#like what happened? like are they friends? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

y3sterdaysproblem · 3 days ago

Text

the shift - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: yelling, crying, mentions of drug use, implied sex

wc: 4.2k

part of the fwb!chris series

it’s been weeks.

weeks of radio silence from chris, and you weren’t giving him anything to work with either. in your head, you said what you needed to say, and the ball was in his court.

he never responded after the last message, more than likely trying to pick up the pieces of whatever relationship he had, for whatever reason. she didn’t seem worth it. she seemed boring, innocent, annoying. every time she spoke it sounded like nails on a chalkboard and you had to check to make sure your ears weren’t bleeding.

ever since the party and the incident, you’ve kept yourself as busy as possible; picking up shifts, going out with friends, cleaning your entire apartment every few days, just to avoid thinking about how badly you fucked everything up, just to avoid the chris sized hole in your life.

being alone was never something that bothered you, always enjoying time by yourself to do whatever you wanted to do, even if that was just rotting and doom scrolling, nobody could tell you you couldn’t do it.

you’re doing exactly that, body wrapped up in a blanket as you lounged on your couch in comfortable clothes, legs tucked under you. the tv was on a low volume in front of you, and at first you thought the knocking was coming from the show that played lowly, but when you paused it and heard it again, you realized it was your door that somebody was banging on.

you didn’t want to move, hoping that whoever it was would just leave you alone eventually, probably trying to sell you some shit you didn’t need anyway, but when your door rattled for a third time, you huffed and threw the blanket off of yourself, standing up and walking towards the door. “i’m coming!” you yelled, approaching the door and finally ripping it open, your eyes widening and heart dropping to your stomach when you saw who was on the other side.

“it’s been a long time since i’ve heard you say that,” he says, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

you’re unamused, staring at him across the doorway silently. he rolls his eyes at your lack of response, pushing past you until he was inside your apartment. you didn’t say anything, shutting the door and turning around to face him, eyebrows raised like you were waiting for him to speak.

chris turns to face you and sighs, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. “I left my favorite lighter here,” he says, and you can’t help but scoff out a laugh. “a lighter? a fucking lighter? you’re here because you left a lighter?” you shake your head in disbelief and push past him, knowing exactly which lighter he was talking about. it was on your coffee table getting daily use from every time you lit a blunt when you would smoke at night or on days off like this. “you’re the most ridiculous person i’ve ever met,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you reach for the lighter, spinning around on your heels to hand it to chris.

you knew he was following you into the living room, but you had no idea he was standing as close as he was, and the second you were facing him, he was closing the distance.

chris’s hands reached out for you, one hand landing on your waist and the other wrapping around to the back of your head, pulling your body closer to his as he leaned down and slammed his lips on yours, sighing softly once they finally made contact. you’re caught of guard, hands held out on either side of you as you process what was happening, the lighter slipping from your fingers as you finally move to grasp onto the front of his shirt, holding him close for a moment before pushing him back, pulling your head back to stare at him confusedly. “chris, what the fuck?” you question, and his hands never leave your body as he dips his head down to bury into your neck, lips pressing against your skin fervently, teeth nipping like he couldn’t get enough. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your jaw, pulling your bodies together again, closing the gap you created when you pushed him away. “you’re right, I was out of line, we were both at fault, forgive me.”

you felt like you were dreaming, partly because you’ve never experienced chris apologizing before, especially not so profusely, and also because your body was melting into his habitually, like no time had passed, like you’d never been angry at all. “chris,” you breathe out, head tilting away from him as your eyes fluttered shut. “you can’t just come into my house and fuck me and think everything will go back to normal.”

“i’m apologizing at the same time,” chris responds, pulling his face away to stare down at you. “you were right, she’s too boring for me. I was so mad because I felt like someone finally gave me the time of day, felt like I could be myself around her but I couldn’t. I wasn’t myself around her and I can’t be myself around anyone except…” he pauses and sucks in a small breath before sighing out again. “listen, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I feel sick to my stomach saying this out loud but I missed you,” he pauses after he says this, eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

it was hard not to give in instantly and forgive him, especially with the way his fingertips dug into your skin, desperate to feel you as close as he could. he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so needy, so eager to feel you on him, all he knew was apologizing was the quickest way to have you sprawled out underneath him just the way he liked, but you were still far too angry to crack just yet.

“chris, do you even remember what you said to me?” you question, still wrapped up in his arms but with enough distance to glare up at him. “do you remember what you called me? how you backed me into a wall and made me cry? how you embarrassed me in front of all of our friends? or do you only care about making up so we can go back to fucking?”

you start push away from him fully as you speak, his hands falling to his sides as he watches you back up and create a bigger gap between you both. his mouth opens to speak, then closes again, his shoulders drawing up into an awkward shrug. “I know I was mean but I was mad,” he defends himself, dismissing it like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “you might as well have left a hickey on my neck, it gave the same impression.”

you let a small breath of air puff out from your nostrils, a mix between a scoff and a laugh, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. “mean?” you sneer. “you think you were just mean? you yelled at me in front of everybody, called me a whore, called me exhausting, said nobody would ever deal with me, you said I was stupid and that I ruin everything, but you think you were just mean? chris, there’s been days that I lay in bed half the day because all I can think about is if what you said is true or not.” you’re unaware of the way the tip of your nose starts turning red and your cheeks turn blotchy, a clear indicator that you’re about to start crying, only realizing it once you see chris’s expression change and the way he shifts uncomfortably between his feet. that’s when your nose starts to burn and your eyes start to flood with tears.

“I didn’t mean it, I was just mad,” chris tries to console, taking a step closer to you again, but you back away to keep the same distance. “listen, we say rude shit to each other all the the time, what’s the difference now?”

“the fucking difference is you did it in front of twenty people!” you yell, a fat tear sliding down your cheek. “I can handle you being mean, don’t think I can’t, but you berating me like that just proves how awful of a person you really are!” chris is stunned into silence, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, but only for a few moments as he’s never been too good at keeping his mouth shut. “berating is a little much, don’t you think?” he starts, already starting to feel himself get annoyed by your accusations. “sure, I was mad, but you left fucking lip gloss on my neck! I mean, how do you think she felt knowing I dragged you off to talk and then I come back with shit all over my neck?!”

“how do you think I felt?!” you yell back, not caring about the fact that your neighbors could definitely hear you. “who gives a fuck what she felt, she’s a fucking nobody! what about me?! why do you never stop to fucking think about the way your words affect me?!” you’re fully sobbing now, cheeks covered in thick tears, voice cracking as you choke out your words. “i’m supposed to be your friend over everything. fuck the sex, fuck the weed, fuck the stupid little bitches you bring around that you let get between us, you’re supposed to be my friend before all of that and you showed me that you care more about some attention from a prude than the feelings of somebody you’re meant to care about.”

chris reaches his hands up to his face and rubs it harshly, groaning into his palms as he processes what you’re saying. “can you stop with all these jealous little comments? she wasn’t just a prude or some girl that got between us, she was nice and funny and pretty and she didn’t care about fucking me or smoking my shit. she didn’t care about what I had, she just listened to me and liked being around me. she saw me.” his hands drop back to his sides and as his eyes refocus on you, he can’t help the twinge of sadness that pangs in his chest as he sees your expression, sees how distraught you really were. he even considered cutting this conversation short to pull you into his arms and apologize until your tears had dried. chris was a little bit too much of an asshole for this, though.

“she saw you?” you laugh wetly, running an anxious hand through your hair. “what exactly did she see? did she see the way you play with your lips when you get nervous? did she see how you always place your phone face down when you’re with people so it doesn’t distract you from the moment?” you take a couple steps closer to him, close enough to reach out and touch him if you wanted to. “did she see how you always eat your fries before your burger even though that’s fucking weird and wrong? did she see the way you flinch every time someone says they love you, even if it’s your fucking brothers, because you can’t even grasp the concept of love existing when it involves you? I bet she didn’t see any of that shit, because she doesn’t care about you.” you pick your arm up before you can stop yourself, sniffling loudly as you jab your finger into his chest, staring at it as you made contact to avoid his eyes that watched you intently. “not… not like I do.”

chris furrows his brows together at your words, head tilting down to glance at your finger pointed into his shirt, then brought it back up slightly to look at you again. “like you do? is that a joke?” he asks, voice quieter than before. you groan and slam your palm into his chest, pushing him away again before turning around and starting to pace in your living room. your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your ears, the sound rushing through in a rhythmic boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. “listen, i’m sorry that I yelled at you, but she actually meant something to me whether you believe it or not. she actually wanted to be around me and spend time together.”

chris tries to reach out to stop your pacing, but you only shoved his hands away as they came closer to you. “so what are you doing here, then?” you snark, looking up at him as you walked a straight line, then stopped and turned around to walk it back. “shouldn’t you be with her, your perfect princess?”

he groans at your attitude, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “oh my fucking god,” chris mumbles under his breath, almost like he was speaking with the omnipotent being for the strength to deal with you. “i’m not interested anymore,” he tells you finally, bringing his head back to look at you. “I told you. you were right, her and I aren’t compatible no matter how much attention she gives me.”

your feet stop on your carpeted floor, turning to face the man in front of you. “so what, you wanna go back to just fucking all the time? is that what you’re here for?” you ask him, crossing your arms over your chest. chris shrugs his shoulders awkwardly. “I miss the sex yeah,” he starts slowly. “but I also miss… the other stuff.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him, not appreciating his vagueness. “other stuff?” you question, and chris nods. “like… going for drives together, or watching movies and eating leftovers. listening to you ramble on about shit I don’t care about. I think I miss just being around you. i’m not sure, though, i’ve never really felt that with anybody else.”

your heart felt like it couldn’t beat any faster without risking the chance of it actually beating out of your chest, pounding so hard now you were sure chris could see it under your ribcage. “you actually just miss me?” you ask in disbelief. he nods again, nervously playing with his fingers. “yes,” he admits. “can you just forgive me and we move on?”

you narrow your eyes at him, mulling over his words carefully. “no,” you say flatly. “what?!” chris sputtered, holding his hands out in annoyance. “what else do you fucking want?! I was wrong, i’m standing here in front of you admitting my faults, I don’t know what the fuck else you could actually want from me!” he’s beyond frustrated now, ready to give up and walk out.

you tilt your head, keeping eye contact with him as a small smirk appears on your lips.

“I want you to admit you’re in love with me.”

chris’s chin tucks into his chest, head shaking as he processes what you just said. “you what?” he questioned, taken aback by your request.

“you heard me,” you respond sassily. “there is no way the only reason you’re here is because you miss me. you said it yourself, you want all the little things back. when was the last time you just wanted to be around a girl?” you take a step closer to chris, your eyes locked on each other’s as you reduced the space between your bodies.

“I don’t fucking know,” chris responds defensively, bumping into the coffee table as he tries to back away. “i’m not-“

“don’t even,” you interrupt. “i’m not in love with you!” chris shouts. “you think i’d be dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that would never love me back? I took a step away for a fucking reason and tried to put my energy in somebody that would actually return my feelings.”

“maybe if you fucking told me what your feelings were I could tell you if I returned them or not,” you groaned, infuriated by his dumb boy-ness and lack of awareness. “don’t,” chris sighs out, his fingers itching to reach out for you. “you don’t get to say shit like that and get my hopes up.”

you reach out and sling your arms around chris’s neck, stepping up so your bodies are pressed against one another. “chris, please let your guard down for fucking once and be honest with me,” you say in a soft tone, staring up into his eyes that are starting to soften, his hard exterior damaged under your gaze. “I can’t,” chris chokes out, his own hands coming up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. “yes you can,” you coax, threading your fingers gently through the hair on the back of his head.

chris licks his lips slowly and stares down at you, drawing in deep breath after deep breath to try and ground himself, feeling like his heart was going to crawl up his throat. “i’m sorry,” he says softly, shaking his head a bit. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” you sigh and drop your head forward to rest on his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment. “i’m right here,” you tell him. “just let me in, chris.”

he lets out a shaky breath and brings his left hand around to your back, sliding it up under your shirt to feel your skin under his own, his right hand sliding up to your jaw to tilt your head back, allowing him to lean down and press your lips together again, slower this time, like he was trying to savor it.

you relaxed into the kiss, feeling the familiarity seeping back in as your chests pressed together and his hands held you close. “tell me,” you beg quietly against his lips, feeling him pull you closer as you spoke. chris slid his hand around to the back of your head, holding you firmer against him. “shut up,” he breathes, moving his mouth over your cheek and to your jaw, leaving gentle kisses in its wake. “chris, there’s no way i’m the only one feeling like this.”

“you already know how I feel, why do I have to say it out loud?” chris asks, teeth dragging along your skin carefully. “because if you know that I love you, I want you to tell me you love me, too.”

chris pauses his movements, pulling his head away to stare down at you. your head is tilted up to look at him and his hand still rests on the back of your head, gently holding you in place. “you what?”

you swallow thickly, realizing that there’s no backtracking now. you’ve already crossed an irreversible line and had to double down on your words. your next words were whispered softly, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your whole apartment.

“I love you, chris.”

“don’t mess with me, please, I can’t-“

“i’m serious,” you stop him, seeing the look on his face. it was one of pure desperation, almost begging for you to be telling the truth. “i’m in love with you.”

chris releases a shaky breath, one full of nerves and adrenaline. “fuck,” he whispers, leaning back down to slam your lips together again, this kiss full of passion and desire. “say it again,” he begs, voice muffled against your mouth.

“I love you,” you soothe, sliding your hand that didn’t rest in his hair up his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm. “i’m right here.”

chris snakes his own hands down your body until they reach the backs of your thighs, scooping you up into his arms so your legs wrap around his waist, a small squeal leaving your lips at the sudden movement. he started walking towards your room, using your back to push the door open before taking a few steps to your bed, leaning forward to lay you against it, then keeping his place between your legs to settle above you.

“are you serious?” he asks, needing reassurance more than anything. “because if you’re fucking with me, I swear to god i’ll-“

“can you stop freaking out?” you ask, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth. “do you want me to be in love with you or not?” you raise your eyebrows up at him, your expression clearly saying ‘well?’

“yes,” chris rasps, nodding his head and pulling away a bit more to take in more of your figure. “yeah, more than anything.” you nod in response, reaching up to grab his shoulders to pull him back down towards you. “okay, well then if you can’t say it back, at least fuck me like you love me.”

“yeah, okay. I can do that.”

you’re laying under the covers, body pressed up against chris in every way possible; your head on his shoulder, arm over his stomach, leg draped over his, both of you relaxing into your post sex bliss. you didn’t even know how long you’ve been in your bedroom, too exhausted to keep track of time.

“chris?” you say softly, breaking the silence. he hums quietly to let you know he’s listening as his fingers trail up and down your back gently. “why are you so against relationships?”

chris pauses his movements for a split second, not expecting you to ask a question so deep. “uhh,” he starts awkwardly. “I don’t know.” you push yourself up on your elbow at his answer, staring down at him inquisitively. he reaches forward and gently moves some hair off of your shoulder, eyes trailing over your naked frame in admiration. “you definitely know,” you push.

he sighs and meets your gaze again, knowing that you weren’t going to drop the subject. “of course I know, but… it’s not exactly the most fun conversation to have in bed with the hottest girl i’ve ever met.” you shake your head and gently tap his nose. “you’re not getting out of this with compliments!” you tell him determinedly.

“alright, alright,” chris caves, shifting a bit underneath the covers. “my parents got divorced when I was really young and it really messed with my brothers and I but especially me. I was so dependent on being around my brothers at that time and my parents couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing so they never had a set schedule for who would have which kid and when. there would be days at a time that I would only see matt or nick while I was at school because they were at my dad’s house and I was at my mom’s. I hated being separated from them and I always blamed my parents. I blamed their relationship and their lack of commitment and lack of trying. in our eyes, it looked like they just gave up one day. when you’re a kid and you see love seemingly just disappear overnight, it doesn’t put the best taste in your mouth, so, I was like… eight years old when I decided I never wanted to love anybody.”

as chris speaks, you run your hand over his body gently, wherever you could reach; his chest, his collarbones, over his cheek, pushing hair out of his face gently, gazing down at him attentively to let him know you were listening. “that’s a big commitment when you’re that young,” you say gently, and he nods, pursing his lips and avoiding your gaze. “yeah, but… it’s worked.”

“has it?” you question hopefully, tilting his head towards you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours apprehensively. “can we not talk about my feelings?” chris asks, turning on his side to face you, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly. “it’s bad enough talking about my shitty upbringing, I just want to lay here and look at your pretty face.”

your cheeks burn red as his body pushes you onto your back again, hair splayed out on your pillow as he hovers above you. “i’m so lucky,” chris hums, dipping his face down to latch his lips to your chest, pressing gentle kisses on your skin as he moves the blanket off of you. “you’re not lucky yet, chris. you haven’t locked anything down,” you tease, trying to ignore the goosebumps forming on your skin. “shut the fuck up, you’re mine and you know it.” chris grumbles, tightening his grip on your waist.

“yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch. why don’t you put that mouth to better use and eat me out?” chris pulls his head away from your body to stare down at you with wide eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot or I would smack your bitch ass,” he tells you, but despite his words starts moving down the bed, settling himself between your spread legs. “good boy,” you tease, patting his head gently.

chris grips your thighs tightly and pushes them further apart, sinking his teeth into the fleshy skin, eliciting a small whine from you.

“ouch!” you pout, grabbing onto his hair and trying to pull him away, but he stays put, sucking a dark, purple mark into your thigh. when he’s done, he pulls away and smiles at his work, then looks back up at you where you’re watching him with a longing expression. “see?” he says proudly.

“all mine.”

a/n: don’t get excited and think this is over, yall. they are toxic after all.

fwb!chris masterlist

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbratt333 @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @colorthecosmos444

#ave’s library 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 #⤷ toxic!fwb!chris x toxic!fwb!reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris ⊹ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!reader! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo

766 notes · View notes

downbad4sylus · 2 days ago

Text

“Come to drug my girlfriend again?”

synopsis: Sylus hates Caleb, Caleb hates Sylus. That’s it, that’s the fic.

content: sylus x afab!reader; use of Y/N; established relationship; caleb cameo; caleb acts like caleb; mentions of being drugged; general angst; mostly proofread

word count: ~3.4k

a/n: i’m a sylus girlie through and through but caleb intrigues the absolute shit out of me. including his perspective in this was very interesting and i hope i did his character justice. also, i feel that based on what sylus said in his main story, he knows that caleb is/has been alive and what he’s been up to, and caleb being involved with ever and knowing MC’s whereabouts in the N109 zone, know who sylus is. this fic operates under that assumption

The only person you’d told about your mission to Skyhaven was Sylus. And now, having returned from the harrowing journey—after being reunited with your childhood best friend Caleb, who you thought was dead—Sylus was the only person you wanted to see.

Your boyfriend had been keeping tabs on you the best he could while you were gone, using his contacts in Skyhaven to relay information. But he had to be careful not to tip off anyone from the Farspace Fleet lest it ruin your cover, or worse, get you hurt. The second you texted him you were coming home, however, he stopped everything he was doing, hopped on his bike, and sped straight for your apartment.

Sylus was there when you walked through the door, hauling you into his arms and hugging you so tightly you could hardly breathe. It didn’t phase you anymore to find him in your apartment, knowing he had no problem coming and going as he pleased.

“Miss me?” you teased, whispering in his ear.

He huffed. “Not in the least,” he said, hugging you tighter.

“Sy, I love you, but I can’t breathe.”

Finally his gripped loosened enough that you could breathe normally again. You pushed back, hands on his shoulders, and just admired his face after not having seen it for quite some time.

“Enjoying the view?” Sylus asked.

You smiled. “I always do.” You placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “I did miss you though.”

He smiled that soft smile reserved only for you, and you melted at the sight. “I missed you too.”

“I have a lot to tell you, but I’d like to change first if you don’t mind,” you said. “Wait for me on the couch?”

“Of course, take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

Reluctantly, Sylus lowered you to the ground.

You quickly changed into more comfortable clothes and joined Sylus on the couch, where he pulled you into his lap, the need to hold you far too strong for him to ignore.

“So,” he began, fingers brushing along your back, “where do you want to start?”

You sucked in a deep breath, the words weighing heavily on your tongue, as if saying them aloud will finally make the truth sink in. “Um, I don’t know how else to say this so, it turns out Caleb is alive. Has been this whole time.”

Sylus’s expression remained neutral. “You saw him while you were up there?”

You nodded. “He’s the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel, and he’s…not the same as I remember him.”

Sylus brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers grazing your cheek. “Tell me.”

You launched into your story, detailing everything that happened, from investigating the bombing site undercover to the first interview with Caleb, the switch in personality from Colonel to best friend, to staying with him in his home, visiting Mia in the hospital and running into Zayne, finding Kevi and the Aether Core in his possession.

Talking about the night you were supposed to retrieve Kevi and bring him to Zayne, you got a bit choked up. Having to voice what happened, what you had been in denial about but knew you needed to admit, was perhaps the most difficult of all.

“I wasn’t feeling well that day,” you said, “and before I ‘went to bed,’ Caleb gave me some medicine to help.” You averted your gaze. “All of a sudden, I was so exhausted I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I ended up falling asleep before I even realized it.”

Sylus tensed beneath you, the unspoken pieces slowly clicking into place.

“Sy…I think Caleb… I think he may have drugged me.”

The betrayal was still raw, maybe more painful now that you’d said it aloud for the first time since it happened.

Abruptly, Sylus removed you from his lap, placing you gently onto the couch before rising and heading straight for the door.

Confused, and perhaps a little desperate, you grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Sylus, where are you going?”

Without turning to you he said with such lethal calm a shiver went down your spine, “I’m going to visit Skyhaven and have a chat with the Colonel.”

You snapped to your feet, wrapping both your arms around Sylus’s. “Sy, please, you can’t.”

He looked at you, fury blazing like an inferno in his red eyes. “He drugged you, Y/N,” he snarled. “That cannot go unpunished.”

While you greatly appreciated Sylus’s well-placed protectiveness, your feelings were still a jumbled mess when it came to Caleb. But you knew one thing, you didn’t want him to get hurt, and you certainly didn’t want Sylus to be the one hurting him.

You shook your head, voicing your thoughts aloud. “I don’t want you to hurt him. I know what he did was wrong, and please believe when I say I’m furious about it too, but he’s important to me, Sy. I thought he was dead and I just got him back, we both need to be a little more forgiving than usual, for my sake.”

Sylus was conflicted. The instinct to protect was near overwhelming, but truly the last thing he ever wanted to do was upset you. And killing hurting your beloved childhood best friend would do far more than just upset you.

So he tamped down his instincts and relaxed in your grip. “Fine.”

You breathed a sigh of a relief. “Thank you.”

“But if I have the displeasure of meeting him, I will be saying something,” Sylus said, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Okay, I can live with that,” you agreed. You pulled him back down onto the couch. “I have more to tell you, will you sit and listen this time?”

He shot you a withering look. “Yes, sweetie.”

So you finished your story, telling him about the strange man named Viper, how you found Caleb with the oddly-behaving Kevi and “the Professor,” and your departure that felt like you’d left with more unfinished business than when you’d first arrived.

Sylus kept his word and sat, giving you his full attention despite the fact that his anger still simmered in his veins. He certainly shared your sentiment regarding unfinished business, this was not the first or last time he was going to hear about Caleb. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the Colonel should he cross that line with you, something he was wisely keeping to himself.

—

It’d be two weeks since you’d returned from Skyhaven. You’d spent a fair amount of it with Sylus, trying to make up for the time spent apart.

Caleb was always in the back of your mind, though, and the two of you had shared brief conversations over text during that time. You were still wrapping your head around the fact that Caleb was back in your life, albeit in a much different role than he’d once had.

You were eternally grateful to have Sylus by your side, he was the solid ground you so desperately needed to stand on right now, and he was more than happy to be that for you.

He was with you currently, the two of you settling in for a night-in at your apartment. You’d ordered take-out and were patiently waiting for the food to be delivered so you could start the movie you’d carefully chosen.

Lounging on the couch with your head in Sylus’s lap, you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, flipping it to show him silly posts every now and then. The sense of comfort that overwhelmed you, having such an innocuous night with your boyfriend, was a welcome reprieve to the constant anxiety plaguing you these past two weeks.

The sound of your doorbell cut through the tranquil atmosphere.

You and Sylus locked eyes, the same look of confusion on both of your faces. It wasn’t like the delivery person hadn’t shown up at your door before, but it was certainly unusual considering your instructions said to leave the food in the lobby.

Sylus lightly patted the top of your head. “I’ll get it.”

You lifted your upper body enough for Sylus to slide out from under you and promptly lay back down to resume your scrolling.

You listened as Sylus walked to, and opened your door, then felt rather than heard the pregnant pause before your boyfriend spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet. Come to drug my girlfriend again?”

A myriad of emotions flickered in Caleb’s eyes. Surprise. Recognition. Fury. Regret. Guilt. But Caleb was well versed in handling difficult situations, and had no problem slipping on a mask of charisma, while inside he was positively seething.

You bolted for the door.

“Y/N didn’t mention having a boyfriend when she was in Skyhaven,” Caleb said cheerfully.

You skidded to a halt behind Sylus, panic icing your veins seeing your childhood best friend unexpectedly at your door, holding your bag of take-out in one hand, having a death-glare competition with your boyfriend.

“I didn’t exactly have the time to mention it, Caleb,” you said, trying to cut through the thick tension in the air. “You didn’t tell me you were stopping by, or that you stole our dinner.”

Caleb shrugged. “I was in the area, figured I’d drop in and see what you were up to.” His gaze flicked to Sylus before returning to you. “If you wanted pork ribs you know you could’ve just asked me, right pip-squeak?”

Sylus went rigid at the pet name.

You held back a groan, instead politely asking, “Why don’t you come in so I can properly introduce you?”

Sylus hated that you said that.

Caleb loved that you did.

“Sure, wouldn’t want your dinner to get cold standin’ out in the hall all night,” Caleb said.

You pulled Sylus away from the door to allow Caleb entry. Having the two men, both broad and tall, taking up the entryway made this situation all the more suffocating.

You swiped the take-out from Caleb’s hand, grabbed Sylus’s, and dragged him with you to the kitchen with Caleb following close behind.

Placing the bag on the counter, you whirled to face your childhood best friend, far more nervous than you should’ve been to introduce your boyfriend for the first time. Neither of you had had significant others to introduce before, in fact you pretended to be Caleb’s girlfriend in college so the girls would leave him alone. But since Caleb was gone, you could no longer interfere with each other’s love lives…

You cleared your throat. “Caleb, this is Skye, my boyfriend. Skye, this is Caleb, my best friend from childhood.”

Caleb’s eyes darkened in a way that was still unfamiliar to you but not foreign, and a wolfish grin spread over his lips. “Y/N,” he drawled, his voice dropping, “you know you can’t lie to me.”

You froze, Sylus’s fingers tightening around yours. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb looked languidly at Sylus. “You know as well as I do his name isn’t Skye.” The dark look vanished from his eyes as they settled on you, instead reflecting a deep concern. “Can we go talk, pip?”

“Absolutely not,” Sylus snarled. “She isn’t going anywhere with you.”

You gave Caleb your back to face Sylus who was glaring menacingly at the Colonel. You reached up and cupped his cheek. “Sy.” His gaze snapped to yours, softening slightly. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

He would never deny you anything, nor tell you what you could or couldn’t do. You were your own person, who could make your own choices, even if he emphatically disagreed. He knew you could handle yourself, but this supposed childhood best friend had already drugged you once, and Sylus did not want to find out what else he was willing to do.

Sylus’s brow buckled. “Sweetie, please. I don’t trust him.”

Caleb scoffed.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder.

“I know you don’t,” you said to Sylus, stroking his cheek, “but I need you to trust me.”

He did, wholeheartedly.

With a resigned sigh, Sylus dipped his head, brushing his lips along your temple before whispering in your ear, “I’ll be watching, just call for me if you need help.”

You turned your head and kissed his cheek. “I will, I promise.”

Squeezing his hand and flashing him your most reassuring smile, your attention shifted to Caleb, who stood there looking as murderous as Sylus had when he’d opened your apartment door.

“Caleb,” you snapped, breaking him out of his trance. “Let’s go.”

—

You and Caleb didn’t go far, opting to sit off to the side on the steps leading into your apartment complex. Perched on the branch of a nearby tree was Mephisto, his ruby red eyes trained intently on you as Sylus watched from inside.

“Okay,” you said, “what did you want to talk about?”

Caleb angled his body toward you, grabbing your hands as if they were the most delicate things in the world. “Y/N, what are you thinking?” he asked, that same concern from earlier bleeding into his voice. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you said.

His gaze hardened slightly. “You know and yet you’re still with him? The leader of Onychinus? Do you have any idea the things he’s done, the things he’s capable of?”

You snatched your hands away from him, your temper flaring. What right did he have to question you like this? He didn’t get to come back into your life after almost a year of thinking he was gone forever and just tell you what to do.

“I am well aware of what Sylus has done and what he is capable of,” you nearly growled. “But I know who he is at his core and in his heart. That is what’s important to me, that is the man I fell in love with.”

Love. You were in love with this guy?

Caleb’s face fell and a wave of guilt crashed over you.

You took his right hand in yours, saying much softer, “Just because someone does bad things doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. You of all people should understand that.”

“I was just trying to protect you,” Caleb whispered, the pain in his voice clear as he stared at your hands. “All I want is to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know Caleb,” you murmured, trying to catch his gaze. “I’m safe with Sylus.”

Caleb shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, because he couldn’t believe it. He was the only one who could protect you and keep you safe. He was the only one you were supposed to love. How could he let another man—the leader of Onychinus, no less—come into your life and take you from him? He knew he was gone for a year but he was back now, who else did you need but him?

But Caleb also knew that eliminating this new threat in the form of your current boyfriend wouldn’t be as easy as he wanted it to. You clearly cared for this guy—loved him even—so he’d have to continue playing the long game lest he ruin any chance he had left to be with you.

You sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Look Caleb, I want you in my life, you’re my best friend, but we need to have some boundaries, okay?”

“Boundaries?” Caleb echoed, his brows pinching. “Since when have we ever had boundaries?”

“Since now,” you responded firmly. “You can’t just show up at my door without saying anything. I’m happy to have you over, but we have to plan it first.”

He nodded, a spark igniting in his eyes. He could do that. If it made you happy, then he would do it for you. “Okay, easy, done. Anythin’ else you got for me?”

You couldn’t help the small smile lifting the corners of your lips. It was so much easier with him when he acted like his old self. You missed this Caleb.

“I need you to get along with Sylus, for my sake,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Put aside whatever pissing contest I know you two already have because I don’t want my best friend and my boyfriend hating each other’s guts.”

Caleb’s expression didn’t falter despite the rage he felt boiling in his blood. “That goes both ways ya know,” he said with a rather disarming grin. “You’ll have to talk to your boyfriend about that too.”

It physically hurt Caleb to call Sylus that cursed word, but he had an award-worthy performance to put on if he ever hoped to replace the Onychinus leader as the only thing he’d ever wanted to be to you.

You rolled your eyes. “Please don’t start.”

He laughed, and though it sounded genuine, it was far more forced than he led on. “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “That it?”

“You sound like you want me to give you more boundaries.”

“You can give me whatever you want, pip-squeak.” Preferably your undying devotion, but he’d work on that.

“Caleb,” you admonished but he merely grinned wider in response. With a sigh, you let go of his hand and pushed yourself to your feet. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

He rose as well, towering over you. “Me too,” he murmured. “I’m happy you want me to be in your life again.”

“I never wanted you to leave it,” you told him earnestly. “And as much as I hate to say this, you better go. My dinner is probably cold by now and I need to go talk to Sylus, alone.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt dinner,” Caleb quipped. “Seriously though, next time you want pork ribs, just call me, okay?”

You laughed. “All right, all right.” You started pushing him down the steps. “Now go, go. Text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. Despite everything, you still wanted him safe, you still cared about him. He would cling to this like a lifeline.

“Text me when you get upstairs so I know you’re safe,” he shot back, meaning to be playful but coming across more hostile than anything.

You frowned. “I told you already, I’m safe with Sylus.”

He smiled to ease the tension and was relieved when it worked. “Just humor me, ‘kay?”

“Whatever.” You gave him one last shove. “Don’t be a stranger, Caleb.”

“I won’t, pip-squeak, I promise.”

And he had every intention of keeping that promise and then some.

—

Sylus flung open the door before you could even reach for the handle, checking you over with a careful precision, making sure not a hair was out of place.

You patted his shoulders. “I’m okay, Sy, we just talked.”

“I don’t like the way he speaks to you,” Sylus grumbled, not stopping his thorough inspection. “It’s like he thinks you’re his possession or something.”

“You say all the time that I belong to you,” you teased.

He cut you a fierce glare. “That’s different, I don’t treat you as though you’re an object for me to claim. You’re a person, Y/N.”

Maybe you were naive, but you didn’t think Caleb thought of you in such a way. You weren’t going to argue about it though. Your date night had been ruined enough, adding a fight into the mix would only further sour your mood and his.

“No, you don’t treat me like that,” you said, knowing he was looking for your reassurance, and you were more than happy to give it because it was the truth.

Sylus visibly relaxed. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.” You pouted. “I just wanted to spend a quiet night in with you.”

He smoothed your hair as he tucked you close to his chest. “The night’s still young, we have plenty of time to do just that.”

“Our dinner is cold.”

“We can heat it up.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and peered up at him. “Nothing’s going to change between us just because Caleb’s back. We can talk more about it tomorrow, but I need you to know that.”

He nodded. “I know, sweetie, I wasn’t worried.”

No, Sylus was not worried about you, he was however, incredibly suspicious of what Caleb had in store.

But that was a tomorrow problem, tonight he would give you the date you wanted with no more mention of your childhood best friend.

You nuzzled your face into his chest. “I love you, Sy.”

Sylus kissed the top of your head. “I love you, Y/N.” He drew back, bracing his hands on your hips. “Shall we go warm our dinner?”

You smiled. “Yes please.”

As you trailed behind your boyfriend to the kitchen, you quickly pulled out your phone, firing off a text to Caleb letting him know you were safe.

Still outside your apartment complex, Caleb stared at the notification on his own phone. He kissed the necklace clutched tightly in his hand as a sense of victory washed over him.

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #love and deepspace caleb #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #caleb angst #love and deepspace angst

526 notes · View notes

bbyseok · 3 days ago

Note

More teen satosugu x reader please!

thinking about clingy teen satosugu who only get even clingier when they suddenly get hit with a curse that turns them into… dogs?

a pair of wolves, to be exact. it’s so blatantly obvious on who’s who—there’s one wolf with fur as white as the first winter’s snow and uncanny blue eyes. the other is the color as dark as night with a pair of warm purple hues that strike into your soul.

they sit at yaga’s side like loyal lapdogs—only to perk up immediately to run and tackle you to the floor as soon as you set foot in the classroom.

“what the—?!” you splutter in surprise, unable to escape their wrath of licks descending upon your face as you look to yaga for help.

the principal simply crosses his arms and shakes his head. “satoru and suguru got hit with a curse.” and that’s it to his entire explanation, as it’s very obvious what happened to them.

when you finally manage to shove their muzzles away from your face, you groan in disbelief. “how long are they going to be stuck like this?”

“no clue.”

so just like that, you’re suddenly a caretaker for two oversized puppies who can’t seem to leave you alone—because apparently they absolutely refuse to hang out with anyone else.

they follow you literally everywhere on campus like a pair of lost puppies— you find it funny and even almost endearing out of all things.

coincidentally, this is after the night you had discovered them sharing your bed after you returned early from a solo mission. they had merely scampered out of your room after that—leaving you unable to ask them why they were in your bed in the first place.

and you certainly can’t ask them now.

“i thought you started smoking again?”

shoko shakes her head at your question, the faintest of smirks ghosting over her lips. “i did. but i think this is a better way to spend my time.” and then she nods to the two wolves sitting in front of you both.

you’re out on one of the training fields with shoko and your classmates-turned-dogs to test their… abilities. they lack any cursed energy, so it’s safe to assume that they can’t use their techniques.

“bet if you threw a stick, they’d fetch it for you,” a rare snicker comes from shoko along with her suggestion.

to which you simply roll your eyes at, but you find yourself grabbing a lengthy stick anyways. you’re unaware of how satoru’s and suguru’s eyes follow the item in your hand like moths to a flame as you hand it to shoko.

your short-haired friend flings the stick, but the boys don’t even dare to flinch. it’s quiet, save for the occasional thumping of their tails on the floor.

“see?” you shoot shoko a pointed look. she merely shrugs. when you walk over to pick the stick back up, you throw your friend a question over your shoulder, “did you know satoru and suguru were sneaking in my room at night while i’ve been gone?”

it’s news to her, but she doesn’t appear to be surprised in the slightest. “nope. sounds like something they’d do though.”

you grab the stick off the grass, turning to look at her and your classmates-turned-dogs. your gaze lingers on the canines for a moment. they’re obviously smarter than normal dogs, but you’re not sure about the extent of how well they can understand you in these forms.

“well.. i think they were kinda cute actually,” you confess, dragging your gaze back to shoko with a laugh, “you should’ve seen them, being all cuddly.”

a grim line settles on shoko’s lips at the image. “pass.”

you laugh again before turning and throwing the stick as hard as you can across the field. you watch it land several feet away, and then—

gojo and geto race past you, nothing but blurs of fur as they race each other to reach the piece of wood you had tossed. it’s hard to see who gets there first, because they start wrestling for the damn thing.

shoko simply snorts. “told ya.”

later on, with nighttime making its approach, the boys follow you into your dorm, seemingly determined to still accompany you. you hadn’t been sure on what to feed them since dog food seemed rather crude, settling to share your dinner with them.

and here you are, slipping into bed. just the night before, you had seen them all cozy under your blanket. in all actuality, you wouldn’t have minded sharing the bed with them. (depsite how cramped it would’ve been.) it’s just that now… they’re wolves.

suguru is beside you, circling in place in an effort to get comfortable on the blanket, whilst satoru opts for plopping his fluffy self riiiiight on your stomach. you emit an ‘oof!’ at his ministrations, but the white canine merely fixes you with a puppy-dog stare and you don’t go to protest.

“comfy, you two?” you hum out an inquiry, to which they snuggle into you further.

geto tucks himself closely by your side, burying himself under your arm as his silky fur tickles your skin. and gojo wiggles his chin on your abdomen, sky blue eyes already starting to flutter sleepily.

when you doze off, you dream of wolves and sticks.

and when you wake, it’s not the morning light trickling into the space of your room that stirs you from your slumber. rather, it’s the sound of gentle breathing and— heavy weight atop you.

it’s satoru and suguru, still in their spots from when they had fallen asleep, except— they’re humans again.

gojo’s body is draped over yours, one of his lanky legs dangling off the small mattress hilariously, his head lying just below your chest with his arms laxly wrapped around your abdomen. and geto is hugging your side, the air of his steady breaths hot on the skin of your neck. his long hair is messy, brushing against the underside of your chin.

oh.

oh shit.

what the hell are you supposed to do now? you obviously can’t move, not with all three of your bodies so intimately entangled with each other. you decide to risk it, trying to calm your racing heart and gingerly attempting to sit up.

you’re halfway there, when geto suddenly grumbles and yanks you back down to the pillows again. “s’too early to move,” he says in a hazy mumble.

aaaaand there goes your heart again. before you can reply, you here gojo groan sleepily, and he then manages to get out a groggy “good morning.”

“…good morning,” you follow up, now hyperaware of their touch, “i see that you’re not dogs anymore…”

satoru blinks owlishly, seeming to finally notice your… predicament. but he also seems more irked by where geto is, so crawls up to be on your other side, planting his face right into your neck too.

“a wonderful observation,” suguru murmurs in a small snicker.

it’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s obvious that they aren’t planning to move from their spots any time soon. (you think you can get used to it.)

you decide it’s the perfect time to ask: “care to tell me why you were in my bed the other night?”

gojo mumbles something, but you can see the tips of his ears flush a pretty pink. suguru is the one who speaks up again after a moment. “…we missed you.”

“..oh.” your face feels warm at the simple confession, and an airy laugh breezes out of you at how— adorable their reasoning is. “well.. i missed you guys too.”

satoru hums an acknowledgment at that. there’s silence again for a while, before he breaks it. “you think we’re cute?”

oh— so they were able to understand you as dogs. you groan, moving an arm to cover your eyes out of slight embarrassment. “shut up. you two were the ones who sneaking into my room.”

“that was suguru’s idea-”

“you snuck in on your own, satoru.”

“you used their shampoo!”

“you stole their shirts first!”

“i can still kick you off this bed.”

“i’d like to see you try.”

you groan once more—albeit a fond sound—still trapped between them, “i wish you two were dogs again.”

487 notes · View notes

dyingswanpavlova · 2 days ago

Text

Treasure

Pairing: Hwang In-ho/The Frontman × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!

Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!

It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.

The day of her death was always the worst.

Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.

He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didn’t ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.

It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.

His brother was enough.

His wife, of course.

But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?

You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially – when he had to use his imagination.

But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.

He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.

It wasn’t like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.

He was older, that was out of question. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell when that started or what the exact reason was.

Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. It’s not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.

He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.

Until he got drunk.

Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.

Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.

He wasn’t gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly he’d explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.

You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.

But after a while, he always calmed down, didn’t he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.

Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyone’s good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, he’d just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just made the walls crumble with his anger.

But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.

You forgave him. Why wouldn’t you? He was your father. He loved you.

But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didn’t abuse you. Didn’t hit you.

You had no issues. Why would you?

Right?

You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didn’t like too much make-up. He didn’t like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.

The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.

Blush was okay, contour was not.

Lace was okay, leather was not.

J’adore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.

You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.

You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.

That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.

Sometimes, you’d indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.

Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didn’t look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didn’t look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.

A subtle glance.

Not even a smile.

Just a look.

You’d look away and after a while, you’d check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.

In most cases, it didn’t lead to anything.

Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.

But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades weren’t their fault. They had trusted you to do better.

Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didn’t check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.

Never during. Always after.

You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.

Men.

They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then they’d just up and leave.

First, you were naïve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your mother’s Italian friend, who’d take you to Rome and buy you gelato. You’d walk some coast and he’d show you the lovely way Italians lived. He’d love you, you were sure.

It didn’t matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.

He’d love you.

But of course, he didn’t. Silly you, you really believed that, didn’t you? And he didn’t even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.

Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? You’d go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.

You’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didn’t see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didn’t take him long to cum. But that was alright. You’d get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.

Blocked.

You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.

Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?

He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasn’t that bad, right?

That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasn’t that bad, right? She had angered him after all.

You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your father’s daughter after all.

But the bastard she married broke that spirit.

And she didn’t even realize it. She just let it happen. You didn’t understand it.

But what you did understand was that she wasn’t as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.

You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.

Him.

Mr. Important.

You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didn’t really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.

But luckily, you weren’t babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasn’t that he was after that – someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.

He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.

Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?

And he didn’t really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.

But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.

The real ones and the made up ones.

The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wife’s death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.

You had seen a picture of her. He didn’t make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that she’d never be forgotten, ever.

After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.

And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.

He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.

God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.

You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.

But you didn’t feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasn’t lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he was…lonely.

And he understood your loneliness.

The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.

The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.

That was what you loved the most. He didn’t just use you and left you feeling empty. He didn’t even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes you’d just go out. Have dinner. Talk.

You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.

Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.

You didn’t care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.

You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.

Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.

He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.

But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldn’t help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.

You couldn’t make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.

And that was rather dangerous.

Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.

All the things loved people did.

You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.

“Treasure? Are you alright?”

You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.

You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.

“I don’t remember that much skin.”

“You looked younger last time.”

“Where’d that wrinkle come from?”

But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.

He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured. “Come here.”

You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.

You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.

His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.

“You get more and more beautiful every day.”

How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?

“Thank you.” You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.

His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.

“You know what day today is?”

You nodded.

“Good.” He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. “Then be a good girl for daddy and distract him.”

You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.

You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?

You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A low growl grumbled in his chest. “Stop being a brat.” He murmured.

You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. “Me? A brat?”

“You’re just asking to be punished.”

That made you chuckle. “Well…”

“Oh, I see.” He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. “That’s how you want to play?” He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. “Alright, then. I invented this game, little dove.”

He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.

“I thought you were daddy’s good girl. Looks like I was wrong.”

He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.

“I am your good girl.”

“I’d prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.”

You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.

“How?” You whispered.

He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.

“Turn around.”

Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasn’t hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.

For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.

Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.

Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldn’t stop and eventually you gave in.

But not so him.

He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didn’t get angry, didn’t even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.

There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didn’t want, he didn’t do it. Just like that.

How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.

He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.

“You’re my little brat, aren’t you?” He purred.

When you didn’t respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: “Yes. Yes, I’ve been bad.”

“So, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?”

There was only one right answer to that.

“However you wish.”

You heard the way he smirked. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.

“Look at you.” He murmured. “So open and ready for me. Let’s see how ready, shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldn’t help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.

Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. You’d normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.

He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didn’t care. You were so close. So close. So-

You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.

“Please-“ You whined.

“Not yet.” He said calmly. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.

“You still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t this punishment enough?” You whispered.

He smirked. “Not even close.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.

“Ten. You know the rules.” He murmured and you nodded.

His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasn’t gentle about that. Not at all.

You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. “One. Thank you, daddy.” You gasped out.

He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.

“Nine. Thank you, daddy.”

“One more. Just one more, treasure. You’re almost done.”

He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.

And then it came.

The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: “T-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.”

He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. “That’s my good girl. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.

“Thank you.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He murmured.

You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: “I do?”

He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.

“You do. Let’s see what we can do for you.” He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.

“Was it too much?”

You shook your head.

He took a slow breath and nodded. “Good.” He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didn’t try to hide your pathetic whimper.

He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. “Look at that. Have you been this wet all the time?”

Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. “Yes.”

He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasn’t sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.

“What are you?” He groaned against your lips.

“Your cumslut.” You whispered back.

He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. “Fuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddy’s cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” You moaned out.

“Where do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?”

Your eyes nearly rolled back. “Wherever you want.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.

He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didn’t hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.

“Please-“

“Patience.”

He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.

He wasn’t one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasn’t gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.

“Oh God, that was-“

He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.

“P-Please, I- Ah!” Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldn’t find it in you to shut your mouth.

You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didn’t. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.

“Stop- Please- St-“ You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.

“Please.” You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. “Please. I can’t take any more…”

He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Good girl.”

You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. “Time for you to get to work.”

You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: “Can you help me?”

He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. “So obedient.”

He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.

“Can I?” You breathed out.

He hummed and nodded. “Get to it.”

Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.

“No teasing today.” He all but growled. “Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.

You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldn’t control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.

Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and again…But right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.

You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-

He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.

“Oh God, that was…” He sighed again. “Fuck.”

You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.

“My good girl. My treasure.” He breathed out. “I’m so proud of you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“That was incredible.” He murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.

“Does it hurt?” He murmured. You shook your head.

He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”

He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. “You and that wicked mouth of yours.” He murmured.

Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Can I stay for the night?”

He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.

He raised a brow and his own expression softened.

“Did you expect anything else?”

His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.

No matter how many times he said that it didn’t mean anything.

His eyes told a different story.

“No.” You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. “No, of course not.”

459 notes · View notes

natalievoncatte · 2 days ago

Text

There was someone in her penthouse.

Lena paused at the door, listening. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a tingling sensation running down her spine. She wasn’t sure what tipped her off, but after the fifth kidnapping and three or four attempted murders in her own spaces -office, lab, here- she always listened to those instincts. Kara never complained if it was a false alarm when Lena activated her signal watch.

Her thumb hovered over the button. She took another step inside and the door latched behind her. She was about to press when Kara said,

“Please don’t press that.”

Something was off. Her voice was raspy, as though she had a sore throat, and oddly distorted. It was as if she spoke through a damaged speaker. Lena edged from the foyer into the kitchen, her heart still pounding.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kara was standing in the living room in her super suit, or so Lena thought. Her cape was there, but the silhouette was different. Lena reached for the light switch and again Kara spoke.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Kara?”

“I’m not your Kara. I’m just… passing through.”

“Passing through my penthouse?”

Lena ran her thumb around the button, ready to press.

“Are you together in this world?”

Lena froze. The figure in her living room, Kara-but-not, was holding the framed photo of Lena with Kara smiling together, the one she’d once shattered. Kara had bought her a new frame for it when they were healing, still working out who they were going to be together, if their friendship could survive with a foundation that had so profoundly crumbled.

The glint caught Lena’s eye. One of Kara’s hands. At first she thought it was a medal glove but that wasn’t right. The shape was wrong, the fingers too thin, skeletal and claw-like. As her eyes adjusted, Lena could pick out more details.

Good God. The whole side of her face was missing, rebuilt into something inhuman and skeletal. A faint emerald glow from her chest and eye cast a pallid light across the living room.

“She’s my best friend,” said Lena.

“Best friend,” the creature whispered, her voice even harsher and more distorted.

“What do you want?”

“I told you, I’m passing through. I won’t be here long. But… can I look at you?”

“Look at me? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Just let me look at you and I’ll go. Promise me you won’t scream or call me a monster.”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Should I turn on the light?”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“Alright, then.”

The figure slowly replaced the photograph and turned, moving towards Lena. She limped, just a little, left foot dragging. Lena gasped.

It was Kara, but not. She had been… mutilated was the only word Lena could find for it. Half her face, her right arm, her leg, and worst of all, a gaping hole in her chest that contained a chunk of vile green Kryptonite burning inside. Her skin was deathly pallid, almost blue, raked through with sickly green streaks surrounded by faint bruises, as if her blood itself was poisoning her.

“My God,” Lena breathed.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kara said, her remaining eye so full of sadness and regret that Lena felt tears welling in her own.

When Kara wept in return, she wept verdant blood. She drew closer, and Lena stood stock still as Kara pressed a corpse-cold palm to her cheek.

“It’s been so long since I heard your heartbeat,” she said. “Thank you.”

“W-what happened to you?”

“Your brother, what else? He impaled me with a Kryptonite harpoon. You saved me. It’s almost funny. The Metallo Protocol kept me alive. If you can call this living.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lena whispered. “Can I help you? Is there something I could do?”

Kara shook her head, mechanical joints in her neck grinding. “There’s no cure for death, zhao.”

Lena blinked. Zhao? Was that Kryptonian? She wasn’t sure what it meant.

The cold palm fell away from her cheek.

“There must be some way I can help,” said Lena.

“In my world I killed your brother,” said Kara.

“In this world, I did. For her.”

“She loves you.”

Lena flinched. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her and her legs went weak. She had to steady herself on the kitchen island.

“What?”

“Kara. She loves you.”

“How… why do you say that?”

“I have visited thousands of worlds. Thousands of timelines. There are many where you don’t even exist, where I don’t. But in all the ones I’ve found with the both of us, there is one constant: Kara Zor-El loves Lena Luthor. It’s inevitable, it’s like gravity. There is something in all of me that must love you.”

“You’re traveling across dimensions?”

She nodded, closing her one eye. “I’m searching. Before I killed Lex, he used his masterstroke against me. He couldn’t kill me, so he hit me where he could do the most damage. He sent Lena to the Phantom Zone before I ripped his heart out of his chest. Then something happened… the yellow aliens told me there was a crisis, a multiversal collapse that split the phantom zone into infinite shards.”

“Yes, the Crisis, but there should be only one Earth now. Your world should have been merged with ours.”

Kara sighed, a broken, pained rasp. “What happens when you subtract infinity from infinity?”

Lena frowned. “I see.”

“I know she’s out there. I can feel her. I thought your world might be the one, but there’s another me here, and the wrong you.”

“I hope you find her.”

“Thank you. May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead” said Lena.

“Do you love her?”

Lena didn’t need to ask who she meant. She felt a lump form in her throat even as her chest fluttered. This cold broken wreckage of another Kara stared into her as if to parse the strands of her soul.

“Yes,” said Lena.

Kara edged closer. “Then tell her. Please. Don’t make her wait. She’s too scared to tell you. She’s like all of us- she’s so afraid of her own strength that she won’t hold anyone truly close for fear she’ll crush them. She’s afraid of losing you, or losing you again. She’s lost everything. Her world, her people, her culture, two mothers and two fathers- there is so much grief in her that it could freeze a newborn star but you, you are the light that shines in the darkness. You are her red sunrise.”

Lena said nothing, fighting the tremble in her lip.

“I must go. She’s out there and I have to keep trying to find her.”

She turned away and Lena caught her arm, gently tugging. She stopped.

“Wait?”

Kara turned back to her, and Lena darted in close and pressed a soft kiss to her cold lips.

“What?” Kara blurted.

“For luck. You’re going to find her.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

Lena now pressed a palm to Kara’s cheek.

“You will. You’re Supergirl. You can do anything.”

Kara smiled with half a face and pulled free, activating a device on her belt. A portal opened before her, filling the penthouse with blazing light. She stepped through and was gone.

Lena stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it, hugging herself as the tears flowed.

A few moments later, the familiar sound of stacked heels thudded on her balcony and the door slid open.

Kara, her Kara, swept into the penthouse, frantic.

“Lena, what happened? I saw that flash. I was out on patrol and… are you crying?”

Kara knelt beside her and brushed her hair back from her eyes with her soft warm hand and said, “Baby, are you okay?”

Lena looked at her, really looked at her, and was simply overwhelmed. There was so much depth in her blue eyes, so much kindness and compassion and love.

“I am now,” said Lena.

Kara blinked a few times. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

“I promise I’m tell you someday, but first I have to ask you something.”

“Ask,” said Kara. “Anything you want, you know that.”

Lena curled a finger around Kara’s chin and watched her eyes widen, first in confusion and then in nervous anticipation as Lena bent towards her and tilted her head just slightly to press their lips together.

At first Kara didn’t react and Lena thought she’d made a terrible mistake, but then something in Kara came around and she lunged onto the couch, pressing Lena down to the cushions.

“Lena,” Kara breathed. “What… how… do you… with me?”

Lena hugged her fiercely.

“Stay with me, Kara. That’s what I want. Stay with me.”

“Always.”

530 notes · View notes

fortunapre · 2 days ago

Text

𝐖𝐡at Happens 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬… | 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

SUMMARY★ the internet gets suspicious after Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend shows up to the USA GP after swearing off races a year ago…

(multiple face claims)

instagram

View likes

y/nusername home sweet home *read in southern mama accent*

View comments⇩

oscarpiastri: hey! no way i’m going to be there too what a coincidence!

➜ y/nusername: its not a coincidence im stalking you

➜ oscarpiastri: 😀 what.

y/nbff: tell me you’re joking

➜ y/nusername: lemme tell you something... LEMME TELL YOU SUMTHING!

user1234: why does @y/nbff sound mad? Did she not tell her bsf or something?

➜ user999: don’t quote me on this but i’m pretty sure it has to do with the drama about y/n and her ex.

➜ user 1234: wait what?!? Im new what is that???

➜ f1updatesfans: well like i think 2 years ago y/n was seen around with this guy while she was in Austin (her home town) for the USA race.

➜ f1updatesfans: Then suddenly he like disappeared and y/n didn’t go to another race since. but now apparently she’s going to this one??? it’s all very speculative but yeah.

➜ user1234: ok but what does y/n have to do with formula one? Wait was she dating a driver?

➜ f1updatesfans: No! I dont think so... And shes Oscar’s friend I think. Best friend.

imessages- y/n's POV

Once y/n got off of the plane and through the gate, she stood waiting for Oscar. Considering he was already in town for the race, he had no problem coming to get her. They were best friends after all.

y/n had a hand on her suitcase and leaned against a pillar. She looked worn out and utterly tired. Her eye bags could practically be called carry-on luggage. She rested her head on the wall and scrolled through her contacts before choosing Oscar's name.

Her phone only rang once before Oscar's voice answered from the other side.

"Hey, y/n." He said in his signature sweet tone that always made y/n smile. The corner of her mouth lifted at his voice while she closed her eyes. Maybe tired was an understatement.

She was exhausted. Usually she just sleeps on planes, but for the whole 6-hour trip she never dozed off. The closest she got was simply closing her eyes.

She couldn't sleep. Not when she was so worried about what would happen once she landed.

"Yeah, hey Oscar." she murmured, and let out a long yawn. "My gate is A6." She held her phone between her shoulder and cheek while she tried to fish out her wallet from her purse.

"You good? You sound tired. Or sad. I can't really tell over the phone." Oscar spoke through the speaker pressed up against her ear.

"Yes, I'm fine..." Once she found her wallet, she pulled out cash to buy something to drink at the mini market across from her gate.

"Oh, I see you! Stop walking I'm coming to your right now." Oscar said quickly. Y/n looked around her, trying to find him. Eventually, she spotted his familiar smile.

They both hung up the phone as Oscar got closer. He was smiling at her, almost smirking really. When he stood next to her, he took a moment to look at her state, no doubt remembering it to make fun of later.

Y/n smiled back and then continued walking to the minimarket, with Oscar alongside her.

Once she got her water, they both started walking towards the exit.

"Here, I can take this." Oscar stopped y/n and put his hand on top of her hand which was holding her suitcase. His touch felt familiar and warm. His hands always felt rougher than they looked, but y/n felt comfort in knowing it was Oscar. At first, she didn't speak.

She was too busy staring at their hands because something different was happening.

She felt different. Suddenly, she wanted his hand to never leave. She wanted his hand to grab hers and lace their fingers. She wanted his hand to touch her more.

She shook her head and looked away from their hands. She must be really tired, and sleep deprived.

Instead of agreeing verbally, y/n just let go, suddenly conscious of Oscar's burning touch, and nodded, letting him take her suitcase.

instagram

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

ynusername airport fit check

photo credits: lando norris’s teammate, i think?

View comments ⇩

oscarpiastri shut up

landonorris *my future boyfriend

➜ ynusername LANDO WHAT! is this a hard launch for you two???? wdym your bf

➜ landonorris WAIT HAHA NO I MEANT MY AS IT YOURS

➜ landonorris I WAS CORRECTING YOU AS YOU

➜ landonorris WAIT DONT

➜ landonorris i’m deleting this.

comment and thread deleted

comments on this post are limited

imessages- oscar's POV

twitter

imessage- oscar's POV

"Who are you texting?" Y/n asked casually, wanting to start conversation. She sat comfortable in a sofa across from him. Originally, they were both laying down on the sofa's facing each other, a table in the middle.

But once Oscar got the first message, he sat up quickly.

At one point y/n caught him looking at her, with the most confused face she's seen on him, but he just went back to typing.

"What?" His head shot up from his phone, and his eyes got wide.

"I asked who you were texting." She replied. Y/n sat up slowly, matching him and then leaned in, with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together.

"Oh. um. no one. Just Lando"

"Oh ok." This conversation was just making her more bored, and she wanted to talk to Oscar. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "What about?"

"Hmm?" Oscar seemed extremely distracted.

"What about?"

Instead of answering, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down. Y/n was going to ask what was wrong but he suddenly stood up and walked around the sofa.

He was still silent, and he changed positions to now stand behind the sofa and leaned on back, arm folded, facing away from her.

"Osc-" Y/n was going to ask why he was so distracted, but he cut her off.

He turned around, now looking her in the eye. "y/n can I ask you something?"

Now y/n was worried, because what could be on his mind that he needed to ask her about.

"Of course, Osc"

Oscar looked at her as she waited for his question. Like really looked at her. She was wearing Mclaren merch with his number on the back of course. She looked gorgeous. The realization made Oscar run a hand through his hair again, no doubt messing it up this time.

"It's kind of personal, y/n. I understand why you haven't said anything about it before. It's your personal life and I want you to know that i understand."

"Oscar what-"

"Is your ex in Austin?"

Y/n was surprised to say the least. She knew that questions about her past relationship would come up, but Oscar asking was surprising. She told him last year about how her ex broke up with her.

She was devastated. He had broken up with her over the phone, on the way back from last year's Austin Grand Prix. His reasons were stupid, and his apologies sounded incredibly forced.

She immediately called Oscar and told him everything. Well, everything except from his name. Oscar can be protective when it comes to y/n, so she kept her ex's name secret. It sounds stupid now that she thinks about it because even if Oscar did get mad, he would never do anything Y/n didn't like.

"Yeah. He's here, in Austin, but I haven't talked to him at all. You know what he did, and I want nothing to do with him." Y/n didn't know why she was trying to explain herself so much. She felt like she needed to make it known that there was nothing between her and her ex anymore. What this had to do with Oscar? she didn't know.

He nodded and walked towards her. They both sat next to each other on the small sofa while Oscar overthought everything.

"You want nothing to do with him? like at all? because Lando was making me think that you were possibly here to get back together with him..." He needed to know for sure.

"What? Oscar not of course. Why would Lando think that?"

"I don't know." he was going to run a hand through his hair for the third time, but y/n grabbed his wrist instead. She held his hand softly and intertwined their fingers.

Oscar felt relieved. Y/n was probably wondering why Oscar had so many sudden questions about her love life, but neither of them brought up the suddenness of the conversation. They instead sat close together; hands intertwined, hoping that the other couldn't tell how fast their heart is beating at the they're simple touch.

instagram

liked by mclaren, ynusername and others

oscarpiastri new merch that even I'd wear (it's a white shirt, get it?)

view comments ⇩

ynusername cool now I have another shirt i can steal

➜ oscarpiastri get your own! https://mclaren.com

➜ oscarpiastri hope this helps!

➜ ynusername you're going to give it to me anyways I know it

➜ oscarpiastri probably...

landonorris @.ynusername where have you beeeeeen I haven't seen you all weekend

➜ ynusername clearing my calendar for you right now!

➜ landonorris tell oscar to stop keeping you to himself!!!

➜ oscarpiastri no go away

➜ landonorris *cough* jealous *cough*

➜ oscarpiastri 😐 that’s enough

Twitter

2 days later, and neither Y/n nor Oscar had made any progress on acknowledging their feelings. Even the internet and gossip columns knew more about it then each other.

a/n:

just a small smau i wanted to try. i’ve never done one of these types of stories, so sorry if its bad or confusing!

not sure if i’ll do a part 2…do we like?

#f1 #formula 1 #fanfiction #writing #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #oscarpiastri #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #osc #oscar piastri

416 notes · View notes

pacofprunes · 2 days ago

Text

DARK / TOXIC SQUID GAME REACTIONS TO YOU TRYING TO LEAVE THEM

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, myungi x reader, inho x reader, sangwoo x reader, saebyeok x reader

WARNINGS — toxic relationship, domestic violence, baby trapping, manipulation, guilt trip, prepare yourself for namgyus that’s the worst probably, mentions of suicide (thanos)

masterlist

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI-SUBONG — manipulates you / would let you leave and crawl back to him

doesn’t take it well at all. he’s going to laugh and think you’re joking, but after realizing that you’re not, he’s quickly going to scream at you. telling you that you’ll never find anybody better than him.

“do you really think anybody else will want you? if you leave me you’ll never find anyone else. you’ll never find anybody better!”

he’ll start breaking shit. punching walls, shit, he’ll even break your own phone if it’s in arms reach. if you still insist on leaving he’ll say he’s gonna overdose. he tells you that he’ll kill himself if you step out that door while pressing a blade up to his arm. if all else fails, he’ll totally act like he didn’t just beg you to stay and scream at you to go then and not to come running back.

“fine bitch, go ahead and leave! but don’t come running back to me for nothin’.”

in reality, he’s definitely stalking your socials, making fake accounts you haven’t blocked him on, stalking your friends accounts to see other photos of you, visiting the club every night (not that he didn’t already do that) to try to see if you’d show up. after about a month or so of doing this and going out and fucking other girls to get over you, he can’t do it anymore. he’ll send you some fake heartfelt text that he probably used ai to make and call you while making himself sound like he was crying, trying to make you feel bad and convince you that he’s changed and that he can be a better boyfriend. if you fall for it, you’re doomed. the relationships only going to be a million times worse than before. instead of knocking glass over and breaking shit, he might slap you. in public, he might grip your wrist ten times tighter, scared you’ll run away. when he finally lets go, his fingers will be embedded in your skin. he might even guilt trip you into getting a matching tattoo with him. “if you really loved me and forgave me then you would.”

if you really don’t go back to him though, no matter how many times you block him, you’ll get a new video sent to your phone from some unknown number of him fucking a new girl. he sent you the videos in hopes of making you jealous or something. he’s not going to stop for a long time. if you don’t go back to him, he’s going to harass you for the rest of your life. and if you do go back? you’re in for a world of hell.

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — would threaten you, would actually harm you

“you’re one funny bitch. you know how much shit i got on you?”

he finds it admirable, honestly. but still, fucking hilarious, that you, you, think you can leave him. what? when did you grow some balls? yeah, no. you just hurt his ego and that’s about the stupidest thing you could ever do to him. he’s not very empty with his threats. if he says he’s leaving? he’ll leave. (for like a week…) if he says he’s gonna hit you? you’re gonna be bruised for a while. if he says he’s gonna kill you? well, you haven’t gotten to that point yet. but keep this up and you sure will.

he keeps every nude and threatens to release it. sure you’re his and all, but that doesn’t stop him. so what if some other guy sees your body? he could care less. now if another guy touches you? let’s not think about what would happen. threatens to send the pictures to your family and threatens to send every sex tape of you two that he filmed behind your back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you namgyu? when the fuck did you film that?”

don’t raise your voice at him. once he hits you and you fall to the ground, he’ll keep kicking at you with his foot over and over until he thinks you’ve had enough. don’t speak up to him, don’t speak against him, and don’t piss him off. just sit there and be pretty, okay? he’s going to be bolder now. next time you two have sex he’s just going to shove the camera in your face. he’s going to manipulate and force you to take nudes for him since you don’t want to anymore after he threatened to send them out. sometimes he’ll force you to strip and then he’ll just take the pictures himself. all in all, sometimes he might just say no and leave it at that. but if you keep pushing, he’s going to threaten you. and if you still keep pushing, he’s going to go through with those threats. you really are just some whore to him, don’t think he’s above killing you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★— would let you leave and crawl back to him (except he’s the one who crawls back), babytrapping

“really? fine, if that’s what you want then leave.”

he acts like he doesn’t care because he thinks his annoyance will make you turn right back around to him. he acts like he doesn’t care because he’s trying to not get so bent out of shape about it and move on quickly. but when he hears your footsteps disappear and the door shut, he immediately balls up his fists. you seriously left? he didn’t expect that, but whatever. he doesn’t need you.

he tries to move on but after barely even a week, he can’t do it. he contacts you, but when you block him, he makes more and more numbers. he thought you’d be running back to him, not the opposite. he sends you pictures of you two together in hopes you’d change your mind, but when you just keep blocking him, he’s knocking on your door demanding you open it up. he tries being nice but when you don’t open it, he starts banging on the door. really? you’d been together for months and you’d already gotten over him? no. no no no. you don’t get to just move on! what the hells wrong with you? when you still don’t open the door, he leaves and goes back to his place and sits on his bed while he ponders his next move. he decides for now just to stalk your page and harass you from more and more numbers. he’s not going to stop until you at least respond. oh, you’re gonna get a restraining order? you’re funny. you think that’ll stop him? don’t go back to him. if for some reason you give in, the next time that you two have sex, he’s going to make sure that you can’t leave. he’s sure that you’ll look so pretty with your stomach swelled up.

INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001 — straight up says no / baby traps / makes you feel like you’re going crazy

straight up, no. you want to leave? no. he doesn’t even care for an explanation on why, you’re not leaving. completely ignores your words and changes the whole topic. everytime you try to say you’re leaving he just completely overrides you with something different.

“inho, i’m serious. i’m leaving you! i’m packing my shit right now and i’m not coming back, i swear to you.”

“what did you want for dinner again? i have to go back out to get some groceries so there’s not too much…”

maybe it’s on purpose, maybe it’s not. but it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. then he will deliberately go out of his way to make it seem like you’re crazy.

“i’m leaving because of what you’ve been doing behind my back, inho. it’s fucked up and you’re insane.”

“baby, you could follow me around tomorrow. i’ve got no idea what you mean.”

and he says it all with that stupid small polite smile that he gives everyone. you just want to strangle him. if somehow he can get you in bed with him after you just got so pissed, he’ll be more passionate than ever. he’ll treat you nice, focus on your pleasure before his and then quickly when you’re blissed out, he’ll pull out of you, slip the condom off and slide right back in. you don’t notice at all, but he makes sure to tell you like the cocky fuck he is. but he does it while he’s thrusting and when you can tell he’s about to cum. poor you, it’s too late to stop him :(.

“i’m about to fuck a baby in you — agh, i — i took the condom off. gonna have a beautiful—fuck—fucking baby with you.”

how could you leave now? do you have enough money to take care of a child without him? and would you really deprive your child of their father? you’ll get an abortion? he’ll find a way to keep you locked up in your house. you’re still going to leave? he’s going to guilt trip you to the max. and if that still fails? once again, he’s just going to find a way to keep you locked up in your house. he’ll figure it out as you go on, but for now, have your happy little family with him.

KANG SAE-BYEOK — straight up says no

she’s not going to entertain you at all. she might not even say no, opting to just stay silent instead. if you get in her face about it because she’s ignoring you, she’s just going to push you away. if you keep nagging her about it, she’s going to slap you. if you decide not to drop it, she’ll drag you by your hair and lock you in a room. are you stupid? don’t start this shit first thing in the morning.

“saebyeok, this isn’t working. we should go our separate ways.”

“no. did you hit your head or something?”

you should just drop it and move on with your day. nothing you say is going to convince her and if you piss her off too much, like said before, she’s just going to lock you away until you stop sounding ‘crazy’. she’s very cold, but she’s generally pretty nice to you still though. she’s a good girlfriend to you, just a little possessive, but it’s never gotten out of control. you just didn’t think the relationship was working and that it just wasn’t the right time. all in all, if you don’t push to much, you won’t see the shitty side of her that she never shows you. however, if you keep pushing the idea, she’s going to give you a real reason to break up with her.

SANGWOO — would let you leave and crawl back to him

“you want to break up? fine.”

it leaves you shocked at the sound of him not caring. it was as simple as that. you want to break up? bye then bitch! it hurt. it almost made you want to change your mind and say never mind and just stay with him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. that’s exactly why he said it like that. but that didn’t work and you just walked out the door. that’s fine though, you’d come back to him, he knows it.

he makes sure to post old photos of you two on his Instagram. not ones with your face in it, duh, but he posts the photos that you took of him where you’re behind the camera or ones where your arm or your hand is slightly showing. he knows you still stalk his socials. he’s posting these knowing that it’s going to hurt your little heart and make you crawl right back. he leaves every photo of you two up on every platform, not deleting a single thing. for a little while, he even keeps his pfp the same. you two holding hands. whenever he posts something, he always makes sure to put something in the caption that he knows you love. you liked tulips? he’ll put a tulip emoji in the caption. you loved cats? he’ll put a cat emoji in his bio. all these subtle things where you won’t know he’s doing it on purpose, but it’ll be so much of a coincidence that you’ll think this is a sign to run back to him.

he’ll tell his friends to ask about him to you whenever they talk with you.

“how are you and sangwoo doing?”

“oh he talks about you all the time.”

he tells them to act like they don’t know that the two of you have broken up. he makes sure to get in your head and eventually? you’ll come running back. if for some reason you don’t, he might have to pull some strings. spread some rumors about you so that your friends want nothing to do with you and so all that you have to run to for comfort is him.

#squid game x reader #dark squid game #thanos x reader #saebyeok x reader #sae byeok x reader #namgyu x reader #sangwoo x reader #yandere squid game x reader #inho x reader #youngil x reader #myungi x reader #myunggi x reader #myung gi x reader #yandere thanos x reader #yandere namgyu x reader #yandere sangwoo x reader #yandere saebyeok x reader #yandere kang sae byeok x reader #yandere sae byeok x reader

422 notes · View notes

calypso-rt · 3 days ago

Text

lodge retreat!

with the insufferable Rafe Cameron

-> Pt. 1: roadtrip!

-> Rafe x F!reader

-> read part 1 for context por favor i promise it's good

The second you step out of Rafe’s car, the crisp mountain air hits you: fresh pine, damp earth, the lingering chill of early morning. It would be breathtaking if you weren’t immediately tackled by a blur of white linen and wild curls.

“Oh my God,” Kiara shrieks, squeezing the life out of you. “I thought you died.”

You grunt, winded. “Good to see you too, Kie.”

JJ appears right behind her, grinning. “We were taking bets on how you’d show up. My money was on a dramatic helicopter entrance.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, my other option was walking, so.”

Kiara finally pulls back, eyes darting behind you, and when she sees who drove you here, her jaw drops.

“No.”

Rafe, ever the picture of smug confidence, leans against the car like he owns the entire lodge. “Yes,” he says smoothly.

Kiara turns to you in pure betrayal. “Him?”

You rub your temples. “It was him or missing your wedding.”

JJ claps Rafe on the back, laughing. “Damn, man. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?” Rafe asks, feigning innocence. “The day she begged me for a favor?”

Your nostrils flare. “It was not begging.”

Kiara gapes at the two of you, looking suspiciously between you and Rafe like she’s trying to solve an actual crime scene. “What the hell happened on that drive?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly.

“Everything,” Rafe says at the exact same time.

Kiara narrows her eyes. “Okay. We’ll circle back to that.”

Before you can protest, the wedding party descends, groomsmen, bridesmaids, old friends, enveloping you in greetings and chatter. And of course, Rafe slides into the mix way too easily, laughing with JJ, charming the bridal party like he belongs here.

Then, the worst thing imaginable happens.

One of the groomsmen nudges JJ and nods toward you and Rafe. “Damn. How long have they been a thing?”

You nearly choke. “We are not—”

“Oh, since forever,” Rafe says smoothly, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

JJ grins. “Right? About time they admitted it.”

Kiara looks ready to combust with questions. You? You’re mentally calculating the fastest way to throw yourself off the nearest mountain.

This weekend just got way more complicated.

...

“This has to be a joke,” you say flatly.

The front desk attendant offers you a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid not. Since you arrived late, the only room we have left is our Honeymoon Suite.”

You blink. Then blink again. “Our what?”

Next to you, Rafe lets out a low whistle, his amusement practically radiating off him. “Damn, sweetheart. Didn’t know we were taking the next step so soon.”

You elbow him in the ribs. Hard.

The attendant clears her throat. “It’s a king-sized bed, private balcony, en-suite jacuzzi…” She hesitates. “It’s also… heart themed.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Of course it is.”

Rafe, ever the menace, grins. “Sounds perfect.”

“It is not perfect,” you snap. “It’s a disaster.”

“C’mon,” he leans in, voice teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? You fall madly in love with me?”

You glare. “I’d rather sleep in the car.”

The attendant winces. “Actually, overnight parking isn’t allowed on the premises.”

You curse under your breath.

“Guess that settles it,” Rafe hums, reaching for the key. “Honeymoon Suite it is.”

You stare at the room key in his hand, then at the front desk worker who clearly wants no part in this mess. Finally, with a deep sigh, you snatch your bag off the counter.

“This weekend just keeps getting better and better,” you mutter.

Rafe chuckles, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you stomp toward the suite. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the warmth creeping up your neck.

...

The second you step into the suite, you stop dead in your tracks.

“Oh. My. God.”

Rafe lets out a low whistle behind you. “This is… something.”

It’s worse than you imagined. Scratch that, it’s a nightmare.

The entire room is decked out in nauseatingly over-the-top romance décor. The bed is massive, covered in silky red sheets with actual rose petals scattered on top. There’s a heart-shaped jacuzzi in the corner, an abundance of dim mood lighting, and, just to really drive the point home, two fluffy white robes embroidered with Mr. and Mrs. hanging by the bathroom door.

“I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter.

Rafe chuckles, strolling inside like he belongs there. “Gotta say, I’m kinda touched by the matching towels, wife.”

You glare. “I’m assuming divorce is included with the stay.”

He smirks, tossing his bag onto the bed. “Careful, sweetheart. Talk like that and people might think you actually like me.”

You throw your bag at him.

He catches it easily, laughing as he plops down onto the bed. “Gotta admit, this is kinda nice.” He bounces slightly. “Bed’s comfy.”

“You mean the bed,” you deadpan. “Singular. One.”

Just as you start looking for anywhere else to sleep, Rafe props himself up on his elbows. “You know,” he muses, “we could set some ground rules.”

You narrow your eyes. “Like what?”

He holds up a finger. “Rule one: no kicking me in your sleep.”

“Fine. Rule two: no hogging the covers.”

Rafe snorts. “Baby, I am the covers.”

You throw a pillow at him.

He laughs, catching it with ease, but then his expression softens. “Seriously, though,” he says, sitting up. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can take the couch.”

Your stomach flips. It’s the first time he’s dropped the teasing act, and for some reason, that throws you more than the heart-shaped bed.

You cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “It’s fine. We’re adults. We can survive one night.”

Rafe watches you for a beat, then nods. “Alright, sweetheart. Just don’t go falling in love with me in your sleep.”

You roll your eyes, but for the first time since stepping into the room… you don’t completely hate the idea.

...

The fire crackles, sending embers drifting into the cool mountain air. Laughter and music fill the night as people gather around, drinks in hand, wrapped in the golden glow of the flames.

You pull your sweater tighter around you, balancing a cup of something warm in your hands as you take in the scene. JJ and Kiara are at the center of it all: her curled up against his side, his arm slung over her shoulders, both of them grinning like they already know tomorrow will be the best day of their lives.

“Didn’t think they’d actually make it here, did you?”

Rafe’s voice is low, teasing, as he steps up beside you.

You smirk. “Oh, not a chance. I had a whole bet going on whether they’d call it off or elope somewhere at the last minute.”

He chuckles, nudging your shoulder. “And what was your money on?”

You take a sip of your drink. “Elope. With JJ’s track record? I figured he’d panic and drag Kie to Vegas.”

Rafe hums in agreement, watching as JJ dramatically dips Kiara in front of the fire, making her burst into laughter.

“They’re disgustingly cute,” you say, scrunching your nose.

“Painful to watch,” Rafe agrees.

A comfortable silence settles between you. The night is crisp, the fire warm, the stars impossibly bright against the inky sky. You steal a glance at Rafe. His profile sharp in the firelight, the usual smugness softened into something… calmer. Almost thoughtful.

He catches you looking. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

Before he can press, JJ’s voice booms across the clearing.

“Alright, listen up!” He stumbles a little as he climbs onto a log, lifting his beer like a toast. “Tomorrow’s a big day. Huge, actually. Probably the biggest day of my life—”

“Probably?” Kiara cuts in, arching a brow.

JJ grins. “Definitely the biggest day of my life.” He throws an arm around her, pressing a dramatic kiss to her temple before turning back to the group. “And I just wanna say… I love all you guys.”

A chorus of cheers erupts around the fire. Pope hollers, Sarah claps, and someone (probably John B) yells, “Simp!”

JJ flips them off. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But for real… wouldn’t wanna do this without you guys.” His gaze sweeps over the group, landing on you. “Even you,” he adds with a smirk.

You roll your eyes. “Wow, I’m honored.”

He winks, then shifts his attention to Rafe. “And you? Didn’t think I’d catch you dead at my wedding.”

Rafe smirks, tipping his beer in JJ’s direction. “What can I say? Your bride’s best friend begged me to be here.”

You elbow him, but JJ just cackles. “Now that I believe.”

The night stretches on. More drinks, more laughter, more warmth. At some point, you find yourself sitting next to Rafe on a log, legs stretched out toward the fire.

It’s easy, being here like this. The banter, the teasing, it’s all still there, but something’s different. Softer. Less sharp edges, more… something else.

You glance at Rafe again, and this time, he’s already looking at you.

Neither of you say anything. It doesn’t feel like you need to.

...

Rafe looks good in a suit. Too good. And it’s annoying.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter. But as you glance across the ceremony space: rows of chairs lined up against the stunning mountain backdrop, JJ standing at the altar, fidgeting slightly as he waits for Kiara, you can’t help but notice the way Rafe carries himself.

The dark navy suit, perfectly tailored. The way his hair is effortlessly styled, like he barely tried but still somehow managed to look infuriatingly good.

You drag your gaze away, focusing on the moment. Kiara appears, breathtaking in her dress, and JJ’s jaw literally drops.

The ceremony is beautiful, full of soft vows and inside jokes and that overwhelming kind of love that makes your chest ache. You should be focused on them.

But every time you glance up, Rafe is already looking at you.

He doesn’t smirk like usual. Doesn’t tease. Just holds your gaze for a beat too long, like he’s reading every thought you don’t want to have right now.

You swallow hard and turn away.

Afterwards, the reception is in full swing. The string lights cast a golden glow over the outdoor dance floor, laughter and music filling the air. People are already tipsy, the speeches are done, and JJ is dramatically twirling Kiara around.

You’re nursing a drink, enjoying the moment, when someone slides up next to you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You glance up at the guy, Nate something, a friend of the Pogues, someone you’ve talked to once or twice at parties. He’s charming enough, leaning in slightly, a slow smile on his face.

You smile back, making casual conversation. It’s harmless. Just friendly.

Until you feel a presence at your side.

You don’t see Rafe approach, but suddenly, he’s there. Close. The warmth of him practically pressing into your space as he casually—too casually—rests a hand on the small of your back.

“Nate,” Rafe says, voice smooth but cool. “Didn’t know you were still hanging around.”

Nate chuckles, clearly oblivious. “Could say the same about you, man.”

Rafe’s fingers press just slightly against your back, the touch light but unmistakable. “Yeah, well. Some things are worth sticking around for.”

You blink, glancing up at him. What the hell does that mean?

Nate hesitates, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Right. Well…” He offers you a quick smile. “I’ll see you around.”

As soon as he’s gone, you turn to Rafe. “Okay, what was that?”

He doesn’t move his hand. If anything, he steps in closer, voice low in your ear.

“We were supposed to dance first.”

Your breath catches.

It’s not the words that get you, it’s the way he says them. The quiet intensity. The way his fingers linger, the way he looks at you like he’s just now realizing something himself.

You should pull away. Should roll your eyes and brush it off like you always do.

But for some reason, you don’t.

Then, the music shifts, something slower, something golden-hued and dreamlike, and Rafe takes it as a sign.

His fingers slide from the small of your back to your hand, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s leading you onto the dance floor. Your heart stutters as his palm finds your waist, the other curling around your fingers, holding you close but not too close.

“You’re serious about this?” you murmur, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice is softer than you mean for it to be.

Rafe smirks, tilting his head. “What, afraid I’ll step on your toes?”

You scoff, but the breathless feeling in your chest betrays you. He moves easily, naturally, guiding you in slow circles beneath the string lights. The world narrows to the warmth of his hand, the quiet push and pull between you.

“I thought you’d be terrible at this,” you admit.

He hums. “I’m full of surprises.”

The glow of the reception wraps around you both, the background noise fading into something distant, unimportant. His thumb brushes against the side of your hand absentmindedly, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Your gaze flickers up, catching the way he’s watching you, like you’re something worth memorizing.

“Some things are worth sticking around for,” he says again, softer this time.

And suddenly, you realize.

He wasn’t just talking about the party.

…

You wake up warm.

Which is strange, because you remember falling asleep on the farthest possible side of the bed, a clear, respectable distance from Rafe.

And yet, there’s an arm draped over your waist. A steady rise and fall against your back. The slow, even rhythm of his breathing, inches from your ear.

Oh.

You blink, still half-asleep, brain sluggish as it tries to process the situation. You should move. Should untangle yourself before he wakes up and starts smirking about it. But it’s early. So early the sun is barely creeping through the gauzy hotel curtains. And the bed is warm, and comfortable, and…

Rafe shifts behind you, murmuring something incoherent, his grip unconsciously tightening, pulling you closer.

You freeze.

Okay. Okay. This is fine.

Maybe if you just—

“Stop thinking so loud,” Rafe mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

Your breath catches. “I—”

His arm flexes slightly, like he’s debating letting go. But he doesn’t.

“You were hogging the covers,” he says, voice scratchy. “Had to do something.”

“You are the covers,” you murmur back before you can stop yourself.

A slow chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Told you.”

You should shove him away. You should, because this is ridiculous. But you don’t.

Instead, you let yourself relax, just for a second. Let yourself exist in this quiet moment, where neither of you are arguing, where his warmth seeps into your skin, where it’s easy to pretend that this—whatever this is—is normal.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You drool in your sleep,” Rafe says, lips twitching.

You shove him. Hard.

He laughs, rolling onto his back as you sit up, yanking the covers away from him. “I do not.”

“Oh, you definitely do.” He stretches, arms over his head, looking far too smug for someone who was just cuddling you in his sleep. “Like, full-on, pillow soaking, completely unattractive—”

You grab one of the decorative heart-shaped pillows and smack him with it.

He grins, dodging easily, sitting up as you swing at him again. “Whoa, whoa… violence already? And here I thought we were having a moment.”

You glare, but your pulse is betraying you, thrumming a little too fast. “We were not having a moment.”

Rafe raises a brow, tilting his head. “No?”

“No,” you insist, scrambling off the bed. “It was the sleep deprivation. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That explains why you didn’t let go.”

You throw another pillow at him.

He just laughs, shaking his head as he watches you storm into the bathroom. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

And the worst part?

You can still feel the ghost of his arm around you.

Taglist: @drewstarkeyslover, @honeybee270, @melsbels-zip, @rafeycameronsgf, @vanessa-rafesgirl, @amel1ee

(tagged everyone asking abt a pt 2) <3

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction

403 notes · View notes

yunyunsyndr0me · 3 days ago

Text

Under the cut

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

Only my mother

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

Sister

03: Do you regret anything?

A lot

04: Are you insecure?

Yes

05: What is your relationship status?

Single

06: How do you want to die?

The way God intended

07: What did you last eat?

Salmon

08: Played any sports?

Was never athletic

09: Do you bite your nails?

10: When was your last physical fight?

Over 6 years ago

11: Do you like someone?

Not currently

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

Yes

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

Yes

14: Do you miss someone?

Yes

15: Have any pets?

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

Bored

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

18: Are you scared of spiders?

Yes

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

Yes

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

Dont know what that means

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

School tomorrow

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

Never

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

Math, physics

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

Yes

26: What are you craving right now?

Buldak

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

Don't think so

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

30: What’s irritating you right now?

Stomach ache

31: Does somebody love you?

Unfortunately

32: What is your favourite color?

Pink

33: Do you have trust issues?

Yes

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

Don't remember

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

Mom

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

Yes

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

Forgive

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

I hope so

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

Never had

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

No wtf

51: Favourite food?

Noodles

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

Yes

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Scrolling

54: Is cheating ever okay?

Usually not

55: Are you mean?

I try not to be

56: How many people have you fist fought?

057: Do you believe in true love?

Yes

58: Favourite weather?

Wind, rain

59: Do you like the snow?

Yes

60: Do you wanna get married?

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

62: What makes you happy?

Gamea

63: Would you change your name?

Definitely

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

Reject but keep being friends

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

Dad

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

Oomf

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

Yes

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

355K notes · View notes

drewswife · 3 days ago

Text

summary: you and your bestie just got from dinner and you met your celebrity crush (Drew Starkey)

warnings: fluff, fangirling, you being a blushing mess

The restaurant buzzed with the low hum of satisfied diners, the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of conversations. You and your bestie, Sarah, were just finishing up a shared plate of molten chocolate lava cake, reminiscing about the disastrous double date Sarah had been on the previous night.

"… and then, get this, he starts talking about his extensive collection of porcelain thimbles!" Sarah exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. You giggled, shaking your head in amused disbelief. Suddenly, a hush fell over a small section of the restaurant.

You glanced up, noticing a ripple of excitement spreading through the crowd. "What's going on?" you wondered aloud, but Sarah was already craning her neck, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's Drew Starkey." Your heart skipped a beat. Drew Starkey. Your celebrity crush. You'd spent countless hours watching his movies, swooning over his interviews, and plastering his pictures on your bedroom wall in high school. You couldn't believe he was in this small, cozy restaurant in Chicago.

You tried to play it cool, casually glancing in his direction. He was even more handsome in person. His smile was dazzling, his eyes sparkled with warmth, and his laughter was infectious. He was sitting with a group of friends, engaged in an animated conversation.

"Let's go over and say hi," Sarah nudged you playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Are you crazy?" you hissed, blushing furiously. "I can't just go up to him. What would I even say?"

"Just be yourself," Sarah shrugged. "Tell him you're a fan. Compliment his work. Ask for a selfie. You'll regret it if you don't. "You hesitated, your mind racing. On one hand, even briefly, the thought of meeting him was thrilling. On the other hand, you were terrified of coming across as awkward or starstruck. You imagined yourself tripping over your own feet, spilling your drink on him, or worse, babbling incoherently about your undying love. "Come on," Sarah urged, pulling you to your feet. "Let's do this." Before you could protest further, Sarah was leading you towards his table. "Excuse me," she began, her voice surprisingly steady.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You felt your cheeks flush crimson. "Hi," he said, flashing a disarming smile. "We're huge fans," Sarah continued, beaming. "My friend here, Y/N, she's especially obsessed. She's seen all your movies like a million times."

"It's nice to meet you both," he chuckled, his eyes lingering on yours licking his lips. You managed a shy smile, your heart pounding in your chest. "We don't want to disturb you," Sarah said, "but would you mind if we got a quick picture?"

"Of course," he agreed readily. He stood up, towering over you. He smelled amazing, like a mix of sandalwood and something subtly spicy. You felt a flutter in your stomach.

You squeezed between Drew and Sarah, trying to calm your nerves. He put his arm around your waist squeezing you and pulling you closer making you blush, and you could feel the warmth of his touch through your jacket. You held your breath as Sarah snapped a few photos.

"It was lovely meeting you," he said, his eyes meeting yours again winking at you. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." "You too," you whispered, still slightly dazed. As you returned to your table, Sarah was practically bouncing excitedly.

"Oh my god, we just met Drew Starkey!" she squealed. "And he put his arm around you! I'm so jealous! you lucky bitch" You couldn't stop smiling. You couldn't believe it had actually happened.

taglist: @chrislilcumslvt @chrepsi

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: was bored lol enjoy!

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #drew fluff #drewswife #drew fanfiction #drew x reader #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x reader

296 notes · View notes

reidsmanuscript · 3 days ago

Text

Profiler, profiled.

Summary: When the past creeps up, more vivid and dangerous than ever, at the same time that the attraction becomes undeniable—and so do the mistakes. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: mutual pinning but painful, angst. wc: 7.3k! TW: Profiler, profiled canons! so Child abuse (implied and discussed), Sexual abuse, Framing/wrongful accusation, Police misconduct, Violence, mentions of traumatic readers' past!, female rage, violent thoughts. not proofread yet A/N: SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE, this is my take on soulmates, thank u for all the feedback/support btw, really mindblowing <3 part I - part II - part III - part IV

　　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Something as routine and comforting as traveling to your hometown for your mom’s birthday can go wrong in an instant—sometimes, all it takes is a single moment of doubt. Unfortunately for Derek Morgan, it was the absence of doubt that could become his sentence.

Hotch was notified, as per FBI protocol, that one of his agents had been arrested as a homicide suspect. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Morgan wasn’t capable of something like that—he had been a prosecutor before joining the Academy, after all. As his boss, he refused to believe it. But as his friend, he knew that the smartest move—the one most people failed to make—was calling a lawyer.

The problem? Morgan didn’t have one.

The Bureau’s legal counsel wouldn’t intervene in a case where one of their own was being charged. It had to be someone who knew him, someone who would believe in him.

There was only one person who fit that description.

A.D.A. Woodvale.

So, after issuing an emergency recall for Reid, Prentiss, Jareau, Garcia, and Rossi—Hotch called you.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

One thing some victims, or their families, do after the person who ruined their lives is convicted is express gratitude. Sometimes immensely, sometimes barely—especially when the verdict isn’t what they had hoped for.

Still, they are grateful for your time and commitment to their pain. That’s why some send gifts like baskets filled with fruit, chocolates, candy, or all three combined.

You were at your desk, late at night, again, reviewing case files and drafting a legal brief, absorbed in the task at hand. The basket with its chocolates, and cookies remained sitting on a chair near the window, quietly out of place among the legal paperwork without any card or name, maybe they forgot to put it or it fell on the way.

The phone rings, and you answer immediately, announcing yourself. When the voice on the other end speaks your name, you recognize it instantly.

“I’m gonna need your help.” Agent Hotchner.

You straighten your back. “What is it? A warrant? It’s going to be hard at t—”

He cuts you off. “Morgan is in trouble.” That was enough to tell you this wasn’t just any ordinary favor.

You hesitate, cautious. “What happened?”

“He was arrested as a suspect in a homicide in Chicago.” Morgan? Homicide? For a moment, you’re ready to refuse—this isn’t your field. You put people in jail, not get them out. But then you remember—he saved your life over a year ago. And the weight of that debt settles heavily on your shoulders.

“Hotch, I... What do you want me to do? I don’t have connections there. Maybe I could talk to—”

He interrupts again. “He’s going to need a good lawyer. I know this isn’t what you do, but you know him. You know he’s not capable of something like that.” There’s a brief silence as you weigh your options, considering your next move.

"The jet takes off first thing tomorrow morning," he says, giving you an out—leaving the decision in your hands.

You exhale, and resolve settling in. "Send me the details. I’ll be there."

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you stepped onto the jet, you spotted Hotch already seated alone. Without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, greeting him with a quiet nod, your back turned toward the entrance.

One by one, the rest of the BAU arrived, offering you brief acknowledgments as they settled in. When Reid stepped onto the jet, he barely glanced up—until he caught sight of the back of your head. He hesitated for just a second before moving to a seat diagonal from yours.

Hotch quickly explained that you were joining them to assist Morgan as his defense counsel. The weight of the situation settled over the jet, unspoken but palpable. You noticed it in the way the air felt heavier, in the subtle shifts of the team’s expressions, like how Prentiss shifted in her seat or the way Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Since the Katie Jacobs case, he wouldn’t call it an obsession—that would be an exaggeration, and his mind rejected the idea of something so unscientific, but a fixation? Perhaps. There was something about you that tugged at the edges of his thoughts more often than he liked to admit. His memories of your first meeting were frustratingly blurred, dulled by the lingering fog of withdrawal, but he remembered enough. The way you carried yourself—composed, sharp, unreadable. The precision of your movements, deliberate in a way that suggested control rather than ease. The way your voice stayed measured even when you were angry, like someone who had learned to sharpen their words into weapons rather than waste them on emotion. And your eyes—steady, assessing, like you were always five steps ahead in a game only you could see.

Did you ever place two magnets next to each other and test how close they could be without touching? If they would repel or attract?

Magnets could only get so close before they either locked together or violently repelled each other. If their north poles faced one another—mirrors of the same force—they would push apart, unable to exist in such perfect reflection. But if one turned, aligning its south to the other’s north, the pull would be instant, inevitable.

That was a physicist's way of explaining why, the moment you caught him in the corner of your vision, you noted how his hair was longer than before, tucked behind his ears; how his fingers brushed over the pages of a book, a well-worn paperback pulled from his bag. Crime and Punishment. The same one you had almost mistaken for yours once. North. North.

But now, seeing it again, you wondered—what did he think about Raskolnikov’s theory of extraordinary men? Did he believe true morality could be measured mathematically, the way Raskolnikov tried to justify his crime with cold logic? Or did he see through it, past the numbers, past the equations, past the desperate rationalizations of a man trying to convince himself he was above consequence?

And what would he think about your take on it? That a man was either a fool for failing to control himself or a coward for refusing to own what he had done? Either way you just wanted to know his opinion. North. South.

You were just about to ask him when JJ spoke up. “I don’t understand. Can you even represent Morgan if you’re an A.D.A.? Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

It was a fair question, one you had asked yourself last night before finding a loophole.

You let out a slow breath, considering. "Technically, I’m not Morgan’s lawyer—he hasn’t called me personally to represent him. And I wouldn’t be joining you as his defense attorney… officially." You glanced at Hotch. "Prosecutors consult on defense cases all the time—off the record. I’m not filing any motions, I’m not putting my name on anything. I’m just… advising."

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. "Advising?"

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t officially defend him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And the police don't need to know every detail about that."

Hotch gave a small nod. "That keeps you in the clear. No official involvement, no risk to your career."

Reid, who had been silent, finally spoke. "But what happens if they’ve already decided Morgan is guilty?"

Your jaw tightened, but Rossi answers first "Then that’s where we come in. We find out who’s setting Morgan up—and we make sure they don’t get away with it."

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you arrived at the police station, you hung back from the group, not wanting to interfere with the BAU’s process. But when Detective Dennison refused to take Hotch to see Morgan, you decided you wouldn’t stand by quietly anymore.

You stepped forward, standing next to Hotch. “Are you going to take us to see Derek Morgan, or not, Detective?”

He glanced at you as though he didn’t understand the urgency. “Detective Gordinski's in with the suspect now”

“Now is when we need to see him.” you shot back.

“Excuse me?” he started to respond, but Hotch cut him off.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch said calmly. “And, in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far. We need to see Agent Morgan now.”

You couldn’t help but think how Hotch was finally getting some work done.

The detective nodded and, after disappearing into a room, came back with another man. Detective Gordinski, you assumed. It was something you were used to, this unspoken assumption that you were a junior, a minor player in the room, because of your age. It happened often when older men met you—defense attorneys, paralegals, specialists, and even police officers. They assumed you were less than you were. Gordinski was no different. When he approached you, he only offered his hand to Hotch.

“Detective Gordinski, CPD,” he said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

Hotch didn’t seem to notice the slight. “You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?”

Gordinski answered with a level of pride that made your stomach turn. “Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

You heard JJ and Reid protest, both equally shocked by his ridiculous statement. And the way Gordinski spoke, as though the case was already closed, irritated you. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I’ve got 72 hours for that,” he replied, clearly still lacking sufficient evidence.

“We’d like to see him,” you said, your tone final. He hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly agreed as Denninson took you and Hotch to see Morgan.

As you entered the interrogation room, you found him in a sort of trance, staring at a photograph in his hands. When he finally looked up, there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked, aware of the detective’s overbearing presence in the room.

Morgan exhaled sharply, turning the photo toward you. “This kid—I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch prompted.

Morgan shook his head, his voice tight. “So, he’s dead. I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.” His gaze flickered between the two of you, frustration and disbelief written all over his face.

You didn’t need to analyze the detective’s stance to know he had already made up his mind—his persistence was nothing more than a show, an act to reinforce a conclusion he had already reached. But the look in Morgan’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He cared about that kid.

Turning to the detective, you asked smoothly, “Is there a more private place where I can speak with my client?”

The man hesitated, taken aback. Up until this moment, you hadn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t an agent. His expression tightened. “I’m afraid we don’t have another space for you and the suspect,” he replied with a forced smile.

You returned his look with a cool, unwavering stare. “You do know that any conversation between me and him falls under lawyer-client privilege, right?”

His mouth opened in protest, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And denying us the proper privacy means that any so-called evidence you think you can get from this interrogation would be inadmissible in court. Not to mention, it’s a direct violation of SSA Morgan’s constitutional rights.” Your tone remained calm, professional—not threatening. Not yet.

The detective narrowed his eyes but gave a short, forced nod, his polite smile not reaching them. “I’ll see what we can do.”

That was code for We’re not doing a damn thing, but we’ll make this as difficult as possible.

Fine. You’d play their game. But first, you needed to find out exactly what they had on Morgan—and fast.

As you step outside, a harsh voice—too raspy and loud for your liking—carries through the room, discussing evidence. You stay quiet, listening. Being on the other side of the law feels strange, but it’s not difficult. If you know how to prosecute, you know the tricks and games cops play. And if you know your opponent's strategy, it’s easier to disarm them and lead them where you want.

The detective asks Rossi if he’s Agent Gideon, and when the detective explains he was the one who sent the profile that led them to Morgan, you curse Gideon internally. First Reid, now Morgan.

"It also said the way the body was placed gently on a mattress, not just tossed on the ground, indicated someone who was probably consumed with guilt, especially for the first victim. The exact words are—'with a guilt-ridden offender,' the BAU postulates the first victim is the most important and the unsub may still visit the place of the crime or even the victim himself.'"

Gordinski’s voice drips with conviction. "Care to guess who visits my first victim every time he's in town?"

You notice Reid glance at you, but you keep your focus on the detective, listening carefully as he continues.

"Then yesterday, another kid ends up dead, and the last person he was with was Derek Morgan. In the boy's pocket, we found one of his FBI business cards, his cell number written on the back. In fact, every time Morgan's in town, he hangs out with kids."

JJ calls it a coincidence.

"A hell of a lot of coincidences," Gordinski retorts.

“I prefer the term 'circumstantial'” you say from the back of the room.

Gordinski turns, sizing you up with an incredulous look—too young, maybe too idealistic. "And you are?"

"Derek Morgan’s attorney." There was no reason to hide anymore, you didn't bother offering your hand.

Gordinski barely reacts before flipping open a file. "Did I mention that your client found the body in 1991? Hidden way back in a vacant lot. Now, don’t they teach you that when a body is hard to find, the person who finds it is always a suspect?"

You do the math quickly, Morgan would have been too young.

And you feel like Reid reads your thoughts when he answers. "There are key pieces of the profile that don't fit, Detective. The age—25 to 35—Morgan was 15 at the time."

"Profile Also says that age is the hardest to predict, and I should never exclude someone simply because of a discrepancy with the age." Gordinski is grasping now, trying to force the facts to fit.

Prentiss speaks up. "What about the speculation that since he didn't leave any evidence at the crime scene, he's likely to have a criminal record or law enforcement knowledge?"

"He may not have had knowledge of law enforcement, but Derek Morgan definitely had a criminal record." He tosses a file onto the table. You open it, scanning the contents. Resisting arrest. Vandalism. Aggravated battery. You inhale deeply.

"So he was a troubled kid, not a murderer. What kind of 15-year-old kills another boy, then deliberately stages the body just to make sure he’s the one to 'find' it?" Your voice is sharp, challenging him to walk into your tramp.

Gordinski smirks. "I’m sure you know psychopaths are very smart people, Miss."

Bingo.

You tilt your head. "So, is Morgan a psychopath? A guilt-ridden killer? Or an FBI agent dumb enough to leave his own business card at the crime scene? Because he can’t be all three, and right now you're contradicting yourself, Detective."

The room is silent for a beat. Gordinski clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the file in his hands. He glares at you like you are his personal enemy.

You don’t give him time to recover. "You're reaching. And I think you know it." you say as you leave the room to look for your client.

And if Reid hadn’t been so mesmerized with the way you had subtly guided Gordinski, he might have given in to the impulse he had to correct him when he addressed you as Miss and not Counselor.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　

Rossi had sent Prentiss and Reid to Morgan’s house to investigate, while you stayed to ensure none of the Detectives would do something sketchy with the proofs.　　

Maybe it was the PTSD Dr. Fitzgerald diagnosed you with when you were 11, but the moment Carl Buford entered the room, something felt off. It wasn’t obvious, more like a second nature—a survival instinct that had been honed over the years. You weren’t always right, of course. You’d had a few false alarms before, but this time, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t in his appearance or his words; it was in the way he presented himself—as someone kind, someone willing to help, harmless. But it triggered something in you. The sirens in your brain went on, even if they were faint, too faint to be taken seriously but still enough to be annoying.

Reid had just returned from Morgan’s house when he saw you standing by the board, JJ on the phone and Rossi talking to you. He noticed how you discreetly stifled a yawn, and it hit him—it was nearly evening. The Cheetos packet that probably belonged to JJ and the half-eaten cheese sandwich from Rossi were the only signs of food nearby. It dawned on him that you likely hadn’t eaten all day.

He didn’t want to be the kind of person who overcompensated in an obvious way, but seeing you like this stirred something in him. It reminded him of the last time he saw you at the mall, how you’d instinctively avoided him, as if you couldn’t stand being around him for more than a few seconds. The longest you’d managed to stay in the same spot was 8.12 seconds.

That had been the last time, though. Now, things felt different. You were talking to Rossi when Reid approached and offered coffee to everyone. You could tell he was overcompensating—or at least, that’s what you assumed.

Then again, maybe you were reading too much into the moment when he’d slightly quickened his pace as you all entered the police station, holding the door open for everyone. Or maybe he was just anxious about his friend and eager to get inside quickly.

Or when you were rummaging through your bag for a pen, and he handed you one without hesitation. It could have been just a simple gesture, a convenient moment. But you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it—if he was trying to do something, anything, to bridge the gap between you.

You felt stupid for liking his gestures, for craving his attention. That’s why you said yes when he offered the coffee—because you couldn’t help it.

And he was happy to do it. He put special care into preparing your cup, even though he hadn’t asked how you took your coffee. Statistically speaking, most people put about two teaspoons of sugar in their coffee, but he didn’t know what you preferred. Maybe you liked it with even more sugar than that, just like he did. Maybe you didn’t use sugar at all, maybe you used honey.

He caught himself before he poured too much, measuring out what he assumed was the “average” amount, then handed it to you with a small, careful smile. There was a brief moment when your fingers brushed, and maybe his lingered for a second longer than necessary.

But when you took a sip, it hit you. The sweetness of the sugar was overwhelming, and the unexplainable presence of Carl Buford seemed to crawl into your mind, making it worse. It was your fault for not telling him no sugar. Your hand froze for a moment as you fought to swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

Reid noticed. He saw how you stiffened, how your grip on the cup tightened, and he assumed he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe you didn’t like sugar in your coffee, or maybe you just didn’t like it at all. He felt a pang of regret, thinking he’d misread the situation. He wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, he wondered if he was always this wrong about you. North. North.

You didn’t want to overreact or be rude, so you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to splash some water on your face and steady yourself. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, silently telling yourself to calm down.

Maybe you were overreacting to Buford. But that thought was short-lived. The moment Hotch and JJ entered the room and she began speaking, confirming what you had already sensed, everything inside you seemed to crack. Carl Buford—the man who was fervently helping the police catch Morgan, was the same one who had written a letter to clear his record. The contradiction hit you like a punch to the gut, and you couldn’t shake the sound of the sirens growing.

You followed Hotch as he approached the interrogation room, your mind racing with the unsettling sense you couldn’t shake. You didn’t even notice Reid following behind you, keeping a respectful distance. Hotch entered the room, and the questioning began.

"Carl Buford." Morgan’s voice was tight, his shoulders tensing at the name. He stood up from the table where his arms had been resting. "What?"

"Carl Buford. He runs the youth center." Hotch's voice was calm, measured, but you could feel the pressure building behind it. From the other side of the glass, you stood in front of the glass, only for a moment, before Reid joined you at a respectful distance.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Morgan's tone was dismissive, brushing off the mention of Buford like the idea of talking about him was unbearable.

"He's responsible for getting your records expunged." The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Maybe it was the steady presence of Reid beside you that kept you grounded, or maybe it was that something about Buford just didn’t sit right with you. The sirens in your head grew louder.

"I told you to stay the hell out of my business." Morgan’s voice rose, defensive, but not with rage—more like a wounded animal cornered by a predator.

"You said you visit the youth center every time you come here," Hotch pressed, not backing down.

"So what?" Morgan spat out the words like they were poison.

"Buford says he hasn't spoken to you in years. Why don’t you visit the man who made your career possible?"

"Damn you, Hotch." Morgan’s fist slammed onto the table as he stood up, knocking the box over in frustration. That was when you knew. The sirens in your brain were deafening now—loud enough to drown everything else out, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The sickness in your stomach was undeniable. You swallowed it down, fighting the urge to leave, but your instincts were already pushing you forward. You grabbed the door handle, taking one last breath before entering.

"Agent Hotchner, I would like to speak to my client." When Hotch didn’t move, still focused on Morgan, you added, "Now."

With a quiet but firm nod, Hotch left the room, his stoic expression unchanged. You sat down in the chair, your mind racing even faster. If you wanted Morgan to trust you—if you wanted to get through to him—you had to give him something first.

“Aren’t you supposed to be defending me? Looking for a way to get me out of here?” he snapped.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Derek.”

“I am being honest. I didn’t kill those kids! He has nothing to do with this!”

“Then why is he so eager to help the police?” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just glared at you, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had learned, maybe too many times, that the world didn’t always care about the truth.

"Derek I can't do much if you don't trust me." You say as calmly as you can.

Morgan let out a humorless chuckle. “Trust you?” he said, shaking his head. “I barely know you.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flickering over him. That’s fair. Trust wasn’t something that could be commanded, especially not in a place like this.

But you also knew what it was like to sit on the wrong side of an interrogation table. To have someone who was supposed to protect you look at you like you were already guilty. To feel like the walls were closing in, no matter how much truth you were screaming.

You swallowed, forcing the memories down before they could surface. If you wanted Morgan to trust you, you had to give him something first.

“Derek… I’m on your side, whether you believe it or not. Not because I owe you one, but because I can recognize someone whose trust was betrayed by the person who was supposed to protect them.” That made him look at you—really look at you. And you hated it. Hated the way he was seeing straight through you.

Being read, being seen—that wasn’t something you allowed often. But Morgan had spent his life reading people, understanding them, profiling them to find the truth. And you had spent your life sharpening your edges, and weaponizing strategically everything you didn’t like. But right now, you were offering him a piece of yours.

You took a slow, measured breath, and even though the room felt too warm, you forced yourself to keep going.

“My parents… my birth parents ran a meth lab in the kitchen,” you said, voice steady, though your hands curled into fists beneath the table. “When I was four, it exploded. I was sent to the hospital with burns, malnutrition, and withdrawal symptoms I didn’t understand. That was the first time CPS got involved. They put me in the system.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t shift, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Recognition.

“And if you know anything about the system, you know it’s broken. It fails. It doesn’t protect the people who need it the most,” you continued, your voice steady, but your chest felt tight. “There are cracks in it, and some people…take advantage of that. They play the part, they act like saviors, they pretend to care.” Your voice caught, just for a second. But you forced yourself to push through it. “I know men like Carl Buford. I grew up with one of them.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. That name—Buford—hit the air like a hammer. You weren’t just asking for trust. You were offering something real. Something raw.

His fingers curled into fists on the table, and for a second, he looked away, shaking his head like he was trying to push a memory aside. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t challenge you. Because he knew.

“And what happened?” he asked, voice lower now, controlled but heavy.

You exhaled sharply. “I clawed my way out, just like you did, got adopted when I was 8. And when I had the chance, I became the system—to change it the only way it’s possible, from the inside out.”

Morgan let the silence stretch, studying you, his fingers tapping once against the cold metal table. Finally, he let out a breath, something almost like defeat but not quite. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, straightening, “We stop playing defense.”

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You stepped out of the room, and though the tremor in your hands had subsided, the warmth lingering on your back remained. Scanning the precinct, your gaze locked onto the person you were looking for—Gordinski.

You strode toward him, your pace sharp, your voice sharper. “Are you going to charge my client with something, or are you just going to keep stalling?”

He smirked, relishing the frustration in your tone. “Miss Woodvale.” The mockery in his voice was deliberate, savoring the way your desperation bled through. “I still have over 40 hours to hold your client as a suspect.”

“Have you found any new evidence? Because all you have is a questionable profile and circumstantial evidence.” You leaned in slightly, wanting to get under his skin.

“We have motive.” He said it like it was a trophy, something definitive, something final.

You let out a short, dry laugh. “No, you have a grudge. There’s a difference, and if you don’t know it, the jury won’t buy it.” You’d seen stronger cases collapse under weaker arguments.

His jaw tensed as he looked down at you, exhaling through his nose like you were an inconvenience. “Look, we have three dead kids and a family that wants closure. We’re just doing our job.”

You knew it was a low blow. You knew it was too much.

“Oh yeah? I wonder where I’ve heard that before?”

That was exactly why you said it.

Gordinski’s expression twisted as realization struck. One of the other detectives snapped at you, voices rising, the BAU stiffened, and you could already see Hotch preparing to apologize—everything was escalating.

Then— “Hey! What, did we turn him loose?”

The tension shifted. The detectives forgot your words in an instant, all eyes snapping to the officer outside the holding room—where Morgan had been.

Chaos erupted. Gordinski bolted toward the room, Dennison scrambled to dispatch patrols, Prentiss and JJ exchanged alarmed glances.

And that’s when you slipped away. Nobody noticed… Well nobody except Reid. He always had an eye on you, even from a distance.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The air was cold, and in the rush of the moment, you’d forgotten to grab your coat. But in some strange way, you were grateful for it—the chill seemed to cool the simmering anger that was creeping through your veins as you headed toward the community center.

Morgan walked beside you, leading the way. You kept your head low, ducking behind columns to avoid the patrols that were probably looking for you. The familiar sensation of hiding felt strangely nostalgic—if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine the cup of coffee in your hand as you walked through the campus at Harvard.

After ten minutes, you spotted a small field with the lights still on. A kid was out there, playing football by himself. Morgan moved closer to him.

“Lookin' good there, kid.”

You stayed a few feet behind, not wanting to interfere.

“I was tryin' to call you.” The kid stopped running and looked at Morgan.

“I’m here now.” Morgan spread his arms, inviting and friendly.

“Who’s that?” The kid glanced at you quickly, signaling toward you with a tilt of his chin. Unable to stay hidden any longer, you stepped onto the field and leaned back against the fencing, crossing your arms.

“Someone I trust. One of mine.” Morgan’s bold words were enough to drop the kid’s defenses.

You stayed silent, as invisible as you could be, observing how the kid tensed and relaxed automatically when Morgan mentioned needing to talk about Buford. You never thought you were good with kids—didn’t know how to act around them without overthinking, constantly looking for signs and flaws.

The more they talked, the more Derek described Buford’s manipulative ways, using his influence to make kids trust him only to exploit that trust, the more the freezing air of Chicago couldn’t keep the heat from rising inside you. Your hands curled into fists, squeezing your sides, wrinkling your shirt.

There were so many sick ways people used to reward or control others. Buford used alcohol and false bonds to make kids feel like adults, while others used toys or candy.

“My oldest brother’s in jail. My sister was paralyzed in a drive-by... She’s eight years old, and I’m all my mom’s got left. I gotta get us outta here.”

No kid should ever carry that kind of weight. No child should feel like enduring abuse is the only way out.

“Carl’s gonna make sure I get into college. Then I can make something of myself.” The gratitude in his voice was painful—the twisted sense of owing someone everything for their attention, their gifts.

You closed your eyes and looked up at the sky, trying to keep yourself from walking into the building alone and finishing whatever it was you had come here to do.

“James, you are something, man. You’re something right here, right now, without Carl Buford.” Morgan’s words hit you hard. He was right. James was someone. He was someone. You were someone, too. Despite everything, you were still breathing, still standing.

A tiny part of yourself felt grateful when you heard James had told Damien about what he was going through, that he had been brave enough to speak up and look for someone who would believe him and would do something about it. Damien knew. Morgan connected the same dots and realized who was staging the whole thing up.

Carl. Motherfucker. Buford.

Derek eventually finished talking to the kid and motioned for you to follow him. You didn’t know what his next move was, but you were backing him up. “Derek?”

He turned to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want to do, I have your back.” You knew he saw it in your eyes—an intense, boiling rage that had driven you to places both good and bad. He knew that whatever he was going to do next, you wouldn’t stop him or doubt him.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

He gave you instructions on how to get through the back door of the office. But when you got there, Morgan was already calling him out.

“All these years, I kept my mouth shut. I let you go on being a hero. Carl Buford, my mentor.”

Buford’s back was toward you, and the more he talked, the more the air seemed to thicken with the heat of your rage. Your vision narrowed, blurred at the edges with red. A man. No—a monster. A predator who walked free for far too long, spinning his web of lies, manipulating, violating, ruining.

And he had the audacity to deny it. The smugness in his voice. The complete absence of remorse.

“Whatever lies James told you…” he said so easily, as if that erased the truth. As if that rewrote history.

Your hands clenched so hard they ached. How many lives had he destroyed? How many boys had suffered under his hands? You had seen men like him before—hell, you had been a child under the power of a man like him once. The weight of their hands. The control they wielded. The false kindness that masked something vile.

Your stomach twisted violently as you took in the sight of his office. The trophies. Row after row of gleaming gold, polished plaques. A shrine to his own ego. A testament to the world that this man was trusted, respected, celebrated.

And then you saw it. Dr. Or you think you did

The word burned itself into your mind like a scar. Dr. Calloway. It wasn’t his name, but your hands trembled anyway, your breath coming fast and ragged, and the sirens grew louder and louder. Was it the name? Was it the way the gold glinted under the dim light? Or was it just the overwhelming wrongness of all of this?

Buford was still talking. Still spewing poison.

“How many lives have I provided? Look at you. You’d probably be dead by now.”

Lives.

Lives he had ruined.

Lives you could still save.

Your fingers curled around the base of a trophy—a heavy one, sharp at the edges. You barely registered the name engraved on it as your grip tightened, your knuckles going white.

For a split second, your mind whispered, Do it. The same one that had accompanied you in moments where you couldn’t move. Moments when your body wouldn’t answer to your orders. The voice of that version of yourself that would unleash violence. Do. It.

But then—Morgan. This wasn’t your moment. This wasn’t your fight.

But if he wanted to tear this office apart, you would hand him every single thing worth breaking. You would burn it to the ground and stand there, just to watch Buford scream as the flames took him.

Morgan’s voice cut through the storm inside your head.

“Actually, I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am.”

And so did you. Because this rage—this blistering, all-consuming, blood-boiling rage—was just another scar left by men like him. Men who stole, who twisted, who took and took and took until all that was left was ruin.

The sirens in your mind screamed. The voices clawed at your skull, howling for justice, for vengeance, for something more than just words, more than just silence.

Just like the ghosts of the past. Just like the hands of the past. Just like Calloway in the past. In the present.

Calloway. Buford.

"I never hurt you. You could have said no.”

Your grip on the trophy tightened, the sharp edges digging into your palm, but you barely felt the sting. All you saw was red. All you felt was fire.

"You're under arrest, Carl." The words cut through the haze, sharp and final.

Buford barely had time to react before the officers stepped in, twisting his arms behind his back, snapping cold metal around his wrists. He said something—denial, excuses, more of the same filth that men like him always spewed—but it didn’t matter.

It was over.

The red began to fade. The fire inside you simmered, but the embers still burned low, smoldering beneath your ribs. Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls as you unclenched your fist. The trophy slipped from your fingers, clattering against the floor with a hollow, metallic thud.

Morgan was still staring at Buford, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

For a moment, you wondered if he felt it too—that same bone-deep ache, the need to destroy, to make it right in ways the law never could. But then he inhaled, long and slow, and you forced yourself to do the same.

He saw the trophy in your hand, and you expected to find judgmental eyes—eyes that would look at you like you were dangerous, like you had lost control, like you were no better than the man they were dragging away in cuffs.

But there was no judgment in Morgan’s gaze. Just understanding. Maybe even something closer to recognition.

Your fingers trembled around the trophy, your pulse still hammering in your ears, but you couldn’t let go. Not yet. The weight of it felt good in your grip, solid and real. It would’ve been so easy—so easy—to swing, to carve your fury into something tangible.

He must’ve seen it in you. The way your shoulders still heaved, the way your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Morgan reached out, slow, steady. Not to stop you. Not to take it away. Just there.

A lifeline, if you wanted it.

You exhaled shakily, then forced your fingers to unclench. The trophy slipped from your grasp, landing with a dull thud against the floor.

Your hands were empty now. But the fire still burned.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Resting against the wall, breathing heavily, you watched as they took Buford away under your intense gaze. Gordinski approached you.

“Your actions could be taken as obstruction of justice, Counselor,” he said, the sarcasm in your title not going unnoticed.

An old man threatening you, just to scare you and gloat himself, a pathetic move, especially now when there were still remains of the fire, not ashes yet. You sighed, as if too tired to deal with him, not even bothering to look his way. “And what are you going to do? Arrest me?” You finally glanced at him. “I have the General Attorney one phone call away, and I could charge you with misconduct and Sixth Amendment violation, which could dismiss the case you have been working for so long.”

You let the words sink in for a second while he remained serious. “You got your guy Detective. Walk away while you can.”

Like in chess, any smart player knows when to retreat. He glared at you but ultimately backed off.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid watching. For a moment, you couldn’t help but return his stare. But then, lifting your chin, you towards the SUV, ignoring the strange sting of shame, the kind of shame you feel when you want to show the best version of yourself to someone, only to show the worst. It wasn’t the first time you had talked your way out of a charge, but it was the first time you felt ashamed of doing it.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You and Morgan were the last to board the jet. After last night, you'd talked—just not about the… incident. He'd invited you to the grave of the unidentified child with him and his family, and, for some strange reason, it had brought you a sense of peace. Afterward, you joined the rest of the team on the way home.

You spotted Reid sitting by the window, absorbed in his book. North. South. You weren’t one to judge anyone’s demons, especially when you couldn’t even control your own. Maybe that’s why you sat in front of him. Maybe you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to know what was going on in his head.

When he noticed you, his eyes widened slightly, and his fingers nervously traced the edge of the page. Was this it? Would you confront him? Would he finally have the chance to explain himself?

"Do you think Raskolnikov ever believed he deserved the punishment?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm, meeting his gaze. "Or did he just convince himself he was too special to face it?"

Reid blinked, clearly caught off guard, but after a beat, he answered. "I think Raskolnikov believed he was above it all. That his intelligence and theories made him different. But that’s the tragedy—he never understood that punishment isn’t just about what you deserve. It’s about confronting what you’ve done. The guilt you carry. Sometimes, it’s about having someone who believes in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself." His voice softened with the words, as if careful not to scare you off.

You didn’t break eye contact, letting the weight of his words settle. After a pause, you glanced back down at the book. "Someone like Sonia?"

Reid’s gaze flickered, sensing the shift in the conversation. You weren’t just talking about Raskolnikov anymore. Maybe it was about him. Maybe about you. "Someone like Sonia," he said quietly. "She believed in him, not because he was special, but because she saw his humanity. Sometimes, it’s not about whether someone deserves forgiveness—it’s whether someone else is willing to help them find it."

A quiet tension lifted from your shoulders, and your expression softened, the unspoken understanding between you both almost palpable in the air. North. South.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

By lunchtime the next day, the events of the prior day still gnawed at you. The feeling only worsened when your eyes landed on the basket sitting in the corner of your office—filled with chocolates and candy.

Taking a deep breath, you picked it up and turned to your temporary assistant, a guy covering for Molly while she was on maternity leave. “I’m stepping out for twenty minutes,” you told him.

Basket in hand, your thoughts blurred together as you walked toward the park. It was a familiar refuge, a place where kids and elderly chess players gathered, lost in their games. A little distraction wouldn’t hurt. It would be good for you to clear your mind—and they always appreciated it when you brought baskets like these or treats from your mom’s bakery.

　　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　　　　　　　　

So we finally see more of reader's past! been waiting for this since i started drafting the story in my mind. You'll know more the next chapter!　　　　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3 Tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner<3

322 notes · View notes

c4toru · 2 days ago

Text

BLOWING OFF STEAM !

Sypnosis : you’re on the brink of failing and in desperate need of a tutor. nerd!suguru is here to save the day! what happens when you find the nerdy perv a bit cute..— what?

Warnings : 18+ content, female reader, switch!reader, switch!geto, pervy suguru, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex ( m + f receiving ), cowgirl position, panty sniffing, etc.

WC : 2.7k

a/n : i hope you all like this !! i’ve had nerd!suguru on my brain for a while, nobody ever writes him this pathetic, c4toru is here to save the day! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ minors & ageless blogs dni

“fuck..” you grumble, you had just received a passive email from your statistics professor informing you that your grades have dropped severely in the past couple of weeks. he was concerned with the fact that this continuous behavior could lead to you failing his class, insisting that you give tutoring a try. you run your hands through your sleek hair, leaning far back into your chair before sighing noisily.

you always had a tough time with maintaining decent grades, especially in courses as complicated as statistics. it was a class that always left you feeling extremely stagnant. you don’t know anyone in your class but you do in fact briefly recall your professor naming one particular man as his top student.

suguru geto wasn’t necessarily intimidating, he seemed very welcoming and kind! well, at least he portrayed that side of himself to you. you had once done a quick in-class study session together as part of an assignment, he was exceptionally shy but not a total freak. the rest of your classmates tended to avoid associating themselves with him, not wanting to be labeled as a friend of the peevish and perfectionist nerd.

you dragged your hands down your face before slouching over your laptop once more. you figured one study session with him wouldn’t be the end of the world, very much awkward but not a total disaster. your nails hit the keyboard, quickly typing until you’ve scrounged up a coherent email explaining your situation. you began skimming through the bold text, your eyes gliding across the luminant screen before clicking ‘send’.

it feels as though an additional weight has been added to your workload. you stretch your limbs, pressing your lips together before raising yourself out of your seat. you turn, heading to your bed when you hear a raucous noise coming from behind you. ding

sugurugeto : of course i can help. although, the library tends to be too crowded for me to focus.. could we study at your place? | 10:05pm

you stare at the screen for a while, narrowing your eyes, bringing your hand up to your frazzled face, harshly pressing it to your forehead. “is he fucking serious..?” you whine, letting a random nerd from your statistics class into your dorm room, were you crazy..? you contemplate your next move, going through numerous situations as you play them all out in your head. “ugh maybe i am crazy,” you groan while you type away at your computer, clicking send on your message reluctantly.

y/n : that’s understandable, if you don’t have any other study locations in mind then we could do so at my place. thank you for the help! | 10:15pm

sugurugeto : does tomorrow at 6pm sound good for you? | 10:16pm

y/n : that sounds good. i’ll send you my address, thank you | 10:23pm

you shut your laptop, refraining from relishing in this strange moment. you now have a study period tomorrow with suguru geto, you figured it wouldn’t be too bad. little did you know, suguru had the biggest crush on you. he had been eyeing you ever since you stepped through the door to your shared class. the tiny skirts you wore perfectly showed off your soft and delicate legs, always causing his mouth to water. the singular time you had spoke to him, he swore he was dreaming.. how could a pretty girl like you ever come near him?

when he received your email, he swears his heart stopped beating. was it some sort of scam or even worse, were you hacked..? he truly couldn’t believe the sight before his eyes. he felt the butterflies in his stomach as his entire body shook like a leaf in the wind while he typed up his message.

when he suggested he go over to your place, it was partially true! crowds did frighten him a bit.. though, he did love the library. truthfully, he just wanted to see you in what he calls ‘your natural form’. — god what a loser. despite everything, even if you weren’t enthusiastic about your upcoming meetup with him, suguru was sure ready for your little study date, at least that’s what he viewed it as.

the following morning came and went hastily meanwhile you prepare yourself as well as your dorm for quite the guest. you whip your head towards your clock, its 6:15pm, where is this guy..?— ding! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ you swiftly move towards the door, taking in a shaky breath before opening your room door with a soft smile.

“hello! i thought you might’ve gotten lost.. hah..uhh come sit!” you awkwardly motion towards your desk, you pull a chair out for him before subtly staring him down. he looked surprisingly normal, his outfit was fairly casual but his hair wasn’t tied up in his usual bun. his hair looked soft as it gently caressed his facial features, were his cheeks always so toned.. god his glasses really do make his nose look deli—

“y/n..? where did you want to start?” he repeated, dragging you out of your trance. “oh! anywhere, you can lead the pace.” you reply, shooting him a soft smile out of reassurance. you both settle in and get to work, hours going by as he grills you on multiple different lessons. you lean back in your chair letting out an exasperated sigh, “can we take a break please.. i might go crazy if i don’t,” you pout, eyebrows slightly raising when you hear his smooth laugh while he agrees in amusement.

“why don’t you leave your hair like this more often hmm?” you tease, twirling a small snippet of it with your fingers. his face flushes a bright red before wrapping his fingers around your wrist, halting your movements. “oh! i’m sorry i didn’t realiz—” . . . “can i kiss you?” he replies abruptly, he has a pathetic look on his face, almost like he’s begging.

“what..?” you question, you’re frozen with wide eyes. you’re shocked to say the least, suguru wasn’t necessarily hard to look at. he had a pretty face to him, a sharp jawline, and lustful purple eyes that really drag you in. “i- you’re just so pretty! a-and i’ve never been alone with a girl like this before..” he stutters shyly, you sort of feel bad for the guy. it’s clear how much of a virgin he is, you can’t recall a time where he’s even looked in a girls direction!

“seriously.. hah- just one time okay? i’m only doing this as a ‘thank you’ alright.” he nods excitedly, staring at you with longing puppy dog eyes. you remove his glasses, setting them on the desk before cupping his face gently with both of your hands as you pull him in and give him a soft kiss. you felt his breath hitch as you both pull back slightly, he looks away quickly while using both of his hands to cover his. . . crotch?

“don’t look!” he pleads, shifting his body away from you. you’re taken aback by his sudden tone of voice as well as his humiliated body language. your eyes narrow in on him, “suguru.. are you hard?” you ask, his face is tomato red and his eyes are wide like a deer in the headlights. he quickly grabs his glasses and his book bag that’s hanging on your chair before attempting to bolt for the door. “wait!” you yelp, grabbing his arm as you try to pull him back, “i-i’ll help you, just sit back down.”

you have no idea what’s gotten into you, all you can focus on is the fact that this nerdy perv is now sitting on your bed with his pants off as you’re on your knees in front of him, staring up at him with doe eyes. his shirt is lifted and the hem is tucked into his mouth. your hands reach for the waistline on his boxers, slowly pulling them down when his cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. he’s whimpering while you stare intensely at his pretty curve and pink mushroom tip, pressing your thighs together at the pure sight of his lengthy cock.

“m’gonna touch you kay?” your lip is tucked between your teeth while he nods expectantly. you smear the pre-cum forming on his slit, a wad of spit leaving your mouth and dripping right on the head of his cock. your hand soon envelopes his tip, moving up and down in a twisting motion that causes his hips to buck.

“nngh- f-feels so good,” suguru whined, letting go the hem of his shirt as he brings a hand up to cover his lewd expressions. you bring your mouth to his cock head before pursing your lips, letting an obscene amount of spit dribble all the way down his shaft. he lets out a wet moan at the sight.

you’re planting harsh kisses down his length, licking and sucking periodically around his base. “want you to use my mouth kay? just want you t’a feel good,” you say seductively, licking your lips before you engulf his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking against his frenulum. “f-fuck! so w-warm.. nngh please!” he pleads, his heavy hand softly caressing your head as you began bobbing your head up and down on his hefty cock.

your hands firmly grip his thighs as he bucks his hips up further into your mouth causing you to gag, throat tightening around his shaft, earning an elated moan from him. “c-can i fuck your mouth p-please..?” he needly asks, eyebrows furrowed while he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. you stare up at him, batting your long eyelashes when you nod, humming around him.

he’s rutting his hips into your mouth, cock hitting the back of your throat deliciously. “y-yeah take it.. hah” he grumbles, you’re being starved for breath as spit drips all over the base of his cock, traveling down to his balls. “m’gonna cum! w-where do i—” he whines, you push his hands off and take initiative, suckling on his flushed tip while your free hand strokes the rest of his length. “o. . oh f-fuck m’cumming! d-don’t stop ah!” he pleads, his hand covering his own mouth, his eyelids fluttering as he’s cumming down your throat. you moan at the action, eyebrows furrowed as you swallow his thick fluids.

you pull off his cock, he winces at the friction before you climb on top of him, pushing him against the mattress, giving him a rough kiss. your tongue prodding against his, spit connecting your lips when you pull back. “feel good sugu?” you smirk, your smitten expressions fall when he flips the two of you over. “i- i wanna taste you, can i?” he replies, pawing at the waistband of your sweatpants in desperation.

“do you even know what you’re doing..” you question him, unsure if you really want to continue this relationship. “well n-no! not yet. . but you can teach me! i’ll be good i promise.” he’s practically begging you with pathetic heart eyes. you’re just so cute, he doesn’t know how to act anymore. “ugh.. fine just go slow ‘kay?” you whisper, hands covering your face out of embarrassment.

he’s pulling your sweats down, tossing them in the corner of the room. you’re wearing these pastel pink panties with lace on the borders, small print of roses and hearts all across the front, a small white bow in the center. suguru feels lightheaded, he could probably cum untouched if he stared long enough. he caresses your thighs, spreading them apart slowly as you feel his hot breath flowing against your clothed cunt.

his tongue escapes his mouth, licking a long stripe from the outline of your hole up to your mound. you’re letting out soft moans while he leaves sweet delicate kisses on your covered clit.

his nose pressing up against your cunt as he’s sucking and licking the fabric. “hah.. you smell so delicious, think m’gonna go crazy,” he groans, tonguing your clit through the cloth, earning loud yelps from you. “nngh! you’re so n-nasty.. ah!” you cry, your hips jerking up into his face.

he hooks his two hands into your panties before dragging them down your legs, tossing them near his sweats, hoping he’ll be able to take them home as a souvenir. “be gentle, if you go too fast it won’t feel good..” you whimper as you widen your legs, a hand coming down to spread yourself open for him to see. his mouth is beginning to water as he inches closer towards your dripping cunt.

“stop staring! j-just do it already!” you mewl, your hands coming up to cup your perky breasts. he rubs his thumb on your puffy clit, gently spitting on it before giving it a long suck. he's planting sloppy kisses all over your cunt, from your labias to your twitching hole. “so sweet mmf..” he moans into your pussy, delving back into your wet folds.

“i-inside! put a finger inside- hah..nngh!” you cry out, needing more stimulation. he slowly inserts his middle finger into your sopping wet cunt, it’s going in with such ease despite how thick his fingers are. he’s in awe at how well your pussy his swallowing him before testing the waters and squeezing in another finger.

“y-you’re so tight.. does it hurt?” he asks worried, he’s slowly thrusting his fingers inside you, the pace is almost agonizing. “no just- p-please keep going.. nngh,” you shake your head, begging him to continue as you feel yourself getting closer.

he’s putting his parched lips back onto your swollen clit, sloshing his tongue against it as he pistons his digits deep inside you. “ff-fuuuckkk.. right there suguru! m’gonna- ah!” you yawp, thighs tightening around his head while your hands grab fist fulls of his hair.

your cunt is dripping your slick all over his face and he’s gulping up every last drop. he’s humming little ‘mhm’ s as you ride out your orgasm on his broad nose. he pulls his thick fingers out of you , you stare down at his disheveled face. his glasses are crooked, hair a complete mess with your juices covering his face.

you sit up, crawling towards him, latching your hands onto his shoulders and kissing his fucked out lips harshly. “want you so bad.., can i? please sugu..” now you’re the one pouting and begging him for more. of course he’s nodding in agreement, he could never turn down a pretty little thing like you especially when you’re pleading for his cock.

you’re pushing him against the bed, plump thighs straddling his hips. “lemme make you feel good sugu- hah,” you whine, stroking his heavy cock before lining him up with your warm entrance, sinking yourself down on him.

his hands find your hips, grabbing onto them for dear life as your pretty pussy sucks him in. “s-slow please, you feel so good mnngh!” he moans, your hips rocking into his viciously. your pace is already so deadly for him, a virgin former virgin at that. “fuckk y/n p-please! i can’t- shiiiit. . s-so good mmf!” he babbles before being silenced by your dainty palm.

“f-fuck..just shut up- nngh!” you mewl, one hand silencing him while the other digs into his chest. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your sweet cunt milks him.

you’re letting out lewd moans meanwhile the melodious sound of skin slapping fills the room. your feet rest on top of his thighs, you’re bouncing up and down as your creamy pussy swallows his curvy cock justtt right.

your tired body leans flush to his chest, slowly grinding your hips together before you remove your hand from his mouth and landing a sloppy kiss to his lips. your tongues swirling together in unison, “wanna cum p-please y/n, wan’ it so bad nngh,” he cries, drawing a giggle out of you. how pathetic.

“yeah? c’mon give it to me big boy, want it all inside- hah..” you reply, biting your lip. he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist while he bucks his hips up into you, slick balls slapping against your ass. “ah! m’gonna cum sugu, r-right there!” you moan into the crook of his neck, leaving kisses behind his ear.

you finally gush all over him, your juices spraying all over his lower abdomen. “f-fuck you’re so tightt! m’cumming- hah.. mmf!” suguru rambles, his reddened tip releases thick white spurts into you as he pounds into your cervix. he’s cumming so hard he swears he’s seeing stars, only thing bringing him back down was your soft pleas for a kiss.

“kiss me suguru, p-please mmh,” you kiss him passionately, tongue moving its way throughout his mouth as you both grip onto each other, hungry for one another. you let go of him, caressing his pretty face before pulling apart to flop your body over next to him as you both struggle to catch your breath. you are sitting in comfortable silence until. .

“y/n? does this mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now?” he asks innocently, turning towards you, his thumb caressing your cheek.

you sigh, glueing your eyes shut. what a fuckin’ nerd

likes and reblogs are always appreciated! i might write little drabbles bout this duo in the future ^.^ their story definitely isn’t over.

327 notes · View notes