breath. I wanted to be angry, to fight back, but I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, pushing myself upright again. My legs wobbled dangerously, but I locked them in place. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Franco muttered something in Spanish under his breath, the irritation rolling off of him in waves.

Nico moved fast, reaching into a cooler before handing me something. “Here. Wear this over your suit.”

I glanced down at the ice vest in my hands, then back up at him, gratitude flashing through my exhaustion.

"Thanks," I murmured, slipping it on. The moment the cold pressed against my back and chest, my whole body sagged in relief. Even though the sweaty suit felt disgusting, the cold seeping in from this vest made it so much more worth it. Finally I pulled my helmet back on and followed Franco out the door.

Franco was still grumbling under his breath as we made our way toward the press area, but as I adjusted my helmet again, I could feel his gaze burning into me. I knew I must still look exhausted and he had every right to be worried for me, but right now we had our media duties and neither of us got paid enough to take the fine that would come with even one of us skipping them.

The moment I stepped into the media pen, the lights, cameras, and voices crashed over me like a tidal wave. My head throbbed from the heat and exhaustion, my limbs screaming for rest, but I forced my body to move forward, to stand tall, to act like I wasn’t breaking apart from the inside out.

The ice vest on my race suit helped, but only just. The cold was already fading, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the heat pressing down on all of us. My hands still shook at my sides, fingers twitching involuntarily, and I could feel the weakness in my legs with every step I took. But I had to push through. No cracks. No hesitation. No weakness.

The media swarmed the second they saw me. Microphones were shoved toward my helmet, journalists calling out my name—well, my alias.

"Ghost, a tough session today—"

"How was the car handling in these conditions?"

"With such brutal temperatures, how are you holding up physically?"

I kept my shoulders squared, forcing my voice to stay even. "It was tough out there, but the team did a great job preparing the car. The conditions were brutal for everyone, but we managed to get through."

I hated how flat my voice sounded. The voice changer masked everything—my exhaustion, my struggle, my pain—but my body couldn’t lie. My stance wasn’t as steady as it should have been. My weight shifted slightly, trying to counteract the wobble in my knees. I flexed my fingers at my sides, willing the tremors away.

The next journalist didn’t even bother with a question about my performance. Instead, their voice came with a sharper edge. "Ghost, we’ve noticed you’re looking a little unsteady—"

"I'm fine," I cut in, too quickly, too defensive.

A scoff came from beside me, and I didn’t need to turn my head to know who it was.

"Fine?" Max’s voice carried over the media, sharp and laced with irritation. "They can barely stand, and you all are still shoving microphones in their face. Maybe wait until they’ve had a chance to recover before making them answer pointless questions."

I swallowed, the warmth in my chest battling the exhaustion. Max was blunt as ever, but I appreciated him for it.

The journalists, of course, didn't back down. "Max, the FIA mandates post-qualifying media duties—"

"Yeah?" Charles cut in now, his voice tight with frustration. "Maybe the FIA should use their eyes and see that some of us can barely speak, let alone stand, before throwing us in front of cameras. Look at him. This isn’t normal."

I gritted my teeth, willing my body to stay still, to not give anything away. I had survived worse. I could do this.

A hand brushed against my arm—subtle but intentional. Lewis.

He didn’t say anything to the media, but his voice was low enough for only me to hear. "You don’t have to prove anything to them. Just get through it. We’ve got you."

The kindness in his tone almost shattered the wall I was desperately holding up.

But the media wasn't done.

"Ghost, how do you respond to Max and Charles’ concerns? Are you struggling more than you’re letting on?"

I inhaled slowly, steadying myself before answering. "It’s a tough race weekend for everyone. The conditions are harsh, but that’s part of the sport."

Another journalist jumped in. "There were moments on track where you seemed to be fighting the car more than usual. Was that just the heat, or were there issues with the setup?"

I exhaled slowly. "The setup is strong. The conditions make everything harder to manage, but we’re still in a good place for the race."

The questions kept coming, and I kept answering, pushing through the nausea creeping at the edges of my mind. My hands were clenched into fists now, not out of anger but in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking. My legs felt like they could give out at any second, but I locked my knees, refusing to let them see me stumble.

"Ghost, you’re one of the only drivers still giving full interviews right now, while others have already left due to the heat. Do you feel obligated to stay?"

That one made my breath hitch.

Before I could even formulate an answer, Franco’s voice cut in from a few feet away, his tone dripping with frustration. "Maybe instead of asking him that, you should be asking why the hell he is still expected to be standing here answering your questions when he clearly needs a break."

I heard Lando mutter something under his breath before stepping in too. "We all get that media duties are part of the job, but seriously, look at him. We’re dropping like flies out here, and Ghost can barely stand. Let him go."

For a moment, the journalists hesitated. Maybe they had finally realized how bad I must have looked. Maybe they saw the way I kept shifting my weight, the way my breaths were coming just a little too shallow, the way my hands wouldn’t stay still.

The team member who had escorted me here finally stepped in, clearing his throat. "That’s all for Ghost today. He needs to recover before tomorrow."

I didn’t wait for the journalists to argue. I gave a short nod, mumbled a quick, "Thank you," and turned to leave, moving slower than I wanted to, but fast enough that no one could stop me.

As soon as I stepped away from the cameras, away from the eyes burning into me, my entire body slumped. The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright drained in an instant.

Franco was there in seconds, steadying me with a firm hand on my back. "That was fucking ridiculous."

I couldn’t even respond. My head was pounding too much, my muscles aching too deeply.

Lando and Oscar caught up to us, both looking equally pissed.

"You should’ve just walked away the second you got out there," Oscar muttered, shaking his head. "They would’ve figured it out eventually."

I let out a weak laugh. "Would they, though?"

Lando huffed. "Next time, we’re dragging you out before they even get the chance."

I was too tired to argue.

Lewis appeared beside me, pressing another ice pack into my hands. "Here. This’ll help."

I took it without question, pressing it against my neck. The relief was instant but not nearly enough. Lewis smiled at me with a nod before quietly walking away.

Max crossed his arms, still glaring toward the media pen. "If the FIA doesn’t do something about this, I will."

I shook my head slightly. "You can’t—"

"Watch me."

I sighed, but deep down, I was grateful.

—

The cold water from earlier had long since lost its effect, leaving only a dull, lingering coolness that did nothing to combat the growing weight pressing down on me.

I sat on the edge of my bed in my drivers’ room, fully suited up, my helmet resting beside me as I finished the last bottle of water I could stomach. Every sip felt like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to build a reserve before the inevitable heat drained it all away. Today was hotter than any session before, and I knew—we all knew—this race would be a battle of survival just as much as it would be a battle for position.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back, trying to focus my mind. You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You just have to push through.

My fingers curled into fists against my thighs before I finally grabbed my helmet, slipping it on and locking myself in. This was it. No turning back now.

I pushed open the door and stepped out into the chaos of the garage.

—

The first laps of the race were smooth. I focused on keeping the tires in check, my pace steady, not taking unnecessary risks. The heat was already settling in, pressing against me like a second race suit, but I’d prepared for this.

Then, somewhere around the middle of the race, I hit the water button for the fifth time.

The familiar small tube inside my helmet released a shot of liquid into my mouth. The moment it touched my tongue, I gagged. It wasn’t cool anymore. It wasn’t even lukewarm. It was hot.

I spat it out instinctively, the taste bitter and almost nauseating.

"Water’s boiling," I muttered into the radio, shifting my focus back to the track.

Diego’s voice came through, calm but firm. "Copy, Ghost. Just do what you can. We’ll monitor your vitals."

I clenched my jaw. I already knew what that meant. They were watching my performance, my inputs, my pace. They’d pull me if they thought I was fading.

I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Laps blurred together. My mouth was dry, my throat raw from the heat. My hands were slippery inside my gloves, and every breath felt heavier than the last. I had stopped sweating at some point—not because the heat had lessened, but because my body had nothing left to give.

"Ghost, you need to think about retiring," Diego’s voice came through again, a little more insistent now. "We can see the drop-off. It’s okay."

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. "No. I can finish."

Even if I had to drag myself to the checkered flag.

"Ghost—"

"Who’s out?" I cut him off, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

There was a pause before he answered. "Doohan, Lawson, and Stroll. They’ve all retired due to the heat."

I exhaled sharply. That could’ve been me. It still could be me.

But I wasn’t done. I wasn’t finished.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, ignoring the way my vision was beginning to blur at the edges.

"Not yet," I murmured.

Then I pressed forward.

—

The moment I stopped, my body betrayed me.

I had done it—I finished the race in P6. Franco had taken P5. But there was no relief, no triumph. Only the crushing weight of exhaustion bearing down on me like a collapsing ceiling.

As I pulled into Parc Fermé, the heat that had been suffocating me all race now pressed into my skull like a vice. My vision blurred as I tried to breathe through the nausea clawing at my throat. My arms felt detached, as if they were no longer mine to command. The entire world had narrowed down to a pounding in my head and the tremors that I could no longer ignore.

This is bad. This is really bad.

I fumbled with the steering wheel, fingers trembling too hard to properly unclip it. I finally managed to yank it off, dropping it onto the nose as I reached for the halo, trying to pull myself up. My muscles screamed, burning with a fire that wasn’t just exertion—this was something worse.

My foot barely found purchase as I tried to climb out, and the second I attempted to push myself up, my strength gave out. My body slumped forward, upper torso flopping limply over the halo, my arms barely holding me up as my head hung between them. My breath came in sharp, rapid bursts, my lungs fighting against the stifling heat trapped inside my race suit.

I wasn’t just exhausted. I was failing.

Panic twisted deep in my chest, feeding into the violent shudders racking my body. My helmet felt suffocating, my suit like a second layer of burning skin. I was shaking uncontrollably, my fingers barely gripping onto the car to keep me from collapsing completely. My heart slammed against my ribs, too fast, too much—

"Breathe—breathe—" I gasped to myself, but I couldn’t.

I barely registered the footsteps rushing toward me until two familiar voices called out—

"Whoa, whoa, hey—"

"Shit—Ghost! Are you okay?!"

Ollie and Kimi.

I felt hands on me—strong, steady hands. One of them gripped my waist while the other reached for my arms, carefully but urgently trying to pull me the rest of the way out of the car. My legs buckled the second my weight shifted, but they caught me before I could hit the ground.

"She’s burning up," Ollie cursed, adjusting his hold as he and Kimi fully hoisted me up between them.

The movement made the nausea spike—the world tilted violently, a wave of dizziness crashing into me like a tidal force. I groaned softly, my head rolling against Kimi’s shoulder. The tremors in my body worsened. My knees refused to hold me, leaving all of my weight pressed into them.

"We need to get him out of here—now," Kimi said, voice tight with concern.

"Franco—" Ollie called over his shoulder, but Franco was already moving.

I barely tracked his blurred figure before he turned and sprinted towards the garage. I heard his frantic voice shouting something about Nico, ice, water, bath—but it all faded into static.

Another set of hands found me—Oscar.

"Come on, let’s get him back—" he said, already helping them move.

I didn’t have the strength to respond, to fight back against the way my vision kept fading in and out.

The three of them half-carried, half-dragged me up the pit lane. My body swayed uselessly, my legs numb beneath me, my head lolling forward and back.

I barely registered Lando’s voice until I heard his sharp inhale—

"What the hell—? Hey—what’s wrong with him?"

The shuffle of hurried steps.

Max’s voice.

"Move—what happened? What’s going on?!"

Their voices were frantic, but I couldn’t focus.

The only thing I could do was press my head against Kimi’s shoulder, my body burning and trembling and fading, fading—

The last thing I felt before my mind slipped further into the haze was the grip of their hands tightening around me.

Holding me up. Keeping me safe.

—

The cold hit me like a freight train.

A sharp, biting shock that sent a jolt through my entire body, dragging me out of the suffocating haze of unconsciousness. My skin burned from the contrast—heat still radiating off me, clashing violently against the icy water.

I groaned, head lolling to the side as I tried to blink my vision clear.

"Hey—hey, she’s waking up."

The voice was Franco’s, tight with concern.

My sluggish mind took a moment to catch up—to register that I wasn’t in the car anymore, that my helmet was gone, my race suit stripped away. I was submerged up to my chest in ice water, wearing only the thin layer of fireproofs that clung uncomfortably to my damp skin.

A firm but careful grip pressed against my shoulders—Nico.

"Easy," he murmured, steady and grounding. "Just breathe, y/n. You need to stay in the bath a little longer."

Everything still felt wrong.

My limbs were too heavy, my lungs too tight, the room too cold yet my skin too hot. My body couldn’t decide whether it was freezing or burning, and the overwhelming confusion of it all sent my mind spiraling.

"W-What—" My voice cracked—raw, hoarse.

I winced at the sound, my throat aching like I had swallowed sandpaper.

"You overheated, bad," Kimi said, leaning closer. His face was creased with worry. "We had to get you in here fast. You passed out completely."

"You scared the hell out of us," Ollie added, his usual teasing lilt nowhere in his voice.

I swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the dimly lit drivers’ room, heart rate already climbing from the weight of their words.

I had pushed too far.

I had scared them.

I had failed.

The thought hit me like a slap to the face, and suddenly, the tightness in my chest worsened.

The trembling in my hands turned into violent shakes, my breath shuddering as something clawed its way up my throat—not nausea this time, but panic. Full-blown panic.

I felt trapped in my own body.

"No—no, no, no—" I barely gasped out, my breathing spiraling into sharp, erratic bursts.

The ice bath felt too deep.

The cold was too much.

The room was spinning—

"Shit, she’s panicking," Franco cursed, immediately shifting closer. "Hey—hey, look at me."

I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was shaking too much, heart slamming against my ribs, my vision swimming as every exhausted nerve in my body screamed at once.

Nico held me firm.

His grip on my shoulders tightened just enough to keep me grounded, his voice level as he spoke—"Breathe, kid. Don’t fight it. Just let it pass."

"You’re safe, y/n," Ollie’s voice cut through the haze, softer now. "We’re right here. You’re okay."

"You’re not alone," Kimi added, his usual stoicism cracking just enough for me to hear the genuine concern beneath it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling to pull myself out of the panic’s grip.

Just breathe.

I sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. And another.

Slowly, painfully, the tightness in my chest loosened, the suffocating weight on my ribs easing—not gone, but manageable.

When I finally blinked my eyes open again, tears had slipped down my flushed cheeks, mixing with the cold water clinging to my skin.

I sniffled, embarrassed, trying to shake it off—

But Ollie just huffed a quiet laugh and reached out, gently brushing the pads of his fingers beneath my eyes to wipe them away.

"You look awful," he teased lightly, though the relief in his voice was obvious. "But at least you’re back with us."

I let out a weak breath—something close to a laugh, but more of a tired exhale.

"Thanks, Ollie."

"Anytime, y/n."

There was a beat of silence before Franco sighed, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

"We gotta go, though. Cooldown debriefs and all."

I nodded, though I still felt too weak to fully sit up on my own.

Kimi, Ollie, and Franco hesitated before leaving, their gazes lingering on me, as if making sure I wouldn’t crumble the second they walked out the door.

"Go," I rasped, offering a small nod. "I’ll be fine."

It took another beat, but eventually, they filed out, leaving only Nico behind.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat on the stool beside the tub, watching me carefully as I tried to even out my breath.

Then—quietly—he handed me a bottle of water.

"Drink, kid."

I did.

—

The walk to media duties felt longer than usual.

My body was still aching, my skin still hot despite the ice bath, but at least I could move without my legs threatening to give out beneath me. The hoodie and sweats Nico had given me felt heavy, but they helped me still hide my feminine figure without having to put my race suit back on.

Helmet back on. Voice changer activated. Persona intact.

I was Ghost again.

Not the girl who had almost collapsed from heat exhaustion. Not the one who had panicked in the ice bath.

Just Ghost.

I had just rounded the corner when I nearly crashed into someone.

"Whoa—"

I barely had time to process before I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder, steadying me.

"Are you even okay to be walking around?"

Oscar.

I lifted my head slightly, immediately greeted by the sight of Oscar, Max, and Lando, all three of them looking me over like I might drop at any second.

Oscar’s expression was tight with concern, his eyes scanning me as if searching for any sign of weakness beneath the hoodie and sweats.

Max and Lando, on the other hand—they just looked pissed.

"Ghost, what the hell were you thinking?" Lando’s voice was sharper than usual, his usual playfulness nowhere to be found.

"You could have passed out behind the wheel!" Max snapped, arms crossing over his chest.

"You’re lucky you even made it to the end without crashing," Lando added, eyes narrowing.

I sighed, already feeling the exhaustion creep back in. "Guys, I finished the race. I’m fine."

"Fine?" Max echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You couldn’t even get out of your damn car! You had to be carried to your garage!"

"We saw you, mate," Lando said, shaking his head. "You scared the shit out of us."

Oscar, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke—his voice softer, but no less firm.

"You should’ve retired, Ghost."

I clenched my jaw beneath my helmet, fingers curling into fists at my sides.

They didn’t get it.

I had something to prove.

After everything—after spending the entire season fighting for my place, for my right to be here, for my strength—I couldn’t just quit.

Not when I was still standing.

"I couldn’t," I muttered, my voice low.

Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "You’re a damn idiot."

Lando scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, no kidding. You think you’re proving a point by pushing through this kind of shit? You’re just proving you have no self-preservation instincts."

"Lando—" Oscar started, but the Brit just kept going.

"Seriously, mate, what’s the point of all this secrecy, the helmet, the voice changer, if you’re just gonna race yourself into the damn grave?"

My chest tightened.

They didn’t understand.

"I finished the race," I said again, my voice stronger this time.

Max let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, and nearly fucking died doing it."

There was a beat of silence.

I didn’t know what to say.

Because deep down, I knew they were right.

I had been stupid. I had risked everything.

But at the same time—I couldn’t regret it.

"I had to," I finally whispered.

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. "You didn’t have to. You just thought you did."

Max took a step closer, his voice lower now. "Don’t do that again."

"Max—"

"I mean it, Ghost." His eyes burned into mine through the visor of my helmet. "Don’t pull that shit again."

Lando exhaled, shaking his head. "If you ever scare us like that again, I swear to god—"

"What? You'll do what?" I challenged, tilting my head.

"We’ll fucking drag you out of the car ourselves next time," Lando shot back, dead serious.

I stared at them for a long moment before exhaling quietly.

"Noted."

Oscar sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… promise you’ll take it easy for the rest of the day."

I hesitated—then gave a small nod.

"Fine."

Max and Lando exchanged a look, clearly not satisfied, but knowing they wouldn’t get much more out of me.

"Good," Max muttered. "Now go do those stupid media duties before we get in trouble for holding you up."

I let out a breath, turning toward the media pen.

I could still feel their eyes on me as I walked away.

—

The questions had been relentless since the moment I stepped into the media pen.

I had answered what felt like a hundred different versions of "How are you feeling?" and "Was the heat the toughest challenge today?" while keeping my voice steady, my responses measured.

I could still feel the weight of Max, Lando, and Oscar’s words from earlier pressing against my chest.

"You think you’re proving a point by pushing through this kind of shit?"

"You just thought you had to."

"Don’t pull that shit again."

I had brushed them off, insisted I was fine, but deep down, the doubt had already started to sink in.

And then—I heard Jack’s name.

"Jack, do you think Ghost finishing the race today proves that you gave up too soon?"

My stomach twisted.

I turned my head slightly, listening as Jack’s tone sharpened in response.

"You think I wanted to retire?" His voice was laced with frustration, the exhaustion from the race still evident. "I had no choice. I was on the verge of passing out in the car—what the hell was I supposed to do? Just push through it like an idiot?"

The reporters kept pushing, eager to stoke the flames.

"Well, Ghost did."

That set him off.

"Yeah, and look at them! Couldn’t even get out of the car! You think that’s smart? You think that’s proving a point? That’s just reckless."

My chest tightened.

They had gotten to him.

I knew what they were doing—trying to manufacture a rivalry, to paint one of us as weaker, the other as stronger, to get some headline-worthy soundbite out of him.

And Jack—he was giving them exactly what they wanted.

"Do you regret your decision now that you see what Ghost was capable of?"

Jack let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Capable of? They nearly collapsed. That’s not capability—that’s stupidity. If anything, I feel bad for them."

I didn’t have time to process the sting in his words before I was being called up for my own interview.

The second I stepped forward, I could already see the smirks on the reporters’ faces.

They were waiting. Waiting for me to bite.

"Ghost, we just spoke with Jack, and he had some strong words about your decision to finish the race today—"

"Jack said you were reckless—"

"He implied he felt bad for you—"

"Do you have anything to say in response?"

I could feel the heat behind my visor—not from the temperature, but from the frustration simmering in my chest.

I could shut Jack down. I could bite back.

But that’s what they wanted.

Instead, I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice to stay calm as I answered.

"I don’t blame Jack for anything he said," I started, my tone even. "But I think the real problem is how often these kinds of comparisons are made in the first place."

The interviewer blinked, caught off guard.

I continued.

"Jack did the right thing today. He recognized his limits. He chose to put his health first. That takes strength. That takes intelligence. He made the smart call—something I wasn’t able to do."

A few reporters shifted uncomfortably at my words.

"I let my ego get in the way," I admitted, my fingers curling into the sleeves of my hoodie. "I finished the race, sure. But at what cost? I put myself at risk. I let myself believe that stopping would be a weakness, not to myself, but to the public, to you. But looking back… I think Jack was stronger than me today."

A beat of silence.

The interviewers weren’t expecting this.

They wanted drama. Fuel for a rivalry.

Instead, I had taken the wind out of their sails.

"So no, I don’t have anything to say against Jack. What I do have a problem with is the way we push drivers to view each other as competition in moments like this—when really, we should be focusing on the bigger picture. None of us should have been racing in these conditions. And Jack made the right call."

The interviewers exchanged glances, realizing they weren’t going to get what they wanted out of me.

I just stood there, breathing steadily, finally understanding what Max, Lando, and Oscar had been so pissed about earlier.

I had been an idiot. And for the first time, I was willing to admit it.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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grandline-fics · 3 months ago

Note

For your Valentine's Event: Single Red Rose with Benn Beckman. ❤️

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS: mutual pining but it all works out.

CHARACTERS: Benn Beckman

WORDS: 923

A/N: Thank you @thecrimsonacademic for this request for the Valentine's Event! I hope you like what I came up with for Beck. This is my second time writing for him so I'm still trying to get the hang of getting his personality down

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

————————

When you’d returned to the Red Force, Benn immediately noticed the extra bounce in your step and unshakable smile. His eyes always seemed to find you regardless of what was going on around him but when your mood was this good, it was impossible for him to not notice. You must have encountered something very fun to do on the island they’d stopped at. Still it didn't explain why you were back so soon. He was one of the few on watch duty. You were part of the group out exploring the island. Curious he stepped up beside you as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink. “What’s got you so upbeat? Yasopp get drunk and fall asleep in a flowerbed again?”

“No! It's too early for that, even for him.” You grinned, leaning against the counter while Beck grabbed a drink of his own. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

Not a lot surprised Benn much anymore but that declaration did make him pause and the once delicious mouthful of ale in his mouth seemed to become heavier and harder to swallow. While nothing ever explicit had happened between you both, Benn was very aware of his feelings that had been growing for you to be beyond just crewmates and friends.

You’d both flirted more times than he could count and been affectionate but nothing ever romantic or sexual since Benn believed letting things take the natural course to be the best plan of action. Seemed while he was on the ship and you were out on your own, someone caught your eye. He was a realist to know this wasn’t love for you and this random person. The ship would be setting sail in a couple days, this was just something to pass the time. Regardless of the meaning, the word ‘date’ twisted something unpleasant in him.

“A date huh?” Beck asked, keeping an air of calm and lightheartedness in his words because the last thing he would ever do was sour your happiness. “Hope they’re able to show you a good time. You deserve it.”

“I hope so too.” You smiled warmly as you finished your drink and sighed with a light shrug. “But if turns into a bad time, I’ll not cry over it. They’re cute, but not that cute. I’m going to get ready.” You stepped away and walked towards the door only to stop and quickly turn to look at Benn warningly but still with a touch of playfulness in your stare. “And if Shanks asks-”

“I know, I know. ” Beckman chuckled, knowing the last thing you'd want on a date was for Shanks to lurk nearby or tease you and disrupt things. “I won’t say a word until we set sail.”

“You’re the best, Beck.” You beamed before disappearing down the hallway to get ready for your night.

It wasn't long after you’d left to go meet your date when Lucky and Hongo returned to allow Benn and the others remaining on board to go out and see the island and have some fun. Beck knew he wouldn’t need to search far to find at least someone in the crew, knowing their lively presences would make themselves known without any effort. He was right because someone in the crew did appear, he was just surprised to see it was you and even stranger still you were on your own and the bounce you had in your step earlier was gone. “Hey you.” Beck greeted, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “What happened?”

“Guy never showed.” You explained with a small shrug. “Left a message that had he known I was a pirate he wouldn’t have asked me out.”

“You’re kidding.” Benn asked with eyebrows raised and a disbelieving shake of his head, some people were so gutless. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologise, Beck. Like I said he was cute, but not cute enough to cry over. I just wish I hadn’t wasted my time getting ready for it to go to waste.” You shrugged, smiling softly at Beck’s sympathy. “Have a good night. I’ll see you on the ship.”

As you moved to head in the direction of the ship you were swiftly caught by Benn’s hand and stopped. You looked up at your crewmate and let out a sigh to see him looking at you with a serious look. Truthfully you weren’t in any way hurt by what had happened. You’d mostly agreed to a date with someone else because you thought it would take your mind off of your feelings for the man in front of you. Now you hated that he looked upset on your behalf.“Beck, honestly I’m fine.”

“Fine or not you look too good to let it go to waste. C’mon you wanted a date, you’re getting a date.” Benn instructed, leading you back towards the town. When you opened your mouth to protest he grinned at you. “Don’t worry I’ll make sure you have fun.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You huffed out with a smile, finally letting him lead you wherever he wanted. “Fine, I’m curious now to see how Benn Beckman operates on a date. Show me what you got Beck.”

“Oh that’s a tall order.” Benn laughed, adjusting his hand to lace his fingers with yours. “Y’see to really get the full experience it’ll take a lot more than a single date. Could take a long while.”

“That so?” You grinned walking side by side with him. “I’ve got the time.”

——————————————-

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tinyinkblots · 10 days ago

Text

Sleepless Nights

Warnings/Tags: MDNI!!, oral (m receiving), p-in-v, overstimulated Hotch, fluff, happy Hotch, f!OC (but no description)

Aaron Hotchner didn’t sleep anymore. Not really.

It wasn’t just the nightmares – though they still lurked, always ready to bloom in the shadowed hours – it was the pressure, the gnawing need to stay ahead of the next failure. Every open case was a loaded chamber. Every victim he didn’t save was a ghost that followed him home. So he brought the work with him, filled the bedroom with paperwork, case files, crime scene photos, post-its and his neatly scribbled notes in red ink.

And Amelia didn’t mind. She’d said so, more than once. She said it just like that, without sighing or softening her voice to mask frustration.

“I’d rather have you here, working, than not at all. And the light doesn’t bother me. Really. I like the sound of you thinking.”

So he stayed. Sat up against the headboard in a soft black t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, glasses low on his nose, manila folder propped on one knee. His back would ache by 3 a.m., but at least he was home. At least her warm thigh would brush his every now and then, an unspoken reminder.

You don’t have to leave to do good.

Still, the body keeps score.

The glass slipped from his hand the next morning, crashing into pieces across the tile floor like a warning shot. He stared down at it like it had betrayed him, utterly still, water pooling between his bare feet.

Amelia appeared from around the corner a breath later, quiet in a t-shirt that used to be his and no pants at all. “Aaron?”

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t have it in him. Instead, he rubbed a hand down his face, then crouched to pick up the largest shard before she caught his wrist gently.

“I’ve got it. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She didn’t argue beyond that, just pulled his hand under the faucet and gently wiped the blood away with a clean towel. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, but he felt something inside him give – maybe not break, but definitely shift.

Amelia was thinking. She always was.

–

Amelia heard the front door close with a soft click, the kind that only happened when Aaron was trying not to wake her – even though she was still awake. She never slept until he came home.

He’d missed dinner again. The pasta had dried out, the wine bottle stood half-drunk on the counter. She didn’t say anything as he padded quietly into the bedroom, briefcase in hand, shirt wrinkled at the elbows, top button undone, dark brows drawn low in thought.

"You're late," she said softly, not accusing. Just stating fact.

“I know,” Aaron murmured. “I’m sorry. I needed to finish a report before morning.”

Amelia gave a slow nod and didn’t move. She just sat against the headboard, legs folded under the covers, watching him as he started to pull off his tie.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” she said after a beat. “But you do have to let me help.”

He gave her a look – soft, tired, unreadable. “You already help.”

But what he didn’t say – what lived in the quiet between his breaths – was that without her, he would’ve crashed long ago. She held him together not with force, but with quiet grace – the kind of love that stitched him closed with silk thread and whispered promises. Where grief had left fissures, she poured warmth. Where the world had hollowed him, she filled the space with gentleness.

Amelia was gravity when he drifted, the calm in the storm he could never quite escape. When it was his week with Jack, and the guilt pressed like a weight behind his ribs – the missed calls, the late nights, the haunted silences – she filled in the cracks. She packed lunches without being asked, soothed bad dreams with hands far gentler than his own, and smiled like she didn’t notice the shadows clinging to him.

She made breathing feel possible again.

And maybe that was the problem. He needed her more than he had ever dared to need anything – more than sleep, more than safety, more than air – and if he ever said that out loud, if he ever let it slip how completely she’d become his lifeline, he wasn’t sure she’d stay.

So he stayed silent. Let her care for him like he was something worth saving.

And prayed she never stopped.

“You don’t sleep. You bring your cases home and still stay up ‘til 3 a.m. You're running on fumes, Aaron. You dropped a glass this morning. Your hands were shaking.”

His mouth opened, then closed again.

She sounded almost like him – clipped, precise, too perceptive for comfort. For a second, he wondered if he was rubbing off on her. If all those nights lying beside him while he sifted through patterns and details had made her sharper. Or maybe she'd always been this observant, and he was only just now realizing how closely she watched him when he thought no one was looking.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” she continued gently, sliding off the bed and padding towards him. “I’m just asking you to come to bed. And let me help you rest. Properly.”

His gaze followed her movements, cautious, like he hadn’t quite figured out her angle yet.

She took his briefcase from his hand and set it quietly on the desk, then stepped close and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers were slow and deliberate, not sexual – not at first – just patient. Focused. She brushed her knuckles down his chest as each button came undone.

Aaron stood still, hands at his sides, watching her closely now.

“You’re tense,” she murmured, running her palms over his shoulders, down his arms. “Always holding everything in.”

“I have to.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, steady. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric at his chest, gliding over skin made warm by exhaustion. She eased the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall away like a sigh, revealing the lean strength beneath – all hard lines and quiet tension, drawn tight from too many sleepless nights. She touched him like she already knew every part of him that ached.

“But just for tonight,” she whispered, “you don’t have to.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but stopped when she stepped close and kissed just under his collarbone – soft and slow. Her hands roamed downward, fingertips brushing the thin line of hair down his stomach to his belt.

That was when realization dawned in his eyes.

“Amelia–” His voice was low, hoarse, warning.

She met his gaze, unbuckling his belt. “Let me take care of you.”

He inhaled through his nose, jaw tense, but didn’t stop her.

His slacks fell to the floor with a soft rustle. She knelt and eased his boxers down slowly, reverently, her cheek grazing the inside of his thigh as she rose. His cock was already half-hard, heavy against his stomach, twitching slightly under her gaze.

She touched him with the same patience she’d used undressing him – not urgent, not teasing. Just sure. A slow stroke, her palm warm and her fingers curved just right, tightening at the tip.

Aaron let out a breath, steadying himself against the edge of the dresser with one hand.

“You don’t have to do this.” His voice was hoarse, barely more than breath, like he was trying to give her an out even as his hand trembled against her shoulder.

She looked up at him, still on her knees, her hands resting lightly on his hips. Her eyes met his – wide, steady, full of something he didn’t dare name. And she smiled, small and devastating.

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I want to.”

There it was. Not the words themselves, but the shape of them. The weight. The way she looked at him – like he was something precious in her hands, not in spite of the wear, but because of it. As if every quiet crack in him only made her hold on tighter.

That undid him more than her hands ever could.

He groaned softly when she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. Warm, wet, slow – she worked him with her lips and tongue, using her hands to keep him from thrusting too deep. His fingers curled into her hair, light at first, then tightening when she flattened her tongue along the underside of his cock and sucked.

“God, Amelia…”

She pulled back slowly, saliva glistening on her lips, and gave him one more stroke before standing again. “Not yet.”

Aaron’s eyes were dark now – not just with arousal but something else. Relief. A flick of surrender.

She kissed him as she backed him toward the bed, lips parted, hungry but careful, coaxing him down until he sat on the edge of the mattress. His hands found her hips instinctively.

But when he tried to take control – to pull her onto his lap – she stopped him.

“No,” she whispered. “I call the shots tonight.”

Her words made his cock twitch.

Amelia sank to her knees again, lips ghosting over his abdomen, tongue flicking over his skin. She took him into her mouth again, deeper this time, letting her throat tighten around him. Aaron hissed, his head falling back, a whisper of her name escaping his lips like a sinful prayer.

She pulled back right as his hips tensed, as his breath quickened – and stopped.

“Amelia–” His voice broke with frustration.

“Not yet,” she repeated, licking the tip of his cock slowly.

He growled, a low sound from his chest, his hands clutching the sheets behind him.

She repeated it. Twice more. Took him to the edge, watched him grip the bedding like he was in a hostage situation. Her name became a litany of gasped syllables. His thighs trembled. His stomach clenched.

Only when he begged, “I can’t– fuck, please,” did she climb into his lap and slide down onto him in one smooth motion. He gasped like he’d come up for air.

Aaron never cursed. Not in frustration. Not in anger. Not even when his world unraveled at the seams. Words like that didn’t belong in his mouth – not the way he was raised, not the man he forced himself to become.

But she made him human.

Not the figure in the suit, not the profiler carved from bone-deep restraint – just a man, undone beneath her touch. Her name on his lips, the slick heat of her wrapped around him, and the word tore free like a confession.

And God, she reveled in it – in the way he arched beneath her, the way his hands clutched her hips like he didn’t know where she ended and he began.

She didn’t move at first. Just sat there, full and pulsing around him, her hands braced on his chest.

“You feel that?” she whispered.

He nodded, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into the fleshy curve of her hips – not rough, but deep, like he was grounding himself in her softness

“That’s what letting go feels like.”

Then she moved.

Slow and deep, dragging herself up and down on his cock, every motion unhurried but devastating. His breath was ragged, his muscles trembling under her. She leaned forward, letting her breasts brush his chest, kissing him as she rode him harder.

“Fuck– Amelia– ” He was unraveling beneath her, every edge of composure stripped away.

She clenched around him deliberately, rhythm building, pace quickening. Her moans tangled with his – soft gasps and stuttering breaths, drawn from someplace deep and wordless.

And when he came, it was with a groan so raw she felt it vibrate through her spine. He spilled inside her in hard, pulsing waves, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her tight to him like he couldn’t stand not being connected.

She kissed his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

And she didn’t stop.

Even when he tried to shift away, to breathe through the overstimulation, she kissed him again and rocked her hips, slow and deep.

“You can give me another.”

He shook his head weakly. “Amelia…”

She clenched around him again. He groaned.

His cock thickened again inside her, filling her, slowly swelling back to full. She kissed him until he surrendered.

The second time was messier. Desperate. She fucked him in earnest now – riding him hard, grinding into the base of his cock, gasping against his mouth. His hands clutched at her ass, trying to slow her, but she wouldn’t stop.

Not until he came undone – not until he collapsed.

Aaron came with a ragged moan, hips bucking as he spilled into her again. His body jerked once, then stilled. Amelia held him as he sagged backward, fully spent, chest heaving. His eyes fluttered closed as she stroked his face, tracing the line of his jaw, brushing damp hair back from his forehead.

"Sleep," she whispered.

She leaned in and kissed his forehead, slow and lingering, like she could press her care straight into his skin.

He was already gone – pulled under like a tide, slipping into the kind of dreamless quiet he hadn’t known in years. Just warmth, and stillness, and her.

“I wish I could make it easier,” she whispered. "I wish I could carry the weight for you – just for a while.

Her fingers brushed through his slightly damp hair, smoothing it back as if taming the chaos would give him peace. She covered him with a blanket, pulling it up over his bare shoulders as he was laying right on top of the duvet, careful not to disturb the steady rhythm of his breath, and let her hand rest lightly on his chest – right over the heart he guarded so fiercely.

It was the smallest kind of devotion. The kind no one else would ever see. But it was hers.

And for tonight, that was enough.

–

The morning light filtered in soft and gold through the bedroom curtains, warm against his bare skin. For a moment, Aaron didn’t move. He lay still beneath the blanket, his breath steady, the quiet wrapping around him like something sacred.

No dreams. No blood. No gunshots. Just quiet.

And her.

Amelia was curled against his side, still asleep, one leg draped lazily over his, her hand resting over his heart like it belonged there. Like she’d never considered placing it anywhere else.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. Not really. Just the feel of her mouth on his skin, the rhythm of her body against his, and the slow, inevitable unraveling that had taken him under like a wave he didn’t have the strength to fight. He’d drowned in her, and somehow come up breathing.

His hand drifted to her back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the soft cotton of her t-shirt – his t-shirt. The one she always stole when she didn’t want to wear anything else.

He should’ve gotten up. Should’ve been reviewing case files, checking the team’s travel schedules. But he didn’t move. He just watched her sleep, lips parted, hair fanned over his chest like a soft veil, her breath warm against his ribs.

She’d tucked him in last night. Not just with sheets, but with kindness. With hands that didn’t ask him to explain. With a kiss to his forehead that he hadn’t been too far gone to feel.

And the terrifying thing was – he’d needed it.

More than rest, more than sex, more than sleep. He’d needed to be cared for. Not out of obligation or sympathy, not in the way the team looked at him when the days ran too long and his eyes were hollow. No well-meaning glances or silent questions he didn’t know how to answer.

Amelia hadn’t asked. She hadn’t made him speak it into existence. She’d simply seen it – in the weight of his shoulders, in the hours he spent staring at his case files like they might bite. And then she acted, quiet and sure, like loving him was instinct and not choice. Like tending to him wasn’t a task, but the only thing that made sense.

He didn’t know how to ask for that. Never had.

He was built from restraint and responsibility, shaped by a life where vulnerability meant weakness and weakness could get someone killed. Even when it didn’t, it left marks – like Haley’s voice still echoing through years of silence, accusing him of always choosing the job. Maybe she’d been right. Maybe, back then, he didn’t know how to handle it differently.

But Amelia hadn’t run. She hadn’t flinched from the haunted parts of him or tried to scrub the blood from his hands. She stayed. She touched him gently, kissed his scars like they were sacred, and never once asked him to be softer – only showed him how.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it was working.

Not because he didn’t want it – God, he did – but because vulnerability had never felt safe. Not in the Bureau. Not in marriage. Not even with himself. He’d spent so long locking everything behind duty and discipline that the idea of someone seeing all of him – the fatigue, the fear, the longing – felt like a wound waiting to split open. If he let himself fall into her fully, if he let her keep seeing the man beneath the armor, what if she changed her mind? What if she stayed long enough to know him, and then decided it was too much?

He could survive exhaustion. He wasn’t sure he could survive hope.

Beside him, she stirred – a slow, sleepy shift beneath the blankets, followed by a quiet hum and the brush of her lips against his skin. She didn’t speak. Just pressed a kiss to his sternum. Then another. And another. Tiny, wandering things, like she was tracing the rhythm of his heart with her mouth.

She burrowed into his side like she was trying to fold herself into him. Aaron didn’t hesitate. He drew her closer, wrapping one arm around her back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head – a silent stay, or maybe thank you, or maybe just mine, an unspoken proclamation.

Amelia sighed, content and warm, her fingertips drifting across his ribs in slow, absent circles. He let out a quiet laugh, lips brushing the crown of her head. “You smell like me.”

She smiled against his chest – slow, satisfied – and pressed a kiss just below his collarbone. “Good.”

They stayed like that for a while, suspended in the hush that only morning seemed to allow – no case files, no alarms, no phone calls. Just the cadence of her breath against his skin and the slow bloom of something gentle unfolding in his chest.

He hadn’t thought this kind of peace was possible for him. But she had crawled into the wreckage, unafraid of soot or scars, and made a home there anyway.

And for once, he didn’t want to move.

They stayed like that, tangled in warmth, until the light from the window grew stronger – until the world outside started waking up, and neither of them felt like letting it in.

Aaron shifted slightly, one hand brushing along her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine beneath the fabric of his t-shirt she still wore. She’d barely spoken, only kissed his skin now and then like she couldn’t quite stop.

But something in his chest had started to ache. Not from pain – not exactly. From the weight of everything unsaid.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured. Amelia stilled, then leaned back just enough to look up at him, hair messy, eyes still soft from sleep. He hesitated. “I could retire.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

“I could stay home,” he said, more clearly this time. “With you. With Jack. Be there for school drop-offs and dinner. Mornings. Nights. All of it.”

She blinked at him, surprised. Not because the offer wasn’t tempting – it was. But because he’d said it. Out loud.

“Aaron…”

“I mean it,” he added, eyes on her now. “I’ve done this job long enough. I’ve lost enough to it.”

Her fingers curled lightly into his side, grounding him. “You’ve also saved people. So many.”

He swallowed hard, the words catching just behind his tongue. “Maybe I’ve done enough.”

There was a pause – not angry, not cold, just long enough for doubt to slip in. Long enough for Aaron to wonder if he’d said too much. If this was the moment everything shifted, and not in the way he’d hoped.

Then she spoke, quiet but steady. “I didn’t fall in love with a man who sits still.”

He stilled.

“I didn’t fall in love with SSA Hotchner, either,” she continued. “But I know that man is a part of you. You don’t just step out of that skin. And I would never ask you to.”

His breath caught, but she went on, her voice sure now.

“I love all of you. The man who leaves too early and forgets to text. The man who comes home with shadows under his eyes. The man who works through dinner but shows up at 2 a.m. and holds me like he never wants to let go.” She smiled then – a soft, knowing thing. “I’ll wait. Every time. I don’t need you to change for me, Aaron. I just need you to come home.”

He looked at her like she’d just handed him something sacred. And maybe she had.

He pressed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes, and breathed her in like she was the first thing he’d truly let himself need in years.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fluff

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sonarspace · 6 months ago

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࣪ ˖⟡ BREAKING POINT (FT. TOJI)

꒰ synopsis. toji’s job was simple: watch, report, and move on but when the lines between his mission and his desires blur, he’s forced to confront a breaking point he never saw coming. content. potentially dark themes. (stalking. mention of death.) nsfw. (cunnilingus) wc. 8k–ish. (oops) an. it’s very late so i’m sorry if certain things don’t make sense. there will be a part two, hopefully soon.

toji never liked simple jobs. the thrill was always in the hunt, in the unpredictability of his targets. but this time? this time felt... different. he’d tracked down his mark to a small, unassuming neighborhood, half-convinced he’d been sent on some kind of wild goose chase. this place wasn’t exactly a breeding ground for threats.

and that’s where you come in.

you’re not what he expected—at all. no training, no hint of power, no connection to the dangerous world he roams. just... you, living your life, completely unaware that a man like him is lurking in the shadows, keeping an eye on you. it’s almost a joke. the ease of it should make him itch to move on, to wrap things up fast. but instead, he finds himself sticking around, watching from a distance as you go about your day.

and damn, you’re making it hard to leave.

there’s something about the way you carry yourself—unconcerned, relaxed, like you know nothing about the danger he could bring into your world. it almost makes him feel... invisible, and that’s a feeling toji hasn’t had in years. the way you look at the world, unguarded, it’s like you don’t know people like him exist. you’re a mystery that’s more enticing than he wants to admit.

then, one night, you catch him.

it’s a fluke, really—a careless mistake on his part. he’s standing in the shadows outside your apartment, watching as you lock up, but tonight you linger, glancing around as if sensing something’s off. and then your gaze lands on him.

“you gonna stand there all night or what?” you ask, your tone half-amused, half-annoyed. it’s bold, like you’re talking to some stray cat on the sidewalk instead of a trained killer.

toji feels a flicker of irritation, mixed with something else he can’t place. usually, people run when they see him, or at the very least, they freeze. but you? you look at him like he’s just another random inconvenience, and that almost pisses him off. almost.

he steps out of the shadows, crossing the distance between you in a few strides, his figure looming over you. “didn’t know you were waiting for an invitation,” he murmurs, voice low, watching as your expression shifts, just a little hint of caution now, mixed with curiosity.

“what, do you follow everyone home?” you challenge, crossing your arms as if you’re unbothered by the proximity. “or am i just that special?”

toji smirks, something dark flashing in his eyes. “depends. maybe i just like the view.”

it’s a cheap line, but it gets the reaction he’s looking for—your eyes narrow, a spark of annoyance flickering across your face. you’re not scared, though, not really. if anything, you look like you’re ready to push back, and that... that’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“you’ve got a weird way of complimenting people,” you shoot back, the faintest smirk playing at your lips.

“toji,” he says suddenly, the name rolling off his tongue like it’s an afterthought. “figured it’s only polite to introduce myself.”

your brows lift slightly, but you recover quickly. “well, toji, you’re still creeping around outside my building.”

“and you’re still talking to me,” he counters smoothly, tilting his head just enough to give you the impression he’s sizing you up. “guess that makes us even.”

you narrow your eyes at him, irritation sparking, but it’s laced with a strange flicker of curiosity you can’t quite push down. “you’re weird,” you mutter, your voice losing some of its edge. “you know that, right?”

toji chuckles low, the sound rough but not entirely unkind. “i’ve been called worse,” he says, stepping back, his gaze still locked on you. “don’t stay out too late. wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

you blink at him, caught off guard by the unexpected hint of... concern? but before you can respond, he’s already turning on his heel, his hands shoved into his pockets as he strides off into the dark.

────

over the next week, his presence becomes almost predictable. every evening, when you glance outside, he’s there, leaning against the streetlamp or pacing the sidewalk. it’s unsettling at first, but eventually, you find yourself getting used to it. you even start thinking about how to break the tension. maybe if you offered him something, this strange game would become a little less unnerving.

so you bake cookies—just a simple gesture, something to bridge the gap. but when you head downstairs, holding the small jar of freshly baked cookies in your hands, his usual spot is empty.

you glance around, half-expecting him to emerge from the shadows, but there’s nothing. just the dim streetlight and the quiet hum of the city. for some reason, the absence stings more than you expect. had he moved on? stopped stalking you? the thought should bring relief, but instead, it leaves a pang of disappointment.

────

a week later, you’re walking home from work, the late evening air cool against your skin. it’s a quiet night, uneventful—until you feel the faint prickle of unease. someone is following you. the footsteps behind you are too deliberate, too measured, sending a shiver up your spine.

you quicken your pace, your keys clutched tightly in your hand, your mind racing as you glance over your shoulder. the man trailing you is nondescript, but his intent is clear in the way his gaze locks onto you, unyielding.

just as he closes the distance, a shadow moves faster than you can process. the air shifts, heavy and violent, and before you can even register what’s happening, the man’s feet leave the ground. a dull thud echoes through the night as he crumples to the pavement, his body limp, unmoving.

you freeze, your breath catching in your throat, your eyes wide as the shadow that felled him takes shape. “toji...” you gasp, the name tumbling from your lips as your gaze darts from him to the man sprawled on the ground. “did you—did you kill him?!”

toji steps forward, brushing his knuckles against his shirt, his expression calm, unbothered. “no,” he mutters, glancing down at the unconscious man.

you stare at the scene, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. then your eyes lock onto him, and for the first time, you notice the state he’s in—bruises darkening his cheekbone, a shallow cut near his temple. there’s a stiffness in the way he moves, like every step costs him something.

“toji...” you breathe, softer this time, the concern in your voice impossible to hide. your hand twitches at your side, almost reaching for him, but you stop yourself just before you do. “are you okay?”

he tilts his head, his smirk faint, almost weary. “you’re worried about me princess?” he asks, his tone laced with faint amusement.

but your questions spill out before you can stop them, each one tripping over the next. “what happened to you? where were you all this time? who is that guy? why was he—”

toji’s hands come up, his fingers gripping your arms gently but firmly, grounding you. “breathe,” he says, his voice low but steady, his gaze holding yours. “just... breathe.”

you blink up at him, startled into silence, your chest still heaving as you try to process everything at once. his touch is warm, solid, a tether pulling you back from the edge of your spiraling thoughts.

“i’ll tell you everything,” he murmurs, his grip loosening slightly, though his hands stay on you. “but first, you need to calm down.”

you swallow hard, nodding, your breaths coming slower now, though the weight of the moment still presses heavy against your chest. toji’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he steps back, his expression softening ever so slightly.

toji’s hands fall from your arms, but his gaze doesn’t waver. there’s something steady, almost unshakable, in the way he looks at you, like he’s already made up his mind about what comes next.

“i need you to trust me,” he says, his voice low but firm, the weight of his words settling between you.

you blink, your breath catching for a moment. “trust you?” you repeat, incredulous, your eyes darting between him and the man still unconscious on the ground. “toji, i don’t even know you.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “you don’t have to,” he mutters, his tone lighter but edged with something darker, something urgent. “just please, trust that i know what i’m doing.”

“why?” you ask softly, your voice trembling.

toji’s gaze lingers on the man sprawled on the ground, his expression grim, tension radiating from his frame. when he looks back at you, there’s no trace of humor left in his eyes.

“because this man was here to kill you,” he says flatly, his voice low and heavy, the weight of the words sinking into your chest like stones.

your breath catches, your mind scrambling to keep up. “kill me?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. “how do you even know that? who are you?”

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, his knuckles brushing against the fresh bruise on his jaw. “just—please,” he mutters, his voice thick with frustration, “let me take you somewhere safe. i’ll explain everything, but not here.”

you shake your head, your arms crossing tightly over your chest, as if that alone can keep him from pulling you into his orbit. “my apartment is safe,” you insist, your voice steadier than you feel. “we can go there. but i’m not going anywhere else.”

toji groans softly, muttering something under his breath, his jaw tightening. “no, you’re not safe here,” he argues, his tone sharper now. “people are coming. more of them.”

your stomach flips at his words, dread curling in your gut. “who’s coming?” you demand, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

he doesn’t answer right away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. finally, he shakes his head, his voice softer now but no less urgent. “please,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours, his voice dipping into something almost pleading. “just—”

“no,” you cut him off, your tone final. “if you want to talk, we’re doing it in my apartment. i’m not going anywhere.”

toji lets out a sharp exhale, his shoulders slumping slightly as he stares at you, clearly debating his next move. after a moment, he relents, jerking his head toward your building. “fine,” he mutters.

inside, your apartment is warm and inviting, a cozy little sanctuary from the chaos outside. the faint scent of vanilla lingers in the air, mingling with the soft glow of a small lamp on your end table. the space is lived-in, filled with personal touches—books scattered across the coffee table and a throw blanket draped over the back of the couch.

toji steps in, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room, taking in every detail. his expression softens briefly, the faintest flicker of something almost fond crossing his face. “cute place,” he mutters, the words gruff but genuine.

before you can respond, a tiny, black-and-white blur darts across the room, a soft, rumbling purr filling the air as a fluffy cat weaves around toji’s legs. its bright green eyes gleam mischievously as it nudges against his boots, its tail flicking with casual arrogance.

toji tenses, jerking his foot back like he’s just stepped on something dangerous. “what the—?”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you kneel to scoop the cat into your arms, its purring growing louder as it nuzzles into your neck. “oh, ninja, meet toji. toji, this is ninja,” you say, grinning up at him as you scratch behind the cat’s ears.

“ninja,” he repeats flatly, glaring at the tiny creature like it’s somehow offended him. “you named it ninja.”

“he’s stealthy,” you reply with a shrug, holding the cat up to face him. ninja blinks lazily at toji, his green eyes half-lidded as if bored by the entire exchange.

toji sighs, muttering something under his breath about “useless little nuisances,” but he doesn’t move, watching as you set ninja down. the cat trots off, tail high, completely unbothered by the towering man now occupying his space.

toji exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “we don’t have much time,” he says, his tone sharpening as his gaze snaps back to you. “we need to go.”

but you plant your feet, crossing your arms over your chest, your expression firm. “not until you tell me what’s going on,” you say. “from the beginning.”

he groans, his head tipping back briefly before he looks at you again, his jaw tight. “this isn’t the time for a story,” he mutters. “you want answers, fine. but we need to move.”

“i’m not going anywhere until you explain,” you reply, your voice steady. “start talking, toji.”

toji groans, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling you with a steady, unreadable gaze. “fine. you want to know what’s going on? here it is,” he says, his voice low and measured, like he’s choosing every word carefully. “i was assigned to gather intel on you. you’ve been classified as a threat.”

“a threat?” you repeat, your brows furrowing in disbelief. “me? why?”

“because of your father,” he replies, his tone clipped. “he was involved in some... shady business.”

you take a step back, your pulse quickening. “my parents are dead,” you say, your voice trembling, the words scraping against your throat. “they died in a car accident years ago.”

“i know that,” toji says, his voice softening just enough to make the tension in the room feel heavier. “but how do you think they died?”

the question hits like a hammer to your chest, the room tilting slightly as his words sink in. “you’re saying...” you trail off, your voice barely above a whisper. your thoughts race, piecing together fragments of a past you’d never questioned. “their car crash wasn’t an accident?” your stomach churns as the realization dawns on you, sharp and cruel.

toji doesn’t answer immediately, but the look in his eyes is enough to confirm it. you feel frozen, your legs unsteady beneath you, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“breathe,” toji says softly, stepping closer. “look, i know it’s a lot. but we don’t have time to unpack all of this right now.” his voice is firm but not unkind, his gaze steady as he watches you struggle to process everything. “i need to get you out of here before they come.”

he turns toward the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer outside. his shoulders tense, his jaw tightening as he spots something in the distance. “shit,” he mutters under his breath. “they’re already here.”

“who’s here?” you ask, your voice barely steady.

“people who won’t hesitate to finish what they started with your parents,” he replies grimly. “we need to leave. now.”

you hesitate, your hands trembling as you clutch the back of a chair for support. “i can’t leave ninja,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

toji glances at you, his expression hard, but then he sighs. “fine. bring the damn cat,” he mutters. “but grab your essentials. only what you need.”

you nod, swallowing hard as you rush to your bedroom. ninja’s carrier sits by the door, and you quickly scoop him up, his soft purring a faint comfort against the chaos unraveling around you. you throw a few shirts and pants into a small bag, along with your phone charger, some cat snacks, and ninja’s favorite toy. your hands tremble as you zip it shut, your mind spinning with questions you don’t have time to ask.

toji meets you at the door, grabbing the bag from your hands with ease. “stay close to me,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. you clutch ninja’s carrier tightly, nodding as he leads you toward the stairs instead of the elevator.

he pulls out his phone as you descend, speaking in a low voice. “gojo,” he mutters, his tone urgent. “send backup. now.”

you can’t hear the response on the other end, but the name lingers in your mind. gojo. another question for later.

toji suddenly halts, his body tense as he peers through the narrow window on the stairwell door. you follow his gaze, your heart stopping as you see men entering your floor, their movements calculated, their intentions clear.

he turns to you, his hand firm on your shoulder. “stay quiet. stay behind me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

you watch as the men fan out on your floor, their presence clearing the stairwell for now. toji gestures sharply, and you follow him as he moves quickly, leading you downward again. your heart pounds in your chest, every creak of the stairs feeling impossibly loud.

you reach the basement parking lot, the space eerily quiet except for a single man stationed near the exit. toji moves like a shadow, closing the distance before the man can react. one quick strike, and the guard crumples to the ground, unconscious.

“come on,” toji urges, his voice low as he glances back at you. you hurry after him, clutching ninja’s carrier as your legs shake beneath you.

a sleek car pulls up, its headlights cutting through the dimness of the garage. the driver’s side window rolls down, revealing a man with dark hair tied into two buns and faint dark circles under his eyes. he peers at you briefly before addressing toji. “you’re late.”

“shut up, choso,” toji mutters, opening the back door and motioning for you to get in. you slide into the back seat, holding ninja close as the carrier shifts in your lap. toji closes the door behind you before sliding into the passenger seat. “drive.”

choso doesn’t hesitate, pulling out of the parking lot with practiced ease, the car gliding into the quiet streets. the tension in the air is thick, but no one speaks. the black cars you feared never materialize behind you, the route clear as choso expertly navigates the city streets, heading toward the outskirts.

you sit silently in the back seat, your arms wrapped protectively around ninja’s carrier, your eyes fixed on the shifting shadows outside. your mind races, replaying toji’s words over and over. their car crash wasn’t an accident. the weight of it settles heavily in your chest, your breath shallow as you try to process what it all means.

toji glances at you through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press. he knows this is a lot to take in—too much, even—but he also knows there’s no way to soften the truth.

the car slows as they pull into a small gas station, the bright fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across the cracked pavement. choso cuts the engine, nodding toward a second car parked discreetly in the lot. “switching vehicles,” he says simply, already getting out.

toji turns in his seat, his gaze landing on you. “you need anything?” he asks, his voice low but steady.

you shake your head, your grip tightening slightly on ninja’s carrier. “no,” you murmur, your voice quiet, barely audible.

he watches you for a moment longer before stepping out of the car. you don’t move, your thoughts still tangled and heavy, the soft rumble of ninja’s purring the only thing grounding you.

when toji returns, he opens the back door and hands you a cold bottle of water and a small pack of citrus-flavored candy. your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you take the items, your gaze darting up to meet his. “how did you—” you start, but then it hits you. he’s been watching me. the thought stings, a strange mix of discomfort and something else you can’t quite name.

toji leans against the doorframe, his smirk faint but noticeable. “figured you’d need something,” he says simply, not offering more than that.

you exhale softly, your fingers brushing over the pack before tucking it away. “thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t mention it,” he replies, stepping back to let you out of the car.

the three of you transfer into the second vehicle, ninja settling in your lap once more as you strap in. the silence follows you as the new car pulls onto the highway, the city lights fading behind you, replaced by the sprawling emptiness of the outskirts. it feels surreal, like the ground beneath your life has shifted, leaving you grasping for something solid.

────

the car pulls off the main road onto a narrow dirt path, winding through dense trees until a modest house comes into view. the structure is secluded, its exterior unassuming, the kind of place that could disappear into the background without much effort.

as the car rolls to a stop, the front door swings open, and a man with white hair steps out. he’s tall, his posture relaxed, and there’s a boyish grin on his face as he approaches, completely unfazed by the tension hanging in the air.

“welcome, welcome,” he says brightly, pulling open the back door before you can even unbuckle. his eyes immediately land on ninja’s carrier, and his grin widens. “and who’s this little guy?”

you blink, caught off guard as he leans down, cooing softly at the cat. “hey there, buddy,” he murmurs, lifting the carrier carefully from your lap. ninja lets out a soft meow, pressing his nose against the mesh, and the man chuckles. “oh, i like him already.”

“give it a rest, gojo,” toji mutters as he rounds the car, his tone laced with faint irritation. “you’re here to help, not adopt a cat.”

“who says i can’t do both?” gojo replies, turning to you with an easy smile. “satoru gojo,” he says, holding the carrier with one hand as he offers the other to you. “pleasure to meet you.”

you hesitate for a moment before shaking his hand, your grip tentative. “uh... thanks,” you manage, your voice soft.

toji falls into step beside you, his presence a steadying weight as gojo leads you toward the house. the air feels heavier as you step inside, your eyes immediately drawn to the two figures waiting in the living room.

the first is a tall woman with blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, her arms crossed as she leans casually against the back of a worn-out couch. her gaze shifts to choso as he enters behind you, and a slow, easy smile spreads across her face.

“took you long enough,” she says, her tone teasing.

“had to pick up stragglers,” choso replies, his voice softer now as he steps forward and kisses her, his hand resting lightly on her waist. she leans into him with an ease that makes you feel like you’re intruding on something private.

you shift on your feet awkwardly, but before you can decide where to look, the woman turns her attention to you, her smile softening. “you must be exhausted,” she says gently, her tone warm and disarming. she steps forward, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “yuki tsukumo,” she introduces herself. “don’t let the boys intimidate you. they mean well. mostly.”

her kindness catches you off guard, and you manage a small, hesitant smile. “thank you,” you murmur.

toji’s voice cuts through the moment, his tone gruff. “don’t let her fool you,” he says, motioning toward yuki with a slight tilt of his head. “she’s dangerous.”

“only to people who deserve it,” yuki replies, her grin returning, her tone light but edged with a quiet confidence that makes you believe her.

beside her stands another figure, a man with long black hair pulled back into a neat bun. his features are sharp but composed, his expression calm as he steps forward, offering you a polite smile.

“suguru geto,” toji says, motioning toward him. “don’t let the nice guy act fool you.”

“ignore him,” suguru says, his tone carrying the faintest trace of humor. “he likes to pretend he’s the only one you can trust.” his eyes soften as they meet yours. “it’s nice to meet you. i know this must all feel... overwhelming.”

you nod wordlessly, still clutching ninja’s toy in your hand, your mind struggling to process everything. suguru’s voice is calm, measured, and there’s something about the way he speaks that makes you feel just a little more grounded.

meanwhile, gojo sets ninja’s carrier down, popping the door open to let the cat stretch out onto the floor. ninja lets out a soft meow before trotting over to inspect the room, his tail high and proud.

“so,” gojo says, straightening up and clapping his hands together. “what’s the plan? because i’m assuming you didn’t bring her here just for the company.”

toji sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you. “the plan,” he says slowly, “is to keep her alive.”

────

“come on,” yuki says, her tone gentle as she motions for you to follow her. “i’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

yuki leads you down a narrow hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking faintly underfoot. the house is surprisingly clean and cozy inside—nothing like its rugged exterior. the walls are painted a warm beige, and small touches, like neatly arranged bookshelves give the space an unexpected charm.

yuki stops in front of a door, pushing it open to reveal a small, simple room. “here you go,” she says, stepping aside to let you in.

the room is bland but functional. a bed sits in the center, flanked by two plain side tables. there’s a narrow windowsill with a view of the surrounding trees, and the soft yellow glow of a table lamp casts a warm light over the otherwise bare space. it’s not much, but something about it feels oddly grounding—like a blank slate.

you set ninja’s carrier down and open the door. he stretches his little body out, his back arching and his paws spreading wide, before he begins mapping the space with his usual confidence, tail flicking as he investigates every corner.

“he’s cute,” yuki says with a soft smile, leaning against the doorframe. “you okay?”

the question hangs heavy in the air. she knows the answer before you say anything—it’s written all over your face. still, you appreciate the softness in her tone, the way she gives you space to process everything.

“it gets better,” she says quietly, her smile small but reassuring. “i promise. we’ll keep you safe.”

her words settle over you like a blanket—not enough to erase the weight in your chest, but enough to remind you that you’re not alone. she straightens, stepping back into the hallway. “take your time settling in,” she adds. “oh, and just a heads-up—there are only two bathrooms, and neither of them lock. so if you’re using one, just stick a towel under the door. it’s an unspoken rule for when we stay here.”

“got it,” you reply, managing a faint smile.

she nods once before disappearing down the hall, leaving you alone with ninja, who’s now perched on the bed, lazily cleaning his paw. you glance around the room again, sighing as you take it in. it’s bare, unremarkable—but maybe, just maybe, you could see yourself living here.

you grab a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt from your bag and step out of the room. the hallway is quiet as you make your way to the bathroom, pushing the door open. it’s clean, the tiles worn but scrubbed spotless, and the mirror above the sink reflects the exhaustion etched into your face.

remembering yuki’s advice, you grab a towel from the rack and slide it under the door, pressing it into place with your foot.

the warm water feels like a balm against your skin, washing away the grime and tension of the day. for a brief moment, you let yourself relax, closing your eyes and letting the steam envelop you. but then the weight of everything crashes back down—the truth about your parents, the sudden upheaval of your life, the danger still lurking somewhere outside the walls of this house.

after a while, you turn off the water, wiping your face with trembling hands before stepping out. you change quickly, pulling on the sweatpants and shirt, the soft fabric a small comfort against your damp skin. you gather your things, pulling the towel from beneath the door as you prepare to head back to your room.

“shit!” you yelp, your heart leaping into your throat as you clutch your chest. “what the hell—”

“sorry,” he murmurs, holding up a hand. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you stare at him, your pulse still racing as you take in his expression. his voice is quieter than usual, the sharpness dulled, and there’s something in his gaze—concern, maybe, or something close to it.

toji watches you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. “you okay?” he asks, his voice low but steady.

you hesitate, your hands tightening around the clothes you’re holding. “yeah,” you murmur, though the word feels hollow. “i’m fine.”

his brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t press. instead, he gestures down the hallway. “come on. let’s talk,” he says, stepping aside and waiting for you to follow.

you trail after him, the quiet creak of the floorboards the only sound between you as he walks you back to your room. ninja is curled up on the bed when you enter, his tail twitching lazily as he stretches out, completely undisturbed by the tension hanging in the air. toji closes the door behind him, leaning against it as you sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the fabric of your sweatpants for something to ground you.

“i owe you an explanation,” toji begins, crossing his arms over his chest. his voice is even, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s been carrying this for a while. “about what’s going on. and about me.”

you nod silently, your gaze locked on him as you wait for him to continue.

“my crew, we’re... mercenaries, more or less. we take jobs—tracking people, running interference, whatever the client needs. and our clients? not the kind of people you’d ever want to meet.”

you stay quiet, your heart beating faster as you wait for him to continue.

“there are two big players we work for—naoya zen’in and ryomen sukuna,” he explains, his tone matter-of-fact. “naoya’s got power, connections, influence. he thinks that makes him untouchable. sukuna? he’s just pure strength. nobody crosses him and lives to tell about it.”

you can’t help the question that slips out. “so... who do you work for?”

“both,” toji replies with a slight shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “it’s a balancing act. naoya’s got more reach, but sukuna’s stronger. we take jobs from both of them, depending on what’s on the table.”

“and me?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly. “how do i fit into this?”

toji’s jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, as if weighing his words. “naoya gave me your file,” he says finally. “he wanted you followed. didn’t say why—just that he’d pay well.”

your chest tightens, the reality of his admission hitting you like a blow. “that's why you were... stalking me,” you say, trying to keep up.

“yeah,” toji replies bluntly, his tone unwavering. “but here’s the thing—i told sukuna about the job. figured he’d want to know what naoya was up to.”

“and what did he say?” you ask, your pulse quickening, the pieces of this twisted puzzle refusing to fall into place.

“he told me to keep it up,” toji says, his voice quieter now. “but not for naoya’s sake. for yours.”

you blink, confusion clouding your thoughts. “for me? why would he care about me?”

toji exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way his shoulders tense. “that’s the part i don’t know,” he admits, his gaze flicking back to you. “but sukuna doesn’t do things without a reason. if he wanted me to keep you safe, there’s a reason for it. so that’s what i did.”

your hands grip the edge of the bed, your thoughts racing. “and naoya?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “what does he want with me?”

“we’re not sure about that yet,” toji admits, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “we’re trying to figure it out. but whatever it is...” he pauses, stepping closer. “you’re safe,” he whispers, the words carrying a weight you didn’t realize you needed to hear.

his eyes soften as he crouches in front of you, his movements careful. when he notices the tears slipping down your cheeks, he reaches out, his thumb brushing gently against your skin to wipe a stray tear. “i won’t let anything happen to you,” he vows softly.

ninja pads over, his little paws silent against the bed as he hops up, settling into your lap. his warm weight presses against you, his soft purring vibrating through your legs, as if he can sense your spiraling emotions and wants to anchor you in his own quiet way. you stroke his fur absently, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to process everything.

toji watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then he tips your chin up with a finger, his touch firm but gentle, forcing you to meet his gaze. “i mean it,” he says, his voice low, insistent. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

his words settle over you, and for the first time in what feels like hours, your breathing evens out. the faintest flicker of something close to relief creeps in, though the fear and uncertainty linger.

before you can respond, toji leans in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. the gesture is brief, almost hesitant, but it sends a warmth through your chest that you can’t explain.

“get some rest,” he murmurs, pulling back slightly. “we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

you nod silently, your grip on ninja tightening as the door clicks softly behind him. the weight of the day still presses on you, lingering like an invisible force bearing down on your chest. you slump back on the bed with a heavy sigh, your head sinking into the pillow as the tension slowly drains from your body.

ninja curls up beside you, his small body warm and steady against your side, his soft purring filling the quiet room. you stroke his fur absentmindedly, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion, fear, and exhaustion.

the room feels both too small and too vast, the events of the day replaying in your mind like a loop you can’t shut off. the truth about your parents, the danger lurking just outside this house, and toji’s quiet promise—it all feels too big, too overwhelming to process.

but then you think of his words, the way his voice softened, the steady conviction in his gaze as he said, i won’t let anything happen to you. and for a moment—just a moment—you allow yourself to believe him.

ninja shifts slightly, nudging his head against your hand, and you sigh, closing your eyes.

────

it’s been two weeks since your world turned upside down. two weeks of secrets, half-truths, and trying to convince yourself you’re safe in a house full of strangers who know more about your life than you do.

you’d emailed your boss a vague explanation—an “unforeseen emergency” that would keep you away for an indefinite period. they’d been understanding enough, though your phone buzzed with missed calls from coworkers curious about what happened. but it wasn’t until your best friend’s name lit up your screen that you faltered.

you’re curled up in the corner of the couch, staring at your phone as it buzzes with your best friend’s name flashing across the screen. you hesitate, your thumb hovering over the answer button. toji is seated nearby, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed as he watches you with that unreadable expression.

“you need to keep where you are to yourself,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “don’t tell anyone anything.”

you exhale softly, nodding as you press the green button and lift the phone to your ear. “hey.”

“oh my god, finally!” your friend’s voice bursts through the line, light and frantic all at once. “do you know how worried i’ve been? you just dropped off the face of the earth!”

you glance at toji, his gaze unwavering, a silent reminder. “i’m fine,” you say, forcing your voice to stay steady. “i’ve just been... out of town. for work.”

“work? since when do you travel for work? where are you?” she asks, her tone sharp with concern.

“it’s nothing exciting,” you reply quickly, your words tumbling over each other as you try to sound nonchalant. “just some last-minute project they needed me on. i’ll be busy for a while—probably won’t have much time to talk.”

there’s a pause, the silence on the other end stretching long enough to make your stomach twist. “are you sure you’re okay?” she finally asks, her voice softer now. “you sound... off.”

you glance at toji again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts his head. “i’m okay,” you lie, your fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “just stressed, you know? new place, new schedule. it’s a lot to adjust to.”

she sighs, the sound laced with doubt. “okay, fine. but promise me you’ll call if you need anything. i don’t care how busy you are.”

“i promise,” you say, the guilt clawing at your chest. “i’ll call when i can.”

when the call ends, you set your phone down on the table, staring at it as if it might ring again. toji doesn’t say anything at first, his expression unreadable as he pushes off the counter and approaches you.

“that wasn’t easy, was it?” he murmurs, his tone softer now, almost like he’s trying to offer reassurance.

you shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “no,” you admit quietly. “it wasn’t.”

toji sighs, running a hand through his hair before sitting down across from you. “i know it feels wrong. but you did the right thing,” he says, his voice steady, firm. “keeping her out of this? it’s for her safety too.”

you nod, though the words do little to ease the ache in your chest. you pick up your phone again, staring at the lock screen like it holds the answers to questions you can’t even form.

“you’re not alone, you know,” toji adds, his voice breaking the silence. “even if it feels that way.”

you glance at him, his gaze meeting yours for just a moment before he stands, walking back to the kitchen. his words linger long after he’s gone, a small comfort against the growing weight of isolation.

────

you stood in front of the mirror in your room, adjusting the borrowed crop top yuki had tossed your way earlier in the week. it fit snugly, the hem brushing just above your waistline. the sweatpants hung loosely on your hips, comfortable but far from modest. you felt... exposed.

maybe it was the heat building in your chest—the restless energy that had been simmering all day—or maybe it was the way you’d caught yourself stealing glances at toji earlier during dinner, your thoughts wandering to the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed when he moved.

you shook the thoughts away, grabbing a water bottle and heading downstairs to the makeshift gym in the basement.

toji was already there, his back to you as he adjusted the straps on a punching bag. his black tank clung to his broad shoulders, the curve of his biceps catching your attention before you tore your gaze away.

he turned, his expression neutral before a faint smirk curved his lips. “you’re early,” he said, his voice low.

“let’s just get this over with,” you muttered, stepping onto the mat and stretching your arms, pretending not to notice the way his eyes lingered.

the session started like any other—jabs, kicks, counter-movements—but tonight, there was an edge to your strikes, a force that wasn’t usually there. toji caught on quickly, his movements fluid as he blocked each attempt, his brow furrowing slightly.

“you’re tense,” he said, stepping back and holding up a hand to pause.

“i’m fine,” you huffed, brushing a strand of hair from your face and resetting your stance.

“no, you’re not,” he countered, his voice steady but probing. “what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer, instead lunging forward with a punch he caught easily, his grip firm around your wrist. he twisted, flipping you onto your back with a controlled motion that left you breathless.

you gasped as your back hit the mat, your pulse quickening as he pinned you down. one hand pressed your wrist to the floor above your head, while the other braced against your hip, holding you in place.

“talk to me,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “what’s wrong?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. all you could focus on was the heat radiating from his body, the way his hips pressed against yours, the weight of him holding you down.

“nothing,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

toji’s gaze searched yours, his green eyes darkening as they flicked down to your parted lips, then back up. “you sure about that?” he murmured, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly, but not enough to let you go.

your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as the tension between you crackled like a live wire. you felt his thumb brush against your hip, the movement so slight you almost thought you imagined it.

“toji...” you breathed, your voice barely audible, your body instinctively arching just slightly beneath him.

he didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, his jaw tightening as he seemed to wrestle with himself. “you’re not focused,” he said finally, though his tone lacked its usual bite. “what’s got you so distracted?”

“you,” the word slipped out before you could stop it, the confession hanging in the charged air between you.

toji stilled, his expression unreadable as the tension in the room reached its breaking point.

his grip on your wrist tightened, but his other hand moved, brushing against your waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of your sweatpants. his thumb tracing an absentminded circle that sent sparks shooting up your spine.

“me?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard you right.

you nodded, the motion barely perceptible, your lips parting as you tried to catch your breath.

he huffed out a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching as if supressing a mirk. “you’ve been all worked up over me, huh?”

you squirmed under his gaze, the heat rising to your cheeks making it impossible to deny. “just—don’t make this a big deal,” you muttered, turning your head away.

but toji wasn’t about to let you off that easy. his hand slid down, resting lightly on your hip, his touch warm and deliberate. “you sure about this?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge replaced with something softer, more serious. “i’m not doing anything unless you want it.”

your breath hitched, your body betraying you as your hips shifted under his touch. “i want it,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm.

his smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “good.”

toji’s hand moved lower, brushing over the waistband of your sweatpants. “these,” he muttered, his tone dipping into something almost amused as his fingers hooked under the elastic, “are covering way too much of you.”

your breath hitched, the rasp in his voice sending a shiver through you. “they’re just sweatpants,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way his fingers toyed with the fabric had you faltering.

“just sweatpants,” toji muttered again, shaking his head as his fingers hooked under the waistband. “covering so much of you…” his smirk widened, dark and teasing. “nah, princess. these things have been pissing me off all night. hiding all this from me.”

he tugged them down slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric drag against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. his dark eyes followed every inch he revealed, his gaze growing hungrier as the sweatpants pooled at your ankles. “knew it’d be worth the wait,” he muttered, his voice low, rough.

you squirmed under the intensity of his stare, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. toji’s hands returned to your hips, warm and firm, his thumbs brushing over the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“you’re so damn shy all of a sudden,” he teased, his voice dipping into that low rasp that made heat pool in your stomach. “you’ve been fighting me all night, and now you’ve got nothing to say?”

“toji,” you breathed, your voice barely steady, your hands gripping the mat beneath you as his hands trailed higher.

“what?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “just trying to help, princess. you said you needed this, didn’t you?”

before you could answer, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “then let me make you feel good,” he whispered, his voice low, deliberate, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

his fingers slid lower, hooking beneath the edge of your panties. he paused, just for a moment, his gaze meeting yours, giving you the chance to stop him. when you didn’t, he smirked, tugging them down with the same maddening slowness, exposing you completely. his eyes darkened as he tossed the fabric aside, and the air between you seemed to grow heavier.

“fuck,” he muttered, his hands gliding over your thighs, parting them as he settled between them. “look at you.” his voice was low, rough, filled with something that made your pulse race.

he didn’t hesitate, his fingers brushing over your folds, gathering the slick there as he let out a low, appreciative groan. “so wet already,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “you’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?”

your cheeks burned, and you turned your head, trying to hide the heat rising to your face. but toji wasn’t having it. his free hand caught your chin, tilting your face back toward him, his grip firm but gentle.

“nah, princess,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding. “i want to see that pretty face when you come.”

his fingers moved again, teasing over your clit in slow, deliberate circles. the light, teasing touch sent sparks shooting through you, your hips shifting involuntarily beneath him. “toji,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you tried to stay grounded.

“yeah?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched you squirm under his touch. “what do you need, princess? tell me.”

“don’t stop,” you breathed, your voice catching as his movements grew firmer, more insistent.

“wasn’t planning on it,” he murmured, lowering his head. his tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle over your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. your back arched off the mat, a soft cry spilling from your lips as he settled into a rhythm, his tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem.

he groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through your core as he slid a finger inside, the stretch making your breath hitch. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. “so tight, princess. you’ve been needing this for a while, haven’t you?”

you couldn’t respond, your voice caught in your throat as he added another finger, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. his pace was unrelenting, his fingers moving in steady, deliberate thrusts while his tongue worked your clit with maddening precision.

“toji—” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as your thighs trembled against his shoulders.

he hummed against you, his tongue pressing flat against your clit before flicking up again. “that’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark and rough. “let go for me. i want to feel it.”

his words sent you spiraling, your body arching as the tension in your core snapped, waves of pleasure crashing over you. you cried out, your voice breaking as your fingers tightened in his hair, holding him against you as you rode out the high.

toji didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers moving slowly now, coaxing every last aftershock from your trembling body. when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his chin glistening as he looked up at you, his expression smug and satisfied.

“sweet as hell,” he muttered, his voice rough as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with deliberate slowness. his dark eyes stayed locked on yours, the heat in them making your cheeks burn.

toji finally eased back, his lips glistening and swollen, his smirk impossibly smug as he looked down at you. your chest was still rising and falling with the aftermath of your release, your limbs heavy, your thoughts a jumbled mess.

“feel better now?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

you nodded weakly, your voice too shaky to respond. his smirk widened, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before pulling back, his hand resting lightly on your thigh.

he reached to the side, grabbing a few tissues from the small box nearby. “hold still,” he murmured, his voice softer now as he gently wiped you clean, his touch uncharacteristically tender. the contrast to his earlier intensity made your cheeks flush all over again.

he reached for your sweatpants. his hands slid them back up your legs with care. his thumbs smoothed over your hips as he adjusted the waistband, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.

“there,” he said, his voice low and almost fond. “back to being all covered up.”

but then his hand slipped to the side, grabbing your discarded underwear from the mat. he balled the fabric up in his hand, slipping it into his pocket without hesitation.

“toji,” you said, sitting up slightly, your voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “my underwear?”

he grinned, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before standing. “i’ll give it back… maybe,” he said, his smirk widening as he glanced back over his shoulder.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, glaring at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed the way your heart raced at his audacity.

“you like it,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. “next training session, sweet girl. don’t be late.”

an. peep the nickname change after he got a taste of that thing.. mhm. what a good man.

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

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