#neither of them plan on sparing the other
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𝄞 bloodhound
𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader
(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.
✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,
✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D
With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.
By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.
In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.
You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.
And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.
Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.
Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.
I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡
Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.
Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.
That outfit from yesterday.
With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-
Sure enough, the lid is open.
✦
“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”
The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.
The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.
The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.
You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.
What an awful place, you think to yourself.
…But coming here had a purpose.
Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.
Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.
To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.
A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.
“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”
Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.
Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.
It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:
Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—
Clack, clack… Clack.
You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.
“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“
When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.
“Ma’am?” He turns.
“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.
For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.
When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.
A sharp laugh.
“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“
As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.
He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.
…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.
Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.
If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.
In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.
Thoughtfully, you blink.
As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.
Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.
It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?
And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?
“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.
“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.
“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”
Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.
“He’s…”
“Yep. Like I said-“
“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.
The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”
“-How much?”
You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.
No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.
Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.
Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.
As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.
A word relieves you of worries for naught.
“Nothing.”
…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?
“E-Excuse me?”
He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”
Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.
“But, are you-“
“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”
And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—
“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”
A squeeze of your heart.
Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.
“When can we get him out of this cage?”
You ask without looking his way.
The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.
“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”
Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.
He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.
It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.
“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.
Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—
The ground beneath you all but gives way.
“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”
He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.
However, you do catch him shrugging.
“No clue.”
✦
A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.
You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.
This is your house.
This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.
Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?
What is he spotting in you?
Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.
Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.
But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.
But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.
You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.
He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.
Not quite.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.
The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.
Your heart stirs.
Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.
He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.
Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.
Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.
You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.
And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.
“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.
Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“
A labored sigh.
Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.
Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.
There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:
One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)
He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.
Oh, and then three—
When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.
✦
He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.
To your surprise, he lets you.
Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.
With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.
Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.
Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.
None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.
He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.
If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.
Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.
Besides…
Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.
Ahem.
It’s late.
Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.
The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.
You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.
“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.
From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.
Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.
Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—
“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”
A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.
“Sylus.”
Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.
…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.
✦
You blink and autumn is in full throttle.
You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.
Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.
You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.
Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.
Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.
Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.
Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.
At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…
Potential witnesses if he does.
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.
Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.
You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.
You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.
…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—
A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.
You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.
It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.
Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.
…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.
Then-
Tap tap tap.
Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—
You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.
By the sounds of it, he’s already close.
“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”
-Closer and gaining still.
Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.
You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.
“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”
No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.
You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.
You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.
As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.
Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.
“Sylus-“
You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.
Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.
Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’
You turn the corner and blanche.
Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.
And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.
The bottom falls through.
The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.
✦
“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”
With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.
The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.
“Y-You’re not my dog.”
One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-
That can’t be Sylus.
For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.
“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”
With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”
That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.
“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”
D-Dragonfruit? How does he…
The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.
…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.
“Y-You’re not-“
Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.
“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”
…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.
Not in your tiny apartment.
“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”
Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.
Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?
He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”
You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.
But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!
You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.
“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.
Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.
The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…
And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.
Sylus, it all says.
But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.
He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.
Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.
“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.
“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”
He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”
And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?
Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”
You do believe it. But it’s crazy.
He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.
Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-
“So? Do we have a deal or not?”
And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?
Or several.
✦
A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.
It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.
Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.
…As do your bones.
Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.
Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.
You gasp. “Sylus-“
You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.
He snarls.
“Quiet. I’m eating.”
Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.
He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.
‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’
“Good girl,” he practically purrs.
He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.
Not as much as you do right now.
“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.
But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.
But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—
“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.
“Just take the day off.”
Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.
“O-Okay.”
As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.
So you glance down.
He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.
He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.
Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.
That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.
You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.
…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.
Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:
Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.
Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.
“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”
He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.
“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”
You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.
And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.
His cock is somehow bigger.
Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.
Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.
Point is- he’s insatiable.
You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.
In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.
…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.
Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.
“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“
A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.
Challenging.
He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.
It’s the least he can do.
“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”
Your eyes bulge from your skull.
His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.
From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.
When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.
Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.
He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.
You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.
“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”
You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.
He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”
You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.
Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.
Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”
And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.
So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.
The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.
Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.
He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.
Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.
For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.
He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.
Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—
Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.
He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….
“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.
With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”
Void of words, you nod.
The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.
Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.
The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.
He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.
You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.
He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”
One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.
With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—
His knot pops inside with a gasp.
Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.
He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.
When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.
The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.
You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.
You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.
Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.
Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.
Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.
“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.
“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”
“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.
Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”
He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.
“It’s too big,” you cry.
“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”
As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.
There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.
“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.
And you—
(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)
Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.
Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.
“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”
Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.
With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.
His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.
You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“
“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.
“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”
Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-
“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.
“So. Did you like it..?”
“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“
He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”
Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.
“I- I guess so. Yeah.”
“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.
“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.
In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.
“When I know it’s manageable.”
If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.
“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.
“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”
𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡
#sylus#sylus love and deepspace#sylus smut#love and deepspace smut#lads#lads smut#sylus x reader smut#sylus x mc#sylus x you#sylus x reader#sylus qin#hybrid#syluses#‧₊ 🍰.┊𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛#i feel like i hate this#but at the same time…#hard to hate sylus knot idk
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𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda
𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k
"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”
The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.
"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.
Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.
"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.
You shot him a grimace.
"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."
"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"
"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"
"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."
"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.
You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.
"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"
"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.
"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."
"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.
The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?
Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.
You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.
This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.
He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.
Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.
“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”
You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her. He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.
“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.
“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?
“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.
“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.
It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.
The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.
Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief.
You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.
Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?
"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"
You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.
"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.
"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"
"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."
"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."
"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."
"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."
You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.
"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.
You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.
"Take it off," you instructed.
He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.
"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.
"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."
"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."
You sent him a brief, grateful smile.
"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.
He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.
You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.
You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.
For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.
*
You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.
Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.
"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.
You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.
"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.
For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.
He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.
"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."
"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."
"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"
You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.
"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."
"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.
No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.
He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.
“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”
“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”
“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.
You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.
“Congratulations?”
“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”
You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.
“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.
"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"
Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location.
The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.
Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.
Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.
You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.
True multitasking.
The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.
“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”
He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.
“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.
“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.
“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”
“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”
“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”
"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."
"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."
True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.
"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."
"What?"
"You know, cluck."
"Pen, is this really necessary?"
"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."
You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.
"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.
You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.
"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.
And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.
"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."
Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…
"Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.
“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…
“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”
“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.
For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.
“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”
“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”
“So you can see me? This whole time?”
“Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”
You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.
“Can you see this too?”
“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”
“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”
"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"
"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"
"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."
You let out a small laugh.
"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”
A moment of silence fell on both sides.
"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"
"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"
You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.
"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."
You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.
"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."
Worried, you discreetly glanced around.
"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"
He shook his head, a negative gesture.
"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."
After his words, an absolute darkness fell.
Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.
“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.
The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.
Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.
Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?
Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.
“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”
The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.
“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.
You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.
You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.
The third gunshot.
Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.
Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.
“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.
"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"
"My arm."
You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.
"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."
"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."
On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?
But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.
And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.
“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.
“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”
Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.
“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”
Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...
“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.
You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...
“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”
Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...
“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”
You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.
“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”
“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”
You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.
“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”
“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.
You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.
“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”
“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.
Two. There were two shooters.
Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.
“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.
Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.
“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”
He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”
“Allen…”
His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.
Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?
For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?
“Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”
Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.
"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"
It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.
“Slowly,” you instructed.
It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.
At the same time, someone called your name.
"Report in."
It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…
"Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"
"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"
“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.
“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”
The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.
“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”
“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”
“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”
“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”
"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.
"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.
"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."
"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."
Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.
Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.
"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."
"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.
Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.
"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"
To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.
"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."
You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.
"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."
"Reid," Hotch admonished him.
You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.
"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."
"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"
Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.
"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.
"Are you fucking out of your mind..."
"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."
"We should focus on how to get out of here..."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.
"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.
You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.
You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.
The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.
“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.
You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.
“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”
You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.
“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.
You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?
He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.
“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.
“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”
“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”
“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”
“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.
You snorted.
“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”
“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”
As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.
“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”
“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.
“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”
His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.
“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”
After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.
Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.
And speaking of Reid...
"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.
"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."
You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.
"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."
As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.
"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.
"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."
The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.
"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."
"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."
"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."
"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."
Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.
"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."
"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."
And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.
A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.
*
Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control.
In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.
It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.
As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.
Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.
He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.
"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."
They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.
Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.
“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.
Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.
“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”
He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.
“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”
“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.
“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”
“Hotch…”
Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.
“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”
“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it.
“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”
“Allen has to do it.”
“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.
“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”
Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.
He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.
No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—
“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”
Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…
He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.
“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”
“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”
“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.
“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”
“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”
The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.
He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth.
Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...
He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.
However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.
“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”
“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.
This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.
“She has…”
The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.
“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else.
Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.
"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."
"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?
Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.
But then they lost the connection.
The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.
And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.
Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?
Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.
“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.
It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.
This
really
happened.
"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…
“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”
How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?
He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.
“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”
He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?
He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.
"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."
“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.
“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.
Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.
“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.
There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.
There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.
The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.
Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.
But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.
He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.
He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.
Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.
But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.
She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.
*
When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.
As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.
Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.
And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.
Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.
Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.
It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.
Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.
You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…
You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?
Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.
You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.
Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.
You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?
At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.
You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.
You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.
The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.
"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.
Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.
*
"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"
He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.
"Sure. If... just, sure."
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.
What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.
"Thank you, Reid."
His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.
"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."
You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.
"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."
"Maybe a little, but…"
"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"
"Just like everyone else…"
"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."
Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.
"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."
You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength.
You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.
Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.
"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.
"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.
"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"
He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.
"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you. That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."
Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.
You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.
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What Remains of Us | LN4


𓆩❤︎𓆪 summary ━━━━━━━ A week after their divorce, Y/N and Lando find themselves back in the home they once shared, haunted by the memories of their love. When Lando arrives to collect his belongings, he finds Y/N crying over their wedding photos, and the weight of their heartbreak pulls them back into each other’s arms. In the quiet intimacy of their old bedroom, emotions overflow, leading them to seek comfort in each other one last time.
𓆩❤︎𓆪 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Lando Norris x ex-wife!reader
𓆩❤︎𓆪 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.8k
𓆩❤︎𓆪 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie,
Based on this request.
A heavy silence settled over the house—the kind that felt almost alive, pressing against the walls, lingering in the empty spaces where laughter used to echo. This had been their home once, a place filled with warmth and whispered confessions, but now, it was just a shell of what it used to be. The echo of each footstep seemed louder now, even as the sun streamed in through half-drawn curtains. Dust particles drifted lazily in the late afternoon light, and the faint hum of traffic outside was the only reminder that a world still moved on beyond those walls.
A week had passed since the divorce became final. The silence between them had been deafening since then. Y/N tried to live in the emptiness of the house, haunted by the memory of his laughter in the living room and the ghost of his touch in the hallways. That day, Lando came by unannounced to collect more of his belongings. Neither of them had explicitly planned this moment, but deep down, both must have known it was inevitable.
He let himself in quietly, the spare key still working in the front door’s lock. The hallway seemed so much smaller than before, or maybe it was the weight on his heart that made everything feel drawn in, claustrophobic. He called her name softly—“Y/N?”—but received no answer. There was only a slight shuffle behind the bedroom door.
When he pushed it open, he found her there on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her slight weight. She was in her old pajamas, hair bundled into a haphazard knot. Spread across her lap were photographs from their wedding day—prints and polaroids that captured stolen smiles, playful kisses, the promise of forever. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them.
Lando’s heart clamped painfully in his chest. He set down the cardboard box he’d brought for collecting a few more of his things. “Y/N,” he murmured. Guilt and longing rippled across his features.
She swallowed hard, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I thought I’d be okay,” she whispered, gesturing to the pictures. “I—I thought…maybe looking at them would help me move on.”
He moved toward her slowly. His voice quivered, reflecting the same heartbreak in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything… for how it all ended.”
She shook her head. “No. I share in that fault too,” she managed, though her voice cracked. “I keep wondering if I could’ve done something… something more to keep us from losing each other.”
He lowered himself beside her on the bed, not quite touching at first. She was close enough for him to smell the faint traces of her shampoo and the salty tang of tears. The photographs fanned across her lap were so bright and happy—Lando spinning her around under fairy lights, Y/N laughing while Pietra and Max teased them with wedding games, the radiant grin on Lando’s face when he first saw Y/N walk down the aisle.
Softly, tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. “I never wanted to lose you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.
Her eyes snapped up to his, that old electric connection burning between them. “I know,” she replied. “Neither did I. But we lost sight of each other somehow.” A sob hiccuped in her throat, and tears welled up anew.
Gently, he brushed a tear from her cheek. “I gave you the house because… because it always felt like yours more than mine. You made it a home. Even after I moved to Monaco, it was here—your laughter, your warmth—that felt real to me.”
She closed her eyes at his touch, the memories threatening to pull her under. She remembered how she used to crave every teasing text he sent before they dated, how she’d make him work for her affection back when they first met. She recalled the way his dimpled grin and flirty remarks would make her heart race. And there had been that moment—the night she finally gave in to all the tension brewing for months—when he had taken her into his arms with such absolute certainty. Through everything, the heartbreak, the anger, and the distance that followed, this man was still the one person in the world who made her feel undeniably alive.
Lando could see the flicker of those memories in her tear-filled gaze. He let out a slow breath, feeling the heaviness in his own chest. “We had good times, didn’t we?”
“Some of the best,” she whispered.
Silence settled again, but this time it hummed with an undercurrent of unspoken words, bottled-up confessions and regrets. Cautiously, Lando’s fingers laced through hers, and she squeezed back, a tentative acceptance of a comfort she had missed more than she’d ever admit.
He slid closer, so their knees touched. “You look so tired,” he said softly, eyes scanning the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you sleeping at all?”
She shook her head. “Not much.” Her gaze drifted to the wedding photo at the top of the stack—she was wiping cake frosting off Lando’s nose while he laughed with boyish delight. The memory tugged at her, and her throat tightened.
As though drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. It was a delicate gesture, one that lacked any presumption or expectation. She let her head tip forward, resting it against his shoulder. Her tears seeped into his shirt, and he wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the faint hint of vanilla and rose that always clung to her skin.
“I miss you,” he admitted in a raspy whisper.
She looked up, eyes shimmering with tears. “I miss you too,” she breathed. Her grip on his fingers grew firmer.
The swirling storm of emotions crested inside them, and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat. She remembered the ache of pushing him away back when he first chased after her. Now it felt like a cruel parallel—pushing him away all those months, only to watch them separate in an even bigger, more painful way.
“Do… Do you want me to leave?” he asked gently, stepping into the role of caretaker again, the way he used to.
Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze was unwavering. “No. Stay. Please… stay.”
That was all it took. The tension that had once pulled them apart now drew them together like a magnet. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing away the stray tears. She closed her eyes at his warmth, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. Every doubt, every regret, every moment of anger seemed to dissolve the second he pressed his lips softly to hers.
It was a kiss filled with heartbreak and longing—a sudden rush of desperate affection that built upon itself with each passing second. She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. Heat spread through her, a reminder that once, they had loved so fiercely it consumed them both.
He broke the kiss to breathe, and his forehead fell against hers, their breaths mingling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
She shook her head, blinking away fresh tears. “Don’t be,” she replied. “We’ve… we’ve both made mistakes. But I just… I can’t…” A sob caught in her throat, not fully forming a sentence.
“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing a series of featherlight kisses along her temple. His hands moved to her arms, shoulders, back—tentative at first, ensuring she welcomed his closeness. She melted into him, the sadness and passion colliding in a swirl of emotion that felt raw and overwhelming.
They found themselves lying back on the bed, the same bed they had once shared so many quiet mornings and late-night laughter in. The photographs fell off Y/N’s lap onto the floor, scattered like fragments of their memories. In the hush of the moment, their fingertips traced over familiar curves and contours, reacquainting themselves with a map they knew by heart.
Lando’s breath shook as he leaned down, capturing her lips again. This time, he took his time, a slow, deliberate exploration that coaxed a soft whimper from her. She welcomed him, hands roaming across his shoulders to feel the solidity of him, reminding herself that this was real—he was here. The heartbreak of the past weeks, the messy swirl of the final divorce papers, the swirling pain in both their chests—it all pressed them closer together, desperation singing in their veins.
He murmured her name, voice thick with a trembling need, and she answered with a kiss to his jawline. Each brush of their mouths was a plea for forgiveness, each touch an apology for what they lost, each whisper a promise they had once failed to keep. Yet in that moment, it seemed like all the anguish had forged a new kind of closeness between them.
He helped her ease out of her pajama top, trailing gentle kisses along the path of newly bared skin. His hair tickled her collarbone, and she shivered, clinging to the warmth of him. She pressed her hands against his chest, recalling that night years ago when she had finally given in to all the build-up of their flirtation. Back then, it had been exhilarating—wild, passionate, and overwhelming in the best way. Now, it was a softness born of sorrow and yearning, but no less intense.
Y/N’s breathing grew uneven as he continued, each movement carefully checking her comfort. At one point, they paused, eyes meeting in a fragile moment. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I just want to hold you if that’s what you need.”
She answered by pulling him down for another kiss, deeper than before. Her body arched beneath him, and his hands slid around her waist, bringing them flush against each other. They gave in, letting the storm of sadness and desire carry them further. In the hush that followed, the memories of their happiest times filtered through her mind—his grin on the day he first asked her out in London, the jokes they shared when he teased her about being shy, the flicker of longing in his eyes every time they parted ways when his racing schedule took him abroad.
A softness spread through them now, the moment free of words, replaced by gentle sighs and murmured names. His lips skimmed along her neck, her gasp answering the unspoken question in his eyes. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, every nerve in her body alight with the need to feel him near. The bed creaked beneath their shifting weight, echoing quietly in the still air.
When the final barrier of clothing slipped away, the warmth of skin against skin felt familiar and right, as though no time had passed since the last time they touched. What started gently soon built in intensity, fueled by the pent-up longing that had tormented them both for far too long. She found comfort in the press of his body, his lips seeking out every part of her that still remembered him like a cherished secret.
“Lando,” she whispered, voice low and trembling. “I—”
He silenced her with another kiss, but his expression was laced with the same heartfelt intensity. “I know,” he breathed.
They lost themselves in each other, passion and tenderness entwined. It was a soft collision of two broken hearts trying to mend for just a moment in time. Each caress soothed an ache, each kiss a gentle reminder of how deeply they had once loved.
Their breaths mingled in the quiet room, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the faint scent of vanilla and salt. Lando’s lips lingered on hers, soft and searching, as if trying to relearn the way she tasted. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curve of her waist, his touch featherlight but deliberate, every movement a question. She answered with a sigh, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to feel her longing.
Y/N’s heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm that mirrored his. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse against her skin, his warmth seeping into her, chasing away the cold emptiness she had carried since the divorce. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable—regret, desire, and something deeper, something that made her chest ache.
“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.
“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Lando.”
His exhale was shaky, a mix of relief and something else—something raw and unfiltered. He leaned down, capturing her lips again, this time with more urgency. His kiss was warm, familiar yet new, a collision of past and present that left her dizzy. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.
His hands roamed her bare skin, the warmth of his palms a stark contrast to the cool air that had settled in the room. Her body lay exposed before him, every curve and contour familiar yet achingly new in this fragile moment. She shivered, not from the chill but from the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes traced her with a mixture of longing and reverence.
Lando’s touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing her all over again. His fingers brushed along her hip, then trailed upward, leaving a path of tingling warmth in their wake. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and leaned into his touch, needing to feel him, to remind herself that he was here, really here. His hand paused at her ribs, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate curve, and she felt the faint tremor in his fingers—the same vulnerability that had always made her love him even more.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, heavy with emotion. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of everything they had lost and everything they might still find.
Her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “Look at me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the same intensity that pulsed between them. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had melted away. There was no divorce, no heartbreak, no regrets—only the two of them, raw and unfiltered, relearning how to exist in the same space.
His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping her. She arched into him, her hands sliding down to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the moment. His touch was soft yet insistent, every movement a silent promise, a plea for forgiveness, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still salvage.
In the quiet of the room, their breaths mingled, their heartbeats synchronized, and for the first time in weeks, she felt whole.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again against her neck, his lips brushing over her pulse point. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
She closed her eyes, her body arching into his as his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of fire in its wake. His breath was hot against her skin, and she could feel the way his body trembled above her, the way he was holding himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the tension between them grew.
“Lando,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands found his face, gently guiding him back up to meet her eyes. “I need you. All of you.”
His gaze softened, and he nodded, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m here,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her body with a familiarity that made her heart ache. She remembered the way he used to touch her—confident, playful, full of adoration. Now, there was a hesitancy to his movements, a cautiousness born of their shared heartbreak. But there was also a raw intensity, a need that matched her own.
When their bodies finally came together, it was slow, almost achingly so. Lando paused, his breath shallow, as he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness of her. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, her eyes fluttering closed as she braced herself. He lowered himself further, his hips pressing forward with deliberate care, allowing her body to adjust to him inch by inch. She was so tight, her walls clenching gently around him, as though welcoming him home after a long, painful absence. For him, it was an overwhelming sensation—the velvety heat of her, the way she embraced him so perfectly, as if they were made to fit together. For her, it was a mixture of relief and pleasure, the fullness of him stretching her just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his back as he slid deeper.
“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, soft and broken, and he couldn’t help but press his lips to her temple, murmuring words of reassurance. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her pussy felt like heaven to him—warm, slick, and so familiar yet new, as if he was rediscovering her for the first time. For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. It had been months since they had been this close, months since they had shared this intimacy, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tremble in his body as he held himself above her, the effort he was making to keep this slow, soft, and tender.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—a swirling mix of love, pain, and hope that mirrored her own. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”
They moved together, their bodies falling into a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. It was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly soft, each thrust a gentle exploration of their connection. Her walls tightened around him with each movement, pulling him deeper, and he groaned softly, his forehead pressing against hers. Every stroke was a wave of warmth, a gentle friction that built steadily, making her thighs quiver and her breath hitch. For him, it was the perfect balance of pressure and pleasure, her pussy gripping him in a way that made his chest ache with emotion.
This was the first time they had been together like this in months, and the weight of that knowledge hung heavy in the air between them. Yet, in this moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.
The softness of it all was what struck her the most. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet rhythm of their bodies moving together, the sound of their breaths, the occasional whispered word or gentle moan. It was romantic in a way that made her heart swell, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still reclaim. His hands were tender as they roamed her body, his touch careful and reverent, as though she was something precious he was afraid to break. And she held him just as gently, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, her body arching into his with a quiet need.
Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a balm to the wounds they had inflicted on each other. The world outside didn’t matter—not the divorce, not the heartbreak, not the years of silence. In this moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost.
Her hands roamed over the familiar surface of his back, tracing the contours of his muscles as they tensed and relaxed beneath her touch. She could feel the strength in him, the way his body worked to keep their rhythm steady, yet there was a softness to his movements, a tenderness that made her heart ache. His breath was hot against her skin, each exhale sending a shiver down her spine as his lips brushed over her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She could feel the heat building between them, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume them both, and yet, there was a gentleness to it, a carefulness that spoke of the love they still shared.
“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in, her body arching into his with a desperate need to feel every inch of him. “I—I can’t—” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment, by the way his body moved against hers, by the way his breath mingled with hers in the quiet of the room.
He kissed her again, his lips claiming hers with a desperation that matched her own. His hands threaded through her hair, holding her close as their movements grew more frantic, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as though they had never been apart. The tension coiled tighter, a palpable force that seemed to hum in the air between them, and she could feel it in every fiber of her being, in the way his body shook above her, in the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps.
She could feel the way he trembled, the way he held himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the need between them grew. His name fell from her lips again, a broken plea, and he answered with a kiss, his lips moving against hers with a quiet intensity that made her chest ache. His hands roamed her body, touching her with a reverence that spoke of the love they still shared, of the pain they had endured, of the hope they still held onto.
Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. She could feel the heat building inside her, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume her, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she gasped his name. He held her close, his body trembling above hers, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as they moved together, finding their rhythm, finding their way back to each other.
In that moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.
When the wave finally broke, it was quiet, almost reverent. Her body tensed, her thighs trembling as a soft, rolling heat spread through her. Her pussy clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that felt like a warm, velvety embrace, pulling him deeper with each wave. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails dug into his back, anchoring herself to him. The sensations were overwhelming— a mix of warmth, pressure, and an electric pleasure that radiated from her core, leaving her breathless and trembling. “I—I can’t—” she whispered, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment.
For Lando, the feeling was almost too much to bear. Her pussy was impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made his breath catch. “Oh, God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. Her body was warm and slick, her pulse throbbing around him, and it felt like she was drawing him in, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat and love. He could feel every ripple, every tremor of her climax, and it sent a shiver down his spine, his own need building with every second.
His cock throbbed inside her, the sensation of her orgasm making him feel complete. For him, her pussy was a perfect fit, a warm, wet haven that seemed to cradle him with every movement. As she came, her walls tightened around him in a way that was both soothing and electrifying, and he could feel the way her body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so good.”
For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. The warmth of his release followed, a soft, pulsing heat that spread through her, making her feel whole in a way she hadn’t felt in months. “Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I missed this. Missed you.”
For him, the sensation of coming inside her was overwhelming. His cock throbbed, the release intense and all-consuming, and he could feel the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, pulling him deeper. She felt like home, like the missing piece he had been searching for. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held her close. “I’m here. Always.”
As they lay there, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the world outside seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. The softness of it all was almost too much to bear—a quiet, gentle reminder of the love they still shared, the bond that had never truly broken. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible but filled with a quiet intensity. “Please, just… stay.”
He kissed her temple, his lips brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Always,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Always, Y/N.”
And in that moment, as they clung to each other, the softness of it all felt like a second chance—a quiet, gentle reminder that even after everything, they could still find their way back to each other.
Slowly, Lando shifted, adjusting his position so he could lay beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. He pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head as he buried his face in her hair. His warmth enveloped her, a silent promise of comfort, and she curled into him, their bodies fitting together as though they had never been apart.
When at last they fell still, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms. Her cheek rested against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulled her. Neither found the words to define what had just happened or what it meant for them.
Eventually, Y/N lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. Tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. “Do you regret it?” she asked hesitantly, fearing what his answer might be.
He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, gazing at her with an achingly tender expression. “I could never regret being close to you,” he said, voice husky with emotion. His own eyes were bright, an unnamed sorrow lingering there. “We might be divorced, but… part of me will always love you.”
She closed her eyes at his confession, pain slicing through her all over again, yet also a warm reassurance flooding her heart. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you,” she admitted softly, tears threatening once more.
He pulled her against him again, arms tightening protectively around her. “I didn’t come here expecting this,” he said in a strained whisper. “I just… I needed to see you.”
She nodded, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. “Me too. I was so afraid that this house would be a reminder of everything lost. But now, for a moment… it feels like the old times.”
They lay there in the fading daylight, the curtains glowing gold as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor and the scattered wedding photos. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world held its breath in respect for the heartbreak and fleeting joy they shared.
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula one#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula one x y/n#formula 1 x you#formula one x you#formula 1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris#lando norris fluff#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#ln4#ln4 fic#ln4 x reader#ln4 x y/n#ln4 imagine#ln4 x you
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This is for Frank Langdon where the both of you guys are doctors in the hospital but in different departments. However after a long and busy day requiring the efforts of the entire hospital, in your guys make it home to your apartment and he accompany you in the shower for shower sex. Just to hold each other and be close after the long day
Slow | one shot
Dr. Frank Langdon x f!doctor!reader
Requested
Summary: It was a shift with all hands on deck. You’re thankful that at the end of it, Frank’s hands are all over you.
[ My Masterlist ]
Note: Frank was interesting to write for! I think I might have a series brewing…
Also I’m not confident in my smut work, so I apologize if it’s lacking but I hope you like, anon!
Word Count: 1.1k
Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content
Warnings: afab!reader, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, unprotected sex (seriously, wrap it up), mild angst, mild fluff, hospital setting, Frank is divorced, drugs?? what drugs, car crash victims/injuries of children, canon-typical gore, pet names (prettyboy, sweetheart)
not beta read
It was not unheard of for you to be down in the ED — for a consult, to bring a patient up to the ICU, or even just when you had a few minutes to spare. That was how you had met Dr. Langdon, over a pediatric patient who was going to need intensive care after a car accident. You had been down there to help stabilize before bringing him to surgery, where he would then come to the Pediatric ICU for the remainder of his stay.
Frank had been a livewire when you first met him, freshly divorced and on a downward spiral. His overtime was working overtime so he did not have to return to his quiet apartment. You weren’t exactly sure when something between you two clicked — likely somewhere between resuscitating a drowned little girl and sitting on the stairs hours later after she had been moved upstairs.
Neither of you really gave it a name, and with his divorce only months behind him, you had not wanted to title it. You weren’t really even looking for anything at the time, so being patient was not hard. Even as the months ticked on, you were content with late nights spent at his or lazy weekends at yours. No real dates, or anything concrete, but it was good.
The ED was a flurry of movement, of calculated chaos, bursting at the seams when you stepped off the elevator. It was usually those moments you questioned Frank’s sanity, for being able to thrive under the pressure of it all.
A mass pileup during the worst summer storm in recent memory had pulled a significant amount of doctors down to the ED, you included. You had heard a school bus full of kids had been involved, which was where you were planning to focus your attention.
To your relief, most of them had only been minorly injured, only one with a possible tibia break after being thrown from his seat. You moved your attention to the other patients, assisting where you were needed and assessing the kids who had come in.
You moved to get a suture kit for a head wound, and Frank stepped beside you. You did what you could to keep whatever it was between you a secret, but at the end of the day, you worked upstairs and didn’t particularly care about the ED rumor mill.
“Still expecting a few more ambulances.” He told you, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Anything serious?”
He shrugged, “Possible broken bones, and a severe laceration, I think.”
It was not just a few broken bones and a severe laceration. It was several. Add in the few slip and falls, a finger amputation, and some severe head injuries that had not been diverted to other hospitals, and you were back in the swamp. The influx never seemed to end and it made you want to beg for the sweet relief of the Pediatric ICU.
By the time you were back upstairs rounding out your shift, you were exhausted. Caffeine did little to pick you up and you wondered how Frank had been able to do that every day. Especially as a resident working extra hours.
He found you in the parking garage, lips in a smirk like he knew something you didn’t. And it was in the expression in his eyes that you found you were craving something equally salty and sweet.
Good thing Frank was both.
Frank’s lips were on you before you were even through the threshold of your apartment, hot, hungry and wanting. It was easy to fall into him, hands going into his hair while he helped you discard your scrub bottoms.
He had you against the wall beside the door, hands exploring, though as you bit his lip, he slowed down. Fevered kisses turned languid, beginning to take his time, which was a change of pace for him.
“You wanted to shower?” He breathed against your lips, his blue eyes piercing into you and making your stomach warm.
“The amount of shower injuries you must’ve seen surely should deter you, no?”
He smirked, “You’re no inexperienced rider, and I’m a professional.”
A brow quirked at his confidence, but it buzzed in your chest, “Oh, so you’re a professional now, prettyboy?”
“Oh, you think I’m pretty?”
You barked out a laugh, grabbing hold of his scrub top and pulling him to your bathroom. Clothes were discarded on the way, and something settled when the warm water hit your skin. Soft and unspoken, but known and quiet.
He held you close, arms wrapped around you in what felt like a tender moment. After such a long day, it was nice. His hand on your cheek, dragging his tongue along your lower lip before slipping inside your mouth.
You hummed when his other hand slipped between your legs, working slow circles on your clit. Your heart picked up and you hooked a leg around his hips, steadying your weight on him. He accepted the invitation, pushing you up against the tiled wall.
Heat was licking up your stomach before he was even inside you, growing buzzed on his mouth and the feeling of his hands on your body.
He kissed along your cheekbone, whispering in your ear, “You want me, sweetheart? Hmm, here?”
His fingers moved to your opening, teasing the entrance.
You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders. You attempted to move your hips, trying to gain more friction, “Fuck, Frank, please.”
You felt his smirk and he moved his head to look at you again, his eyes holding you steady. He trailed his hand along the thigh hooked around his hip, tugging it up a bit higher to allow him access. He braced one hand against the wall and moved just enough to line himself up, thrusting just enough to gain entry.
A low groan exited his throat, and you clenched around him. He didn’t move, just pulled your body closer, kissing along your jaw. You held onto him, enjoying the languid moment, relishing just how close you felt to him like that. Not just physically, but in a way that made your heart ache.
You kissed his shoulder and up his neck, adjusting your hips to take him deeper. He moaned and rested his forehead against yours, before he started moving — keeping his pace slow and deliberate.
You came undone wrapped around him, and he held you through it, never letting up or changing his pace. No words needed to be exchanged, just the soft moans and his low grunts. When his hips stuttered with his own release, he panted into your neck, still not letting go of you.
He swallowed and pulled back, eyes flickering across your face before a soft smile graced his lips.
“So you think I’m pretty?”
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that man is so pretty🥺
my requests are currently closed.
#the pitt#frank langdon#frank langdon x reader#frank is divorced#the pitt x reader#dr frank langdon#asxgard writes#requested
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Can you please do one where the reader is Stan and ford’s childhood friend? I’d imagine that they would both be SUPER protective, and later in adulthood they move in with does to help with his research. Stanley and ford secretly developed a crush on them over time but neither have admitted their feelings 🤭🤭

I made this one too fucking long as well the to might need to make a part two as not to overwhelming people.
You probably threw sand in some bullies eyes when they didn’t leave poor Ford alone/ and or comforted Ford alongside Stan afterwards bc confrontation wasn’t your thing. Either way it didn’t take long for you, Stan and Ford to become a well known trio in the town of New Jersey, one was never seen without the other two trailing behind.
You three were inseparable.
Ford was the brains and intellect
Stan was the protective fighter
And you were the mediator, the confidant, the person who’d encourage the twins to keep moving forward for that was the only way to go.
The mystery trio you called yourselves as you’d spend countless hours on the beech, searching for the abnormal and mysterious with nothing but your flashlights and determination to make a name for yourselves.
You didn’t give a shit about Ford’s six fingers, you thought they were cool and told him often that you were jealous.
‘Why?’ He’d ask.
‘It’s cooler to be different than it is to fit in the norm.’ You’d tell him as you’d both sit somewhere overlooking the beach, hearing the cries of seagulls and the crashing of the waves against the sandy beaches. ‘One day everyone is going to try and find something abnormal about themselves to fit in, as though they weren’t the same people who’d shun people for being a little different. They’ll never admit that they’re the bad guy and all they want is attention and will throw a tantrum when they don’t get it.’
You then placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘So don’t listen to them Stanford, you’ll make a name of yourself one day and they’ll all flock to you like moths to a flame. High six?’ You raised your hand.
‘High six.’ Ford replied as you high-fived/ high-sixed each other.
Their dad didn’t like you but you didn’t give a shit because you didn’t like him all that much either with how he treated Stanley in comparison to Ford and would often refuse to go to their house when you knew he was there.
Shermie pines however adored you for keeping her boys in line and being their friend and practically adopted you into the family as she would then move her attention to her sons.
‘So which one of you is going to fall for them first?’ She would ask as Stan and Ford look at her with flustered cheeks.
‘They’re just a friend!’
‘Yeah a friend!’ The twins defective words would overlap which didn’t help their matching blushes that looked like cherry tomatoes by now.
Shermie would then throw her arms over the boys’ shoulders and said. ‘That’s what they all say until it becomes harder to ignore what you truly feel for them. Now it might be platonic but what about later on in the future where you look at them and suddenly think about planning a future with them.’
Now at this point neither Ford nor Stan truly understand what they felt for you at the time, they only thought they were being your protective friends who’d glare at whoever from behind your back if they caught them looking at you weird. They thought they were looking out for you much like you did for them as they stood on either side of you like two towering towers.
After all they didn’t have that many friends besides each other form such a young and so having you in their corner made you all the more special to the brothers.
You and Stan would playfully rough house, doddle in the margins of a notebook or write in code that you’ve only just made up on the spot to one, another and just do dumb goofy stuff in your spare time.
You and Ford would read, come up with theories about the things in New Jersey to make them more interesting than they were, go on a ‘monster chase of the week’ type of adventures when you were bored and in need of thrills.
Stan and Ford were your boys and you would have their backs no matter what as they always had yours in return. Much how like you made Cathy’s life hell after she threw punch at Ford, thinking that standing in solidarity with him as you and Stan both threw punch at each other and making a right ass of yourselves in order to make Ford feel better.
You and Stan then tp’d the bitches house and probably caused property damage but if they couldn’t see the person who did it, then did it actually happened in the first place? (Stans logical explanation to why tp someone’s house in the dead of night was a great guise.)
Or the time you had gotten stood up on a date and Stan threatened the beat the little shit up while Ford - equally as upset at the coward who stood you up- was more focused on comforting you and reminding you of your self worth and how it should be dictated by you alone and not some temporary crush.
You thought that it would be you, Ford and Stanley against everyone, that you’d get to live with them until you were old and grey but life ultimately took you and Ford in different directions from Stanley, who at this point had resorted to conning people for a living after being kicked out of the house by his cunt of a father.
The rift between the brothers that you though wouldn’t split from another for more then five minutes was larger then you’d like to admit, and it broke your heart to see them stand across from one another rather then beside each other.
Your parents refused to take him in afterwards despite your begging and pleading that you’ll do better in school if they house Stanley for a while. Needless to say you were gutted about not having your friend in your life that you didn’t take to your parents for a good while.
You did fairly well in school and ended up in Backupsmore university with Ford, who found a new friend in fiddleford and spent countless days and nights in the library doing extensive studies on the abnormal and the mysterious. You and Ford didn’t have as much time for each other as you use to as kids, that and you couldn’t contact Stanley who was god knows where, god knows what and getting into a fuckton of trouble. You missed it when days were a hell of a lot more simpler but that’s not how life worked and you were being told this constantly.
Ford was excelling at everything while you were average at best and while Ford tried to help, he could tell your heart wasn’t in to listening what he had to say and he knew the reason why.
‘You miss Stan.’ He says one day when you came to his dorm for help.
‘And you don’t seem to miss him one bit.’ You replied as you doodled a cartoon version of yourself, Stan and Ford celebrating a well earned victory over some weird lake monster that had a comedically large bump on it head.
‘He ruined his own life y/n why can’t you accept that.’ He reminds you but it was obvious that you weren’t so willing to hear him out as you use to be. ‘I could’ve helped him Ford, I could’ve!’ You cried.
‘But he didn’t want your help, he was on the path of self destruction and he didn’t want you getting caught in the aftermath of it all.’ Ford said as he placed his hand on your shoulder, much like you did to him when you were younger. ‘Stan is stubborn but wouldn’t avoid you for no reason.’ Ford adds as you look at him.
‘And how would you know that?’ You asked, brow raised.
‘Because I wouldn’t avoid you for no reason either.’ Ford admitted and you swore your saw a blush cut across his face. This conversation never gets brought up again by Ford as no matter how often you reminded him of it, he’s try to change the subject to something else entirely with a nervous laugh and shifty eyes.
You knew something was up and hated being left in the dark but you knew Ford was equally as stubborn as his brother, whether that’s something he’d like to admit or not. However life moved on and so did you as soon you found yourself becoming Ford’s assistant and moving to Gravity Falls, a small town not on any map but had a reputation for being a little odd much like its residence.
#gravity falls x you#gravity falls x reader#gravity falls imagine#gravity falls imagines#gravity falls#stanford pines x you#stanley pines imagines#stanford pines imagines#stanford pines imagine#stanley pines imagine#stan pines imagines#stan pines imagine#stanford pines x reader#stanley pines x reader#stan pines x reader#ford pines x you#ford pines imagines#ford pines imagine#ford pines x reader#stanley pines x you
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⁀➷ TALK TOO MUCH | I. MIDORIYA
warnings. none. it's just pure fluff!
pairings. izuku midoriya x flirty!gn!reader
767 | Izuku Midoriya talks way too much but you shut him up in the best way you know how.
next | masterlist | back
The common room buzzed with the sound of your classmates unwinding after another grueling day of training. Izuku was in his own world, pacing animatedly in front of the couch, hands flying in every direction as he analyzed the latest hero battle footage on the TV. A clip of endeavor's most recent battle replies on the screen, the reporter adding their own analysis, and Izuku visibly brightens.
"Here! Right there! Endeavor uses his Jet Burn to counter that villain's quirk, but you can see here. He's already calculated its trajectory based on—"
You sat slouched on the couch, one hand propping up your chin while the other clutched a glass of water. Ice cubes already melted, condensation cool against your hand. For the first few minutes, you'd been nodding, offering a few hums and quick "wows" to keep Izuku going, but at this point, your brain was mush.
You love Izuku, there's no doubt in your mind about it, but sometimes after none stop lectures and rigorous training, you just want a bit of peace. You'd think he'd be the same. You sneak a glance at the boy again and he smiles impossibly brighter at you (much to your dismay).
Despite your short-lived responses, Izuku wasn't slowing down. No, infact, he was ramping up, spiraling into a second analysis of yet another fight as the news anchor praises the number two hero, Hawks, this time.
Izuku waves the TV remote animatedly in the air using it as a makeshift pointer as he rambles on.
"Midoriya," you said, your tone calm but firm. He didn't hear you or maybe he did but assumed it wasn't important enough to stop just yet. "And if you think about how his quirk output works in tune with Hawks', it just makes—"
"Izuku." This time, louder with a bit more demand.
He glances your way for a split second, green eyes wide with remorse and a faint red tinting his freckled cheeks, but his train of thought was unstoppable, barreling ahead without a second to spare.
"—you can see how they predicted each other's moves! It's just incredible how—"
That was it. You didn't think; you acted. With one smooth motion, you stood up and grabbed the front of his shirt yanking him down to you. His big green eyes went impossibly wider, his words freezing mid-sentence as your lips pressed firmly against his.
The world seemed to stop. The remote to the TV slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor with a loud thud, but neither of you noticed. To absorbed in the way his lips molded perfectly to yours. How his hands trembled before cautiously resting them on your waist. His breath hitched against your mouth, and for once, Izuku Midoriya was left utterly and completely speechless.
You pulled back slightly, lips brushing his as you smile,
"There. Much better."
Izuku's face was on fire, his freckles practically glowing against the deep red flush spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He looks around first, wondering if there were any other witnesses. When none of your classmates meets his eyes, he loudly coughs hiding his face behind his hands.
You smirked, leaning back into the couch as if nothing had happened. "Finally some peace," you sigh.
He stood there, stunned, mouth gapping open and close like a fish out of water. After a beat of silence, finally, he manages to stammer, "was I talking that much?"
"You were," you teased, taking a sip of your water. "But don't worry. Now I gotta foolproof plan for whenever you start up again."
He blinked, still rooted to the spot you left him, his fingers brushing over his lips as if trying to process what had just happened. Then suddenly, the dots start connecting.
"You can't just kiss someone to make them stop talking!"
"I didn't just kiss someone. I kissed you." You raised a brow, smiling at the way Izuku stammers. "And I felt you kiss me back, so are you really gonna act like you didn't like it?"
Izuku sputtered as he tried to form a coherent response. His face still glowing a deep red as he waved his hands animatedly in the air. He needed to say something, anything. You had just kissed him for god's sake, the one person he's had feelings for since his first year. Oh god, he might just throw up. Meanwhile, you leaned back with a satisfied grin, a small laugh leaving you as you watched him you short circuit, already looking forward to the next time he talked too much.
notes. based off the song talk to much by coin + dedicated to @sunnymain bc we both listen to coin hehehe
#mha#bnha#my hero acadamia#boku no hero academia#midoriya izuku#izuku midoirya#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya x reader#izuku fluff#izuku texts#bnha x reader#mha x reader#izuku x reader
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strawberry cake



word count: 1.3k
warnings: afab!reader, reader x jisung, consensual somnophilia, smut - MINORS DNI.
synopsis: jisung fucks you in your sleep idk there's no other plot here

i’m wet and you’re not home to help me
i’m going to bed
don’t wake me up when you get back
(i’m wearing the shorts)
11:09 pm
these are the texts jisung was met with when he finally got a chance to look at his phone. it was almost midnight, his muscles hurt beyond compare and his eyelids felt like lead when he tried to blink, but the simple message that you had sent him made his entire body sing in excitement.
it wasn’t often that you allowed him this - you liked to be awake to watch his features morph in ecstasy when he first sank into you, wanted to witness the way his eyes rolled back into his head when he came. today was a different case though; you genuinely were tired, and you knew that even if you tried to stay awake for him that you would fall asleep halfway through, and wouldn’t that be a kick to jisung’s self esteem?
so you created this system of sorts. a pair of sleep shorts that you bought that was in a color you never usually wore, just so there was no chance of confusion. a signal that jisung was allowed to do whatever he wanted to you, whether or not you were awake - when you first brought it up to him he was apprehensive, but neither one of you could ignore the way his cock jumped in his boxers at the idea.
just like it was now, as he was rushing through packing his bag so he could make it home to you. he makes it home in what must be a record breaking time, nearly sweating in excitement the entire way. if he got any judgemental looks from the way he bumped into people as he sped by, he didn’t notice, too focused on his goal to give them a sparing thought.
your body was a lump under the comforter when he finally approached you, blankets pulled around you like a cocoon so only your face was still visible. he almost felt bad at the thought of having to remove you from the warmth, but his neediness won over it.
he takes his clothes off hastily, shivering when the cold air hit his feverish skin, but he paid it no mind - there was one thing running through his thoughts right now and it was making his dick harden at an alarming rate.
he kneels on the side of the bed, peeling back the comforter just to make sure the shorts were still on - they were, of course they were. you wouldn’t tease him like that, but even when you were asleep your consent was important. he wouldn’t do anything to betray your trust.
you weren’t a light sleeper, which worked to his benefit. the cold air didn’t cause you to stir at all even though you were clad in a old bralette and skimpy shorts. he could see the outline of your nipples hardening through the fabric of your bralette, though, and he couldn’t resist from reaching towards them to rub at them with his thumbs. if awake, you would have shivered and whined, sensitivity ruling over your impulses, but now you don’t react at all. it was like you were a doll, and if your chest wasn’t rising and falling with your breaths he might believe that you were.
if his cock wasn’t hard before, it certainly was now.
he couldn’t resist from stopping to look at you, a rare thing that you don’t usually allow him to do when you were awake. his eyes roamed from the curve of your nose to the dark circles under your eyes to the plush bow of your lips, features completely relaxed. you’re beautiful. his hand moves up to your face, cupping it gently and moving it towards him so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. even though you didn’t feel it, he wanted you to know that he loves you.
god, he loves you so much.
you let out a soft snuff of breath when he grazes his hands over your hips and he freezes, watching your features carefully until he was sure that they remained soft with sleep. while he wouldn’t mind you being awake, that wasn’t part of the plan. you had said not to wake you up, and he was nothing if not obedient.
he pulls your shorts down to reveal your bare pussy, panties left off and a wet patch glistening on the crotch of your shorts. had you touched yourself before going to bed, thinking of him? did you come, moaning his name and wishing it was on his dick? or did you edge yourself, priming your body for him, making it ready?
either way, the evidence of your arousal was enough to make him snap as he crawls over you, a dangerously possessive look on his face as he finally takes his cock in his hand. he runs the tip of it through your folds, collecting your slick on him, and the feeling of it makes him let out a groan. he lowers his head to your neck as he pushes in, the slide easy from how lax your body was. He let out a shaky breath as he pushed fully into your tight heat as he moves his lips to your pulse point. the slow, rhythmic rush of blood follows through to his hips as he thrusts in small motions, holding himself back from taking you the way he so desperately wanted to.
he took your limp hands in his, intertwining your fingers together before pressing them to the mattress above your head. holding you down, even though you weren’t awake to move regardless. he backs up a bit as he picks up his rhythm, focusing on the tiny furrow of your brow and the way your mouth twisted up in pleasure.
you were clenching around him without restraint, like your body was unconsciously trying to keep him inside of you. he let go of one of your hands, wrapping his fingers around both of your wrists to keep them in place as his free hand wandered down your body to your clit. he rubbed at it experimentally, gasping when your hips jerked up to meet his automatically. he started a slow rhythm with his fingers as he continued fucking into you. your breaths was coming out in short huffs, lips parting again and again with every one, your body responding to the stimulation in a way your mind likely wasn’t. he wonders what you were dreaming about, if you were; he hopes that it’s about him.
without warning, your body shakes through a helpless orgasm but you remain asleep, eyes fluttering behind your lids. jisung barely has time to spare a thought of how that was even possible before he was hurtling towards his own, the rhythmic clenching of your cunt milking everything out of him until he was barely able to hold himself up over you. he collapses next to you, pressing kiss after kiss to whatever part of your body he could reach, whispering praises to you in between that fell on deaf ears.
when he could stand without his legs feeling like jelly he cleans you up, gently wiping at your dripping hole with a warm washcloth, fixated on the way you clenched on nothing when he passed over your swollen clit. he throws the rag to the side, climbing back over you so he could settle himself at your side and when he looked at you -
your eyes were open.
“how long have you been awake?” jisung asks, blinking at you.
“since you started panting into my neck,” you giggle, reaching for him so you could pull him into your side. “you seemed to like me being asleep though, so i pretended.”
“god, it was so hot,” he says, looking up at you with shiny eyes, embarrassingly fond of you. “what did i do to deserve you?”
“well,” you take his wrist, guiding his hand down towards your stomach. “i can think of a few things you can do now.”
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids imagines#han jisung smut#han jisung x reader#han jisung imagines#jisung smut#han jisung#stray kids fic
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take the back-seat. (p.js & s.jy)
What’s the point in being a third wheel if Jake can’t watch anyway? or the one where jay lets jake watch him get his dick wet.
minors do not interact, otherwise― pls reblog my works
PARING ― jay x afab reader | jake sim x afab reader
WC ― 8.5k
TAGS ― exhibitionist jay, voyeur jake, dangerous driving (do not do this), jealousy, mentions of cleaning up clumped cum in a gas station bathroom lmao
A/N ― what’s that? you’ve read this before??? yeah that’s bc i wrote it on my other blog and now i want to shamelessly read it as jay and jake thanks!!!! (i am the original author: ncteez, this work is not stolen)
– read part two here!
smut tags under cut::
SMUT TAGS ― THICK DICK JAY, daddy long dick jake, exhibitionism, voyeurism car sex, dangerous driving, unprotected sex, voyeurism, jerking off lmao, jake being embarrassed and Jay enjoying it, jealous jay, jealous jake
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake was used to it at this point, walking in to see you being, quite literally, fucked senseless by his best friend. Each time he had managed to barge into the room when the two of you were going at it, he was lucky to slip away unnoticed and embarrassed for the both of you. He never brought it up, never really thought about it after the embarrassment died down, and never wondered when it would happen again.
Still, though, it kept happening.
What Jake didn’t know is that it was intentional. Both you and Jay were aware each time he would walk into a room, stop in shock, and then shuffle away. It was something Jay enjoyed much more than you did at first but, you’ve grown to love it as well, maybe even more than your boyfriend does.
Jay liked to be almost caught on some days, other days he wanted to be caught. What he wants most of all though? That’s to be watched. To have someone turned on by what he can do to you, to have them feel jealous of him or even stare in awe at how good he is when he fucks you.
When Jake moved in, Jay hadn’t really thought about letting him watch or even catch the action in the process. Jay’s big thing was doing it at parties or clubs when everyone was too drunk to care if they were watching or not. However, the first time Jake saw them was a genuine accident on both sides.
It happened shortly after Jake moved in with the two of you (for financial purposes of course.) Neither of you had issues with having a roommate, considering the spare room and all. It was a small place but it easily managed the three of you.
Jay was so in his head that day when he had you against the kitchen counter, breakfast plans long forgotten when he noticed that your ass looked particularly good in the lighting. He was so in his head that, well, he might have forgotten that Jake could walk in at any moment.
A clatter of bowls full of ingredients hit the floor as soon as Jay made eye contact with his best friend coming through the doorway, your leg was wrapped around his waist as he was attempting a deep thrust into you. Unfortunately, instead of that deep thrust, he panicked and pulled out of you so quickly that you lost balance and sent the ingredients flying straight to spoilage. Jake just looked at him, then at you, and then at Jay’s very exposed cock that still managed to stay hard under the circumstances before he turned on his heel and paced back to his room.
That was the first and only time it was an accident on Jay’s part. Sure, he was into that kind of thing before Jake moved in, but it didn’t even cross his mind to include Jake in the fun until that day, at least.
That night, Jay sat you down in the silence of your shared room and discussed that he will most definitely be fucking you in all areas of the apartment regardless of whether Jake was there or not and that he wouldn’t mind in the slightest if he wanted to watch.
You reluctantly agreed in the silence of your bedroom, only after mentioning that you didn’t want to make Jake feel weird about it, that you didn’t want him to act differently around the two of you. But Jay didn’t relent, assuring you that it would be fine.
It was fine for the most part, even you started to get a kick out of it from time to time when you pretended to not see Jake stare for a little longer on some days before leaving the room.
Jake just shakes it off each time though. Because of course, it’s hot. Multiple times a week it’s like he’s walking straight into a porn film before having to excuse himself, and it gets really frustrating sometimes, considering he isn’t the one getting laid. All he gets are glimpses of the two of you, the sounds he hears through the walls, and the utter joy the two of you seem to have despite his presence.
He’s learned to accept that neither of you seems to care what he sees, so he decides he won’t either.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It’s a warm day in July. All three of you are packing bags and blankets into the back of Jake’s car for the trip ahead, and all three of you are entirely too thankful to whatever god allowed your schedules to line up in order to have a five-day weekend at the beach. It’s a long drive, 12 to 13 hours at least, but Jake and Jay agreed to drive in shifts so that makes it a lot more bearable.
“Did we get everything?” Jay asks as he throws himself into the driver's seat of the car and pats the passenger seat as if it were an honor to be invited to ride shotgun by him.
You nod to him, admiring his slender fingers against the steering wheel and realizing it has been a long while since he had driven you anywhere. In fact, the two of you mostly walked or got an uber for your outings simply because traffic is a nightmare in this city.
“Wait!” Jake shouts, throwing himself out of the open back door of the car. “I forgot my phone charger!” He exclaims as he runs back to the apartment building door.
And then it’s silent.
“He’s a really good actor.” Jay laughs, looking over at you and then steering his attention to the console buttons so that he can connect your phone for aux privileges. “A true sport, that guy.” He shakes his head this time, flicking his eyes up at you.
It’s pretty normal, actually, for Jay to find reasons to talk about it. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten used to the way he looks at you when he’s clearly thinking of something mischievous, but you always did love what his plans lead to—so you nod at him with a polite smile.
“What’re you getting at?” You say, reaching over to grab his hand in yours. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”
He smirks at you, quickly giving you a kiss on the lips before pulling back to adjust the mirror in front of him, mostly for the purpose of Jake getting a good view later. Jake is a bit shorter than him, so he adjusts the mirror in a way that it won't be dangerous when he starts his driving shift. Plus, this mirror is only half of the fun. Just wait until Jake gets to the beach rental.
At this point, Jake is already rushing back out of the door with his charger in hand, smiling at the two of you and mouthing a small ‘sorry’ before placing himself in the back seat. He is quick to make himself comfortable, leaving himself unbuckled as he lays his legs across the seat and sighs out.
“Any song requests?” You peek back at him when Jay reverses the car and carefully listens to the GPS that cuts through the speakers.
“Oh, yeah actually!” Jake claps with another one of his well-loved fond smiles.
From that point forward, the three of you take turns picking songs to listen to. The GPS would sometimes interrupt the best part of a song to alert Jay on where he needs to drive, but honestly, it was going quite well.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Hours go by when Jay finally pulls into a gas station for a break, the road trip vibes died about two hours after you left the house. Songs were being sung less, the windows were being rolled up so that the air conditioning could take over, and Jake had even fallen asleep with the warm sun hitting his face against the window.
He was pulled out of his sleep when Jay opened the back door so that the man could quite literally fall out of it. Which is funny, you admit when you head over to slap Jay on the back of the head for it.
“Jake, it’s your turn to drive,” Jay says, already opening the gas tank and preparing to fill it up for him. “If you need a bathroom, I suggest you go now.”
Jake nods his head and then rubs his eyes so that they can adjust to the bright lights of the gas station. The sun is going down and now he realizes why Jay preferred to drive during the daytime hours. It’s definitely going to be a rough next six hours but, he thinks the sandy beaches and colorful shaved ice will be worth it all in the end.
He lets out a long and loud yawn before heading inside the gas station to relieve himself and find a couple of snacks. By the time he got to the snack aisle, he crowds up beside you and asks for help in debating on if he wanted salty or sweet.
“You can get both, y’know.” You say, looking up at him with your own handful of snacks for both you and your very hungry boyfriend.
Jake looks down at you with sleepy eyes and then moves his gaze to the crinkled bags of candies and chips.
“Oh! Sick!” He yells, suddenly very awake. “They got frosted animal crackers! I haven’t had these since I was a kid!”
You chuckle in endearment at him, nodding at his selection.
“Don’t forget to grab something to drink to wash all of that sugar down.” You clap with him because his joy always seems to seep into your own mood. Still, you were ready to free your hands up from these snacks so the small joyous moment doesn’t last for too long.
You slink away from him with ease, leaving him to debate on if he wants one packet or two packets of frosted animal crackers as you make your way to the cash register.
After purchasing your snacks you’re quick to head back to the car where Jay raises a brow at you when you attempt to get back into the passenger seat.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” He asks, flicking his head to the back seat as if to tell you he wants shotgun. You shrug in response, piling into the back with ease and without question, feeling more comfortable with the space it has to offer anyway.
But, when Jay finishes gassing up the car, he doesn’t get into the passenger’s seat. He, instead, scoots into the seat next to you and leans forward between the two front seats in order to adjust the mirror a little bit more.
“Fuck yeah.” He says with a snide voice, peeking over at you as he leans back to get himself comfortable. You look at him with curiosity, wondering why the fuck he keeps messing with the mirror.
“What are you scheming? For real this time, tell me.”
Jay darts his eyes to the window of the gas station to look for Jake, and thankfully he’s still at the cash register paying for his stuff—probably because the dude likes to make conversation and refuses to read the signals of people just wanting to do their job and not hear about what his plans are for this trip. Then he leans in close to you, placing one hand on your thigh and the other against the nape of your neck.
If anyone else were looking at the two of you, it would look as if he’s about to make out with you—which would be fine, but he isn’t.
“Jake’s not gonna be able to run away this time.” Jay whispers as if the man inside the gas station can hear him. You furrow your brows a bit at his words before smiling with the same evil grin he gives to you.
“And did you not think to ask me if I even wanted to?” You shrug him off, pressing him away from you and turning to face the window, still smiling.
You’re definitely in on it but this isn’t exactly the safest way to do this. Still, your boyfriend has always been an adventurous one. Plus, you’re still gonna be a brat about it. Jay likes when you’re being difficult, and for the most part, knows you’d genuinely stop him if it were something you didn’t want to partake in.
“Of course you want to, I see the way you watch him when he sees us—” Jay gripes, glaring at you. “He can’t have you, but he can watch.”
You shrug at him again, acting as if you could care much less about this plan of his, but he can see that glint in your eye and the smile on your face.
“This is why I love you.” He says in a simple voice at the obvious confirmation on your face, and then he looks back to see that Jake is making his way back to the car.
“Don’t you think we should ask him first though? What if he doesn’t want to watch?” You quickly let out, knowing you’re down for the plan but still wanting Jake to be comfortable.
Jay is quick to shake his head at you. He knows his best friend is a fucking pervert.
“Relax, he pops a boner every time he sees us.”
You nod because he definitely does.
“If he says to stop, we can stop, okay?” Jay goes to reassure you again, but the conversation is cut short by Jake parking himself into the driver’s seat with a questionable look towards the two of you.
“No one is going to sit up front with me?”
Honestly, the way he says it seems so sad that you almost wanna say fuck the plan just to keep him company.
“I want to sit with my girlfriend since I haven’t gotten to in the past six hours?” Jay argues, kicking the back of Jake’s seat playfully.
“Bullshit! You were sitting up here with her the whole time! Who is gonna sit up here and keep me awake?!”
Jay is very well aware that Jake will definitely be able to stay awake. No question about it.
“I want to look at my girlfriend since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the road for the past six hours. Stop complaining.”
Jake looks at Jay through the mirror, aware that it’s been positioned differently. Internally, he thanks his friend for not only adjusting the mirror for him, but the seat too. Less work on his part, honestly.
“You guys are the worst.” He complains, starting up the car and connecting his own phone to the system in order to continue the navigation and music on his own accord.
Then it’s silent. Jake starts to gently hum songs to himself as he gets into the groove of driving and you are in the back, with your boyfriend close by silently talking about god knows what. Jake feels comfortable despite the fact that he knew he would be the third wheel during this entire trip. Still, he really did think one of you would sit up front to keep him company.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Several hours later, Jake begins to feel sleepy again just as Jay wakes up from his own nap. You managed to stay awake the entire time because honestly, it wasn’t exactly easy to fall asleep with Jake up there grabbing into his loud-ass bag of animal crackers.
You just sat there in silence with your boyfriend using your legs as a pillow as he made his attempts at a comfortable nap, and you could tell he did manage that because of the way he fell asleep with his mouth open. You loved seeing him like this though, comfortable and warm against you. It’s really the only time it’s ever quiet when the two of you are together anyway, so you find the silence in this aspect quite enjoyable.
Typically, Jay is a quiet person. Not when he’s with you though, and certainly not when he’s with Jake.
Around you and Jake, he can typically be found forcing an argument about some bullshit he’s decided to be passionate about on that particular day, or perhaps talking shit about other people that, more than likely, didn’t mean to step on his toes. Other times, he’s dirty talking to you with such a booming and confident voice that Jake has no choice but to hear it through the walls.
Jay isn’t a quiet person ever when he’s within his own friend group, save for when he is asleep and that’s why, when he peeks an eye open and stretches in the cramped space against you, you become hyper-aware of the plan the two of you spoke about earlier.
You’ve been thinking about it the whole time since Jake started driving actually, realizing that the mirror is positioned in a way that would give him a perfect view of the backseat and the street behind him. All he has to do is adjust his eyes to where he wants the priority to be.
Surely, with Jay awake now, the priorities will change.
It’s dark now, rarely passing by another car every ten to twenty minutes you can guess. The music is still silently playing and the GPS is cutting in less and less with the long stretches of highways it has navigated the three of you to.
The car is smooth, there are no bumps in the road, no clouds in the sky to keep the moonlight from coming in, and no cars to distract Jake from what’s surely going to happen next.
And you were right. You knew you would be.
“Baby,” Jay lifts up and whispers in your ear, quiet enough to where Jake can’t hear him. “He looks a little tired—”
You look over at Jay with warm cheeks, already feeling the excitement and anticipation of what’s to come. He’s always so ready after a nap if you’re being honest.
“He does, doesn’t he?” You confirm to him, a little louder this time. Jake doesn’t falter or look back at the two of you through your hushed conversation though. Instead, he turns his music up a little more so that the two of you can discuss whatever it is you’re whispering about without him intruding.
“Should we wake him up a little bit?” Jay chuckles out through another whisper, already glancing down at your thighs. They’re bare in the loose pajama shorts you chose to wear for the car ride.
“Yeah?” He asks again, this time reaching over and hooking two fingers into the waistband of your shorts.
All you do is nod at him because any time he wants it, your body immediately reacts in the way it should. It’s almost like he’s managed to train your body to warm itself up the moment he even suggests sex.
Jay is very quick to take that nod as the green light to get to work. He palms himself gently with one hand to work himself up and uses the other hand to pull you against him. He makes it obvious that it’s a show when he positions both of you in the middle of the back seat, but doesn’t care if it looks dumb considering Jake likely won't be paying attention to where you’re sitting but, more worried about what it is you’re doing.
He palms at himself until his cock is restrained against his sweatpants, eyes concentrated on you where his fingers trace back and forth under your waist band. It really doesn’t take much for either of you, the small touch alone always gets you to start squeezing your thighs together.
“Yeah” He raises a brow at you, wanting that last little confirmation from you and glancing down at his bulge beneath his pants.
You look back at him with an eager and small smile, replacing his hand with yours.
“Yeah.”
“I’m ready when you are, baby—” He whispers out to you this time, more gently, and more for you than for Jake to eventually notice. Feeling the way your hands softly prod and press against his bulge with a sense of…nervousness.
You look at him, and then down at his bulge—for some reason, it looks more delicious in a moving car being illuminated by moonlight than it does in your apartment. Jake is barely in your thoughts now when you reach a hand over to pull it out, stroking it little by little until you can hear him gasp quietly to himself at the friction.
You jerk him off for a few minutes before he reaches over to touch you, only because he knows that you get wetter after you’ve been touching him for a while without any friction of your own—and he’s definitely right about that.
Side by side, your hand is slowly picking up the pace, circling around his length and twisting your wrist at the head. Only then does he let his hand slide into your shorts, straight down to where you, by now, actually need his fingers.
He can feel the slick almost instantly when he reaches your folds and firmly presses his palm against your clit. There’s somewhat of a groan that’s pulled out of his throat at that. The act alone is enough to get him hot and bothered, but knowing you’re already so fucking wet only amplifies the way his cock twitches in your hand.
Jake doesn’t notice a thing until he hears you breathe out loudly, mostly because Jay didn’t quite enjoy the fact that he hasn’t noticed yet. That sound you just made was solely to get Jake to look, and Jay pulled it out of you by plunging two fingers into you without warning, pressing his palm tight against your clit without warning.
It sends shivers down your spine, momentarily forgetting the small space you’re restricted by when you kick your legs out only to be met with the resistance of the back of the seats. Jay loves it. The way you spread your legs out at the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching said fingers.
He picks up the pace, feeling a dribble of his pre-cum spill against your stilled hand on his cock. And then? He glances up into the mirror to note that, yes, Jake is absolutely fucking watching. His sleepy eyes adjusting to the way your hand is wrapped around a cock a bit too thick to let you close your hand around it entirely, and, well, those spread legs, of course.
And then? Jake shifts his eyes away the second he notes Jay glancing up.
Oh. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Jay internally hates the fact that the two of you can be so absolutely shameless like he isn’t even here. That he can and fucking will just have a go at you right in front of him like this when he has nowhere to run, yet, Jake still pretends it’s not happening, even with his eyes practically boring holes into the two of you.
Jake turns his music up more now, drowning out the small gasps the two of you are letting out and trying to keep his focus on the road. He can just pretend this isn’t happening, after all, it’s really not his place to like, watch what’s happening.
No matter how much he wants to.
And when Jay hears the music turn up, he knows that Jake still hasn’t caught on and smirks over at you, plunging a third finger in and watching you gasp a little louder this time. He does it again, with more force, and then again, and again, until you’re almost whining and rolling your hips forward against his fingers so you can receive more pressure. So you, in your own little world, can force his fingers to reach ever deeper inside of you.
Then, it stops. Your head spins at the emptiness within you when you snap your head to your boyfriend.
There’s a low chuckle from Jay’s throat when he pulls his fingers out of you and swipes your hand away from his cock—he leans forward quickly and kisses you. You already feel overheated in this small cramped space, but feeling Jay’s lips against yours right now only makes it feel hotter, especially when he licks against your tongue in a way that shows you how much he wants you.
You kiss back with the same energy and he knows exactly what it means, just like you. The two of you know exactly what each other’s cues are. When the green lights go and the red lights flash—you’re both entirely in tune every fucking time.
Jay is quick with his hands, keeping his lips connected with yours when he pulls at you, trying to drag you onto his lap where his cock stands tall and glistening from the precum. You squeak out a small sound at him, turning your back to the front seat and easily throwing your leg over Jay to sit exactly where he wants you.
“Should we let him see more?” He leans in to look at you, but honestly can’t really contain himself from doing it anyway.
This is the first time he has ever done this sort of thing with you in a car, and it’s the first time Jake has nowhere to run so that he can act like he doesn’t like watching. Jake should be thanking him, honestly. There are no morals at this moment and Jay thinks it may be the hottest thing he’s ever done.
“I don’t think I can wait—” Jay chokes out now, answering himself when he feels you lean down to kiss against his neck with a humming sound coming from your throat. He’s already grinding up against you and releasing his own groans at this point, unable to ignore the fact that he needs to be inside of you right now, simply because this is his fantasy.
He quickly hooks his fingers into the crotch of your loose shorts, pulling both the shorts and panties to the side with ease before pressing up, you match his actions and sink down, feeling his length stretch you open inch by inch. The girth of his cock is always a struggle to fit at such a quick pace, still, he fills you to the brim when you struggle to sit further down. Thrusting up while simultaneously pressing you down by the hips.
It feels more desperate this time. Usually, the touching can last for upwards of an hour —but your boyfriend is looking so desperate and so good right now that you can’t really bare to resist him or his harsh thrust into you. Mostly because he always manages to make you feel just as fucked up as he does in any given situation. Enough to forget where you are. Enough to forget anyone is watching at all.
And as Jay feels your cunt squeeze around him, slowly beginning to spill your own wet onto his balls, he glances up into the mirror again—lips slack as he gasps out for you, a small and wordless praise at how tight you are, and then he smirks because there is Jake’s eyes, looking directly back at him, struggling now to keep his gaze where it belongs: on the road.
Right then and there, Jay makes a point to thrust into you for the first time with full force just so Jake knows that he’s aware that he’s watching, and he wants him to watch. For Jake, one could even say.
When he does it, you immediately gasp out at his cock tearing you open with that one tight thrust. You’ve barely managed to adjust fully, but goddamn is he deeper than usual at this angle. You can feel his length pulse inside of you which was enough already to have you panting against him, but now? As he slowly thrusts in and out, holding you up by your hips?
“God, Jay.” You groan, dropping your head to his shoulder as you see stars just from the lack of adjusting.
At those words, he’s only inclined to fuck a bit faster, sending a tingle of pain and pleasure straight through you as your jaw falls slack against him.
Jay hold your hips, helping you stay slightly elevated above him so that he can drive his cock into you, again and again, stretching you out and dragging against your walls at such a quick pace you literally can barely take in a breath—and when he moves a hand up to pull up to his lips by the back of the neck, his eyes are dark when you finally look at him.
He lips are still parted, he is out of breath and his eyes are hooded, still fucking up and into you with so much stamina. Too much stamina, actually, after his six hour driving shift.
“He’s watching,” He whispers against your lips, catching them just for a moment in a heated kiss before he continues. “Show him how much you love me.”
That alone causes you to moan out, the very idea of Jake watching hitting you directly in your stomach more than it ever did before, back when he was so quick to leave the room.
“Jay—I wanna see,” You stammer out in a small hiccup as he continues to practically fuck himself as hard as he can into you.
He only smirks with a breath at your request, gripping your hips even tighter before pressing you down, forcing his leaking cock into you ever deeper. He intentionally flexes it inside of you, smiling at the wince on your face at that constant stretch he always gives to you.
“You wanna see Jake watch you get fucked?” He asks in a smug and breathy voice, leaning to lick a stripe against your neck. “You’re so dirty—” He adds in a half-moan, releasing your hips and pulling back to look at you again when you immediately lift on your knees for relief.
“Turn around then.”
You do, carefully pulling him out of you with a wince of relief and shuffling your way around to sink back down on him again, this time with your back to his chest. Mostly so you can make direct eye contact with Jake this time, now that you know he’s watching.
You’re a little nervous but your thoughts are spinning so quickly that you don’t really care about any of that right now. If things are awkward after the car ride, it’ll be because Jake won't admit to liking it.
Which he clearly does, when you see his eyes flicking from the road back to the mirror with furrowed brows. You make a point to keep your eyes on him when you slide back down on Jay’s cock, leaning yourself against his chest and resting the back of your head on his shoulder.
This time, Jay keeps his hands at your thighs, one spreading your legs and the other hooking your shorts and panties to the side—holding them in place so that Jake could get a full view of his cock stuffing you entirely.
He can imagine how painful the stretch must look. Damn, your pussy always does grip when he’s burying himself into you. He’s almost jealous of the view.
That’s when you physically see Jake shiver as he darts his eyes down to what you presume to be the very spot Jay is displaying for him right now but, your attention is very quickly pulled away when Jay thrusts up, placing his chin on your shoulder and gripping your thigh even tighter to keep your legs open.
“Look at him—” Jay demands in a whisper when he bucks into you again, turning his head only slightly to whisper this time. “He’s loving this.”
And he is, as unfortunate as it is.
Jake is unable to drown out the sound of your moans with his music, he doesn’t even want to drown them out at this point. He could barely pull his attention from the mirror at first, but now? He definitely can’t now. Jake is keeping his eyes on the road only to glance back up and see a full view of your face staring back at him, your pussy pulsing around his own best’s friend’s cock—It’s a bit much, he will admit but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been when watching the two of you.
Mostly because, this doesn’t feel accidental now. With the way you’re either moaning and rolling your eyes back before looking dead at his eyes in the mirror, or you’re reaching down to spread your pussy out even more for him to see. Wiggling and wincing at the way Jay’s cock forever stretches you past your own limit.
Jake feels like he’s going fucking insane watching this, unable to bring himself to outwardly groan at the image just yet.
Unfortunately, that happens anyway. Against his will, even. His throat forces a groan out of him when he notices your blown pupils staring back at him as you gently bounce behind him. He can fucking hear how wet you are as you bounce, he can hear the desperate breaths and the pornographic moans—it’s taking everything in him not to pull this car over right now and take Jay’s place.
But he can’t. You’re not his to share. And while he can’t pull over to take over—he can, at the very least, attempt to release his own tension.
He is trying to be sly when he moves one hand from the steering wheel down to his own pining and jealous cock, palming himself through the soft fabric. He moans at the sensation without intention at the same time you do. Forcing his eyes to darken as you stare at him in the mirror.
You’re maintaining as much eye contact with him as you can, but it’s becoming difficult each time Jay whispers small praises in your ear.
“You must look so good from his angle, I’m so fucking jealous—” Jay grunts out against you, now holding you down again and taking over by thrusting into you with powerful, tight thrusts. “Are you spreading it out for him?”
You nod against Jay, finally allowing yourself to throw your head back against his shoulder again, this time swirling your own hips against him and using your fingers to spread your lips out impossibly wide for Jake.
Jay hums out at that, relaxing his body beneath you so that you could work your magic on him for his best friend. He holds onto your hips for a moment before glancing up again at the mirror.
He can see that Jake is driving one-handed and smirks to himself about that.
“Is he getting off right now?” Jay chuckles quietly as he moves your hair from the side of his face and uses the other hand to grip your chin and forces your eyes back to the mirror to witness what he’s witnessing himself.
You just moan at the sight, not only noticing that Jake is clearly still watching, but he’s moving too, his shoulder moving in a very obvious way in which would tell practically anyone that he’s fucking his fist as best he can right now.
“Talk to him.” Jay demands this time, wincing at the way immediately you pull yourself up and prop yourself on the center console, head peeking far enough past the seats to see exactly what Jake is doing and startling him enough that he swerves the car only a little bit in panic.
Jay stays leaned back in his seat, staring down at your ass and the way you bounce, forcing his cock in and out at such a beautiful pace at this point, no more pain in regards to his thickness. Just full on stretched pussy gripping him with each slide.
God, the view is always so fucking good.
You’re easily riding him now, perched up so that you can dirty talk his best friend just to get a rise out of him, Jay is loving it as he reaches a hand forward to spread your pussy out around his cock before pressing down on your back so that you sit against him harder.
You moan out next to Jake, attempting to keep your composure when you look down at his length pressing heavily against his pants. “Are you watching us?” You ask, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue.
Jake can see your body moving even though he can only see your face in his peripheral vision, unable to face you completely—it’s kind of killing him that you’re just talking to him while getting fucked. He’s embarrassed, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?!
“It’s okay, Jakey—” You coo out, the pet name coming out like honey against your tongue. “We want you to watch.” You urge him on, seeing him immediately move his hand back to his cock.
You stare down at it, wondering how big it is and how good he is with his hands, but you know your boyfriend probably wouldn’t appreciate that much.
So, you whisper very quietly, leaning a bit more towards Jake as you watch his fingers grip his cock tighter than they were gripping the steering wheel earlier. “Why don’t you pull it out?”
Jay heard it, and honestly, he would normally be jealous because he will not share you with anyone under any circumstance, but the fact that he wants his own best friend to watch kind of calls for at least letting him cum right? By his own hand though, no more, no less.
You feel Jay thrust a little harder into you this time, pushing and holding you down by your hips. Knowing he’s kind of become the third wheel himself, despite actively fucking into you.
He fits himself into you with a force that tells you not to push it with Jake any further though, and you listen to his body language the same way you would with his words.
“Jay is okay with it, but you can only watch—okay?”
Your sweet voice hits Jake's ears, slightly moaning with each word. He knows you’re feeling good right now and he can’t contain it anymore. He can no longer pretend like he doesn’t think about watching the two of you like he doesn’t go and rub one out in his room each time he sees it.
That’s when he finally uses one hand to pull his sweats down with one tug, eyes fixated on the road as he listens to you. He knows you’re watching him, and doesn’t know what else to think about aside from the fact that his cock is springing out and leaking heavily against his t-shirt. Showing you how badly he fucking wants it.
“Oh—” You gasp, and Jake isn’t sure if it’s for him or for Jay.
You would never admit that it’s because of how much bigger he is in length compared to Jay, and how perfectly it fits into his hand, with those long and pretty fingers.
Jay is becoming increasingly jealous though, especially with the way you begin to bounce against his cock as if Jake is doing something that really gets to you, but goddamn it feels so good that he can’t bear to stop you. Hoping to god that Jake doesn’t manage to steal his girl from him while he’s literally balls deep.
He throws his head back this time and just lets you fuck yourself on him as you talk to Jake. You’re unable to stop yourself from riding Jay in a way that seems entirely too out of character for you. But when you look back, your boyfriend seems to really be enjoying himself.
You turn your attention back to the front, seeing now that Jake is moving his hand much quicker, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he desperately attempts to drive the speed limit at the very least.
“I bet you wish it was you, don’t you?” You urge him on, watching his reaction each time you speak to him. “Bet you wish you could feel how wet I am, Jakey, right?”
Jake can’t even contain his nod, moving his fist up his length at a quicker pace than before.
“Show me how you’d d—” You’re cut off with a moan when Jay reaches forward and grips your hips again, taking over for you and aggressively fucking into you at a pace that shows you that he’s either pissed or about to cum.
“Show me how you’d do it, ” You repeat through the thumping of the thick cock inside of you, attempting to keep a level voice as Jay aggressively spreads and grips your ass, grunting through each thrust.
Jake finally turns to look at you for a moment, a very short moment, and then intentionally fucks up into his hand once, twice, and then a third time before shooting his eyes back to the road in a panted groan.
He wants to show you just how hard he would fuck you right now if he were given the chance.
The way he moans throws you for a loop, much deeper sounding than your own boyfriend’s but the sound of it hits your core and spreads heat throughout your body.
You instantly reach down with one hand to circle your clit, clenching around Jay as he attempts to pull you back to him—but you stay in place, eyes trained on Jake’s cock being pumped relentlessly. You know he’s showing you the way he would fuck you, and goddamn he would probably be so good at it.
“Shit—” Jay chokes out. “Baby—” He warns this time.
You’re not sure if your boyfriend is telling you to pull off to prevent orgasm, or simply warning you that he’s absolutely about to fucking obliterate your cunt as best he can, all for Jake to watch.
Jay can tell you’re rubbing your clit, at least, but fuck you’re so goddamn wet. His cock slides in and out of you so much easier compared to some days and it feels so good to him. Warm and wet walls hugging him, pleading for his cock to keep going, and going, and fucking going.
He feels so good inside of you right now, more than usual, in this tiny space that the car offers. With your pretty moans, and maybe even Jake’s moans on top of it all. It’s a bit overwhelming, Jay can admit, as he suddenly, and desperately wants all three of you to cum with him.
Thankfully for Jay, you also desperately want to see Jake cum, and you hate to say that it’s kind of Jay’s fault for prompting all of this. Including the fact that you’re only pressed between these fucking seats watching him work himself because your boyfriend told you to talk him through it.
“Are you going to make me cum?” You ask out to Jake suddenly, sighing between your words and wondering why the fuck you just said that but, it sets off a fire in the man with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his cock.
It gives him the illusion that he is fucking you, and that he will make you cum.
“Come on, Jakey, Jay’s close too.“’
And just like that Jake is squeezing himself so tightly, dragging his hand only once up his length before he’s nearly slamming his foot on the breaks. He lets his foot off of the gas instead, thankful that there is not a single car on this street when he cums. Visibly shaking and attempting to hold in his moans as he hears you directly next to him being fucked senseless.
“Oh my god–” Jake half-moans, unable to keep his eyes from rolling back as he stutters his body through the pulses of cum shooting out of him.
You praise him for it, wanting nothing more than to reach over and kiss him for looking so fucking erotic doing what he just did, but you opt to just compliment him.
The image of Jake breathing his way through his orgasm, keeping the three of you safe in this car throughout all of it, and obviously wanting to fuck you has you nearing your own climax as Jay’s hips stutter against you.
Your fingers against your clit grow increasingly aggressive as you finally allow yourself to fall back against Jay, taking over for his tired hips as you attempt to work him up to his orgasm.
Honestly, you feel like the sexiest person alive right now, two men unable to contain themselves over you—it feels so good.
And when Jay growls against you with an audible ‘never talk to him like that again’, you release, surprisingly, before Jay does. Cumming around his thick cock and gripping against the seats in front of you as your ears ring and your eyes begin to see colors.
Something about your boyfriend being jealous is just entirely too hot, you might just have to absolutely talk to Jake like that again. Only so you can feel the way he grips you possessively and mumbles strings of both praise and arguments against you when he finally hits his own orgasm.
Words like “what the fuck was he doing up there for you to get so wet, huh?” and “don’t ever use that voice on him again–”
When it’s all said and done, the car is a mess and Jake is immediately taking the next exit to the closest gas station. Partially so he can hide in the bathroom and cry before shamefully cleaning his juices off of the damn windshield (this is an exaggeration), but mostly so you could get cleaned up.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake is standing in the bathroom staring at himself, opting to give up on cleaning the cum off of his shirt because this gas station appears to have the hottest water known to man and it only clumped up against the fabric.
He’s sighing to himself, realizing how much of an absolute freak he must seem to you and Jay when, speak of the fucking devil, the man himself walks into the bathroom and crosses his arms at Jake.
“Yknow—” Jay starts with a glare. “I could have sworn for a full ten minutes you were going to take my girlfriend away from me.”
Jake’s eyes widen in embarrassment, because in all honestly, he would have fucking tried if you’d have let him.
“It’s not like that.” Jake stutters, backing away from the mirror and forgetting that Jay is actually right behind him, so he ends up bumping into him. He very quickly twists around and properly backs away from him this time.
“Oh my god, relax.” Jay steps forwards and claps him on the shoulder. “I was the one who suggested we even do this, just like—watch what you’re doing.”
Jake nods, looking down.
“What do you mean?” Jake questions, still looking at the floor.
“What? You thought we could do all of this and expect you not to stay the next time you walk in on us?”
Jake blushes, fixing his eyes on the soiled spot of his shirt.
“I’m embarrassed—I didn’t know what I was supposed to do so I just, did what she suggested?”
“That’s good.” Jay pats him on the shoulder again and forces him to look at him. “Jake, if you don’t touch her, you can do whatever you want with your cock—just know that I don’t share.”
Something inside of Jake both shatters and swells up. Yeah, part of him wondered if all of this would lead to a beach vacation threesome, but it doesn’t appear that way. Nevertheless, Jay is still offering up a pretty sweet deal.
“Is she okay with that?” Jake asks.
“More than okay. I couldn’t tell if she came for me or for you, which pisses me off, not gonna lie.” Jay pulls away from Jake and pulls his length out casually, dabbing it with a napkin before attempting to wet the paper towel.
“Fuck! Why is the water so hot!?” He exclaims, jumping back and looking over at Jake.
“This is too weird—” Jake says to himself with heated cheeks, and then turns his back to Jay. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, it won't happen again, honestly,”
Jay just shrugs, allowing his paper towel to cool down like an actual smart person before dabbing away the dried cum. It’s not like he didn’t rent out a single-roomed beach house in order to prompt Jake to watch during this vacation.
“She’s the one in trouble for that one. But we already talked. So we’re cool, just letting you know the boundaries, that’s all.”
Jay had specifically asked you not to dirty talk Jake the way you did or to call him by any sort of nickname. But you had urged that it was honestly the hottest thing Jay has ever done for you, though it was supposed to be for Jake.
He guessed you might be more into the whole being watched thing than he is, and that’s fair considering you never so much as tried anything kinky before meeting him. The two of you compromised. You’re only allowed to praise and talk to Jake that way if Jay is allowed to absolutely humiliate him at the same time. They’re not even sure if Jake is into that sort of thing, but you’d both stop the moment he felt uncomfortable.
“Okay, so… “ Jake says, waiting for Jay to finish his cleanup. “Is this gonna be a normal thing then?”
“Maybe, if you keep wanting to catch us, that is.”
“I swear, I never did that intentionally!” Jake defends himself but finally looks over at Jay who has his pants pulled up now.
“Oh, I know. It was also my idea to have you catch us all the time. You definitely liked watching though.” Jay winks at Jake knowingly, but before he could even attempt to respond there’s a toilet flushing and a burly man walking out of the furthest stall in the back.
Both men stare at each other, too stunned to move based on the fact that this man had been sitting on the toilet listening to the entire conversation and hearing them clean cum off of themselves. Honestly. If there was a hole nearby, Jake would probably bury himself in it (no pun intended).
“Gentlemen.” The burly man says with a solemn tone, and all Jake can do is turn around and walk the fuck out of there as quickly as he can.
“Uh—” Jay says to the man, pointing behind him with his thumb and an awkward smile before turning on his heel and pacing out directly after Jake.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
– read part two here!
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Where is the line?
In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.
Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:
What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?
Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.


Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.
The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.


Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.
What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."
The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.


Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.
This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.
In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.


Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.
Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.
But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.
However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."
For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.
Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.
Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?
Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.
Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.


In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.
It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:
Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?
From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.
After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.
But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?
Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.


In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.
Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?
Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.
Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.
In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."
Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?
Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.
What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?
We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.
We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.
Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.
Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.
I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.
Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?
We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.
So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.
Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.
Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.
This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:
"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.
The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!
It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.
Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.
Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.
Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?
That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.
Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.
If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?
You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.
So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!
In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."
Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?
Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?
What changed?!
Where does Tim draw the line?
I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.
Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.
That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!
In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.
It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.


"I believe in every choice I make!"
Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.
He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.
Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!
Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?
#batman#dc#robin#tim drake#red robin#theory#analysis#long post#tim drake is a menace#unhinged tim drake#To think all of this was written without mentioning Tim's corrupt future selves#or the numerous times he's actually contemplated or attempted murder#Believe me I would've loved to add 5-10 more screenshots of those moments alone#but I hit the 30 image limit :(#Anyway I want to study Tim in a lab#Feedback is welcome#I'm aware I hadn't read all the DC comics so I could've missed something
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Summer Loving
Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Roy, & Tim.
AN: Have a lot of lengthy and/or smutty wips on the go atm and I can feel them bogging me down a bit, so I decided to take a break and work on some short summer themed slice of life/domestic fluff to cleanse my palate. I feel I must apologise for my gratuitous and obvious Roy Harper thirst but I wont, enjoy!
CWs: Some are more suggestive than others, reader discretion advised. Minor swearing and minors swearing, mentions of alcohol. GN! Reader
Bruce: Tan Lines
It’s moments like these where you wish Bruce didn’t have to spend his nights on the endless pursuit of justice. You knew what you’d signed up for, but you’d missed him all day and god, the feel of his strong fingers massaging after sun into your skin was euphoric. Would you be such a bad guy for trying to convince him to stay home?
“I like this.” His hum pulls you from your train of thought, and you look down to see his fingers trailing against the tan line your shorts had caused. He spares you a quick suggestive glance, the look a wolf might give a rabbit it’s particularly fond of before dipping down to replace his hands with his mouth.
“Ohhh, stay home tonight Brucie?” The look he gives you this time maintains its warmth but there’s an air of warning to it. Despite his simmering combativeness, you add a charming “Please?”
To that he lifts his head, just far enough to deny you of his lips, but close enough that his low voice still seems to reverberate through your body as he speaks. “Crime doesn’t take the night off, neither can I.”
“I know.” You sigh, admitting defeat before the battle has even begun, and he rewards you by assuming his barrage of kisses to your lower body.
“Just don’t go out too early.” You advise, trailing the tip of your finger from ear to ear, estimating the line where his Batman cowl ends. “Don’t want to get any tan lines of your own.”
“Trust me.” There’s humour in his tone now as he works his way upwards, ghosting his 5 o'clock shadow along the skin of your stomach as he prowls closer. “The evening is young, and I have plans for you yet.”
Dick: A/C
The A/C is broken. Again. To combat the heat the whole household has resorted to wearing nothing but their underwear, except of course for Haley who is always naked. Lucky dog.
Additionally, all the windows are open in an attempt to let the cool night air circulate the humid apartment but all it’s really doing is letting in the ambient sound of Blüdhavens boisterous nightlife and countless flies.
“Want one?” Dick asks from the kitchen spaces as he digs into his second ice pop since dinner, you joke about envying his metabolism despite knowing damn well that’s not the real reason for his physique. Although between the food and the heat-induced skipped workout, he’s bloating, just a little bit; the tiniest, most delicious bit of plumpness and you can’t take your eyes off of it. “Are you checking me out?”
“Always.” You reply with a brazen smile, continuing your laser-focused stare even as he begins approaching your spot on the couch.
“How about you stop looking and start touching, huh baby?”
“No.” You finally cease your objectification of his stomach to look him in the eyes. The intended sternness in your tone is stifled by the way his icy confection has turned his lips blue. “I already told you, no sex in this heat until the air con is fixed.”
Despite your posturing, you don’t fight his closing proximity, nor do you stop him from dragging his cool-raspberry-stained tongue along the length of your throat, it’s still cold from the half-eaten lolly and the sensation sends a welcome chill through your body. As inefficient as it may be, you much prefer this method of cooling down to an A/C.
Jason: Sunrise
The metal grate of your fire escape is surprisingly cool against your bare feet. It’s early, pre-sunrise early but the air is still thick, a combination of the arid summer heat and steam of the cities underground. Despite the unpleasant temperature, you settle onto the grill, with nothing but a pillow for comfort and two ice-cold glasses of lemonade.
When 15 minutes pass, and you start to notice a growing tinge of orangeness in the sky, you start to worry you’re being stood up, or worse; something awful has happened. Something that would prevent him from coming home, but then you hear it; The heavy steps of Jason’s steel-toed boots approaching from your apartment’s rooftop.
You glance up just in time to see him dropping down. A loud clang rings out as he hits the floor, causing the whole structure to vibrate and you wonder if he does that every night, surely not, there’s no way you could sleep through it or that your neighbours wouldn’t complain.
“Aren’t you sweating balls?” You ask, taking in his gear as he sits down beside you. The boots, the cargo pants, turtleneck, jacket, gloves, and the full-face mask.
“Nah.” His voice is muffled by the headpiece until he takes it off, shaking his head to support his answer. “It’s weird but I’ve kinda run cold ever since I died, you know?”
Obviously you don’t know, in fact having felt his searing, naked skin pressed to yours on multiple occasions, you highly doubt him, but you nod regardless and hand him his drink. Unlike a man on the chilly side, he chugs half of the icy drink in one go and you wonder if he’ll ever stop jumping from buildings and telling white lies to impress you.
“Want some help warming up?” Before he can respond you lean up, brushing your nose against his and watching as his lids flutter closed in anticipation, his breath is cool on your lips and when you finally press into them you can taste nothing but the tartness of the lemonade. Regardless, it’s heavenly; soft and tender. Every kiss with Jason makes your heart flutter in the same way it had the first time.
When he pulls away you chase after him, eyes only opening to meet his heterochromatic irises when your pursuit for more becomes an abundant failure.
He’s grinning as he tells you; “We’re missing the sunrise.”
“I don’t care.” You answer, trying again, and this time succeeding in drawing him in for another kiss.
Roy: Paddling Pool
If ever anybody asked you to describe a moment of pure domestic bliss, this moment would be a strong contender. Your lower body is submerged in a paddling pool as you bask in the sun, enjoying the occasional splash of water caused by Lian’s uncoordinated but enthusiastic dancing beside you. She too is basking, but hers is under an endless stream of hose water being directed by her father; Roy, who is watching the two of you from a sun lounger, hosepipe in one hand and a non-alcoholic beer in the other.
He's quite the vision, no shoes, no shirt, just tastefully tacky swim trunks and his iconically worn-out grey baseball cap that may be protecting his head, but is doing little to tame his mop of fiery hair. From this angle, you’ve got a great shot of some of his lesser-seen tattoos, but every time you look over at him you find yourself far more smitten with the countless freckles that adorn his chest and shoulders, made darker and more noticeable by the recent heatwave.
“How’s the Heineken?” You ask, genuinely curious how he’s enjoying his first taste of alcohol-free booze.
“Crap.” He replies, lips briefly curving into a self-amused smirk before dropping to woefully panicked as you both turn to look at Lian. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have been listening in, content in her own toddler babblings. Relieved, he turns his attention back to you and corrects himself. “Um, not good babe.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.” You offer your condolences, but he seems completely unbothered.
Instead, he turns the glass bottle around in his hands a few times before chucking it over his shoulder. It sails through the air before seamlessly landing in the open bin by your backdoor. Your concern about it leaking into the rest of the recycling is seconded by how impressed you are. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times his trick-shot hit, you’re always at least a little bit captivated by his impeccable aim.
“It’s cool, hon.” He shrugs and leans back into the lounger. His eyes flicker back and forth between you and his child, a slow, contented smile spreading across his face. “Got everything I need right here.”
Bonus:
Hours later, you’re sorting through the soggy contents of the recycling as Roy scoops Lian up in his arms and takes her sleepy frame inside. The sun is still high and bright, but it’s past her bedtime, and it’s been a long, exciting day for her. He dries her with the softest towel he can find, careful to pat down every pruned finger and toe before putting her to bed.
“How was your day, sweetie?” He asks, strong fingers petting her soft hair to help soothe her to sleep.
“Crap!”
Tim: Ice Cream
Tim is still sleeping off a rough, muggy night of crime fighting as you circumnavigate the boat's sad excuse for a kitchen. The bags under his eyes had been growing darker each day under the stress of hunting down a mysterious new bank robber. You’d hoped to lift his spirits by surprising him with a tub of homemade ice cream, but so far all you’d managed to make is a mess.
After having a falling out with the thrifted ice cream maker you’d stuffed in the back of a cupboard months ago, you settled for hand mixing. By the time you put the concoction in the freezer to set, your wrists are aching, and Tim has begun to stir. You’re just finishing up the dishes you’d created when he finally emerges from the bedroom in shorts, flip-flops, and a not-so-summer-appropriate hoodie.
Before you can offer a ‘good morning, Timmybear’ his arms are around your waist, pulling you close from behind and settling the weight of his sleepy head on your shoulder.
“What’s this?” He asks and then he’s licking what you can only assume is a stray splash of the mixture from your cheek with the bravery only a man raised by Batman could possess. It could have been literally anything. “Banana?”
“Chunky monkey actually.” Goddamn. Surprise ruined in less than a minute. Oh well, at least you can give him something to look forward to. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get ice cream without you, I made it for you.”
“I figured.” He hums, sounding so very drowsy despite the ease with which he manoeuvres your body against the kitchen counter so he can keep you close while brewing his morning tea, occasionally planting soft kisses to the side of your neck as his hands move absentmindedly. “You’re the best, you know that? Can’t wait to try it.”
“You figured? How did you figure?” You skip right past the justified praise; he’d been practically comatose since 4 AM, how could he have figured?
“It’s on the ceiling.” He’s right, you look up to see a cream-soaked walnut lodged above you and let out a dramatic sigh as you fall deeper into Tim's arms.
Taglist: @wandalfnation
#gilverrwrites#dc#reader insert#gn reader#bruce wayne/reader#bruce wayne#batman/reader#Batman#dick grayson/reader#dick grayson#nightwing/reader#Nightwing#jason todd/reader#jason todd#red hood/reader#red hood#roy harper#Roy harper/reader#arsenal#arsenal/reader#tim drake/reader#tim drake#red robin/reader#red robin#x reader#divider by @anitalenia
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Valentine’s Day with Arcane Characters 💖💐
What better way to celebrate than with some Arcane x reader headcanons? Enjoy everyone & have a happy valentines ! 💌
❤️ Vi-
Vi secretly loves Valentine’s Day. She makes you breakfast in bed, takes you out on a fun day outing with some shopping sprinkled in, then you eat at your favorite restaurant. Through the day, Vi is complimenting you, opening doors, and whispering seductive thoughts in your ear. You end the day naked in bed together and neither of you get much sleep that night. Vi wants to keep you pleased and knowing that she does makes her prideful.
🧡 Ekko-
He loves a little lowkey date where it is just the two of you enjoying each other’s company. He plans a picnic under the stars and packs the basket with your favorite treats. Ekko’s gift to you would be several little gifts he handcrafted to represent your favorite things/ personality and a bouquet of flowers he picked himself. Ekko doesn’t choose a quiet date because he wants to hide you; he appreciates the soft intimacy you share when you’re away from others.
💛 Mel-
Mel wakes you up with kisses and cuddles in bed. She had this idea planned for weeks and wanted you to get the most relaxing day possible. Her gift to you is a couples spa weekend where you can go to enjoy each other and let the tension from your daily lives melt away. Mel loves seeing you in nothing but a robe, and takes any chance she can to touch your bare skin or sneak you a kiss. The spa also has a pool you both lounge by and feed each other fruit. By the time you return home, you’re both feeling refreshed and somehow more in love than before.
💚 Viktor-
Viktor’s ideal way to spend Valentine’s Day is snuggling on the couch watching movies together. The busyness of the holiday overwhelms him, so he prefers for the two of you to stay in, which you’re more than okay with. Viktor gifts you a box of chocolates and rents any movies you two decide to watch that night. You order takeout, and banter about the movies you each decide to watch. Viktor could not feel happier than he does with you.
🩵 Jinx-
Jinx likes Valentine’s Day in a non-traditonal sense. She loves to gift you obscure cards that say things like ‘Life would BLOW without you’ or ‘You make my heart go BOOM’ accompanied by a picture of an explosion. Her favorite way to spend the day is to try a new thing with you; no matter if that‘s trying a new skill class together, exploring a new area, or traveling to a nearby theme park, she’s down. Jinx doesn’t like to plan things in advance and prefers to let the holiday go how it goes, but she makes sure you enjoy yourself and feel loved regardless.
💙 Caitlyn-
Caitlyn is the type to plan dinner reservations at a high establishment restaurant for you. She spares no expense when it comes to showing you how much you mean to her. She wears her nicest dress. It’s something that shows off her figure, but keeps you wanting more until she can get you home and have her way with you. Cait’s gift to you is a large bouquet of flowers and jewelry that has your initials engraved on it.
💜 Sevika-
Sevika never really understood the hype about Valentine’s Day. She just saw it as another day, but seeing how happy it makes you changed her stance. Sevika likes to gift you new lingerie set every year; partly because she thinks you’re hot, and partly because that means she can rip them off you with less worries. Sevika would also buy a couple bottles of your favorite alcohol and order takeout from your favorite restaurant. You spend the evening watching trashy tv, making out, and getting intoxicated before moving the party to your bedroom for the night.
🤍 Jayce-
Jayce spent weeks forging a bouquet of metal roses for you. When you get home, Jayce has your favorite meal cooked and laid out ready for you, with the bouquet in the middle of the table. Jayce is dressed in a suit, and smiling ear to ear. He wraps you up in a hug and kisses your face. He lets you freshen up and wash the day off, while he finishes the last touches of the dessert. You end the night tipsy, full of laughter, and barefoot while dancing to music in your formalwear.
#arcane#league of legends#arcane lol#sevika#sevika arcane#mel medarda#mel arcane#ekko arcane#arcane x reader#jinx x reader#ekko x reader#sevika hc#sevika x reader#sevika x you#sevika league of legends#mel league of legends#mel x reader#mel medara x reader#vi arcane#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman x reader#viktor x reader#viktor arcane#arcane jayce#arcane viktor#jayce talis#jayce x reader#jayce talis x reader
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"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.
Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).
"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.
Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.
"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.
When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle
"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.
"Apparently?"
"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."
Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.
"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.
"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."
Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.
"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.
"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.
"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.
"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."
Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.
Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -
"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?
"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -
"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."
It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.
"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."
"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."
"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.
"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."
"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."
He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."
Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.
Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.
Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.
His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.
#eddie&tommy#just a little something to tide us over until we get eddie riding the struggle bus on screen#bucktommy
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Awake - (Maknae Line)



separate members Ateez x (F)Reader
Summary: You went to sleep after a HUGE (not really) fight, only, when you went to sleep you were alone, not in the comforting arms of your lover.
Genre: Hurt + Comfort
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 9.5K
Est.Read Time: 47 min
Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet
Banner: @cafekitsune
Hyung Line: Here
A/N: A little update, this took forever- Also I no longer remember how to write a literature review, yet, it is due on Monday (fml) .I'll update my requests soon and upload the next chapter of Meow soon, too! (I AM SORRY SAN'S PART IS EXTREMELY LONG)



Choi San
“I…what?” you paused, looking up from the vacuum-packed pillow in your lap. Sitting at the center of his bed, surrounded by various items, you blinked at the man in the swivel chair.
“I said no, I'm not going to use or put any other pillows on my bed.” The beanie clad man spat back, crossing his arms over his chest, the black shirt clinging onto his form. An eerie silence settled between the two, neither making their next move, nor deciding to back down.
The evening had started extremely well. Tonight she was going to spend the night at his place, for the first time ever, which is why she was extremely excited and nervous. The two had spent a week planning the various activities for Friday night. He had volunteered to arrange the movies and bring the gaming console to his room, thrilled when she told him she'd bring the skincare products, claiming the two could do facials and wear face masks! It got better when he asked if perhaps they could play board games to which she instantly agreed, adding - “Let's bake too! I'll get the ingredients!”
Hence, as soon as you had entered his room, you had dumped the contents of your back on his bed, showing him the numerous facemasks, UNO cards, a board game, some hair accessories, makeup and an unhealthy amount of snack (yes, you were planning on doing cutesy couple things) you had brought, the ingredients for the ‘special Friday night brownie’ on the computer desk beside him. What you did not expect was for it to all go down hill once you took out the pillows.
“What’s that?” he asked, watching you pull a vacuumed white thing out of your bag, one after another. Placing them on his bed, before taking out two pillow covers. You smiled at him, before ripping off the seal of one of the pillows, pulling the plastic off, and watching as it fluffed up. “Pillows!” you smiled, “You only have one, the poor boy is all worn out, lumpy, and old, so I got two more! You can replace it with them!” looking at him, you pressed the cotton pillow, to show him, “They’re super soft and have memory foam, I got them, especially for your neck and shoulders!”
You grabbed the second one and placed it on your lap when he spoke, “No.”
“What?”
“I said no, I'm not going to use or put any other pillows on my bed.”
Blinking at him, you moved the sealed pillow aside and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him, trying not to push any of the multiple things you had brought off the bed. Feet pressing against the floor you looked up at him, hands on your knees, leaning closer, “Sannie…it’s just a pillow-”
That was perhaps all it took for the mood to go sour, real quick. He had got up from his seat and marched towards her, causing her eyes to widen in surprise, especially when he had stood right above her, hands on his hips, saying something she’d never even imagined, before reaching beside her - though she had flinched when his hand came closer, something he had noticed but chose to ignore- grabbing his pillow and pulling back. He stared at her, not even sparing her a glance as he walked out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him as he did so, his words still ringing in her ears as she blinked down at her hands, wondering what she had said, if she had done something to offend him, if she really was inconsiderate.
“I didn’t know you could be so inconsiderate and spoiled- or maybe you’re just selfish.”
Honestly, you had thought of going after him, but you had never seen react like this- this uncharacteristic outburst was extremely new to you, the cold words thrown at you were worse, this wasn’t what you were used to. This wasn’t the same Sannie who would whisper sweet nothings in your ear when you were sad, this wasn’t the same Sannie who once came over when he found out you were sick, only leaving when you were asleep and well fed. This definitely wasn’t the same man who had taken hold of your heart, delicately placing it in his pocket- no, you really didn’t know who that was. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t go after him, at one point, you had thought of packing up and going home, but when you glanced at the clock 01.23 AM was not a very appropriate time to travel back home alone. With that you had neatly packed up everything but the essentials needed for your nightly routine,making sure all you’d have to do was change before leaving as soon as the sun woke up.
You peaked out the door to find complete darkness, sighing in relief as you took your essentials and walked down the hall towards the washroom, passing by Seonghwa’s room, making sure to be quiet when you noticed the light peaking through from under the door. If you focused, you could make out Seonghwa’s muffled voice, though it was like he was talking to himself, or he was on the phone, but he did not sound pleased at all. Due to which you tried to rush through your routine, making sure to be as quiet as before, slowly closing the door, your breath hitching at the soft click, a hand gripping the door handle, while your palm pressed against the wood, trying to listen to any sounds of movements, luckily there was nothing.
With a sigh you walked over to the mirror, grimacing at the sight, your new night suit was but a simple but a cute cotton outfit, a lavender camisole with a patching pair of loose fitted shorts, ensuring maximum comfort and well…it was supposed to ensure his liking as well. The mere thought of him squeezed your heart, wanting to go after him and sort it out- but no, you were a big girl and a smart one, no man could just say something so brash and throw a fit before leaving, not even the man who held your heart in his warm palm.
You had assumed that these thoughts were going to consume and feed off your sleep, but boy, were you wrong, as soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light, off to dreaming about who knows what, but it was a pleasant dream, a very soft, warm and nice dream, maybe it was because of the new pillow, who knows- but it was a very life like dream, where you felt all fuzzy and secure, as if you were in a comforting hug, ones like he’d give you, a bit too…realistic.
Though she only jerked awake at the feeling of something trailing up her spine, a small gasp breaking the silence, as she tried to move away, only to be pulled closer, a groan from above her head vibrating through her whole being. Oh.
Letting out a sigh of relief, you tilted your head up, to the best of your ability, forcing the man’s chin off your head as he blinked down at you with droopy eyes, a sheepish pout, ever so visible even in the dim light. The thing trailing up your spine, was in fact, his fingers, his fingertips tracing your spine, in a soothing manner. Your own hand squeezed in between their bodies, trying to push him away but he didn't budge, only his palm pressed against the small of your back, trying to keep you near him.
“You don’t get to be mean, and assume a little skinship is gonna fix that.”
Your words were harsh, and your tone was even more harsh, but you wanted it to be, you wanted it to sting, enough for him to realise this wasn't a joke, he had ruined the entire night and the mood.
His grip loosened at your words, enough for you to slip away from you to move onto the other pillow, sighing at the cold sensation on your cheek, now at the same eye level as the moron who was on the other pillow- internally you wanted to be petty and snatch it from under his head, he didn't deserve it, but the sight of his mochi cheek smashed against the soft pillow had your inner girl squealing at at the sight.
“I…I've had this same pillow since my trainee days.” he mumbled, reaching behind him to pull out the lumpy, beat up, tired pillow and pulling it to his chest, hugging it closer, “I had it when I got picked…I had it when we went to Gangnam…when grandpa…passed and…well…I- did you think I was gonna...hurt you?” He whispered, referring to the way you had flinched, of course the guilt was eating him up, that's why he had gone to Seonghwa to talk about it- maybe he looked to scary for his own good, but hell, an angry Seonghwa was even more frightening, and that's whom he had to deal with.
With a deep breath you reached over and placed your hand on top of his hand, "It was...reflex...I knew you wouldn't...at least not physically," , noticing how his fingers gripped the pillow harder at contact, “Why…didn't you just…say that before?”
His breath hitched at your question, looking everywhere but at your face, the insecurities brewing inside as he chewed on his lower lip, unsure if he should answer you, what would you think about him if he told you? What if you find it weird, what if his insecurities and his past makes you question the worth of this relationshipz- he's not the boy he used to be, he's not sensitive or weak or-
“Sannie…” she whispered, slowly moving closer to him, her face on the same fluffy pillow he was on, the old pillow now squished between the two as she sighed, “You can tell me…” Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking the warm skin, trying fo coax whatever it was out of him. She was still upset, but, she'd never seen him this conflicted.
“I just…” with a sigh he closed his eyes, thinking of what to say, only to end up blank. He opened his eyes to meet hers, mumbling, “Seonghwa yelled at me for what I said to you…he's right…I shouldn't have said that…I just…you don't really know…I mean I wasn't always…like this…this big or…manly or strong-” his grip on the pillow loosened, instead his arm wrapped around her, pulling her into him in one go, his lips curled into a small smile at her squeak, his pillow between the two, pressed to the max, “And when…you said its just a pillow I- I kind of…I mean its stupid but it scared me how I… if you were to realise I just grew bigger, I'm not that different, I'm still scared of bugs, I still hate vegetables and -”
“You really are a little dumb.” you cut him off, pressing a finger on his lips, to shush him, “I don't care if you're not all buff and big, I don't care if you were lanky and whiney- I just know you were San then and you are San now- as long as that big ol'heart of yours stays the same, I'm all yours.”
You felt his grip tighten around you, pressing your forehead against him as he relaxed against you, letting out a breath of relief.
“Sure, these big boys add a great amount to your aura points though.” You giggled, patting his muscular arms, “A softie with big guns is all a girl wants~” you smiled at the way his face contorted in confusion, only to quickly press your lips against him, laughing at his surprised squeak.
“I'll make it up to you…” he whispered, finally feeling the exhaustion of the entire confession settling in, moving to remove the pillow from between them but she stopped him, surprising him yet again as she smiled at him, one that had his heart beat so loud that's all he could hear.
“I said don't use it as a pillow because your neck will hurt, but I never said throw away a part of yourself- plus its nice…smells like you.” her fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled his arm over the pillow and herself, snuggling closer to him, “You're lucky I was staying over for the whole weekend.”
With your head tucked under his chin, arm wrapped around him, smoothly rubbing his back, his wrapped around your waist, he sighed nuzzling into the new pillows, happy that they carried your scent more than his, “Lucky to have you in my life.”



Song Mingi
Of course you were mad at him, how could you not be? He was supposed to come home by 6- he was supposed to spend the evening with you, have dinner with you, watch a movie with you, and spend your anniversary together. Well technically, it was your 6 month anniversary, but hey, half a year meant something to you, and as much as you were mature and ‘a cold-hearted’ b*tch, as claimed by your male coworkers, you were just soft for the giant man child who somehow managed to thaw the glacier you had for a heart.
So, when you had texted him earlier today he had instantly replied with an excited confirmation, what you did not think that after that he wouldn’t respond to you. You tried calling too, but his phone went straight to voicemail, so you waited and waited and waited- until you got a little notification of a certain white haired man doing a live, one that wasn’t scheduled. Were you upset because he was doing his job? No. Were you upset he didn’t tell you? Yes. He should’ve been decent enough to at least text you that he was going to be late, that he had work- you’d never asked him to prioritise you over his work, you knew what you were getting into, and with your workaholic personality, he knew yours, which is why he should have known that you would have understood wherever he was coming from.
Naturally she was furious when he stepped into the apartment, though being Mingi, he had no clue what she was upset about, even after he saw the cold pizza, the melted candles and small gift that lay wrapped in glossy paper. Instead he had walked over to her with a smile, ready to hug her- wrong move.
"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Her voice boomed across the hall, followed by the echo of her slap resonated in the confines of his aching heart, staring down at her with utter shock, a whimper at the tip of his tongue, an apology right after but hey- this was Song Mingi, and using his actual emotional maturity was never his first move.
Hence the platinum blonde gasped, giving her an offended look and mumbling, "Why are you being so pissy? It's literally a pizza, not some homemade meal." He eyed the table before turning to her, though she looked as if she were about to explode- somewhere deep down he was kind of afraid, he’d never seen her this angry, she was often quite calm and composed, extremely reserved. That would explain why her reaction caught him off guard, especially when he tried to talk to her, tried to hold her hand so she’d stop leaving every damn room she walked into.
“Look, I have a job!!” he called out walking after her, into the kitchen, “You of all people should know that, I can’t just leave my fans because you wanna celebrate some made up event!”
“Its not made up Mingi!” you turned around and glared at him, “I- I asked you two days ago about this, I told you it meant something to me and- I just, I can’t believe you didn’t even think of texting me! What’s the difference between you and any other guy from my office if you can’t communicate properly!”
Granted, if he took a minute to process her words, but sometimes she was so complicated. Moreover, he knew what he got into once he began to chase after her for months, he knew what he was getting into when she directly told him about her issues and insecurities, her reserved attitude and persona, one that she often let go off when she was with her giant, lovable dummy. If he kept all those factors in mind, and just took a moment to think, he would have understood the premise of her argument, but he really didn’t want to, or perhaps he just didn’t take it seriously, either way, his next words were the reason for which he was back in his form, wondering why the hell he didn’t think of apologising like a normal person.
“They’re lucky because they don't have a Runik's cube for a girlfriend.”
That was all it took for the bomb to go off;
"GET YOUR FAKE GOJO LOOKIN ASS OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”
“W-what-” his question was cut off when she shoved him away, going to grab the nearest object which happened to be the very present she had spent most of her salary on, swinging it right at his face- screw his job. But the bastard was quick when he ducked and tried to get to her, only to get whacked in the head with a candle, “Babe-”
“I SAID LEAVE!” you yelled, staring at him through bleary eyes, trying to keep the whirlwind of emotions, taking a deep breath as you pointed towards the door, feeling the cold slither up your fingertips, choosing the words that would end it all, whoever said dating was fun, was wrong, you’d rather stay single than feel any similar form of pain, though you did feel like you should have the final say in this. It didnt matter that the tall man in front of you looked like he was fumbling with the pieces of your so called relationship, tripping over his words has he tried to sprout out an apology, “Leave, let me relieve you of this burden.”
For you, the conversation had ended there, especially when he was standing outside, not sparing him a moment as you slammed the door on his face. After that, like any San individual you had cleared up the table, initially thinking of throwing out the pizza, but then it hit you - “I work hard to earn too, its not just him.” So you kept that, threw away the candles and the other decorations (stabbed the balloons-naturally). Honestly, you didn't know where his gift went, probably smashed into pieces after it ‘boinked’ off his stupid, giant head. After that you had washed up (cried in the shower for about an hour or so), stumbled towards your bed and knocked out as soon as your head hit the pillow.
The worst kind of ‘black-out’ sleep known to man, is what you endured that night, only to wake up when the fire alarm went off, fighting off the blankets, almost tumbling to your demise several times before entering the kitchen, coughing as the smoke entered your lungs. You opened the nearest window and turned around to bump into a softer form, arms wrapping around your form, before you were dragged out of the apartment and into the balcony, wheezing for your life, taking in as much clean air in one go as possible.
Mingi rubbed her back in a circular motion, a hand holding onto hers, helping her sit down on one of the stools, pulling one closer and sitting right next to her as he held her hand, thinking of going back inside to get her water, though when he felt her squeeze his hand he face turned to meet hers, blinking at her stoic face. Damn, she’s still mad at him.
As soon as clarity hit, she had realised, this moron was back, not only that, it was still night out, so he had graciously trespassed into her apartment, set something on fire, almost killed her and then dragged her out on the balcony, of all the idiots she could’ve picked from to date, she chose the their leader.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was…trying to make you breakfast.”
“I told you its over-the hell? What time is it?”
She got up only to feel him tug her back down, this time onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist so she couldn’t escape, as she glared down at him, “Let go.”
“No…” shaking his head he buried his face in her neck, “ its 5 something, I…I’m sorry.” he whispered, feeling her stiffen in his hold, he knew a mere apology wouldn’t be enough, but he had to start somewhere, especially when he had gone back to the apartment and narrated the entire incident to his two bros- both thus throwing him back out, San adding an, “And don’t come back until you fix your mess, you ungrateful idiot.” Truthfully, he didn’t need to tell him that he had f*cked up, he was well aware of that fact, he just needed a push- that and he was terrified of her, he’d only seen her get angry at her coworkers when they’d mess up work, or that one time she got mad at a couple of highschoolers who thought kicking a puppy was fun, he’d never been the one at the receiving end of her wrath, until today. Perhaps that’s why he had assumed he was all forgiven, all safe, he had some form of immunity, thus, giving him the privilege of being mean to her- well, that theory was stupid. Wat made him assume he could just be mean to her because he felt like it? Since when was he, someone who knows what it felt like to be neglected, begin to neglect his own loved ones? She never fell in love with a man who was like this- what was he doing?
She was about to push him off, especially after he didn’t bother adding anything after his sorry, no explanation, nothing, only to stop when she felt something damp on her skin, realising that he in fact was not rocking them back and forth, but the man child was crying.
“Dude…are you…crying?” she asked, gripping her shoulders as she pushed him away, earning a whine, as the bigger man tried to cover his face with his hands, “Song Mingi, what is wrong with you-”
“I’m sorry, okay!” his whimper had her freezing, eying his face, “I- I didn’t mean it! I don’t know why I said it, okay? It wasn’t cool and I-I know tha- I just- you’ve never, I mean- angry- upset because of me-” his words when she squeezed his cheeks, cupping his warm face, glaring down at him, frowning at the wetness.
“The Song Mingi I fell in love with was a softie- not a red flag like Gojo.”
He could only nod at her statement, fingers gripping onto her harder, cherishing the lack of past tense in her statement.
“Am I going to get him back, or is this the new you?”
She moved her hands to let him speak, only he pulled her flush against him, instinctively her arms wrapped around his shoulders, sighing when she felt his hold tighten. Her small squeak echoed in the quiet of the early morning, blending in with the soft symphony of the birds that had woken up before the sun, as he stood up, slowly walking back inside the apartment. With her legs wrapped around his waist, she blinked up at him, catching his little pout, only to sigh, as he carried her to her bedroom, only stopping at the edge of his bed.
“Can I…sleep with you?”
She hummed for a moment, biting her lip to hide her smile, when she noticed him frown at the time she was taking to answer his question, “What if I say no-SONG MINGI!”
He rolled his eyes at your little scream, he didn’t put his entire body weight on you, though, he did roll around until both of you were wrapped in a soft cocoon, with your back pressed against his warm, broad chest, his arm wrapped around you, as he shamelessly draped a heavy leg over yours. For a while, the two of you lay there silently, watching as the golden beams of the warm morning sun, sifted through the slits of the curtains, creating an luminous mosaic across the opposite wall, the song of the world waking up around you was slowly lulling you to sleep, and just when it became just right, he instantly broke the peaceful atmosphere, “Thank you for the ring.”
“Oh.” so it didnt vanish, he had taken it,
“Most welcome…”you whispered, trying to cling onto the strings of tranquility that were wrapped around you, “Did you take it before I threw you out?”
“Mhmm…is it…a couple ring?” he asked, though a moment later he got no response, causing him to peer down at her, and let out a chuckle, she had fallen asleep- she must’ve been tired, especially after all the stupid things he did yesterday, though his smile widened after his hand trailed down her arm, hand clasping hers, almost shivering with joy at the feeling of the cold metal on her finger.



Jung Wooyoung
Wooyoung had a sharp tongue, he knew that, the guys knew that, hell, you knew that too, but did that mean you were prepared for it? No, of course not, you were his little, itty-bitty, cute pookie- don't hate the name, hate the man who had bestowed it upon you.
He gave you the name when you called him to your apartment for the first time, mind you, it wasn't what Wooyoung was expecting. The first time you had invited him over for the night had him rolling on the ground like a dog, his shy and quiet little girlfriend was willingly fueling his weird side, he couldn't wait to barge into her private space, ask her all sort of questions, learn more about her, tease her, test her limits, take in her reactions, in every sense; physical and psychological.
The moment she had opened the door and his eyes landed on her cotton baby pink shorts, he felt himself shiver with excitement, trying not to howl like a mad dog, scaring her away- though that entire fantasy was short lived when he realised by ‘sleep over’ she literally meant ‘sleep over’, like a …slumber party. So yes, that night they didn't do what he thought they would, but they did; give each other facials, watch a movie while wearing her newly bought sheet masks, paint each other’s nails (well he just made a mess of hers) and do each other's hair, honestly the night ended with him going straight to dreamland once she began to brush his hair, only waking up in the morning to find her snuggled with him, clinging onto him. He liked it, never thought he would, but the moment his eyes noticed the way she was gripping onto his shirt, his heart leaped with joy- it felt nice being loved like this, being needed. Hence, sleepovers like these had become a norm, so much so that sometimes she'd go over to his place unannounced, and surprise him with her little surprise sleepover, one he'd often love it. Instantly attacking her with unlimited smooches, hugging and squeezing her till the air in her lungs would run out.
Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights, in fact, when he had walked into his room, the sight of you actually irked him- unsure of why, but your shy smile and gentle eyes just had just made his blood boil. Perhaps it was the stress of the entire day, or the argument he had with San over something stupid, or how Mingi ate his chicken piece, or because Jongho kept on humming a silly tune even on the ride back home. The point is, he was not pleased, and like the love-struck puppy you were, you didn’t register his loud sigh or the way he dropped his bag on the floor, instead, you chose to slide his swivel chair to him, smiling up at him and reaching for his hand, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said before slipping his hand out of yours and going to his cupboard, all the while struggling to take off his sweatshirt and tossing it somewhere once he was done. He could hear the squeak of the wheel as he turned around and looked at you, taking in the way you were pouting at him, somewhere deep down he found you adorable, but on the surface, he really couldn’t deal with you right now- he just wanted to be alone. Moving around you, he went back out of the room, leaving you confused and a bit hurt. It wasn’t like Wooyoung to react like this, to completely leave you hanging. Sure, he had moments where his social battery would run out, when he’d just come to her apartment and lay on her bed, idly scrolling on his phone, just making enough space for her, when she’d come and lay with him, letting her snuggle into his while he continued doing what he was quietly, neither saying a word- but he had never ignored her.
He looked tired…like he was tired of her? Shaking your head at the thought, you instantly thought of ways to make him feel better, considering his flatmates were outside and he was still in the shower (probably), you looked around his room, you could tidy it up, and you did, and once you were done, you picked up his jacket to hang it in his cupboard only to frown at the mess inside; hang clothes, fold them neatly, align the shoes- as long as Youngie Is less stressed and feels better, that was your goal.
By the time you were done, it had already been an hour. You were hanging the last jacket when the man walked back in, staring at you with the same unreadable expression, completely ignoring your cute smile, watching as you closed the cupboard. You were about to ask him what was bothering him when he tossed the wet towel on the chair and walked out of the room again, but this time you trailed after him, asking him all sorts of questions, just to get him to finally say something.
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
He walked into the kitchen, you just followed.
“Did you take a rest between practice?”
“Yeah.”
He opened the fridge to take out last night’s pizza, well, this was it then, he turned around and almost cursed, she was standing there with a plate for him. He took it, mumbling a thanks, before putting it in the microwave. Standing there, arms crossed as he glared at the device to bloody hurry up.
“How was the photoshoot?”
“Fine. Nothing new.”
“I brought face masks, wanna wear one later?”
“No.”
“Oh,okay …I got my bonus today.”
“Great.”
“Wanna spend it with me on cute things?”
“No.” he mumbled, “Invest it.” he sighed, before opening the microwave, taking the plate and turning around, only to sigh when he saw her holding a chair out for him, pouting when he frowned at her. Truth be told, he’d never reacted like this, she wasn’t sure what to do? He’d often match her energy- or ‘her freak’, as he’d say. Maybe being nice to him would make him feel better? She sat down on the chair beside him, facing him, though he just started to eat quietly, not really saying anything.
“You want some tea?”
“No.”
“Oh…” you mumbled, looking at your lap, taking a moment to think, before looking up at him, again, watching him take a bite, he was chewing quietly when you gently reached over to tuck some of the stray wet strands behind his ear- though he didn’t seem pleased, in fact, he just let out an irritated huff and turned his head to look at you. You quickly recoiled, mumbling an apology, new tactic, stay quiet, maybe just staying by him would make him feel better. Therefore, you watched him go about his business, watching him wash the plate and put it on the rack before going out of the kitchen.
He finally sat down in front of the TV, rubbing his aching neck, waiting for the damn thing to turn on when he felt the sofa dip, feeling her sitting close to him. He side eyed her before putting on a game, whatever, he’d watch the match on repeat. Hunched forward, elbows on his knees, frowning as he stared at the screen. Okay, so she said she wouldn’t touch him, but if he was in pain, maybe she could help out, massage his shoulders or neck? She moved closer to him, enough for her fingers to graze his arm, “Youngie… you need me to massage it?”
“What I need is for you to not act like an attention deprived clingy girlfriend for a while.”
She froze at his words, slowly watching him get up and walk away mumbling something else about wanting to be left alone, or how he never had a moment of peace- honestly it didn’t matter anymore, his previous sentence had done enough damage. If he wanted to be left alone so be it, she was going to give him exactly what he wanted. Once she heard the door slam shut she sniffled, finally letting the fat tears roll down her flushed cheeks, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, his words kept repeating in her mind, over and over again. Without glancing at the time, she decided to go to the only place she'd be able to cry in peace, without giving him the satisfaction of the hurt of his words- that and she wanted to fulfil his wish, she was going to give him some peace and quiet.
Slamming the door shut behind him he mumbled something about being smothered by her as he flopped down on the bed, turning to the side to face the wall as he huffed, closing his eyes. Moments passed but sleep was not something he was blessed with, instead he kept on tossing and turning, finally turning to other side, often her side, of the bed, glaring at it. Why wasn't she here? she’s the one who wanted to spend time with him, rudely showing up here unannounced, interrupting his normal routine, talking away when he was eating, even offering to massage his neck. Was she a masseuse!?
With a huff he sat up and glared around the room, spotting her pink small suitcase, neatly placed at the corner of the room. His eyes flickered to the desk, organised and clean. On it where a variety of neatly stacked face masks, some nail polishes and her makeup pouch. Sliding off the bed, he walked out of the room, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he continued grumbling. Granted he was still annoyed but he did need her to sleep and- where was she?
Confused, he looked around the living room, then walked into the kitchen, wondering if she was making tea. She was nowhere in sight. He made his was down the hall to look for her in the washroom, knocking when the door wouldn't open, “You in there?”
“Yes, now scram.”
Ignoring Jongho he walked back into his room, perhaps she had gone back into the room- the panic was beginning to settle in as he slammed open the door to be met with a clean room. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Where did she go?! His panic began to morph into guilt once the memories of his behaviour with her began to play at the back of his mind.
“Cupcake!?”
Grabbing his phone he went through his contact, tapping on her contact ID 🧚♀Bby Gurl🧚♀️. He pressed the phone against his ear, chewing on his lower lip as he waited for her to pick up, but when he heard the muffled sound of her ringer coming from her PURSE!? Cue Wooyoung going into full panic mode as he ran to her purse, flipping it over on his desk, staring at the phone. Shit. Where did she go?! It was- oh hell no, it was 2 am. He wracked his brain for what could he have said, it was something mean, but truth be told he didn't remember- a toxic trait, he knows, and he's not proud of it, especially since he used it to hurt her.
Deciding it was time to find her, he opened his cupboard to take out a jacket, only to feel his gut clench…she had organised his cupboard too. What the hell Wooyoung? She wasn't your maid, she was only being nice to you! The image of her small frown flashed before his eyes as he zipped up his jacket. He grimaced at the thought of tone he had used with her, how he had ignored her when she tried to touch him, since when he was against skinship? Pulling the door open he came face to face with none other than-
“Mind telling me why I found her crying in the parking lot?”
“Hongjoong move I- What?” his eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he saw his girl standing there behind Hongjoong, staring at the ground with bloodshot eyes.
“I- HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!?”
You flinched at his tone, whining and hiding behind the man who had spent almost an hour trying to convince you to come back to the apartment. Hongjoong was parking his car when he saw someone sitting there on the concrete ground, next to a very familiar car. You hadn’t said much to him, only that you left your keys upstairs and if he could be kind enough to get them- he wasn’t an idiot, one look at your pink nose and puffy eyes, he knew this had Wooyoung written all over it. Hence, he had to spend an hour trying to convince you to at least come upstairs, it was already too late to go back home.
“Wooyoung.” the older one warned, eying his bandmate who could only sigh and nod, letting him know that his defences were down and he was no longer in the mood for hurting her in any manner, in fact, he wanted nothing more to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. Though, perhaps that’s not how Hongjoong saw it, for he let the girl go into her boyfriend’s room before closing the door so he could have a heart-to-heart talk with this moron.
Once the door closed you walked over to your makeup pouch, taking out your wet wipes and removing the mascara and makeup that had smeared because of all the crying. You quickly changed your clothes, glancing at the door every five seconds in case he was coming in, you were in no mood to talk to him. As soon as you were done you turned off the lights- yeah, you wanted him to trip and land on his stupidly handsome face- and jumped onto the bed, cocooning yourself in his blanket. No, you did not plan on sharing it, though the fact that you were now surrounded by him had a very paradoxical effect; on one hand, you were extremely furious at the man, wanting nothing more than to avoid him for the rest of your life, on the other hand, being surrounded by his being, in his sheets, made you feel safer, made you feel warmer, you liked it- you hated it- you liked it- you hated it- you loved him.
Yet, for some unforsaken reason, he thought shaking you awake from a blissful slumber would be a wonderful idea. As soon as Hongjoong was done with his lecture, he slipped back into the room to talk to her but found her asleep. A part of him wanted her to rest, especially when he removed the blanket from her face, sighing in guilt as he noticed how tired she looked, her brows furrowed even in her sleep- no, he wasn't going be one of those couples that went to bed after a fight.
Her world shook as she gasped, hand grabbing whatever was shaking her, until she flung the hand off her shoulder and turned to the other side mumbling, “Stop it…I'm tired.”
“And I'm sorry.”
You had heard him loud and clear, you even her the guilt in his tone, but did you care? No. you weren't going to be a clingy deprived girlfriend, so you did what he wanted, and ignored him as you closed your eyes again. Trying to ignore him when he apologised again, this type pressing his cheek against yours, rubbing it against yours, and throwing his leg over yours, basically laying half on top of you, “I really am sorry.”
With a huff you shoved him off and sat up, back against the headrest as you glared at him with your arms crossed, cheeks puffed out and-
Oh my god, Wooyoung, she’s pouting. He internally screamed, taking in your droopy eyes, your puffed out rosy cheeks and the way you were pouting- his cutie really was something. He tried to reach for your cheek but you slapped his hand away, causing him to yelp and frown, “I am apologising here.”
“Don’t talk to me, you’re horrible and mean! I just wanna go to sleep, stop pretending you like me!”
Horrible and mean…well, he’s heard worse, so he’d take it. He was mean to you, incredibly mean, and his attitude towards you was horrible. You were right about that, but you were terribly wrong about the last part. Extremely wrong, if he says so himself.
He looked at her intently, almost too intently, and he figured out he’d been giving her the ‘I’m a bastard’ stare when her form, faltered, her eyes began to water, as she bit her lip and broke the stare off, instead, dipping her head in shame like she was the one who was at fault here. Man, what was wrong with him today?
Her grip tightened on the cotton, pulling the blanket closer as if it were to bring her some form of comfort, if he wanted to break up with her that was fine, she just never thought her first break-up would be this nasty. She had mentioned a few times to him how this was her first relationship and although he seemed a bit hesitant, he had explained to her how his job made certain normal couple activities difficult for him sometimes, and if she’d want their relationship to flourish, she’d have to accept this fact. And she did, everything was fine, it was all going well, then what could she have possibly done for him to lash out at her like that? Maybe she was never cut out for this-
“That’s not true…” he whispered, placing his hands on hers, slowly unclenching her fists, his grip tightening on her hands when he heard her whimper, frowning at the way she hiccupped an apology again, looking up at him this time, as if she were trying to cling onto something that had slipped through her fingers. “That’s not true…and that’s not right,” with a heavy sigh he pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, manoeuvring them, till he was in her position, and now she was on his lap, arms around his neck, clinging onto him, dampening his shirt as loud sobs wracked through her petite frame, mumbling nonsense that he couldn’t interpret, “And…I’m sorry I made you think like that today.” Gently, he pressed his lips against her head, rubbing her back in a soothing motion, slowly giving her a squeeze every so often, pulling her closer, if possible. By the time she had calmed down, a bit, he slowly pushed her off his chest so he could look at her, but she never met his gaze, causing him to gently grip her chin, making her look up at him, “Hey…don’t look away,” he smiled at her, “Don’t hide that pretty face from me.” His smile faltered when he noticed her lower lip tremble, sighing as he cupped her face with both hands, “I am truly, extremely sorry for what I did and said today,” leaning closer he pressed his lips against her forehead, “Nothing I said or did today was triggered because of you being here- there is no explanation for my behaviour other than the fact that I handled my emotions poorly, and took it all out on that one person,” he paused to give her a smile, especially when he felt her grip tighten on his shirt, “the only person, who is concerned about my wellbeing and livelihood, and wants nothing but my love in return.”
“Woo…” she sniffed, pouting at him as she tugged on his shirt, “What made you so upset today?”
He could chuckle at the way she was still worried about him, of course, leave it to his little love bug to be more concerned about ‘why’ he did what he did, just as soon as he apologises. Shaking his head in disbelief he booped her nose, shrugging, “Never mind that, do you want something to eat? I’ll whip up something real good, an apology feast for my lovely pookie.” His laugh bounced off the walls of his room once he noticed her visibly cringing at the nickname, “No? Well, how about I make sweet love to you, enough to have you screaming for more-” her hands clasped over his mouth, muffling his stupidity as she sighed in relief, resting her forehead against and closing her eyes to recover from the blush.
When she felt him tap her waist she moved her hands and sighed, “Just hold me close.”
“Well, don’t need to ask me twice.” Wooyoung declared before pushing her off him cackling when he heard her squeak, wiggling her eyebrows at her, admiring how she almost bounced on his bed, before laying down, pulling her closer. His smile widened when she snuggled into him, gripping onto the back of his shirt, before her lips gently pressed against his skin, admiring the warmth, basking in his presence. He pulled up the blanket, covering them both, before placing his chin on top of her head, sighing in relief, trying to rid of the bad memories of the day. Letting the tranquil love envelope the two, enjoying just being there…that is until a soft whisper broke the silence, followed by another;
“Make it up to me tomorrow.”
“I’ll make it up to you for the rest of your life”



Choi Jongho
Okay, yes, he was a bastard, he was well aware of that, but right now, the charming man had something else on his mind. What you ask, oh its simple, it was the same question almost every guy in the world had, the same dilemma every man in the world suffers through, an event every man self-induces; the, ‘How do I make my girlfriend feel better after I brought up her insecurities’. Now, one may wonder, what did this sweet little lad do? How could he possibly manage to upset his girl, his daisy, his lover, his sweety- well, it all started when he came down with a little cold, and the dictator Kim Hongjoong banned him from the studio and the dorm, which meant there would be no one acting at his every whim, hence, the little lad had to go to the next best thing, go to the only person who made his heart flutter like he just devoured some mentos after chugging a cola- his girlfriend.
It all started fine, with you opening the door, ready to go for a nightly jog when you saw your cute boy standing at the door, with his nose all pink and stuffy and his pout making your heart clench. Next thing he knew he was pulled inside and tucked into your fluffy, soft bed, being taken care of like there was no tomorrow. You were kind and sweet and ever caring, you’d always been like that, even before the two had started dating.
You were so kind to him that you actually had the poor boy chasing you for almost a year. Now why is that one may wonder, simple, you were older than him- two years to be precise. The two of you had met by complete accident, you were out for your nightly jog and you had somehow managed to trip on the cracked footpath. Honestly you had thought no one was around so you hobbled to the nearest bench, trying to untie your shoe, when you heard someone clear their throat, causing you to freeze. He was big, you could tell and it wasn't just because of that hoodie and cap or mask- no, he looked borderline threatening. With an audible gulp you whispered, “Y-yes?”
“Do you need help with that?” He asked, lowering his mask a bit and standing up before crouching next to your foot, causing you to flinch and shake your head but he was already slipping it off your foot, trying to not react to your bright yellow, Pikachu themed sock.
“You should be careful” he mumbled, inspecting the damage, “I think you just sprained it, if you want I could take you to an ER near by-”
“No thank you!” You cut him off, he was cute, there was no doubt in that, he looked sweet but hey, he was a guy and he was a guy who looked big enough to kill yo-
“My name's Jongho.” He sighed, and looked around, before sitting next to her, “And you are, strange nighters jogger?”
You blinked at him and sighed out your name, before mumbling, “What's an Ateez member doing out here in the middle of the night?”
His blood ran cold at the mention of his band, causing him to slowly side eye her, though she looked as composed as ever, like she had just talked about the weather.
“I…uh-”
“Don't worry,” she mumbled, before sitting straight and stretching her, “Okay, I'm gonna go now.”
“Let me help you out.”
Honestly, the words had left him sooner than he could process them, his body had moved on its own, and in a matter of minutes she found herself sitting in an apartment she had never dreamt of before too, pressing an ice pack on her ankle, listening to Jongho and another man, Hongjoong battle it out.
“I’m sorry, but a random stranger?”
“Technically I see her jogging every day- or well at night.”
“So??”
“Technically she’s hurt.”
“Technically, Choi Jongho this isn’t a hospital.”
“Technically, it's rude to discuss someone in front of them, pretending they can’t hear you.”
That had led the older man to apologise and leave them alone. That very statement had led Jongho to believe that he had found someone who could ‘match his freak’. So, after a year of jogging with her, he had finally managed to woo her. He liked their dynamic, he was the eldest in his home, he was bossy and of course mature, hence, he had assumed he’d prefer someone younger than him, someone more timid and shy, someone who’d be impressed by him- though the only thing she was severely impressed with was his potential to snap several apples in half, which was great, because she loved eating apples and he loved snapping them in half- he loved you.
Then, how come, you were now sitting on the same bench, where you had met the moron, questioning your entire relationship- oh yeah, because when you forced him to drink his soup so he’d get better quicker, he decided to be a brat and snap at her;
“If I wanted to be coddled, I would’ve gone to my mom, you’re older, but not that old.”
Sure, leave it to Choi Jongho to bring up your insecurities because- well, not really, Jongho was often very sweet and considerate, he was attentive and mindful of both his actions, and his words, so if he had decided to let out something so bitter and rude, it really did mean he was sick. But did that make it any better? Did that mean he could just bring up something they’d discuss in the late hours of the night, alone with one another, surrounded by one another, vulnerable to one another. It was during these hours he had confessed how he was afraid she’d leave him for someone older, smarter, more mature, only for his whispers to turn into a snort when she told him how she was afraid that he’d leave her for someone younger than him, someone sweeter, and cuter, more shy and more timid. The two had slept better that night, snuggled up against each other, she loved how he had held her tighter than night, he had loved how she had let them sleep in the next morning, only to spend a few more minutes together.
So, no, he could not just say whatever he wanted because he was sick-
“You wanna get sick too?”
She flinched at the question, before letting out a small sigh at the familiarity of the voice, though she never turned to look at him, instead decided to leave.
He turned to glance at you when you had ignored him, only for him to panic when you stood up to leave, instinctively reaching over and gripping your wrist he met your cold glare. For once he felt as if being cute was not going to make the cut, that you were not going to ‘act mature’ or ‘overtly understanding’, for once, he was scared. Though his grip never faltered, instead, you heard a meek, “Please,” so soft that if the world around the two of you was not deathly silent, you would’ve missed it. With a sigh you sat back down, but kept your distance, choosing to stare at the empty park, rather than looking at your lover, who was scooting closer to you. You let him, you let him, till his arm brushed against yours, the two of you staring at the empty park together, both waiting for the other to speak- technically you were waiting for an apology, while he was waiting for you to give him the signal to speak, he was too afraid to say anything else which could be more stupid than his last statement.
So, like a pair of fools, the two of you sat there, out in the cold, silently, for god knows how long. Honestly, you were surprised with his patience sometimes, you were also a bit disappointed he chose not to speak, but then again since when was speaking about your feelings his or your strongest trait- oh shit.You gasped when you felt his head drop on your shoulder, suddenly turning to the man, cupping his cold cheeks, as you shook him, “Jongho? Jong? Jongho wake up, come on, this isn’t funny- shit.”
.
With a groan he turned to his side, snuggling closer to the source of the warmth- oh he was back in his bed. HE WAS BACK IN HIS BED?? Sitting up he looked around in the dimly lit room, noting how the door was slightly open, deciding to go outside to look for her when she walked in holding a tray, eying him before mumbling something about laying back down. Honestly, it was difficult for him to process whatever she was saying next…he remembered fainting, well, actually he felt sleepy so he had just closed his eyes for a moment, and right now, he was more amazed by the sheer physical strength this woman possessed. Lord forgive if she were to smack him, he would’ve needed facial reconstructive surgery.
You placed the tray on the nightstand, and turned to him, helping him sit up against the headboard, before checking his temperature with the back of your hand, “You fainted…I called Hongjoong, who then called San…apparently you’re very difficult to carry.” You mumbled, moving to grab the tray, placing it on his lap, “Chicken soup, will help with the congestion and-”
“I’m sorry.”
“You better be.”
He blinked at her and nodded slowly before looking at the soup and staring at it, a moment had slipped before he chuckled, turning to look at her, admiring how she was now sitting on her side of the bed, facing him, “I thought you carried me here- was so scared if you were actually to smack me, I’d pass away.”
“Is this your way of apologising to me? Maybe I should be looking for guys my age or older” you frowned, only to end up snorting when you saw his eyes widen in fear, taking in the way he had stopped eating, staring at you like he was about to explode. Honestly, you wanted to let it simmer for a while, but when he whispered out your name, the way his voice cracked had you sighing in defeat, moving the tray off him and placing it at a safe distance, before you were tackled by him. His arms tightened around you, face buried in your neck as he mumbled something, which you couldn’t make out, but you presumed it was an apology, considering how your neck felt wet- oh no he was crying- well, didn’t mean to take it that far. Gently patting his head you slid down into the sheets, taking him with you, though he didn’t really do anything but hold you closer, his little sniffles making your heart ache.
“It was a joke…” sighing you kissed the top of his head, “I didn’t mean it…but at least now you know how I felt.”
He pulled back a little to glare at you, “It’s not funny, you can pull anyone you want, I only managed to date you because you tripped.”
“That’s because I fell for you, baby bear-hey!”
“And the moment is gone.” he mumbled, pushing her away and laying on his back, clearing his throat, “Got more sick after that pick up line,” he felt her snuggle next to him as he smiled with his eyes closed, “Even more gross how I like it.”
“You like being sick?”
“Only if it means spending time with you.”
“Oh good, because my head hurts and I can feel the flu comin’ up.”
“Don’t worry, I know how to treat my lady right.”
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Ooh for your drabble challenge:
125. “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait...are you...what?!”
Angsty!! -> 🙈 and with Nico Hischier. Please and thank you! 🩵
ooo of course I love writing some angst and I don't ever remember writing angst for Nico yet... I am truly sorry this took me an embarrassing amount of days to answer. 😔Also this turned out so much longer than I thought it would but I kind of like the background I gave the prompt.
Drabble Challenge. Drabble Masterlist.
"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep. Wait... are you... what?!"
Sharing a bed with Nico Hischier was not something you were planning on doing when you agreed to go on this weekend getaway with your best friend. But little did you know that everyone but you and Nico were the only two single people in the group. Of course they only room left in the house in your air bnb by the time you got there was a makeshift office with a small twin bed in the corner. So now here you were sharing a bed with Nico, who just so happened to be your friend's partner's best friend who also happened to your ex-boyfriend.
Once you both made it into the tiny office/spare bedroom, immediately the words left your mouth, "Uh I can sleep on the coach in living room downstairs." Already turning around with your hand still on your luggage as you start to turn around but Nico lightly grabs your arm to stop you.
"Stop, You're not sleeping down there Y/N that room is full of windows and the light will wake you up tomorrow morning or literally anyone going to the bathroom in the middle of the night." His voice soft, almost pleading for you not to leave him in this room by himself.
Sighing deeply, closing your eyes for a few seconds the exhaustion of traveling creeping in on you slowly, all you were craving was somewhere to sleep. "Fine." you grunt, taking a deep breath you continue. "I'll sleep on the floor in here."
After being with him, you can translate the curse words that leave his mouth in Swiss German. Something along the lines of 'goddamn me, bullshit.'
"So what's your idea then?" The irritation clear in your voice.
"I am not letting you sleep on the floor Y/N/N." His voice more defined from earlier, the stubbornness clear in his voice now. You can physically see him take a shaky breath as his voice cracks due to nerves as he suggests "We can share a bed?"
Finally making eye contact with him for the first time since entering the room, your face full of shock at his suggestion. But all you see starring back at you is his soft big brown eyes begging you to stay. "It's a twin Neeks." you whisper suddenly scared of making your voice any louder.
"I know. But were both tired and we don't have any other options. Can we just go to bed please." he begs lightly reaching for your hand and it was as if as soon as his hand lightly creased yours, you were back in time to six months ago before you both decided you needed space because neither of you had time due to your careers to be in a committed relationship. And in that moment, you felt your heart break a little and your pulse quicken. "Please baby." Nico begged the nickname rolling of his tongue so naturally, your not even sure if he heard it himself.
But in an attempt to protect yourself you find your arguing even though your voice was above a whisper as you close your eyes. "We have other options Nico. You just don't like them." Opening them again after a few seconds you meet his face again and you knew there was no other option, you were about to share a twin size bed with your 6'1 ex boyfriend Nico. "okay." you admit in defeat, you swear for a second you saw a smile on his lips as he slowly pulls you to the bed and climbs in first putting his back against the wall, laying on his side.
It wasn't an ideal situation, deciding it was best to let lay on your side facing away from Nico trying not to touch him despite having no space. Apparently Nico had different plans when you felt his arms circle around your waist pulling you so your back was flesh to his chest. He did it so fast, as i it was second nature, an instinct taking over. Nico was asleep in no time, he use to claim he always was with you in his arms, and you could tell he was asleep by the little breaths he was leaving on the back of your shoulder where his head was tucked down. Sadly for you, sleep didn't come as easily it was if your brain and your heart were having an internal battle on what was happening. Trying not to focus on how safe you felt being back in his arms because this was a one night thing, trying to remind yourself the reality of the situation.
Somewhere around 3 AM you fell asleep, but you didn't sleep long as you look at the clock and see it was just a little after 5 AM. Your not sure if it's from Nico's body heat or just the fact of sharing such a small bed. But you felt hot and sticky all of a sudden. Trying to carefully remove Nico's arms off of you so that you could attempt to get comfortable and all fall back asleep for a few more hours. But there was no hope when you felt Nico whine behind you due to the movement.
"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep." he whined pulling you closer and shifting back to both of your orginial sleeping position. In an insenence Nico felt it his entire body stiffened and opened his eyes in fear begging that you won't say anything about his morning wood but his fear was coming true when you asked.
"Wait." you said trying to decide if you felt his hard cock poking into your lower back or if you were making it up, but when you were sure you knew you were right you gulped and whispered. "Nico are you?" Slowly waiting a response you knew Nico was embarrassed, he let go of your arms and tried to turn his body to face towards the wall but wasn't as fast as you. Quickly you turned around in his arms lightly grabbing his forearm and lightly whispered his name again trying to meet his eyes. "Nico, look at me."
He paused in his movements in a few seconds he slowly looked down at you and asked "what?"
"It's okay baby, I miss you too." Not sure if your words would even make sense to anyone else but you knew Nico would understand. Breaking up was the hardest thing either of you ever had to do. "Nico I miss you with every fiber of my being and I think it's kind of hot that I gave you morning wood without even trying." you smirk at him. In an instant he closed the gap between you both into a messy kiss pulling you to lay on top of him. Neither of you knew what this meant but you knew one thing, whatever the next step was both of you were doing it together.
#nico hischier blurb#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier x reader#nico hischier smut#nico hischier fluff#nico hischier x y/n#nico hischier fic#nico hischier#new jersey devils fanfic#new jersey devils imagine#drabble collection#schwritingsnh13
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Can you please do some headcanons of Stanley being fake married to Fords’ assistant. They had to put up this charade for 30 years to convince people he was Stanford and “Mr. And Mrs. Mystery would bring in way more business!” Dipper and Mabel see her as a mother figure and Mabel likes to plan out their dates because she firmly believes they don’t go on ENOUGH of them. While they’re both on one of these said dates they realize “wait…do I actually like you??” (Slow burn is indeed 30 years slowwwww)

This is so fucking long oh my fucking god-I’m actually going to have to make a part two or something. This is just too long.
Part two here
When you and Ford first arrived at Gravity Falls a lot of people were under the impression that you were a married couple, where they got that preposterous idea form neither of you had single clue but as hard as you and Ford tried to disprove their claims, insisting they you were just platonic partners and nothing more.
It only seemed to give them more reason to assume that there was something more going on between you both. So in the end you both elected to ignore it as Gravity Falls was a small unknown, sleepy town that wasn’t on any recorded map that you chalked it down to them needing something to gossip about to spare them of how boring their lives were. But you and Ford knew others wise and saw Gravity Falls as a treasure trove of information regarding the mysterious and the unknown, it was the main reasons you started this partnership to begin with after all.
But things were quick to fall apart just as it seemed you were getting closer to what you knew was the truth as Ford made a deal with a triangular demon known as Bill, easily swayed by his tricks and even more so by his constant repetition that Ford should ‘trust no one’ not even you, his assistant. Naturally it caused a rift between the two of you as you were sick and tired of having to try and reassure Ford- who was slowly succumbing to paranoia- that you weren’t in any way shape or threat to his research. Even bringing up how you both spend hours on end documenting mushrooms, fungi and others of a similar vein when you both first moved to Gravity Falls.
However this tactic didn’t work in your favour unfortunately as one thing lead to another and you were left helpless as you watched Ford get pulled into the portal that his brother -Stanley- had accidentally pushed him into during their squabble, watching as it seemingly closed forever.
You wanted to be mad at Stanley, you really did but the man had just lost his brother, his twin brother seemingly forever due to his own actions. So instead you eased off of him and offered to help him with reopening the portal in order to get Ford back, while also giving a triangle demon a piece of your mind for taking advantage of your overachiever of a friend. Ford being lost seeing forever hurt you just as badly as it hurt Stanley and you would do anything and everything if it meant seeing your friend again.
That and probably scold him for ever thinking that a deal with demon would ever go down well without some sort of hidden agenda, for if a deal sounds too good to be true then it might as well be. Something you’ve learned from Stan, whom you leaned was an expert conman who conned people for a living in order to get by. You didn’t necessarily saw it as a good thing to do, living off of the nativity of people and their gullible natures, but you didn’t have much of a choice when Stan assumed the identity of his twin and even has the audacity to lean into the town’s assumptions of you and Ford being married.
‘But we’re not married!’ You spat, letting go of Stan’s hand when you got home after a trip into town, all that effort you and Ford tried in order for people to stop assuming your relationship was ruined in one fell swoop, was this town really that desperate that they’d deeply get involved in someone’s life like?
(Yes the answer was yes)
‘I know that and you know that, but they don’t have to know that. Think about all the money we could make off of this! They’d be eating out of the palm of our hands!’ Stan replied with a smile while you could only scoff, not understanding how this was Ford’s twin brother when the two were only alike in the physical sense rather then anything else.
‘Is that all you see this as? An opportunity to capitalise on their naivety? Their gullibility and for what? A quick buck?’ You argued back as you sat yourself down at the table in the kitchen and rested your head in your hands. ‘They’ll catch on eventually.’ You added sombrely as Stan could only watch you and feel a slight pan in his chest at seeing you upset and at a loss, completely the opposite of the person you were when standing next to Ford.
‘Listen toots, I know this isn’t how you expected things to go-‘
‘You think?’ You shot back, glaring at him as he held up his hands.
‘-but there’s no other option for us other then to keep the charade up until we can reopen that stupid portal and get my brother back.’ Stan then tested the waters by planing his hand atop of your own, felling you flinch slightly at the contact before relaxing when you felt his thumb rub your knuckles comfortingly. ‘But until then we’ve got to see this through until the end and hey maybe you’ll come to like me one day!’ He then adds with a smile but you couldn’t help but scoff.
‘Yeah right, the day I come to enjoy your company Stanley Pines is the day I enter an early grave.’ You replied but there was no malice in your voice like there was before and in that moment it felt like things were okay, even if it was brief but it was enough for you to want to take Stanley up on his word and see it through to the end.
Flash forward 30 years and you and Stanley were still going strong with the whole ‘fake marriage’ thing and to Stan’s credit a business ran by a married couple did work wonders on the paying public, most of whom would find more intrigue about how you two met more so then about the fake attractions that Stan tried to have them believe as things that once existed.
‘A unicorn made out of corn? Really Stan?’ You’d whisper to him as you forced a smile while clinging onto his arm while the dumb tourists took their pictures of the supposed unicorn made out of corn. ‘That has to be your worst one yet.’
‘Trust the process sweetheart, trust the process and watch as these idiots throw their money at the first ‘weird’ thing they see. They never stop to question its credibility and that’s what we bank on most.’ Stan replied before pressing a kiss to your forehead, something he always did to keep the facade alive and fresh, along with pulling you into his side by your waist and gloating about you and all your academic achievements to anyone with ears.
You hated how much he seemingly remembered about you that almost had you rethinking everything you know about this man. But then you stop to constantly reminded yourself that Stan only remembered these parts about you because he needed material to keep your story consistent and without any falling potholes, the man knew how to cover his bases that was for sure, and yet that didn’t stop you from feeling seen whenever Stan bragged about how smart his spouse was.
That’s the one thing that you mentally thanked him for. He didn’t make you play into stereotypes or change anything remotely about yourself to fit his narrative, he let you be the smart and intelligent spouse while he played the man who was happy to snag you before anyone else could and had been riding the high ever since. It was…sweet in a way that you couldn’t describe.
When Mabel and Dipper came to Gravity Falls they were naturally skeptical on whether they should stay with you and Stan, but soon enough did they warm up to you when you could match Dipper in terms of intelligence and treated Mabel with nothing but kindness and encouragement of her creativity. That and the fact that you could sway Stan into letting them do whatever by placing your hand on his bicep and bating your eyes at him.
‘Let the kids have fun, you were quite the troublemaker when you were their age.’ You told him as you played devils advocate for the kids going to the movies and Stan sighed before reluctantly agreeing to your terms.
‘Fine, fine.’ He says before pointing at you. ‘You owe me for this though honey.’
You smiled as you kissed his cheek. ‘And how can I do that?’ You asked.
‘How about you both go on a date!’ Mabel exclaimed from across the table as she pulls out a blindingly glittery and sparkly binder that had written across the front: Mabel’s date plans for Grunkle Stan and great aunt/Grunkle/ y/n.
‘How long have you had that sweetheart?’ You asked her, a little frightened to know the answer as you knew Mabel was emotionally intelligent when it came to these sorts of things.
‘Since I’ve noticed that you and Grunkle Stan don’t go on dates.’ She replies as her brows furrowed while she flicked through the pages of her binder for the perfect date for the pair of you.
‘We’re married honey, we don’t need to go on dates. Being together 24/7 is like a date all in itself.’ Stanley replied as he could feel your hand gripping his bicep tighten, wanting nothing more than to soothe that overworked mind of yours as he placed his hand over the top of yours and squeezed, shooing you a reassuring smile.
‘Not good enough!’ Mabel cried as she pointed at the pair of you. ‘I can see the love in your eyes, that love is so hard to come by nowadays and just because you’re married doesn’t mean you stop going on dates!’
‘When was the last time you did go on a date?’ Dipper asked this time as his eyes darted from you to his Grunkle as you both mentally swore to yourselves. You and Stan have never been on a date, sure you’ve both been through town together but you never actually went anywhere that would be considered a date. After all your marriage was just for show and tell and not the real thing, despite how much you’ve grown to like how he held you at night or looked at you as though you hung the stars in the sky.
‘A long time kiddo.’ Stan told him. ‘And it was the date where I realised that I wanted to be with them for the rest of my life.’ He adds, his eyes softening when the looked at you, making you smile in response as you moved your hand to squeezed his.
‘Awwww!’ Mabel cooed as she watched you and her Grunkle look at each other so tenderly. it was obvious to her that you meant a lot to her Grunkle Stan and he meant a lot to you too that she couldn’t help but hope to find a love like yours one day herself. ‘Which is why I think you should both go on a date tonight! Right Dipper?’
Mabel punches dipper in the shoulder. ‘Yeah you both defiantly should go on a date.’ He agrees as he rubs his shoulder.
You and Stan looked at one another and knew that there was no getting out of this one, but you were both kind of excited for it at the same time, after all what was going to happen? You both actually realise you like each other after all this time? Preposterous.
#gravity falls x reader#gravity falls imagine#gravity falls imagines#gravity falls#stanley pines imagines#stanley pines imagine#stanley pines x reader#stan pines imagines#stan pines imagine#stan pines x reader
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hey! i just had a request (if you like it!) - cazador taking astarion’s partner (reader/tav) when all the siblings try to kidnap astarion, and turning them, intending for them to take astarion’s place - ofc astarion and crew arrive in time and scene progresses as normal, but now reader/tav is a vampire spawn. just fluff and hurt/comfort
Oh wow this became far darker than intended, I hope you don't mind. I do feel a little bad for reader in this one, honestly. Part 2 can be found here!
Spoilers for act 3!! If anyone still needs this.
Astarion’s shout stirs you from your peaceful slumber and you sit up with a start, eyes wide. Your hand automatically shoots to your weapon, fingers curling around it when you see two figures slowly approaching your lover who back away, hackles raised.
“Peace, brother. We’re here to take you home.” One says and you frown, ready to step in if needed. The other one urges Astarion to return with them, to ‘be reborn’ and you quickly make your way to Astarion’s side, ready to fight if need be. You didn’t care that those two were vampire spawn, you would defend Astarion with everything you had. You weren’t going to lose him now, not after coming all this way.
Astarion’s hand gently brushes against yours, a silent thank you for your show of support as you size your potential opponents up. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Astarion moves to step slightly in front of you and begins to tell his siblings of his plan to take Cazador’s place in the ritual, to ascend and his siblings are none the wiser about the lies he’s weaving.
You know how desperately he wants the ritual, how he yearns for the power it will give him and yet you’re torn between convincing him otherwise and letting him take it. You don’t want to see him drown in the pursuit of this power but you know how much it means to him, the idea of being able to walk in the sun again, the idea of no longer being under someone else’s control, so you keep silent, your mind in turmoil.
Either way, the encounter ends with Cazador taking control of the spawns and it delves into a fight as Astarion does all he can to protect himself and you do all you can to ensure neither spawn manage to lay a hand on him. By the end of it, you’re panting from exhaustion, scratches lacing your skin but the two spawns have been backed into a corner and you have emerged victorious alongside Astarion.
Or so you think.
Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine and mist turns into a humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Astarion’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back. The two spawn cower as a sneer forms on the humanoid’s face, a clawed hand reaching out towards you.
“Y/N I presume? I have heard much about you, it is an honour to finally meet you.”
Cazador.
You swallow hard, refusing to show the vampire lord a hint of fear and meet his burning gaze that stares into your very soul.
“Cazador,” you say, tone measured. “If only I could say the same.”
Why was he here? Was he going to forcefully take Astarion away? If he was, you were pretty much powerless to stop him by yourself and he would be able to start the ritual. You keep your eyes fixed on the vampire lord who is smiling unnervingly, standing your ground as he takes a step towards you.
“Thank you for taking care of my precious lost son,” he places a hand on your shoulder which you brush off, glowering at him. He remains unfazed despite your rude gesture, the smile still fixed on his face.
“You’re very welcome,” you say stiffly, still uncertain about what Cazador was here for. He hadn’t spared a glance at Astarion at all, which was odd and the other two spawn hadn’t made a single move to kidnap Astarion, even though now was the best time to do so.
“In return, I would like him back so that he may return home.”
“No.” You immediately growl without a second thought. “I will not let you lay a hand on Astarion again.”
“How courageous of you,” the vampire lord chuckles. “To think that my son has found someone like you…to guide him back. I really am extremely grateful to you.”
Astarion makes a noise, ignoring the shaking in his hands and moves to stand next to you. He can’t leave you to face Cazador alone, not after he’s promised to always be by your side and so despite the nauseating fear that is rising in his throat, he forces himself to face his tormentor.
“Now then, my boy” Cazador continues, gaze finally turning towards him. “I will give you a choice. You, or your precious Y/N.”
“What?” Astarion narrows his eyes.
“Choose. You, or Y/N.” Cazador repeats.
“What do you intend to do?” Astarion snarls. Cazador doesn’t answer his question and simply raises three fingers, slowly counting down. Confused, Astarion opens and closes his mouth, unsure of the consequence each choice will spell and a wide grin forms on the vampire lord’s face once the last finger is down.
“Time’s up, my boy. I suppose, I will have to make the choice for you since you cannot make up your mind.” Cazador places a hand on your shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious Y/N.”
Astarion takes a step towards you, your name on the tip of his tongue but he is too late, slowed by the tadpole and Cazador whisks you away along with the other two spawns, back to his palace.
“No, no, no!” Astarion roars, hand grasping thin air. “Cazador!”
The others come running over at the commotion, confused when they see Astarion on his knees, sobbing and cursing.
“What happened?” Halsin asks, kneeling next to the wailing vampire.
“Cazador!” Astarion snarls through the tears. “He took Y/N!”
“He took Y/N? Aren’t you the one he’s after? Why did he take them?” Wyll asks.
“Didn’t you say you’d protect them? Why didn’t you?” Lae’zel snaps. Astarion whirls around, ready to tear Lae’zel apart but Halsin holds him back, the vampire thrashing in his grip.
“Calm down, Astarion. We won’t get anywhere fighting amongst ourselves. Do you have an idea of where Cazador might have taken Y/N?” Halsin’s low voice gently rumbles.
“His damned palace, probably,” Astarion mutters, guilt tearing away at him. He should have given Cazador an answer, he should have been stronger and pressed Cazador for answers, he should have pulled you away from Cazador the moment the vampire lord had placed his hand on your shoulder.
“Then we will head there immediately,” Jaheria smoothly takes command and the other nod in agreement. The longer you were with Cazador, the dimmer your prospects, for who knew what Cazador wanted with you? Time was of the essence.
“We will get Y/N back,” Gale said firmly. “We will rescue them.”
At Cazador’s palace, you were held in place by blood red glyphs as Cazador circled you, ruby eyes glowing in the darkness.
“You are a fascinating creature, Y/N. Time and time again, I’ve taught my imperfect son not to form a relationship, that such bonds are a weakness he cannot afford, and yet he still chooses to form a bond with you. He knew of the consequences that would follow, and still decided to proceed. I wonder what about you makes him decide to risk it all.”
You remain silent, glaring as hard as you can at him. He leans in closer, a cold finger traces along your jawline and stop at your chin.
“Is it because of how much you make him think you care for him?”
“I genuinely care for him, unlike you!” You spit, jerking away from his touch.
“Or maybe your looks.” He pretends to contemplate before tightly grabbing you by the chin and pulling you towards him.
“No…that can’t be it.” He smirks. “Oh, I know. It’s the delectable taste of your blood, isn’t it? I can see the bite marks, he clearly loves drinking from you.”
“Piss off!” You snarl despite the fear creeping into your chest. “Whatever goes on between Astarion and I is none of your concern!”
“Oh, but it is. He is, after all, my son.” Cazador leans even closer, pressing his lips against the bite marks on your neck. “And you too, will become my child.”
His fangs sink into the soft supple flesh of your neck, painful and harsh unlike Astarion’s bite and you hiss, struggling to get away but the glyphs hold you tight. Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears as you snarl, spit and thrash as hard as you can but his fangs remain firmly lodged in your neck, your precious lifeblood gushing down his throat. Spots start to form in your vision and you feel yourself weakening, life fading away.
“Oh, don’t worry.,” you barely hear him as the world starts to turn black. “I don’t kill my own children.”
When you wake, everything is dark, but something feels different. Your sense of smell is sharper, you can see the lines of wood in the dark and…
“Welcome back, my child.” The sound of wood scraping rakes your ears and you quickly cover them, hissing.
“How are you feeling?” Cazador smiles, setting something down before turning to you, holding out a hand.
“Get lost!” You slap his hand away, trying to take in your surroundings. You’re in some sort of underground area, judging from the leaking ceiling and the musty smell in the air. The tiny squeaks of rats fill your ears and you notice chains hanging from the wall in front of you, covered in dried blood.
“How rude. It seems the first thing I must teach you is manners,” Cazador tuts. “Repeat after me, ‘I am fine, thank you for asking, master.’”
“Go —” A presence dominates your mind, sending your tadpole squirming as it tries to take back your mind. You scream, the tadpole’s fight tearing your mind apart and you hear Cazador snarl in frustration.
“That blasted thing!”
He looks back up at you, a smile slowly reforming itself upon his face. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have complete control over you for my plan to work. All I need is you.”
“What do you intend to do?” You pant, head throbbing.
“Why, have you take that boy’s place in the ritual of course. He chose to sacrifice you instead of himself. Now come along, I would rather not have to drag you out in front of your new siblings.”
You quietly follow him, mind still struggling to wrap around recent events. One moment you were trying to find Gortash and Orin to prevent The Absolute from taking over Baldur’s Gate, and then next you were Cazador’s latest vampire spawn, a sacrifice for his ascension. Cazador didn’t seem to mind your silence, tightly holding onto your hand to ensure you couldn’t just run away, not that he would have much of a problem catching you anyways.
He leads you to a grand hall where a pentagram has already been drawn with blood in the center of the floor and seven pedestals surround it. His other vampire spawn each stand on one, waiting for further instructions and you glance around nervously. Would the others be able to find this place before it was too late?
Cazador unsheathes a dagger, snapping his fingers and glyphs appear around your wrists and ankles once more, forcing you to kneel on the ground in front of him. He slices your clothes open, tossing them away until you’re half naked and bends down next to you.
“I believe you know what comes next.”
Bile rises in your throat, your clawed fingertips digging into your palm as you prepare yourself.
“Go rot in the hells.”
He laughs, knowing that all you can do is spit words at him and raises the dagger with a sadistic grin.
Then plunges it straight into your back.
The pain tears you apart from the inside, gnawing at every fibre of your being as you keenly feel each and every sinew being split open by the dagger, warm blood coating your back. You can hear screaming, was it coming from you? You couldn’t tell, your mind was far too hazy to make anything out.
Everything hurts, everything hurts, everything hurts.
You scream until your voice turns hoarse, but Cazador doesn’t stop. He continues with his work of art, twisting the dagger whilst its blade is embedded in your flesh whenever you collapse, shocking you back into reality. Over and over again he marks your flesh with Infernal script and you wonder how Astarion pulled through this.
Suddenly, the dagger stops. Cazador shouts something but your ringing ears can’t make out anything. Something red slams into the vampire lord and sends him crashing into the floor with a war cry, followed by an axe.
The glyphs holding you up disappear and you feel yourself falling, but not an inch of your body obeys your command to break your fall. Before the floor can meet you, a pair of warm arms wraps around you, holding you steady.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
You stare blankly at the floor beneath, wishing it had ended your suffering but then you remember that you’re a vampire spawn now and simply smacking into the floor wouldn’t kill you.
“Y/N? Talk to me,” the voice speaks again. Your swimming vision barely manages to scrape together an image and through the haze your mind recalls a name. Wyll.
A small noise escapes your lips and the Blade of Frontiers lets out a sigh of relief.
“You’re alive, that’s good.”
“No,” you whisper. “Not. Alive.”
“Not in that sense,” someone else speaks. Halsin.
Something new warms your back, blue light shimmering around you, “don’t you dare fall asleep.” Shadowheart.
“As…”
An angry cry pierces through the air. More shouting. Then. Silence. A figure rushes to your side, silvery curls stained with blood.
“Y/N!” There’s panic in the voice. “Darling?”
“As…ta…rion.”
“You’re safe now,” he pulls you into a hug. “You’re safe now.”
“Hurt…”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astarion chokes. “I’m sorry I let that monster take you, I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry I was late.”
His apologies are met with silence, your body limp in his arms as you struggle to stay awake. You want to reassure him, you want to say something but your body refuses to cooperate.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s my fault that you were taken, I promised to protect you and yet, and yet I —”
“It…s…ok.”
“It’s not!” He snaps. “It’s not ok! Nothing is! I let Cazador take you! I let him turn you! Now…now you can’t walk in the sun anymore! Not once that damned tadpole is removed! You’ll constantly feel the hunger! Others will call you a monster!”
Astarion stops when he sees the fresh tear streaks on your face, biting his lip hard. You come first, you need him right now. He pushes his self-hatred away and focuses on you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, ignoring the blood that seeps between his fingers. He presses his lips against the top of your head as your shoulders shake.
“I’m right here, my love. I’m right here. I promise, you’re never alone. You will never be alone. I will be right here, by your side to help you shoulder your burdens as you’ve helped me. I promise.”
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion bg3#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x tav#astarion romance#astarion ancunin#cazador szarr#bg3 cazador#tav#bg3 fic#bg3 angst#bg3 fluff#hurt/comfort#hurt/angst
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