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bonnie-the-butcher · 15 hours ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter VII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.669 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I'm sorry for introducing a side character so extensively, but I promise y'all, I swear to God it will all make sense in the future. I've been having a blast reading your comments and seeing what you think of the story. Thank you so so so much, from the bottom of my heart. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading!

Morning has a way of making everything seem lighter in retrospect.

Sleep was always a safe place for you. When you were in pain, when you were ruined, when you wished for death, you fell asleep. And when you woke up, with the sun hitting your face as reality sunk in, you weren’t so hopeless anymore.

But you startle awake that morning, nearly falling off the bed with JJ still half on top of you, having barely even slept, and you feel no metaphorical light strike you.

No clarity.

No introspection.

You feel worse.

All night long, you fell asleep and startled awake — You dreamt of stumbling up to the front door of the Cameron house to realize you were wearing nothing but the blue skirt, and woke up. You dreamt of running down the beach with JJ chasing you, persecuting you, and woke up. You dreamt of standing frozen in the kitchen at the Wreck while Kie tore your clothes off of you as everyone laughed and woke up.

It was 3:54 when you took a sleeping pill.

It was 4:09 when you woke up again.

Since then you'd drifted back and forth between a dreamless sleep riddled by the feeling of suddenly falling, and waking up, groggy and unable to move on the stifling heat of your bedroom.

You don’t feel much better when you finally open your eyes at 6:40. The sun seems to be in the room with you, scalding you, as it bleeds in through the window screen that shakes even as no wind comes through it. JJ’s skin is glued to yours, his hair sticking to your chest, his hands still gripping you as you try to move away.

He mumbles slightly, eyes peeking open in the overwhelming brightness. – Mornin’. – His fingers drift up your spine, around your waist, up to your chest. A kiss landing on the crook of your neck as he sits up next to you. – I don’t think I’ve ever slept this good in my life.

You try not to scoff at the irony as you rub the sleep you didn’t even have off your eyes. – Yeah. – He smiles against your skin, soft, warm, overbearing. – God, why is it so hot in here?

– Dunno, something to do with your presence, maybe.

A laugh falls from your lips, sharper than it should be. – Cute, JJ. Thanks a lot.

You’d be glad for the breath he lets out against your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much to help the heat, especially when he’s holding you so close, so tight, it's like being glued to a sentient heater.

The imprint of his hands seeps through the sweat on your skin. — Rough, calloused. Like sandpaper on silk, your skin seems to fray at his touch.

The wooden floorboards are hot beneath your feet as you try to stand, but JJ pulls you back, tugging at your arm until you're an inch short of falling over. – Where you going, baby? Let's sleep a little more.

– I wanna get ready.

– For what? It’s not like you’re working today. – The words linger around you, not cruel, but still sharp. – C’mon, baby. Relax.

– I’m starving. D’you want anything?

– You?

– Bye, JJ.

His laughter bounces off the walls as you walk down the hall, picking up the string of clothes he’s left behind.

You look over your shoulder on instinct. John’s door is still wide open, empty of him. If Sarah’s sleeping patterns are to be taken into account, and he truly did sleep there, neither of them are gonna wake up before midday.

So why do you feel like you’re being watched?

Worse than watched, judged.

The walls hover close, ceiling lower than you remember. The air is heavy around you, an overwhelming silence swallowing you whole even as you hear the creaks and cracks of the Chateau make themselves heard. You hesitate before stepping into the living room, eyes immediately falling over the armchair on the corner, where your dad used to sit.

Deep burgundy suede, copper buttons on the arms, probably the most expensive thing in this house. His bag still sits next to it, a worn honey-leather crossbody purse he’s had for longer than you've been alive. A gift from John's mother. You have to lift it everytime you clean the place, and it gets heavier every time, as if the piece of both of them that still lingers inside is growing.

Your breathing hitches.

You don’t know when your heartbeat picked up, why it did. But you avert your eyes like the sight had burned you, and rush to the kitchen quicker than dignity should allow.

You reach for the fridge door, thankful for the cold air that blows against you as you throw on JJ’s shirt to cover yourself. But that quick gladness doesn’t last: The fridge is almost empty, a half-done jar of peanut butter and some wonder bread you definitely didn’t buy the only things that don’t look spoiled, or just straight up empty. Your groceries never lasted long, no matter how much you try to stretch them.

The job interview still doesn’t seem appealing as Rafe’s weird words echo in your mind, but you don’t have the luxury to throw yourself on a job search you know won’t be fruitful, not now when half your bills are still to be paid.

You reach in, taking the bread, and open the little drawer, hoping for some cheese, tomatoes, anything. But your hope for semi-fresh produce vanishes as you feel JJ against you, his arms suddenly snaking around your waist. The bread falls from your hands. – Ooh, jumpy! – He giggles, leaning over you, his chin resting at the crook of your neck.

– Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?!

– You can’t bend over with an ass like yours and expect me not to do that. – His hands trail up your sides, under the shirt, his shirt, humming as he presses his hips against yours. – You look so hot like that, wearing my shirt.

A disgruntled chuckle falls from your lips as you look behind you, over your shoulder and his. – And you’d look really hot if you were wearing one.

– No need to lie to yourself, I know you like to see me naked. – He pulls you back, closing the fridge door with a kick as he leans down to kiss you. His hands find yours, pulling them to his chest. He trails them down his abs, until the strings of his shorts brush against your fingers. – D’you wanna take it off of me, baby?

– JJ, what are you doing?

– You. – He laughs, hands drifting down to your thighs. He takes a handful of flesh wherever he can squeeze, hissing under his breath as he presses on closer. – C’mon, beautiful. Aren’t you gonna give me a good morning?

– I’d have a better morning if you guys ever left anything for me to eat in this house.

– What? You hungry? I’ve got something you can put in your mouth.

– I think I’ll pass. – You turn around, but JJ grabs your waist before you can even step to the door. He’s close, much closer than what he should be, breath clinging heavy to your skin, blue eyes raking over your chest as he pushes you against the counter. – JJ, stop it.

– I don’t want to. – He growls, stepping closer, pulling at you, until his hips are against yours, thrusting so lightly you think he must not realize it. – You’re walking around like that, with nothing but my shirt— He groans, movements growing faster, more intentional. – driving me insane. And I can’t even do anything about it?

You push at his chest, trying to wriggle out from under him, but JJ’s grip is unwavering. – I’m not playing around, JJ, I’m not—

– Just a little, baby, please. Just— He’s pulling down his shorts, breath stuttering, head falling back as soon as skin touches skin. – Fuck. Fuck, that feels so good.

– JJ—

– Please, baby. Please. I promise I’ll make it quick. – You feel him pushing into you, hands holding your hips in a vice grip as he sinks in, head falling to the crook of your neck. – You feel so fucking good around me. Fuck—

You’re frozen in place, watching him use you, have at you like a toy, as if your words didn’t mean anything. He’s fucking himself into you, babbling, stuttering, rolling his eyes, almost as if he’s possessed. – How’d you do this to me? – The words fall from his lips as if he’s speaking to himself, his eyes closed, mouth pressed against your skin. – I can’t—fuck, I can’t stop.

His pace has grown faster, sloppier, dick sliding in and out so fast you can barely brace against him, nails digging into his shoulders, still unmoving.

You hear something in the distance, the familiar rumble of an engine, a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

John.

You wake up from your daze in a heartbeat, already pushing JJ away. – The car. John’s coming JJ, get off of me!

He doesn’t listen, your protests falling on deaf ears as he moans into your shoulder, still moving like a bitch in heat. – Jus— Just a little more, please. Please it feels so– Fuck! Fuck, right there! – His hips move wildly, and even as you shove him with all your strength, it's to no avail. You can hear the car getting closer, wheels moving on the soft lakebank mud, but JJ doesn’t stop. He gets louder. More restless, begging and pleading, his pace stuttering as his stomach contracts. – Don’t stop, fuck don’t stop I’m almost there! I— Fuck, fuck! Right there, baby! FUCK–

You shut him up just as he cums, shuddering and shaking over you as you push your hands onto his mouth, dick still twitching as you finally manage to get him away. You hear his back knocking against the opposite counter just as the car door slams closed, and you’re running to the bathroom, JJ pulling up his shorts behind you, still frozen in place.

You’ve never locked a door so fast, shame burning beneath your skin as you hear your brother’s steps on the porch, the squeak of the front door banging closed against the frame as he shuts it behind him.

JJ greets him with a stutter. – Hi—hey bro, what are you doing here this early? I thought you were gonna stay at Sarah’s.

– Rafe Cameron.

– What?

– Sarah and I were sleeping and then this psycho walks into the room. – You don’t know if JJ’s too stunned to respond, or if he’s not actually listening, but even you do a double take. – We weren’t even doing anything. And he just bursts through the door like the kool-aid man and starts laughing.

– Laughing?

– Yeah! Laughing! Fucking cackling. He laughed so hard, her dad came to check what was going on. – You hear impact. John probably threw something, you can hear the frustration in his sigh. – I had to sneak out the window so he wouldn’t catch me there. And you know what’s worse?

– There's worse?

– Yeah! Rafe told me to check on my sister. – Your breath is caught. – He actually fucking talked about her! Said her name! Like they’re friends or whatever. Can you fucking believe that?!

You dig your nails into your hands.

Please don’t say anything stupid. Please don’t say anything stupid. – Rafe’s a fucking junkie, bro. He was probably out of his mind. – Thank you. – But he acts really weird about her, if you ask me.

Your nails dig deeper.

Nobody asked you anything, JJ. – What do you mean?

You're not listening anymore.

There's no way in hell you're about to let JJ fucking Maybank buy you three more months of confinement. Your brother and you have it bad enough as it is without him throwing wood into that fire.

You throw the shirt off of you, burying it deep into the laundry basket, and wrap yourself with your towel.

– I don’t know man, but don’t you think it's kinda weird that he would—

– John? You home? – The conversation dies right then as you step in, and your brother jumps to his feet, looking over to the hall at you, like you're a specter. – That’s early.

He barely looks at you at first, still caught up in his own frustration. You tighten the towel around your body, tucking in the corner like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your hands shake slightly as they drop back to your side. – I thought you slept at Sarah's.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. – Yeah. I did. – Something burns in his eyes. – And then your buddy Rafe laughed me off the building.

– Rafe? – You hum. – What'd you mean ‘laughed you off the building'?

John scoffs. – He was high as shit. Talking in circles. Then— He pauses, his jaw flexing. – Then he brought you up.

Your stomach clenches, but you don’t let it show. You barely blink. – Me?

John's looking at you now. Really looking. – Yeah. Said your name. Told me to check on you.

The air shifts. JJ’s foot scuffs against the floor, he's looking at you too, something else in his gaze you can't quite catch from the corner of your eyes.

You feign confusion. – That's weird.

John doesn’t respond right away. He’s watching you too closely, like he’s trying to catch something in the way your face moves, in the way your fingers curl around the edge of your towel.

– When the fuck did Rafe start talking about you?

He says it slow, almost careful. But you know that tone. It’s the one he gets when he already suspects the answer.

You force a shrug, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. – I don’t know, John. Doesn’t he hate you? Was probably trynna get into your head or something.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for something to crack.

He thinks you're made of glass, he always did. But he doesn't treat you like you’re fragile, he treats you like you’re all shards and sharp edges. Like he’ll cut himself on you if he gets too close.

– Why are you getting ready so early? – That tone again. Casual enough, just shy of friendly. But his eyes are like knives, and you just happen to be the one he's holding at knifepoint. – You were fired.

You can feel your expression darken. JJ's already looking at you as your eyes drift between him and your brother. – Kie told you, huh?

– Yeah, she did. – He sways on his feet as he stands. Drunk off his own self-righteousness. – And she's right to. We all know damn right you wouldn't tell me. Because it's not like I'm your brother! It's not like I worry about you!

– It happened YESTERDAY. I just got fired, and you just walked in! Was I supposed to bring it up now? Over what? The breakfast we don't have?! The pile of bills that we still have to pay?!

He's looking at you, his heart probably racing just as much as yours. – Do you think this shit is easy?! – You continue. – It's hard enough to lose the job I've had for three fucking years, John! But telling you?! Having to disappoint you like this when we don't even know if we're gonna eat tomorrow?

He’s silent now.

You are too. —All the things you have to say flutter away as your mind sends you spinning— He whispers your name under his breath, reaching. Grasping. But you don’t want him to. You recoil before he can get to you, like a scared cat curling up in the corner.

And his hand drops.

As if the rejection had sent a shock through him, one as painful as what you’re feeling now. – Don't do this to me right now. – He’s pleading, but it doesn't sound like it. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, all you see is ache. It pains you to see him like this. But it doesn’t last long. Just as soon as that worry washed over him, anger swallowed it whole. – You always do this shit. You always do that. You fuck up and you shut down and you blame it on me!

– I'm not!

– Yes you are! You are! And you always do! It's not my fault you lost your job!

– I’m not saying it is, John! I’m just trying to—

– To what?! Huh? What is it?!

You let go of your breath, of your hope for this conversation, of any possibility of mending whatever it is that's wrong with you and John right now. The heels of your palms burn against the hollow of your eyes as you press your hands into them. – Forget it. – Your stomach turns, your throat is burning, you want it to end. – Forget it, John.

Your feet move before your mind does, you barely see the house moving around you as you scurry away. The door of your room falls shut behind you, but your thoughts remain in that kitchen, like your conscience couldn't bear to leave this the way it was.

Deal with it. You tell yourself. If they don't want to listen you shouldn’t even talk. But there is so much to say.

It wasn't you who got fired, you think as you take your clothes from the dresser and rush into the bathroom, it was Kie who did it to you.

The cold water jars you, like a glacier on your burning skin, but you continue the argument in your head as you scrub your skin raw trying to get JJ's hands off of you, thinking of everything you should have said.

The towel is still damp from your last shower as you pat yourself dry, but you can't get over the way your brother still looked at you like a criminal, as if the one time you got yourself into trouble was enough to outweigh every other stupid mistake he made.

The mirror seems like an alternative reality. You look into it and you see someone who’s alive. Bags under the eyes, reddened lips, messy hair. — If you look deep enough you can see breath in those lungs, shoulders that move up and down steadily, a chest that heaves. — But you feel like death, warmed over. An animal carcass that someone threw in the microwave, just to bring the color back to the corpse.

You reach under the sink for your makeup bag, and rifle through the little items you’ve managed to swipe from drugstores along the years.

Your mother would’ve been very disappointed in you. She was all about beauty, it's the only thing you remember about the woman: her, bent over the sink, touching up a cherry-red lipstick with the precision of a pre-raphaelite painter.

She never liked to kiss you. Took too much work to get her lips like that. Too bad for you, she wouldn’t be caught dead without it.

You wonder if she was wearing it right now. If she woke up, if she still refuses to kiss, even though that’s the basis on which her entire life was built upon.

Maybe she’s dead.

Maybe that's why you never heard from her.

If they did bury her, you at least hope they got her makeup right.

You fish a tube from the deepest corner of your bag, your only one. It's not as pretty as hers was, but you put it on just like she did, thinking of her, laying on a coroner’s table, being painted up like a doll.

Concealer. Foundation. You look like a doll. Painted plastic, a fake glimmer in your eye.

The blush comes later, closer to your undereyes, just where she put it. Then the lashes. She'd bat them to anyone who'd have her. A born flirt, your father would say.

The only thing he would say about her.

A stone weighs down on your chest.

Resentment.

Solid, calcified, heavy. If you move too fast you might feel it rattling inside your ribcage. But you look prettier than you did in a while.

You almost feel like her.

You take one last look in the mirror before stepping out, and she's looking back at you, raised brow, unimpressed, the way she always looked at you—it’s the version of you that can handle this, the one who won’t crumble at the first sign of trouble. It’s armor. A little cracked, maybe, but it’ll hold.

She would hold. You never could.

The house is quiet now, holding its breath with you when you step outside. John’s still in the kitchen, seething, you don’t hear him, but you feel him there, the weight of his anger pressing against the walls.

JJ is still there. He’s outside, sitting on the steps. He’s not looking at you, not at first. Just staring out at the river, his jaw clenched tight.

He only turns when you step out.

His eyes drop, flicking over you like he’s trying to figure out what’s different. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t.

– That was cruel. – He says, and his voice is rougher than before, like he’s been thinking too hard, breathing too shallow. – What you said to him. You shouldn't— He feels guilty.

You nod, barely.

He looks away again, back to the water. – Figures.

It’s not fair. You know that. You also know that staying here, standing in front of him, means letting him say whatever it is he’s trying not to say. And you don’t have the stomach for it.

So you step off the porch. The weight in your chest shifts, sharp and insistent.

JJ doesn’t stop you.

But he does call after you, just before you reach the end.

– Don’t do that. – he says, lower, slower. Suddenly, it's like he’s talking to a child. – We were getting along so well. Don't ignore me now.

You pause.

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. – I'm late, – His eyes widen. – For an interview, JJ. I have to be there at 10. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.

– Don't.

– Why? Is he gonna do it? – JJ sucks his teeth, looking down, it's all the answer you need. – Don't you wanna eat something other than bread and beer? Actual food? I know I do.

– Baby,

– Don't call me that. – You nod to the door behind you. – We were already poor enough when I was working. I don’t wanna think of how it could be otherwise.

JJ is quiet. You can almost hear him thinking. – Do you want me to drive you?

There’s nothing you want less. – I’m fine. I’ll see you later.

– Wait, wait. Wait a minute. – He looks over his shoulder, and pulls at your hand, standing closer. – Give me a kiss.

– JJ, stop it.

– He won't see. – His hand lands on the small of your back, heat bleeding through your shirt as he pulls you in, tighter and tighter until you can’t avoid his lips.

His mouth is warm, familiar. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess the way he fits against you, like he already knows exactly how you’ll respond.

But you don’t.

You stay still, lips barely parting under his. The pressure of his hand at your back keeps you anchored, locked in place, and when he deepens the kiss—his lips moving slow, deliberate—you don’t fight it. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

JJ doesn’t notice.

You feel it when he exhales through his nose, when his fingers press just a little harder into your spine, like he’s chasing something he isn’t getting. But he doesn’t pull back, not until he’s ready, until he's had his fill, and when he finally does, he sighs against your lips, almost satisfied, but not quite.

He lingers, his nose still brushing yours, but then he shifts back slightly, studying your face.

– That’s all I get? – His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to decide whether to be hurt. – Don’t leave me wanting like that, baby.

– I gotta go.

He says nothing. Just glances over his shoulder and swallows. His hand stays on you for another second, two. And he moves as if he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t.

– JJ.

Your voice is steady, but the weight in your chest hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s worse now, heavier.

JJ watches you, expression unreadable, before tipping his head back with a soft chuckle.

– Damn. – He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. – You make a guy work for it, huh?

You don’t respond. Take a step back, hands still on his shoulders.

– Come back soon, okay? – He whispers, you nod, and he goes on. – I'll see you later, right?

It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, like he already knows the answer.

And maybe he does.

You don’t give him a reply. You just keep walking, the weight in your chest sinking deeper, spreading through your ribs.

You never thought you’d be afraid of the Cameron house.

Rafe wasn’t really wrong when he joked about your house being haunted, but there’s something about his that is actually frightening. Maybe it’s the sheer size of it, the too-perfect symmetry of the windows staring down at you from over the white balconies like a set of watchful eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that you know what happens inside. Either way, you stand there for a moment, frozen on the pavement, your phone open to Rafe’s messages, and curse the day your broke-ass parents decided to have a kid.

You spent the last of your money printing out a copy of your resume—hastily written on Google Docs during the bus ride. You’d embellished as much as your conscience allowed, but you had no illusions; landing a job at the Camerons’ was out of the question unless you managed to impress the head chef: Kareem Nawaz.

You were surprised to realize you sort of knew him. Kareem had run a bar at Figure Eight just around the time you were hired at the Wreck. Everybody on the island seemed to turn to it in awe, the single taste of something even tangentially cosmopolitan to ever grace the Outer Banks—fancy drinks, fancy music, fancy food. But the bar didn’t last long. As you’d heard from Anthony, Kareem and the other owner had come to blows over finances. Eventually, the lawsuit got so expensive they had to shut the place down.

You think of driving past the still-empty structure as you step around the perfect lawn, heading toward the staff entrance in the back. You knock once, then a second time, a little softer.

Your clothes are less than perfect. You think of what Rafe said, a shiver running up your spine. Your mother would’ve told you to wear that skirt. Maybe you should have.

Maybe that was the only thing that could work you this miracle.

You barely have time to steady yourself before the door swings open.

– Oh, uhm, hey. I’m here for the private chef position. – The man standing in the doorway eyes you down—not obviously, but just long enough that you notice. A brief flicker of appraisal, the kind that would go unnoticed if you weren’t already on edge. He leans against the frame, the sleeves of his coat pushed up just enough to show off the dark ink decorating his forearms. – I talked to someone on the phone.

– Yeah, I know. That was me. I'm Kareem. Kareem Nawaz, the head chef.

He extends a hand. Big, manicured, intricately tattooed, and you meet him halfway, a firm handshake in which his hand lingers for a minute.

– I'm…

– I remember your name. – He cuts in, but his tone is warm, friendly. You don’t even mind. He steps aside, holding the door open wider, inviting you in. – I looked you up. Routledge, right? You worked at the Wreck?

– Yes, sir. I was a roast chef for three years.

You extend the resume to him, watching his gaze shift between the paper and you. He doesn’t rush.

You don’t know what to make of him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and a man bun. The millennial chef stereotype. And yet, something about him doesn’t quite fit the label. He’s too put-together, too composed.

Kareem is not the struggling type. You can tell he has money, significant money, in the way he talks and moves so comfortably, as if he's so deeply aware that the world is his that he doesn't even think about it.

You wait for resentment to bloom in your chest, a distaste, a mistrust, but nothing comes. You look at him, and it’s like you've known each other for years. He smiles—broad, easy, sweet—and yet you still can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

– So I hear. – You freeze. – I gave your last boss a call. Regretted it, too. He did everything he could to convince me not to hire you.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you force yourself to stay still, to keep your gaze fixed.

– Mr. Carrera never had a high opinion of me.

– And yet he kept you on for three years. Why do you think that is?

– Cheap labor? A fondness for torturing people? – Kareem laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the marble counter, watching you with something like amusement. – He’s a famous sadist.

– Oh, I know that. – His smile falters, just for a second, twisting at the edges. It’s quick—blink and you’d miss it—but it’s enough. The first hint of something other than friendliness. – Mr. Cameron is fond of him, don’t ask me why. The bastard makes a point to come into my kitchen and tell me how to do my job every time he’s here.

You put on your sympathetic voice. – How rude.

He chuckles, flashing straight white teeth.

– You don’t need to kiss ass, Ms. Routledge. If Michael Carrera doesn’t like you, then I’m sure we can be great friends.

You tilt your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a little girl.

– I do enjoy friendship…

– …But what you need is a job?

– I'm not rejecting the offer, but… yeah.

He smiles and glances down at your resume again.

– Here’s the deal. Three years at a professional kitchen, in the single kinda decent restaurant in this place—that’s a lot. You've worked at diners, mom&pop businesses, bakeries… You got a lot of color in your resume. That's great. But you’re what, nineteen?

– Something like that.

– You never even went to culinary school.

– No, sir.

– That’s kind of a problem.

You take a slow breath. His expression is neutral, but his eyes linger—just a beat longer than they should.

– Well, I know. I know without an education, I’m not anyone's ideal choice. But maybe, in the absence of a diploma to tell you that I’m able, you might accept another sort of proof?

He raises his brows, his mouth parting just slightly.

– Another sort..?

– Yeah.

Something in the air shifts.

His posture changes— he straightens, brushing a hand over the tattoos on his forearm, like he’s suddenly aware of them. His eyes hold yours for a moment, long enough that you feel it in your stomach, that same feeling you get when you’ve stepped a little too close to the edge of a ledge.

His voice is low when he speaks, taking a step closer. – Alright, I'll bite. – He says, voice even, unreadable. – What kind of proof?

– Well, you tell me. I can do it all.

– All?

The way he says it feels careful. You can tell he’s watching you, weighing the moment, as if waiting for you to clarify. But you don’t—not right away. That’s the gift your mother left you: suggestion. You let the silence stretch for just long enough to see the way his fingers tighten slightly over his forearm, a flicker of something in his eyes before he blinks it away.

You shrug. – Yeah. – You hum. – It really depends on what you need help with. I've been a roast chef, I can help with lunch. Or maybe the desert is the problem, that's where the bakery gig comes in handy. Pick a dish. If I wanna work here with you, I gotta learn how to follow your lead, right?

He hums, smile growing. You feel yourself mirror it without even realizing. – You wanna cook for me?

– Well, yeah. – He exhales a soft chuckle, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he tilts his head. – I'm a proactive kind of girl. That's my greatest trait.

– I bet it is. – Kareem lets out a breath through his nose, his lips pressing together in something like amusement, though there’s a slowness to it. – You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

– I try.

You’re aware of his gaze still on you as he finally shifts, setting your resume down on the counter and turning toward the stainless steel fridge.

– Alright, chef. Lunch for today is beef tenderloin with a red wine reduction sauce. Truffle mash potatoes, cornbread with honey butter, some roasted vegetables with herbs and panna cotta for dessert.

– Did you get started with cornbread?

He looks at his watch with a smile. – Not yet.

– Well, in that case. I can do the cornbread and, at the same time, something simple but tasty for us to lunch on. And later, if you’re convinced, I will do the rest.

A hearty laugh escapes him, you feel it buzz against your skin. – You weren’t playing about the proactive thing, were you?

– No sir. I'm a woman of my word.

– Hardly a woman. – He teases.

– I will ignore that comment. And what are you anyways? 27? Not exactly my idea of an old man.

– I am thirty one years old!

– In what? Dog years?

– Really funny. – His tone drips with sarcasm, but he can’t shake off the smile as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread.

– That's another thing you might look forward to. If you decide to hire me, of course.

– Hate to say it, but your fate's really hanging on how good that us-lunch is gonna be. – He pauses, smiling again. – Actually, I don’t hate to say it at all. What are you making?

– That's a surprise. Shouldn't you be getting started on that panna cotta?

– Bossy. – He bumps your shoulder, still grinning. It's starting to unnerve you.

You nod, stepping forward to scan the kitchen, already mapping out what you need.

But before you can open the fridge, Kareem moves in front. He reaches for the sink, fills a glass with water, and sets it down beside you.

– You’re shaking, y'know?

You freeze for half a second.

– I’m not.

– Sure you aren’t.

His tone is casual, almost teasing, but there’s something in the way he leans just slightly into your space as he says it. Close enough that, when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

It’s brief. A flicker of a moment. But there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers drum once against the counter before he pulls away, giving you back your space.

– Clock’s ticking, chef.

You take a deep breath, fingers brushing against the countertop as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread. There’s a slight tremor in your hands, but you ignore it. You can’t afford to let nerves get the best of you—not now. The kitchen is big, the appliances gleaming, and Kareem’s presence fills the space in a way you’re not entirely sure how to handle.

But you can cook. You know that much.

It’s easy enough to find your way around the ingredients. Head chefs are all about the methodical nature of storing, and you can see his pattern as you go from the fridge, to the pantry, and back to the counter

You begin with the dry ingredients—cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder. There’s something almost meditative about it, the repetition of pouring and measuring, the steady rhythm that lulls you into focus. You’re already thinking ahead, the steps laid out in your mind as you mix. You add the salt, the baking powder, the sugar. The cornbread is a good start. It’s simple, but comforting—a dish that feels like a hug with every bite.

That tells you enough about him. Obviously, Kareem’s the one picking out the meals. A man like Ward Cameron is exactly the person to just hand off that responsibility entirely while he focuses on the “important things”. Beef tenderloin is posh enough to fit the Cameron’s style, especially with a wine reduction. But cornbread? That’s a chef’s nostalgia speaking.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t milk that for all it's got.

There’s a hum in the air, the soft buzz of your thoughts, as you pour the buttermilk into the bowl, watching the swirl of white in the yellow mix. Your mind drifts back to Kareem, trying to figure out his preferences.

He’s not a city boy, despite the desperate attempt to seem like one. Whenever he laughs or gets too distracted you can hear the subtle drawl on a country accent in his voice. His build hardly hints at someone unfamiliar with manual labour. You’re not a betting woman, but if you were, you’d bet he was raised on a farm. — So fancy food isn’t the right choice. He’s earnest, wholesome, and though he hides it well enough under the truffle oil and the herbs and the wine thing that are clearly not what he would prefer, his menu tells you he enjoys simplicity, but that he often has to dress it up.

What he wants is a homey fare.

Something that’s comforting, without being heavy, Something hearty. Tasty. The sort of thing that makes you drool as it cooks and fills every expectation when it's in your mouth: Chicken, mash, a salad that isn’t quite a salad just to put some color on the plate. Something a mother would make. A good mother— That’s easy enough.

You add the egg, the melted butter, and fold everything together with quick, practiced movements. No hesitation. It's easier now that you know what you’re gonna do next. You pour the batter into a cast-iron skillet, sizzling as it hits the hot surface enough to make you pause, your heart catching in your chest. The cornbread will bake up crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, just like it should. That’s the easy part. The hard part’s still to come.

As the cornbread begins to bake, you move onto your chicken. You need to get the oil hot—just the right temperature so that the chicken fries up golden brown, the skin crispy and seasoned perfectly. You take a moment to mix in the seasonings: paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne. Press it into the flour mixture, making sure it coats evenly. You feel the nervousness creep in again as you set the pieces into the hot oil. It crackles, the sound sharp and satisfying.

You glance over your shoulder, but Kareem is still a little too far away to read his expression.

Focus.

The chicken fries, sizzling as it turns a golden brown. You turn the pieces carefully, making sure they cook evenly, the skin getting crisp and crackly. There’s a slight smell of garlic and paprika in the air—rich and savory—and for a moment, the tension that’s been building in your chest starts to lift, if only a little. You move in a kind of rhythm now, your hands steady, your mind occupied with each step.

You turn to the potatoes. You throw them into a pot, fill it with water, and set it to boil. You don’t need to watch it. It’ll take care of itself for now, just like the cornbread. You wash spinach, the leaves fresh and bright, and start on the sauté. A quick toss in hot olive oil with garlic—simple, but good. The spinach wilts quickly, its deep green turning darker as it cooks. You squeeze a little lemon juice over it, just enough to add a pop of brightness.

You’re acutely aware of Kareem’s presence behind you. You can feel his eyes on you, even when you don’t turn to look. His movements are almost too quiet, too calculated as he focuses on the panna cotta, but then, you hear a soft chuckle. You glance over and catch him looking at you—just a split second before he turns back to his work. He’s not hiding it. He’s watching you.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard. Every so often, you catch him peeking over the top of the counter, eyes twinkling with something that could be amusement—or maybe just curiosity. He watches you handle the chicken, his gaze never straying too far, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. His voice breaks the silence between you when he speaks, low and teasing.

– You sure you know what you’re doing?

You keep your hands steady as you flip a piece of chicken, not looking up. – What, you think I can’t handle some fried chicken?

– No, no. I’m just curious, – he says, his voice carrying a hint of a grin. You feel it in the air as he stays close enough to catch the scent of garlic and paprika. – The real question is: are you really going to make this whole meal from scratch?

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth twitch. – Didn’t I tell you I was a proactive type of person?

His laugh is soft, almost like he’s enjoying the game of it all. – I’m starting to think I might have underestimated you, chef.

You focus on the chicken, trying to ignore the way his presence feels just a little too heavy in the kitchen. When you set the pieces on the paper towels, you catch his eyes again, this time his grin widening as he leans against the counter. He seems unbothered by the quiet, the way you’re keeping your space while working. The kitchen is like a stage, and right now, you’re not sure whether you’re the performer or the director.

As the chicken finishes up, you check the potatoes. They’re soft and ready to mash, so you turn off the heat and start mashing them, adding butter, cream, and salt to get them to the right consistency. The spinach is done now, wilted and coated with a light sheen of oil and lemon juice. You set the chicken, the spinach, and the potatoes together, and glance over at Kareem again. He’s watching you now, his eyes following every move you make. There’s something amused in the way his lips curl as he turns back to the panna cotta.

– Well, – you say, trying to sound casual, like your whole life doesn’t depend on this. – lunch is almost ready.

He takes a step forward, his gaze moving over your work. – Smells damn good, – he says with a nod, his approval heavy in the air. You feel the cold whiff of realization Pandora must have felt after the box was finally open —Surrounded by the darkness you harvested, the only thing left for you is hope, the cruelest of all feelings.

You finally pull the cornbread from the oven, the golden crust hot and ready. You cut a piece, drizzling honey butter over the top. You glance at Kareem, who’s standing just a little too close, his grin still there, like he’s enjoying the whole scene.

– You didn’t think I’d pull it off, did you? – you ask, keeping your voice light, but you know he’s been watching, testing you.

– I might’ve had my doubts, – he admits, glancing at the food, – but I’m starting to think you might just be what this kitchen needs.

You set the plate in front of him, your heart racing a little. You’ve survived. For now.

You watch as Kareem picks up his fork, inspecting the plate like he’s about to face some kind of culinary battle. The corners of his mouth twitch in a playful smirk as he takes a bite of the chicken, his eyes immediately lighting up. He chews slowly, savoring each mouthful, before his gaze shifts to the potatoes. He dips his fork in, taking a scoop with as much care as a connoisseur tasting fine wine.

– Damn, – he says, half to himself, almost in disbelief. – You really did know what you were doing, huh?

You feel a smile tug at your lips, but you don’t let it show too much. – Told you.

His eyes lock with yours as he takes another bite, clearly relishing the moment. – I thought I was just gonna get something...good, but this? – He shakes his head, clearly impressed. – This is something else.

Your chest coils at the praise, heavy, even through the gladness. Yturn to grab the panna cotta, trying to keep your composure. – It’s just food.

– Oh, don’t play humble now, – he teases, voice laced with admiration. – This is art.

You’re not sure if it’s the joke or the way his tone softens just a little, but there’s a small flush creeping up your neck. You focus on serving the dessert, trying to keep your cool. When you turn back, he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

– You know, if this was a competition, – he says with a grin, – I’d say you’ve got a pretty solid shot at winning.

You set the panna cotta down, feeling your hands fail you. – You're saying this isn’t a competition?

He takes another bite, face lighting up once again. – Well, I don’t really feel like doing any more interviews.

You wait for the punchline, but instead he just takes another bite, his eyes never leaving yours, a hint of something more behind the humor. The kitchen feels different now, charged, like the food isn’t the only thing that’s being tested.

You chuckle, trying to play it cool, even as you feel yourself trembling. – I do have a shot, then?

Kareem shrugs, but there’s a gleam in his eye as he leans back against the counter, holding the plate as if it was made of solid gold. – I think, you have a job.

You blink, heart skipping a beat. His words hang in the air, playful yet serious, like they’ve both been wrapped in a layer of something unspoken. For a second, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, trying to process whether he’s joking or actually offering something more.

And then the rush of emotions hits you like a wave.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically leap towards him, your arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous hug. It’s a mix of excitement, relief, and something else that you can’t quite put a name to.

– Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much! – you practically squeal, hugging him tighter than you probably should.

Kareem lets out a startled laugh, but there’s no resistance in his body as he gently pats your back. – You’re welcome, you’re welcome.

You pull back, your face flushing in embarrassment. – Uh, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what came over me. That was… uh, I mean… you know, too much.

Kareem grins, a mischievous spark in his eyes. – Don’t apologize. You’ve got energy. I like it.

You wince, still a little flustered but feeling slightly better at his easy-going response. – Well, I’m glad you’re not my old boss. He would’ve fired me on the spot.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your awkwardness. – You can hug me whenever you want if you keep cooking like this. That’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.

You stare at him, your heart still racing a little from the interaction, but there's something else beneath it, something lighter.

– Alright, well, next time I’ll just hand you a plate of burnt toast and see if you still want to hug me then.

Kareem laughs loudly, shaking his head. – I’m not that picky.

Your chest tightens, but it’s not out of nervousness. It’s excitement, maybe even anticipation. You force yourself to focus, taking a deep breath. – Well, I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve. So, if you’re lucky…

– Oh, I’m lucky alright, – he says, his tone low and serious. His gaze flicks to your lips for just a moment, then back up to your eyes, his smile still lingering. – I think I’ve hit the jackpot.

Your breath catches, and for a second its like the whole kitchen quiets, the buzz of the conversation fading as your mind tries to catch up with what just happened. But just as quickly, Kareem’s grin widens, and he’s back to normal, as if nothing happened.

You're not sure it did, now.

– Seriously, though. You’re definitely the kind of person I want in this kitchen. You’ve got a future in this.

The weight of his words is still heavy, but you let out a laugh, easing the tension a little. – Guess we’ll see, won’t we?

– Oh, we will. – Kareem raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. – Well sit down and eat already, did you put poison on the food or something?

– Who knows, maybe mr. Carrera sent me down here to kill you.

Kareem raises an eyebrow. – Sounds like something he would do.

You laugh, shaking your head. – No poison, I promise. But hey, if it were, I’d say I’d be going down with you. Can’t let you go alone.

He chuckles, taking another bite of his food. – And who's gonna finish the pana cotta when I'm dead?

– Well, when you're out of the way I'm probably be busy basking in all that glory. – You take a sip of the water he poured you, but when you look up, Kareem takes a deep breath, his face suddenly worried. – Oh God. Did I overdo it with the joke, that was a little...

– No, no. That’s not what that is. It's just this thing you should know. – Your face falls. – It’s not that horrible…

– So it is.

– I can’t hire you without telling you. I mean, you're already hired. But I should tell you. – He plays around with the food for a moment. – The job is good. The pay is good, better than what you’re gonna get slaving away at some place like the Wreck.

– So, what's the catch?

He looks over his shoulder, and after assessing if you truly were alone or not, he finally says – The employers. – It seems to weigh on him. The way he says it is almost grievous. – There's not a month that goes by without someone being fired for something stupid.

– Jesus Christ.

– Yeah. I mean, Ward is a hard-ass. He complains a lot, he talks big game, but he's fair most of the time. Sarah and Louisa, his daughters, they're fine too, sometimes they whine, but they're mostly okay. It's his wife and his son you gotta worry about.

You mull on that for a moment, staring at your plate. – Why is that?

Kareem huffs. – Rafe and Rose, they'll find issues with the slightest things if they're pissed, sometimes, even when they're not. I've heard them screaming at staff for no reason, making people cry. Just— He looks deeper at you, almost pensive. – just don't get in their way.

– Is that what happened to the last person in the job? They got "in the way"?

The question slips out before you can stop it, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you notice a subtle shift in Kareem’s demeanor. His wavers just slightly, pausing mid-bite. For a split second, his eyes flicker over to the door again.

Before you can backpedal, Kareem clears his throat and leans back slightly in his chair, a more measured tone entering his voice. – The last guy, I don’t even know. Randomly fired, like out of nowhere. He’d been working here for a while, but one day, bam. Gone.

He glances over his shoulder, looking like he's weighing whether to continue. There's a brief hesitation, and you notice his jaw tighten just slightly. – Don’t really know the full story, but I heard it was… – He stops himself just as he’s about to finish the sentence.

You feel the sudden weight of the moment, but just as you’re about to press him further, the door swings open, and you both look up in surprise.

Rafe walks in, his presence filling the room immediately. There’s something unmistakable about the way he carries himself—like he’s constantly aware of the effect he has on people. His eyes scan the room quickly, lingering just a little too long on Kareem, before drifting over to you.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic

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kiwriteswords · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii sorry if this is too late for missing scenes Monday (or maybe this can be Thirsty Thursday!) but I'm thinking of post-Reaper attack between 5x01 - 5x02, Hotch having a secret fuck buddy/friend with benefits to work out his frustrations 👀

Because that's what I want to be for him lol

The Aftermath [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: >>>1k|| AN: Not too late! My apologies for it being so short! Thank you for sending in and being a part of my 2k celebration! <3 *note, I think I will not be tagging my usual taglist in these, as I do not want everyone to have their notifications blown up by my short drabbles and/or excessive posting for this event!*

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon typical themes, canon typical injuries, spoilers-ish to 5.01/5.02, hurt!hotch, sexual themes, friends-with-benefits, fade to black smut, sexual tension, caregiver!reader, BAU!Reader, mdni

Summary: Hotch thinks the benefits part of your 'friends with benefits' situation may really help the way he's feeling when recovering from being attacked by The Reaper.

Your heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor of Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, the sound muffled by the pervasive silence that seemed to hang heavily in the air. The door had been left unlocked, just as he’d texted you it would be, a small act of trust that you didn’t take lightly, especially now.

As you entered, you paused for a moment, struck by his appearance. Hotch was sitting on the couch, his posture unusually rigid against the softness of the cushions. His face was drawn, the remnants of pain evident in the tight set of his jaw and the way his eyes briefly closed when he adjusted his position. The bandages peeking out from under his shirt near his neck served as a jarring reminder of the attack that had nearly taken his life.

You took in the surroundings of his apartment. On the coffee table sat a prescription, which looked unopened, and a cup of coffee--likely the only thing he had eaten or drank in the last 48 hours since being home.

“Hotch,” you said softly, keeping your voice gentle, not wanting to startle him.

He opened his eyes, and a flicker of relief passed through them as he saw you. “You came.”

“I said I would.” You set down the bag of groceries you’d brought with you in the kitchen, making a mental note to fill his fridge with something more substantial than takeout containers and old coffee.

Over the months, your relationship had evolved into a convenient arrangement of late-night visits and quiet departures--no promises made, no strings attached. But today was different. You felt different seeing him. Your eyes caught the cut out spot on the carpet, a mental reminder that you almost didn’t see him again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed in the chest,” he replied dryly, a hint of his usual stoicism laced with dark humor. You knew this was his way of coping, of grounding himself back to reality.

Walking over to him, you took a seat on the other end of the couch, giving him space yet staying close enough to share warmth. “I can imagine that doesn’t feel great.”

He watched you, his gaze intense and searching. His voice was rough, and he said, "I...I could use a different kind of distraction, though."

The atmosphere thickened, laden with unspoken yet palpable tension. This was always the dance you two did so well--words veiling more profoundly, unsaid things. It worked this way--it did. You weren’t itching to label things, but the way your heart quicked seeing him so…so raw. So vulnerable.

Since the attack, since Foyet, everything felt more intense, more serious. Your relationship, hidden under the guise of late-night visits and stolen moments at work, now bore the weight of his near-death experience.

“Hotch, you need to rest,” you said, reaching out tentatively to adjust a cushion behind him, your hand brushing against his arm. The contact sent a familiar jolt through you, but you focused on his comfort rather than the building tension.

“I am resting,” he insisted, though the edge in his voice told you it was the last thing he felt. Trapped in his apartment, in his body that hadn’t fully healed, in his mind that never stopped--rest was a foreign concept to him. "I could use some company...maybe a bit more, if you’re up for it."

You paused, your heart skipping a beat. "Aaron, I don't think that’s a good idea," you said gently, worried about his physical condition. You looked down to the gauze peeking out from the hem of his shirt. The bandaged spon on his arm from where the IV was. The bruising on his cheek.

"I need this," he pressed, his expression earnest. He waved a hand toward his bandaged torso with a grimace, an awkward reminder of his vulnerability. "I need to feel something other than this, even if it's just for a moment."

You swallowed hard, your resolve wavering. This was uncharted territory. The casual ease of our previous encounters hadn't prepared us for the raw edges of such real need. "I’m afraid of hurting you," you confessed, feeling the weight of his gaze intensify.

"I'm not made of glass," he countered softly, a hint of his usual firmness returning. "And I trust you. You’ve always known where to draw the line, haven't you?"

The weight of his trust in you, in your understanding of his limits, made your decision for you. Slowly, you moved closer, still cautious but now with a new purpose. "Okay, but at any sign that it's too much--"

He reached out, his hand finding yours, his touch gentle yet certain. "I'll let you know," he promised, his thumb brushing against your skin soothingly.

"Let's take it slow," you suggested, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead, a gesture of care mingled with the promise of more.

"Slow is perfect," he agreed, his other hand coming up to cradle your face, bringing you closer for a gentle, probing kiss that spoke of gratitude and need.

The kiss deepened gradually, more about connection than passion, yet it stirred a familiar heat within you both. Hotch remained careful, mindful of his injuries, but his kisses grew more insistent, fueled by a mixture of frustration and desire. Each touch was a whisper against your skin, a silent conversation between comfort and desire, pulling you deeper into the complexity of our connection.

As you responded, matching his intensity, the world outside his recovery, the pain, and the medications momentarily faded. Here, in this quiet space filled only with the sound of shared breaths, you pulled back slightly, checking his expression for any sign of discomfort. "Are you okay?" you asked, breathless.

"More than okay," he assured you, his eyes bright for the first time since the attack. "I need this...I need you. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for that," you whispered, settling beside him. Here, with Hotch, you were both finding a way to mend, a path forward that allowed him to heal not just in body but in his spirit.

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softtdaisy · 3 days ago

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injury prompt 16 and 22 for reid perhaps... :D Love your writing btw <3

make my heart beat again / spencer reid

summary. spencer was sad. spencer was miserable. he thought he could handle it until he couldn't anymore. he thought he could deal with it alone until he couldn't.

words count. 2 249

prompt. “Why won’t you let me help you?�� “…because I don’t deserve it.” / “You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?” from here

what to expect. very angsty, spencer is so sad i want to hug him, i chose the mentally injured more than physically, mention of murder very quickly

a/n. ok first thank you so much for requesting it sweetie!! and i'm sorry, i wish i posted it sooner but i started it again to make it shorter and...it's not shorter, but it's here and i hope you will love it (and now i can work on your other request) 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You weren’t quite sure how everything started again with Spencer.

One day he was a memory of the past, one of your biggest regrets. The next time he was back in your place, like he always belonged there.

You went on a couple of dates a few years ago, and it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t fall for that boy. Sweet, gentle, the nicest man you’ve ever met. And so beautiful with his always so messy hair, his gorgeous brown eyes that always seemed to look at you like you were one of the seven wonders of the world, and that perfectly shaped mouth that you loved to kiss.

You were sure things could have worked out with Spencer if a) his work didn’t take him that much time—and more. b) You didn’t have other issues in your life you had to deal with before thinking about love.

So you ended your relationship, or whatever it was at that time, before it could be more serious. And you spent way too many nights missing Spencer Reid.

The way he would start every date with a fact that could either last a minute or ten and how you could notice the change in his eyes when he noticed you were truly interested in what he was saying. How he was blushing at any physical contact you were initiating, even in bed after he made love to you. Or even how you never said you loved each other, yet the way his lips would stay longer on your shoulder when you were falling asleep was speaking for your feelings.

You never thought Spencer would miss you just as much.

But he spent months contemplating the idea of seeing you again and trying to convince you this could be good. That he could be good for you. But months turned into a year. And when he celebrated his whole single year on the other side of the country, Spencer read into it that maybe he had glorified love. In all its aspects.

And this conclusion haunted him for years.

To the point Spencer stopped meeting new people and was barely trying to stay in touch with those in his life. He wasn’t seeing his mom much; his colleagues noticed the distance he was building between them, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he saw his “friends.”

Because at some point, the fear of losing people turned into a feeling of not being good enough to people’s lives and made him a loner. A sad loner.

That was something you immediately noticed the first time you saw Spencer in years.

Your life has barely changed from your last date. Still the same job, but at a higher place. Still the same apartment, but with a different setting. Still the same person, but more mature.

It wasn’t hard for Spencer to find you. And if he spent a whole year contemplating going back to your place before putting that thought away, the day he truly needed it, it took him a minute to decide it was time.

You didn’t question his presence here when you opened the door. Maybe he should have. But when Spencer grabbed your face after you simply said his name with confusion, nothing seemed to matter.

Not his hair longer than before, not him looking more shaped yet more fragile, not the circle under his eyes being way darker than the last time you saw him. Not that he was eagerly kissing you, something he never did.

You remember Spencer being gentle, taking his time to appreciate every second with you.

No, he was hungry, like each second could be the last with you. For him.

“What are you doing here, Spence?” you finally asked him. You were both lying on the rug in your living room. His eyes were locked on the roof, like he was disconnecting from reality. His arm around your back, holding you against him, was brushing your skin slowly, but he seemed to do that mindlessly.

And Spencer didn’t turn his head to look at you when you, you couldn’t stop looking at him. “I needed that.” Not you. You put away the pain hearing that and tried to see the good in this, that you were the one he went to.

But still, something was different with Spencer.

It would take you a few nights to realize he wasn’t blushing anymore when you touched him. Or that he didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about.

Actually, Spencer wasn’t talking much anymore.

For weeks, Spencer would come to your place at night. Either after a day at the office or when he came back from a case. Usually, when it was the latter, he would even stay the following day to fully decompress from what happened.

You tried to question him once or twice. But Spencer always had the same answer: going down on you to keep you quiet with your question.

It was a win-win situation.

He was giving you pleasure and making you think about something else.

He was concentrating on something else, and your moans were filling his head with other thoughts.

Until one night, the sex wasn’t enough to put his problem away.

You didn’t expect Spencer to come. Two days ago, he told you he had to leave for a case and it would probably last a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it gave you the time to think about him and where this was going.

Yet, your bell rang at 10 p.m. Let’s say that dating an FBI agent taught you to not open your door to anybody. You almost played dead and ignored it. But your gut told you to look at who it might be.

You didn’t expect to see Spencer through your spyhole.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him cry on the other side of your door.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” you said, opening your door and immediately bringing him inside. The saddest part was that he let you do it. He didn’t stop you when you took him in your arms. Neither when you brought him to the sofa and sat him on it while you kneeled in front of him.

He was shaking; his face looked red from the tears and the scratching he did with his fingers, trying to take the pain away. But it didn’t work. And hurt him even more.

You grabbed one of his hands to take it away from his face. You tried to ease his joints with a soft caress. You even tried to make eye contact, but it was a lost cause with the way he was closing his eyes hardly, probably hurting himself like that. “Talk to me, Spence,” you whispered, putting your chin on his knee. “Open to me.”

You hated how he pinched his lips together before talking, like he was trying so hard to not break down. “I can’t,” he sobbed. He repeated that multiple times, sounding more angry with himself each time.

But the fact he wasn’t letting go of your hand made you believe that maybe a part of him, maybe just a very little one, wanted to have you. He still came to you tonight, right?

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

This was a genuine question. One that grew over the last weeks. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night wondering which signs you might have missed when he was here. What did he try to hide from you with kisses and attention that you weren’t asking for? And if maybe you weren��t an accomplice of his troubles by accepting all his treats, knowing it was an excuse to keep everything from himself.

And during these moments, you imagined what Spencer might have answered. That he didn’t want his burden to impact your relationship, that he didn’t want to talk to you specifically.

But you never considered what was coming as an answer.

“…because I don’t deserve it.”

The world went silent.

Except for your heart that just fell on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

Except for Spencer’s sorrow being louder than ever in your small living room.

It was obvious that Spencer wasn’t doing ok. But you couldn’t imagine how broken he really was.

You couldn’t force him to look at you and make him see he wasn’t alone at all. So you put your forehead against his, his sweaty hair sticking against your skin. Your arms wrapped against Spencer so you could hold him against him. You couldn’t believe that this grown-up man, in his thirty, could be a broken kid inside. You tried to hold back the tears.

You stayed like that for minutes; you don’t even know how long. This could last an hour or two if he needed to. You probably could have stayed all night if it meant calming Spencer down.

Little by little, you felt his shaking stop and even one of his hands land on your arm. The pressure of his fingers on your skin wasn’t harder, almost like he didn’t have any strength anymore. It was more like a delicate touch. One that reminded you of the old days, when Spencer was too shy to touch you.

Once you felt he was ready to hear this, maybe not listen yet but at least be able to understand what you were saying, you stopped hugging him so you could grab his face in your hands. “You deserve to be helped. I—who told you this?”

You met the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen at this moment. Couple with his sad smile. Oh, how you wished you could just kiss the pain away for once.

“I just…” he started, with a grazed, hoarse voice. “Every person in my life ends up sad or hurt or dead. I’m a problem. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve someone to take the time to help me, be there for me. I can’t risk someone, you, taking the time to make me feel better if it means losing you at some point. I can’t, I can’t do that again.” You heard the sob in his voice at the end.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Spencer gave you the look, one he strangely never gave to you but that you understood immediately, meaning that he still had a lot to say. And deep down, you were happy to shut it if it meant he was finally opening up.

“I was taking care of a kid these days. We knew he might be in danger, so I was supposed to make sure he would be fine while working the case.” Spencer took a moment to continue, but you could only focus on the tear running down his cheek. “He got killed. Because I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has something bad happening to them. Even in my job. How can I be such a bad person?”

You started brushing away the tears with your thumb, but Spencer cuddled against your hand. There was something even sadder with this man feeling like he didn’t deserve to have someone yet still craving every attention he could get.

“You’re not a burden, Spencer,” you whispered, and he closed his eyes again. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to go through all these moments by yourself. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be from living such difficult times over and over again. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone by your side.”

He didn’t answer. You weren’t sure this was the best decision, but you sat on his knees, trying to be closer to him so you could make him feel less alone.

You thought that if he didn’t want that, he would push you away. But the way Spencer's hands ended up on your back so quickly made you think that maybe he needed that too.

“I can’t and won’t force myself into your life, Spencer, never,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “But if you’re ready to try, I can be by your side and help you consider that you deserve to be a supporter. Not only by me but by all the people that love you.”

Again, your words working on him, Spencer opened his eyes slowly. This time, even if the sorrow was still present, there was the smallest and almost slightest light in them. “Because people love you, Spencer Reid.”

As an answer, the only one he could give you, Spencer brought you against him and hugged you as hard as he could. It wasn’t the tightest hug he ever gave, but it was the best he could do. And it was enough. Enough to know that you opened a door in his mind.

You offered your bed to Spencer that night, but he insisted on you staying by your side. He refused to let you know it was due to the fear of the nightmares he had for months now. Nightmares that always had different stories but ended the same way: with him losing someone and being alone.

All he needed was you, and you were willing to give yourself entirely to help him get better.

You didn’t know if you imagined it, but you were sure that when he was falling asleep, holding you against him like an antistress comforter, Spencer thanked you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #Matthew Gray Gubler #Matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew gray gubler x you #Matthew gray gubler x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds story #msg #mgg x reader #my writing

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kunigamiau · 2 days ago

Text

“ harvey, nobody knows what I see. ”

ryusei shidou x reader

highschool au.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⋆˚꩜｡⟢ ˎˊ˗

— ❤︎ —

—

you were never a fan of moving away, far too attached to every house you had the chance of living in, to the memories it brought and most importantly to the people you met. that’s what you learned to realise each time you moved away, you weren’t stupid, even as a child you had realised your weaknesses and made sure to never let yourself truly go because everything was temporary.

at least it was until you met him. the blonde haired peculiar boy at the school you were attending. In your younger years you wanted nothing to do with him. you were opposites after all. He was loud, eccentric and boisterous, you were quiet, reserved and contemplate. well until you had no choice but to.

The first interaction between you was when you were peacefully trying to read your book on the bleachers on a warm summer day, basking in the soft rays of the sun. it was going well until- you promptly woke up with a ball straight to your face, knocking the air out of you as you slightly jerked back. The gasps around you made it all the more embarrassing, your friends were nowhere around you and hearing everyone else either holding back laughs while others were still shockingly watching could do nothing but make you want to crawl inside a hole and never come back out. and that was when he approached you, it was silly but the one thing you remember is how he tripped running over to the bleachers.

“ Shoot, I am sorry ? ” The way his tone was unsure made you look at him with a bewildered but honestly speaking, amused look. After a few more seconds of the seemingly on going staring contest you had going on with him you couldn’t help but let your lips curve upright, a giggle erupting from your mouth, making the equally bewildered boy look at you in a daze, not sure of what to do. let’s just say in that moment two souls tied to one another, because from that day on you were inseparable.

school bleacher conversations were your thing now, whether it would be that you came to watch him practice or you would spend time together revising after school, enjoying the summer time, it was a habit that neither of you denied once it started. bike rides home were idle. you watched the sunset on the back of ryusei’s bike as he talked your ear off about another one of his shenanigans or arguments he had at his football practice despite you being there; he deemed it necessary that you understood his side of the story so those ‘wannabe pretty boys’ as he calls them, don’t try to sweep you off your feet by painting him out to be the bad guy one of these days. to which you would just roll your eyes at and continue listening to him with no sign of refusal.

time with shidou passed faster than you imagined, to the point where you only realised how bad your resolve had broken when your parents gave you the impending news.

moving away. again. except this time you weren’t as neutral. you had finally met someone you wanted to have around, someone who made your life better even without knowing. so like any other naive child you had straight up denied. you didn’t want to move, you wouldn’t move ( it didn’t work. ) So in your antsy frenzy, that night you had made sure to give something to your best friend that wouldn’t let him ever forget about you.

“ What's that ? ” the blonde asked with a curious glint in his eyes as he cotninued to snack on the sweet poki sticks. you replied by looking down, giving him the news. to which he took better than you expected, except from the pout adorning his face now. "Dumbass, why were you nervous to tell me ? ” you simply looked at him huffing “ well ryu’ you don’t exactly- ” but you don’t get to finish your sentence as he pats your head suddenly, “ and why would you think.. I would forget you.” he mumbles the last part more quietly, looking down at his lap with a conflicted look. hearing that, you couldn’t help the smile painting your face as you took his hand putting the morganite, handmade bracelet into his palm. the boy simply looks down at the sudden coldness he felt before immediately doubling down analysing the bracelet. “ I made it ! ” you exclaim proudly, showing off your wrist which had a matching one on. seeing that, he couldn’t help the blush coat his cheeks as he immediately put it on himself. “ ryu.. are your cheeks red right now ? “ you say in a teasing tone that easily gets shut down by him pulling you in a headlock ruffling your hair to which you can only squeal at, giggling as silly bickering erupts from both of your mouths.

That was a very long time ago, now at the prime age of seventeen you’re preparing for yet another new high school, in your third year. it sucked that you had to move in your final year but you reminded yourself that it isn’t something you hadn’t grown accustomed to. In the time of growing up you had met, adored and left a lot of people, yet the one that stuck to you the most was your one and only childhood best friend. moving in and out of Japan had you going insane, and as much as you wanted to keep in contact with everyone, you couldn’t manage it and gave up early on. shidou being no exception of that, which you greatly regretted. Each step you took on the strangely empty Tokyo streets towards your brand new school had you feeling nervous, it was like first grade all over again, every single time. you just couldn’t help the nervous feeling in your heart, especially since you are a third year at a new school, which is not a bad thing, just rare and attention inducing. you dreaded how the day would unfold immediately as you see the huge gates with the name in bold blue writing.

to your surprise your classes were not half as bad as you thought they would, homeroom was simple. you were glad third years here weren’t as curious and judgemental as you imagined. As you walked in, you were immediately greeted by a teacher who led you to the office. There you met your classmate and the student council president, Isagi Yoichi, who was nice enough to take you to your shared homeroom and even let you meet his friends later on after introducing yourself to the new class. now you were currently facing a predicament, due to you starting in the second week; you weren’t able to pick a club so now you, isagi, his best friends bachira, kurona and hiori whom were all your classmates were trying to figure out what club you could join. since it is mandatory. “ What if she joins as our manager ? I mean we don’t have one and it wouldn’t hurt. ” hiori says, trying to improve the defeated mood of the group. “ manager ? “ You say curiously, eyes focused on him, turning to bachira as he exclaims happily “ yea ! we’re all in the football team, isn’t that super duper fun !? ”

he says while putting his arms around the three other boys who just groan in response to his hyper behaviour. "You know what ? That doesn’t sound all too bad. “ you say with a hum as you noted down ‘football team manager’ on your notepad as one of your ideas. “ That's great ! then you can just come now since practice is about to end for the others ! ” yet again, bachira shouts joyfully, this time around getting up and joining your side immediately pulling you up to which you yelp to the sudden force as he just continues giggling pulling you over, leaving the other three boys just looking at each other before sighing and following along you and bachira. It seemed like a great idea before, amazing even but as you’re standing in front of the gym which was booming with noise you could only mentally curse for agreeing, crowds were not your thing; yet these days it’s all you’re a part of. “ It's fine ! Our team isn’t bad ! Even if some people are a bit questionable, they’re alright. “ isagi says, trying to reassure you despite only sparking your nerves more. as you take a step forward towards the door having mentally prepared yourself you immediately open the door while speaking to the four boys,

“ you’re right ! what could go so wrong aha. "

But as if the universe was watching you, ready to prove you wrong and you opened the door a ball is immediately in contact with your face. hard. groaning at the impact you immediately shut your eyes gripping your nose which you were sure was bleeding with how painful the hit felt ( it was not ! ). gasps immediately surround you as you are approached by isagi and bachira from behind you along with kurona and hiori who just look concerned. but before they can even speak, sudden steps approach you, slightly leaning down to your height,

“ Shoot, are ya’ okay ? ” and as if the interaction couldn’t get any weirder a sense of deja vu takes over you as you immediately look at the figure facing you with wide eyes. “ ryu? ” you mumble, shock taking over your senses as the pain you had just faced dilated. you notice his blonde spiky hair, with hot pink tips adorning it, the sharp eyeliner that complimented him even more, along with his freakish height, he had always been taller than you but now the difference seemed even more dramatic. shidou stares at you for a little while longer before finally putting the pieces together and calling out to you, “ n/n ? ” he mumbles, and it truly felt like the world had reduced to only you two as you stare into his eyes with a soft look, tears brimming slightly in your orbs as he immediately takes a hold of your shoulders hugging you tightly. you immediately hug him back, ignoring the awkward atmosphere that was created by your emotional reunion. you didn’t care. what matters most is you had met your best friend all over again, and you weren’t going to let him go again. The other guys could only stare in slight amusement and shock, seeing shidou’s usual fiery, rude, and unpredictable persona immediately crumble down with you was surely a sight to behold.

And with a promise of a hangout date, you were sent back out as the boys were told to go change. to which you were immediately bombarded with questions from your new classmates and few members of the team, “ so you and shidou are dating ? ” bachira asks innocently for the nth time. “ no you idiot," she clearly said that her and antenna freak were childhood best friends. If you had listened-” the two toned hair only booped the black haired male whom you had learnt his name was itoshi rin who only irked at bachira’s touch immediately chasing after him as they ran away from the rest of the group. “ Gotts to say.. you and Shidou are an interesting match. ” hiori says, his accent seeping through slightly, which you found endearing. “ Tell me about it. “ you reply with a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips

“ so, that’s y/n huh ? " the red head spoke up to the blonde as he was putting his jacket on. shidou could only mumble a ‘yes’ followed by a nod, looking down at the bracelet on his wrist. "She seems nice enough, treat her well. " sae adds with an amused smirk on his face. The blonde would be on cloud nine at the interaction with the male right now, however he could only smile before replying in the same soft-spoken tone he had welcomed you with.

"Of course I will. ”

𓏵˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

— songs I associated with this •.• !

- harvey, her’s

- over the moon, the marías

- impacto, enjambre

- you might be sleeping, clairo + jakob

- asa, the circus

- sesame syrup, cigarettes after sex

- every summertime - niki

#shidou ryusei #blue lock x reader #bluelock #fluff #shoujo #blue lock #blue lock x you #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #fluff x reader #blue lock shidou #bllk manga #anime and manga #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #childhood best friends #friends to lovers #slow burn

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bellarkeselection · 2 days ago

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My Forever Wrangler

Requested by @hayvenleave Reader and Tyler are high school sweethearts and got married, but reader feels a little off when Tyler starts getting closer with Kate

My first ever Tyler request ( hope I did a good job 😊 )

Some people say don’t marry your high school sweetheart because you’ll always be living in the past. Others say it’s the greatest thing in the world. I chose to believe it’s the best thing I ever did, at least until I saw my husband getting close to our newest team member Kate.

“You know uh - EF1 or EF5 tornado rating. It’s not based on size or wind speed. The power we ascribe is based on damage. It’s only really after the fact we can really define it. What it destroys, takes from us.” My husband crossed the room towards Kate, gently raising a hand to her cheek brushing falling tears from her face. “I’m sorry for what happened. But how much more are you going to let this thing take from you?”

“Tyler.” Kate leans forward up on her toes looking like she was about to kiss him before I sharply gasped altering my presence in the doorway of the barn.

The pair turned their heads in my direction separating from how close they were to one another before I had said something. “Y/n, I didn’t - it’s not what it looks like.” My husband attempted to say but I spun on my heels and stomped out of the barn they were in making our way back to the main house that we were staying at.

“Y/n, Y/n wait. Hey, wait, wait.” I heard Tyler calling my name but I ignored him and just kept walking away from him.

Suddenly something wrapped around my waist and yanked me backwards where I screamed hitting whatever or more so whoever had done that. “Ahhh! Tyler, what the hell - how did you do that with a garden hose?” Lifting my head up I met his gaze seeing that he had made a nearby hose a makeshift lasso.

“I used to do rodeo, remember.” He reminded me.

Dropping my gaze weakly I made a noise. “Oh right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t know another way for to stop and listen to me when I tell you that nothing happened between me and Kate back there.” He began explaining to me while I pushed the garden hose down my legs and get it off of me. Tossing the hose into the nearby bushes I didn’t want him to get another chance to use his charming rodeo skills on me for a second time.

“It didn’t look that way to me, Owens.”

Tyler gave me a sad look hearing me call him Owens rather than by his first name. I usually only called him by his last name when I was really pissed at him for something and he that because we were best friends. “Y/n, I know that you’re angry with me. But I swear nothing has been going on between me and Kate-“

“Then why did it look like you were going to kiss here when you guys were talking in the barn huh?” Crossing my arms over my chest I scowled at my husband.

He gently touched my shoulders locking his gaze with mine. “She went to kiss me, not the other way around. I would never do anything to lose you.��

“That’s awfully similar to what you told me when Penny Brooke wanted to kiss you at Junior prom.” I glared at him bringing up the night he had asked me to with him and another girl at our high school was all over him.

He slightly rolled his eyes at the memory. “Yes, she had her hands all over me. But again she tried to kiss me. And I think you’re forgetting that night I left with you and that’s when I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“I guess so.” Looking at my muddy boots I tucked some hair behind my ear. He has always been by my side and the night we started dating he was only about me and no other girl in our school. “Can you forgive me for overacting?”

Tyler nodded extending a hand out to me. “I can never stay mad at you, darling. Now will you let me up for my mistake of not spending enough time with my girl.”

“What do you have in mind, cowboy?” I tilted my head to the side waiting for his answer.

He smirked leading me to his truck helping me inside the passenger seat of the vehicle. “Go back to the good old days, just you and me. Me driving a truck and you filming our adventures on your YouTube channel.” He sits a small iPad in my lap that he had taken out of his glove box.

Tyler was the one who had went to college and got a degree. Yet he trusted me to manage his YouTube channel just like I did when we would mess around chasing storms on our dates before we tied the knot. “I can’t believe you kept my old YouTube account active after all these years. We were making videos when we were so young and reckless.” Scrolling through the old video lists I chuckled looking at the profile picture of me and Tyler. The picture was me hanging off Tyler’s back with a tornado forming behind us in the sky.

“You were my first tornado chasing partner.”

Waving my index finger in his face I teased. “That’s favorite tornado wrangler partner to you.”

“Now and always, baby.” Tyler removed his cowboy hat from his head placing it on mine. I chuckled pushing it up since it fell down in my face from the fact that it too big on me. “Sorry bout that. I’ll buy you your own hat.”

Leaning across the console I kissed him gently on the lips. “Nah. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”

“Sounds like a good feeling to chase, Ms. Owens.” Tyler cupped the side of my face kissing me before we sat back in our seats and kicked up dust leaving the driveway in search of a nearby storm we could chase just the two of us like the good old days.

Comments really and appreciated along with reblogs ❤️

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #glen powell #tyler owens imagine #twisters #twisters x reader #twisters 2024 #comments really appreciated #married couple #high school sweethearts #fluff #relationship doubts

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ariqxwz · 3 days ago

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UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

— Gangmember!chris x rich!reader

Masterlist here…

You frowned as the GPS reset itself again, changing the route once more. Your jaw tightened, and you shoved your phone into your bag. The street was silent, empty except for a couple of homeless people sleeping on the ground. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had made dinner plans with your friend at a new restaurant in the area, but things had clearly gotten complicated.

The sound of something rustling inside a trash can pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to look at it, expecting a rat. And it was—but that didn’t stop you from taking a few steps back. You grimaced in disgust and turned away.

A gunshot echoed between the buildings. You flinched involuntarily and looked back—there was no one there. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Your steps quickened, desperate to get out of there.

You turned a corner and crashed into something solid. A small gasp escaped your lips as your body hit the ground.

Tears threatened to spill—you felt so frustrated, so scared.

You lifted your gaze, trying to see what you had collided with. A man stood in front of you, his eyes scanning you carefully.

“Excuse me, sir, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you stammered, stumbling as you tried to get back on your feet.

“Sir? Do I look that old to you?” His brow furrowed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. Your eyes flickered past his shoulder before darting around the area.

“What are you doing here? You don’t look like you’re from around here.” His words were direct and dry, something you weren’t used to.

“I’m not, I just…”

“Got lost?” He finished the sentence for you. A rough chuckle left his lips. He glanced to the side and ran a hand over his mouth. “This is a bad place to get lost.”

You frowned in confusion. No one had ever spoken to you like this—with so little respect.

“Uhm, could you tell me where Holloway Drive is, please?”

The guy looked at you again, staying silent for a few seconds.

“Go straight, then take a right.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. “Have a good night.” You said your goodbyes and continued walking in the direction he had given you.

The echo of your heels clicking against the asphalt faded as you walked away. He narrowed his eyes, watching you. Expensive dress, the lingering scent of perfume in the air, a straight posture despite the fear you had felt. You didn’t belong here, and it showed in every move you made.

You had wished him a “good night,” unaware that he wasn’t used to saying the same to anyone.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and smirked.

This wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

🏷️:: @marrykisskilled @paulalovesyouu @faiyaz555

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

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ohmybueckers · 2 days ago

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Never Strangers: Chapter Three

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: binge drinking, I think that’s it???

Authors Note: heyyyyy guys. Sorry this chapter took a hot second to come out and sorry it’s a lot more filler than other chapters - a LOT more was supposed to happen in this one, but I realized I could cut them into two and get this one posted faster. Which means 1. chapter four will come out a lot quicker than this one did and 2. it will be a lot more exciting than this one (based on the ending you can see why). anyways xoxo enjoy!

“No fucking way!”

Brooke braced herself on our kitchen counter, examined my phone like she had never seen one before. I was very aware of the fact my behead was still intact and I hadn’t even washed my face this morning, but I knew Brooke would classify this as an emergency that needed attending to ASAP.

“There’s no way,” I groan, wondering how my mission of avoiding Paige and all feelings associated with her at all cost had blown up in my face less than twenty four hours after getting here. “How does she even know?”

Brooke looked equally puzzled, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing before her posture straightened comically fast like a puppet. She shouted, “Adria!”

I was still confused, now even more so. “What?”

“Her story from last night must have gotten to KK, which somehow made it to Paige.”

In recent years I have become what my friends have lovingly referred to as “chronically offline” - it had to have at least been 2 days since I had opened Instagram, and I certainly didn’t follow the younger girl last night. Safe to say I had zero clue what she was referring to. “What story?”

Brooke grabbed her phone from the kitchen countertop, typing quickly before shoving her phone back in my face. Sure enough, Brooke and I were the stars of the story, both holding our glasses and wearing big smiles (certainly a symptom of the cheap wine). How Adria managed to find my account to tag me, I was not sure. All I knew is that Paige most likely saw it, and that a shameful part of me was at least a little happy that I looked good in the photo.

There was certainly no erasing Paige’s memory, so this text was mine to tackle. “Alright, how do I even respond to this?”

From the way Brooke looked at me, you would think I just suggested transferring again. “Respond? You’re kidding, right?”

I shrug, not exactly enthused by the idea of interacting with Paige on my first full day, but not enjoying the alternative either. “I mean, she knows now. It’s kinda rude to not say anything, isn’t it?”

“What’s rude is talking to a girl as if she’s your girlfriend, treating her like your girlfriend, and then disappearing out of nowhere and lying to her about it. You know exactly why she’s trying to hit you up again,” Brooke grabs my shoulder with care, a gesture I leaned into, “If she thinks you’re easy enough to let her in again, you gotta show her she’s dead wrong.”

My mind felt like it was destroying itself trying to figure out the truth. Part of me wanted to listen to Brooke, who had never once led me astray in her advice and had enough experience with fuck boys to know how they tick - even if the fuckboy in question was actually a girl. Everything she was saying matched the image I had built up about Paige in my head for years.

Once my heartbreak molded into anger, it became a hell of a lot easier to get over Paige, at least enough to date other people at Minnesota. Anger became comfortable for me - except the occasional nights I spent alone in my dorm, looking back at old photos I couldn’t bring myself to delete permanently from my ICloud. Nights where I wondered if I actually had it all wrong, and if somehow I let myself get too comfortable hating Paige to consider any alternative to what was my truth. Was it pathetic to hold on to a grudge from over three years ago? I really didn’t know sometimes.

I shut my phone off, reassuring Brooke that I was not going to fall back into Paige, which she seemed to accept fairly easily. Brooke ultimately just wants what’s best for me, and the last thing I wanted was for her to spend her last year at UConn worried about me. She had the LSAT to focus on, not my situation with my ex.

Which is why I conveniently forgot to inform her when I decided to respond to Paige that night, waiting until the sun had set and nearly twenty four hours had passed before sending a simple “yes”, throwing my phone on my bed and taking a long shower before I could decide I made a grave mistake.

———-

The first day of classes came quick, which I was thankful for - there’s only so much time a girl can spend in her poorly air conditioned apartment, and it’s not like Storrs had that much going on when school was not in session. What I was not thankful for was my packed Monday schedule, starting with an 8am economics lecture that I wouldn’t have taken if it wasn’t the last one available to satisfy a requirement, and ending with general chemistry (again, would not take if I didn’t need to squeeze a science credit in).

If my 3 alarms weren’t enough to wake me up, I could rely on the sun blazing through my apartment at 5:30AM. After making a mental note to finally order some curtains, my full morning routine commenced, the one I saved for special occasions (or for when I simply could not fall back asleep): 20 minutes of pilates, followed by a citrus scented shower, a full makeup routine, and styling my nearly black hair in loose curls.

By 7:30 I was ready to begin my walk to the business school, smoothing out my floral sundress and hoping it would instill some confidence in me. I would probably lean back into wearing jeans within the next week, but I still had some belief in my mom’s insistence that dressing well on any first day or impression mattered. I guess it did make me feel pretty, in a “belongs more on a Hollister catalogue than a college campus” kinda way. The dress did not fix the way my my first day nerves seemed to wreak havoc on my body, causing me to barely shove a protein bar down my throat before my body decided that was all the breakfast it could handle.

If I were still in Minnesota, my walk to classes would have been a whole lot louder. It was not often I had a commute where I didn’t curse the incompetence of Minnesota drivers. This was not the case in Storrs, partially because there were no drivers. Aside from the shuttle that passed me as I turned onto Alumni Drive, the only sound to accompany me was Beyoncé serenading me through my headphones. While Minnesota was simply a college with a large city unrelated to it, it was evident that Storrs would be almost nonexistent without UConn - if Minnesota was a city school, this felt almost like summer camp in comparison.

I didn’t know exactly what to make of it yet, but I promised myself I would keep an open mind. I had to. There was no turning back now.

———-

The day ended up being just as exhausting as I anticipated, potentially even more so. I’m used to liking first days. The idea of a new start each semester usually feels exciting, but this time I may have bit off more than I can chew. Syllabus week at Minnesota was a breeze, my calendar filled with classes where we just went over standard course expectations followed by frat parties I pretended to have interest in. The second my economics professor began lecturing after covering the syllabus for a measly 10 minutes, I knew he did not roll that way.

I genuinely have no idea how I made it through my high school schedule every day: multiple AP classes, followed by an afternoon job tutoring middle schoolers, with mock trial practice shortly after. It’s a miracle I found time to actually have a social life. Clearly my stamina had depleted severely, as by the time I stepped into my history discussion (seriously, who holds discussion when there isn’t anything to discuss yet), I had already made an emergency stop for coffee and was contemplating whether it was possible to take a nap in my thirty minute passing period before my chemistry lecture.

I made quick stop in the bathroom to fix my mascara and ensure the concealer under my eyes wasn’t crumbling (it was). Leave it to a hot September day and a bathroom with yellow tinted lighting to deplete my confidence: my once voluminous curls fell flat to my face, frizz accumulating at the roots. My concealer which had been matched to fit my warm skin tone now made me appear sallow, and my eyes were not fooling anyone - I was truly, undoubtedly tired. Not much I could do at this point other than use a generous amount of travel size dry shampoo, wipe the remnants of my mascara from under my eyes, and hope that the lighting in my discussion wasn’t as harsh.

I stepped into the classroom and was quickly overwhelmed by the size of it - not because it was too big, but because it was intimately tiny. I had been comfortable in my two previous classes, the large lecture halls allowing me to fade a little into anonymity - just another body struggling to stay awake as my professor explains the importance of studying economic law in the most monotonous tone possible. Looking at the long fake wood table and the twelve chairs, four of which were filled, I realized my streak of avoiding introductions had ended.

After a quick scan, I chose to set my stuff down next to the person who scared me the least: a tall girl with pin straight long black hair, dressed in black baggy cargo pants and an oversized SZA shirt, complete with silver rings on her fingers which were currently in use scrolling her laptop. I offered a customary closed mouth smile as I sat down and set my book bag down on the table.

There was a short pause where the only sound to hit my ears was the hum of the far too harsh overhead lighting as I took out my laptop, before I heard a deep voice ask, “long day, huh?”

As I turned to face the girl and processed her statement, it was evident that my attempt at looking put together was no longer working, especially now that the humidity had done a number on my hair. To be fair, I did feel like I was about to crash. “Tell me about it,” I replied, face flushed. I began to wonder if I should have sat next to the frat boy who was scrolling on UConn’s barstool account instead.

Maybe she took pity on how embarrassed I looked, because the smirk was erased from her tanned face and was replaced by a look of sympathy. “Hey, I don’t blame you. My 8AM econ lecture was brutal.”

The gears turned in my brain before I realized just what she had said. “Wait, which econ class?” After the taller girl recited a number from the schedule on her lock screen, I grinned. “We’re in the same lecture!”

“I cannot believe he would teach that much content on the first day.” She rolled her brown eyes, “Ok, let me guess. History and economics classes, leather planner… you’re pre-law, aren’t you?”

I mean, she technically wasn’t completely wrong. “Yes?”

“Then why haven’t I seen you try out for mock trial?” She asked, a perfectly shaped brow raised high and the Colgate smile smirk returning to her face. Her voice was low and teasing - definitely the flirty personality type. I could recognize it all too well.

Not wanting to explain my long and complicated history with the organization, I settled for the easy answer. “I just transferred here.”

“Well, we’ll be at the org fair if you want to sign up for a tryout spot,” She smiled, “Just tell them that Alex sent you.”

“Going to take a wild guess here and assume you’re Alex,” I quipped, though I will admit the effort did bring a small smile to my face. “I’m Maya.”

“See! I can already tell you’re clever enough for us,” Alex joked, a ring clad hand bracing her head on the table as she stared at me. I noticed the way she scanned me, her eyes falling down to the v neck of my dress before tracing back up to my smile. I suddenly felt the need to smooth out the bottom of my dress against my legs, my hands feeling very sweaty.

Before I could respond, the TA announced the start of the period, and both of our heads turned to the front. The rest of discussion was spent typing notes on when my paper was due and what constitutes academic dishonesty, all while trying to ignore the way the girl next to me kept shooting looks my way.

————

The one benefit of my packed Monday/Wednesday schedule was that my weekend was essentially four days long. I had two classes on Thursday, both criminally early, but it meant that I was done by noon and ready to enjoy a few days with nothing on my agenda… at least once I finished all of my assignments my professors had mercilessly assigned on the first week.

A groan left my lips for what had to have been the third time in ten minutes as my eyes squinted to make out my general chemistry textbook. I had read the same paragraph around 5 times now, and each time I seemed to understand it less. Even though Adria invited me to study with her on the patio of her favorite coffee shop, I was sure she was about to tell me to leave. “I don’t know how I did AP Chem in high school, this is like a whole other language to me now.”

Adria laughed, looking up from her organic chemistry book (the contents of which I’m pretty sure would give me an aneurysm). “Not a STEM girl?”

“Definitely not a STEM girl,” I shook my head, unsure why the version of me who picked her schedule over the summer decided taking a notorious weed out course was a great idea. Taking a quick sip of my matcha, I added, “But I don’t know if I’m necessarily a law girl either. Been a real pain trying to figure it all out.”

“You will, I promise. Besides, I can always tutor you,” Adria reassured me softly, a gesture that would be a lot sweeter if there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of my head nagging me for needing a pep talk from someone so much younger than me. If Adria can have everything figured out, why can’t I? “Enjoying UConn so far though?”

“Yeah, it’s been okay! I’ve met some nice people in my classes,” I think about how Alex quickly spotted me yesterday morning in lecture and gestured to have me sit with her and her mock trial friends. Turns out sitting through an 8AM lecture on law and economics was a lot easier when you had a friend next to you. “I think Brooke wants to go to bars this weekend though, and I just know the lines are going to be awful.”

Adria lit up at this. “There’s a party being thrown by members of the mens basketball team tomorrow - someone basically rented out Huskies. I got access to one over the summer and it was a ton of fun - you should come!”

My mouth opened, trying to form a response. On one hand, it’s not like I had any concrete plans yet, and staying in on the first weekend after classes just felt wrong. But the words basketball rung in my ears like an unwelcome echo. Brooke’s warning that Paige was everywhere on campus rung true already, already overhearing her name in conversations more times than I could count. Seeing her and possibly talking to her? That was a whole other ball game, one that I weren’t sure I was ready to play. It wasn’t even necessarily that I wasn’t over her yet, but rather that we hadn’t spoken beyond a couple of short text exchanges in years (the most recent of which Paige hadn’t even responded to). Running into her was bound to be awkward, and I was determined to avoid the discomfort.

“Oh Adria, I don’t know…”

Adria cut me off, her voice insistent and almost desperate. “Please come. Brooke usually ends up leaving with some guy and I don’t want to be alone. All of my other friends can’t come, they have to be dry for sorority rush.”

I scoffed, though there’s no bite as I joke, “So you’re saying I’m your last option?”

“I’m saying I saved the best for last,” Adria gave a sheepish shrug. “If it helps change your mind at all, the women’s team won’t be there. KK said they were all going to Ted’s.”

I knew that there was no point of basing my choices at UConn based on whether or not I could run into Paige, but I would be lying if I said the reassurance wasn’t helpful. “I guess I could be convinced.”

Adria clapped, her smile big enough that agreeing already felt like the correct decision. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Pregame at yours?”

————

If there’s one thing I learned after two years going to college in the midwest, it’s how to throw a damn good pregame.

I felt the bass of my music from my JBL speaker course through my body as I set a shot glass back down on the faux granite countertop, wincing as the cheap tequila flowed down my throat. Brooke, Adria, and Brooke’s friend Marley stared at me, a mix of both amazement and slight concern on their face. On nights out, I have been known to pregame heavy, especially nights where I don’t know most people there. For one, it means I spend less money, plus it gives me some much needed extroversion to make it through the night.

“Damn girl, I did not know you could drink like that,” Brooke whistled, sipping on her High Noon tenderly. Her and Marley had other plans for the night, some frat event. Brooke claimed the only reason she would be caught dead at a frat as a senior is because Marley’s boyfriend was the president and so they got special treatment, but I had my suspicions she might have a frat crush of her own.

I felt the buzz as the four of us left our apartment, Adria and I running to catch our bus in order to avoid the thirty minute walk. In my alcohol induced giddiness, I noted how the sky faded from a bright blue into a mosaic of purples, pinks and yellows as the sun set over the lush trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adria’s phone face me as I gripped the pole, looking out the window of our bus with the amazement of a kid in a candy store. I had spent the past week unsure of what to make of Storrs, but it felt almost romanticized in this moment.

Unfortunately, the picturesque moment did not carry into Huskies, an establishment that was far more of a restaurant than a true bar. A tennis game played over the TV, paired with the speakers blasting Drake as we were surrounded by a sea of girls with bleach and tones and Princess Polly crop tops. The basketball players seemed almost allergic to mingling with their invitees: aside from one or two attempting to chat up one of the girls, they all stood at their own table sipping beers and looking like they would rather be anywhere else.

Adria ordered us drinks as I snagged us a table. Soon enough we stood side by side, sipping on Captain Morgan and Coke and a tequila sunrise respectively, unsure of what to make of what we were seeing. “It was a lot more exciting over the summer, I swear,” Adria looked apologetic, “Maybe it’s just one of those things where we have to get drunker?”

I was making a mental note to take two Tylenol before bed for the sake of my tomorrow morning self when a man’s voice emerged from the crowd.

“Adria, you made it!” A pale man with floppy brown hair and impossibly long legs emerged, grin on his face as he wrapped Adria in a side hug. She returned the hug and the smile while brushing a braid away from her face, though hers seemed more forced. She finally pulled away when he began rubbing her arm, her face lighting up upon making eye contact with me.

“This is my friend Maya, she just transferred here.”

He grinned, reaching a hand out to shake hers with a firm grip. “Hey, I’m Noah. You made a good choice!”

“He plays for the team, I think he might be a bit biased,” Adria remarks, earning her a shocked look from her friend who quickly turned his attention away from me and onto her.

“Me and some of the guys were going to play some darts, you wanna be my partner? I’m sure we can find a partner for Maya as well,” Noah gestures to me without turning his head, as though I am an afterthought. While it’s not like I’m dying to play drinking games with a group of NBA hopefuls, it wouldn’t hurt to at least act like I’m there.

Adria clearly did not want to play as well, as she stuttered out some half-assed excuse. “I think we’ll stay here! Don’t want to risk, um, losing this table.”

Losing this table? Looks like I also needed to make a note to teach Adria how to lie. It was beyond obvious that Noah wasn’t buying it, but I guess he was choosing not to be confrontational. With a cough, he replied. “Right, um, well I’ll catch up with you later tonight then!”

The second he was well out of earshot (not that far, considering the volume they were playing Passionfruit at), my interrogation began. “Who was that?”

Adria looked down at her drink, looking uncharacteristically unconfident. “That was my in to this bar. We met over the summer.”

I nodded, watching as Noah stopped to chat with a mix of guys and girls under the flashing blue and pink lights. “Well I’m pretty sure he wants to get with you.”

“Oh trust me, he’s tried.” Adria deadpanned, evoking a laugh from my glossed lips. “He’s still a good guy, and I like being his friend. But I’m not into him like that.”

“Is it KK?”

Adria bit her bottom lip, and for a moment I feared I had gone too far, like we weren’t quite at the point in our friendship where that wouldn’t be a sensitive subject. I was ready to retract my question when she spoke softly. “We’re not exclusive… at least I don’t think so. I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows if she has.”

Man, Adria really liked this girl. Some part of me was thankful to give some advice to her for once, although it’s not like my history gives me the authority to give relationship advice. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I’m way too scared to hear the answer.”

I felt a pang in my chest, relating to that feeling all too well. I’ve always had a tendency to protect my peace too hard, avoid asking questions to escape conflict - through the years, I’ve discovered it almost never ends well. “But do you think you might be hurting yourself more by not knowing?”

Adria took a pause, staring off as Noah and his friends began frat flicking to some song that did not warrant that at all. “I am not drunk enough to think about that right now.”

We both laughed, silently agreeing to down the remainder of our drinks at the same time. The ice had melted well with the remainder of my sunrise, dulling the burn of the tequila. This was probably a good thing - I’m pretty sure my tolerance was lowered over the summer, because I felt my body get warmer than anticipated despite the air conditioning working overtime. Adria set her drink down on the table, turning to me once more. From the glint in her eye, I knew she was about to return my line of questioning. “What about you? Are you looking to get set up, because I’m sure that’s the reason those guys invited all of us here in the first place.”

“First of all, I’m gay,” I began, examining the crowd in front of me. “I’ve been here like a week, haven’t really had the time to think about hooking up with anyone.”

“Well, what’s your type?”

I thought for a moment about my (limited) history. “Tall, athletic, nice eyes…”

“Paige.”

I rolled my eyes, though I would be lying if I said the blonde was not included in my thought process. “I mean it, I’m done with her.”

“No, no. Paige. Right over there.”

It felt like my heart plummeted to my ass, the effects of the alcohol consumed unable to keep me cold as a chill rushed through me. Before my brain could tell me not to look, my head snapped to the front. Two girls now stood at the front of the bar, talking to the male players. One girls laugh cut through the crowd, and I saw a small smile erupt in Adria. That must be KK. The girl next to her, hands shoved in the pockets of her cargo pants, didn’t even need to say or do anything. I could tell Paige Bueckers from any crowd.

---

taglist (open!): @paiges-1vur @unadulteratedcyclepaper

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fluff

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cherryblossomcowgirl · 11 hours ago

Text

Sun To Me

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: Death of spouse; mentions of accident; grief; angst; FLUFF

“Uncle Mav!” My son runs as fast as his little legs can take him towards the beach football game. Maverick turns around, beaming, “AJ! Get over here!” He picks him up and spins him around. AJ is belly laughing and I walk up, “Hi Mav.” He sets down my son and wraps me in a hug, “Hi kiddo.” The beach is crowded and Maverick laughs, “Sorry, squad bonding. Thought we’d throw the old pig skin around.” I smile, “I’m just happy to see you … and the sun. Don’t get much of that in Washington.” Maverick laughs, “Yeah, make sure you use sunscreen. You are pale as a ghost.” We laugh and he checks his watch, “I’m having my squad over for a cookout, do you guys want to come? It should be close to your rental.” AJ starts pulling on my leg, “Please Mommy? Please?” Part of me wants to go back to the rental and not be surrounded by aviators for the night. Part of me also knew what I was getting into when I took the contracting job here. I chuckle, “Sure buddy. Just for a little bit.”

Maverick’s house is the same as always. Minimal decor and piles of work papers. “Everyone is out back, want a drink?” I nod, following him to the cooler. AJ grabs a juice box and starts running around the backyard. Penny sees me and walks over, “Y/n, it has been too long!” I hug her, “I know, Pen. How are you?” “I’m good. How are you, honey?” I take a second, “Better. We will be okay.” She looks at my hand and sadness washes over her face. I give her a weak smile, “I put the rings in a memory box when we packed up everything. It was too hard seeing them everyday.” Penny nods, “How is AJ doing?” I look over at my son. He’s only 4 but he is so tall, just like his Dad. I sigh, “He’s doing good. Asks about him a lot. It’s getting easier to tell him stories.” She hugs me, her eyes watery. There is a moment of silence before we walk over towards the group of people near Maverick. AJ runs over, so I pick him up for a squeeze. Maverick calls out, “Daggers, this is Y/n and her son AJ. She’s going to be working on our radio communications for the next few months.” The aviators wave and some introduce themselves to me. Then the back gate opens and Bradley walks through. He beelines to AJ, “Little man! You need to slow down, you’ll be taller than me soon!” AJ giggles, “Uncle Roo, you literally are so big that’s IMPOSSIBLE.” Bradley turns to me, “Hey, Y/n. It’s good to see you.” He wraps his arms around me and I breathe in his familiar scent, “Hey, Roo. You too.” Penny takes AJ in to play with some toys while I sit with Bradley and Maverick, catching up after a year of being apart. Their work has been crazy, as always. I tell them that mine is as boring as always, so I am happy to be here. “Need another beer?” I nod, following Bradley to the cooler. On the way we pass a few men who are standing close, talking in hushed voices. A man with dark hair motions to me and murmurs, “Yeah… that F-16 that went down last year? That’s the guy’s family.” I freeze. Part of me knew that they might know my husband, but another part of me was hoping they didn’t. Bradley turns around, eyes filled with worry, “Are you okay?” I nod, “I just need a minute.” I head towards the back of Maverick’s yard to get some air.

The waves are crashing on the sand. I close my eyes, taking a moment to breathe. Seeing Roo is still hard for me. He became best friends with my husband during their time at the Academy. Best man at our wedding. God father of our child. How did it end up like this? I look to the sky for an answer, but I’m met with the same stars I see every night. Roo stands beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulders, “AJ is growing up so fast.” “I know. Did he tell you he knows all the planets?” He laughs, “Yeah he sang me a song about them. You should be proud of yourself, you’re doing such a good job with him.” Tears sting my eyes and I whisper, “I have no clue what I am doing.” Sadness fills Bradley’s brown eyes, “But you’re doing it. I should’ve been around more and I’m sorry. Now that you guys are here, I want to help.” “You don’t have to do that.” He looks up at the sky, “I need to… for Archie. I remember the day he asked me to be AJ’s Godfather… you had just found out you were pregnant. Archie knew it was going to be a boy.” I throw my arms around Bradley, squeezing as tight as I can. We stand like this for a minute, then little arms wrap around our legs. “Mommy! Uncle Roo! Up!” I wipe my tears and bend down, picking him up. He wraps his little arms around me and Bradley. AJ looks up, “Uncle Roo? Will you come over to our new house?” Bradley smiles, “Of course! How about I pick you up from school one day this week.” AJ’s eyes widen, “Mommy, can he? Can he please?” I look at Bradley and AJ, both staring at me with pleading eyes. I laugh, “Okay, deal. But Uncle Roo has to get a car seat for the Bronco.” They celebrate their victory and I check my watch, “AJ baby, it’s time to head home for bed.” He whines and Bradley chuckles, “It’s okay bud, I’ll see you soon. I promise.” We say our goodbyes and I take him back to our little rental. He falls asleep immediately and I drift away right beside him.

The first week of the new job was busy, but I like it. It doesn’t give my brain any time to wander. Seeing the jets lined up at the hangar brings a lump to my throat. AJ’s teachers say that he is adjusting well. Every day he tells me stories about his new friends and what they did in class. Friday rolls around and Bradley texts me a photo of AJ in a car seat with a text that says “See you soon, Mommy!” I smile and set my phone down on the kitchen counter. The Bronco pulls into the driveway and AJ comes running through the door, “Mommy! Uncle Roo bought me a baseball glove AND A BALL! He’s going to play catch with me!” Bradley walks in behind him, holding the baseball gear. I hug AJ, “Did you say thank you?” Bradley smiles, “He did about a million times.” “Well you boys go play, dinner will be ready soon.” AJ runs out the back door and Bradley follows, grinning from ear to ear. I watch them from the window. My heart is aching and happy at the same time. Of course Archer picked the best Godfather. I open the back door, “Okay boys, dinner is ready! Wash your hands!” They come inside and AJ cheers, “Yay! Spaghetti night!” We sit down to eat and AJ tells us all about school. Bradley talks to AJ about work. AJ finishes and asks if he can go play, running into the living room to build his puzzle. Bradley looks at me, “When was the last time you had a night without AJ?” I think back, “Before Archer. I’m used to the quiet nights.” Bradley shakes his head, “The squad is going out tonight and you’re coming. Amelia can watch him. We can head over once he’s asleep.” I try to protest but Bradley stops me, “You are allowed to have a life, Y/n.” I look at my hands. I know he is right. Amelia is great and would probably like the extra money. I stand up, “Okay, let me start his bedtime routine. Then I’ll need half an hour to get ready.” Bradley smiles, “Deal. I’ll call Amelia now.”

An hour later, AJ is asleep and Amelia is in the kitchen chatting with Bradley. I walk out and they smile at me. I leave Amelia my number for emergencies, following Bradley to his Bronco. On the ride to the bar, he clears his throat, “When was the last time you played pool?” I shrug, “A long time ago. I’ll be rusty.” He laughs, “Well, your rusty will wipe the floor with my squad. Just don’t take too much of their money, okay?” I smirk, “I’m not making any promises.” We pull into the parking lot of Penny’s bar and I follow Rooster inside. Penny smiles, “Amelia was so excited you called! Good to see you.” I smile and grab the beer she set on the counter, “She is sweet for coming last minute.” Bradley pulls me towards the pool table, his squad is standing around chatting. Everyone says hello and Bradley hands me a cue, “Warmup round? You and me?” I smile and nod. The Daggers watch as I absolute demolish Bradley. He throws his hands up, “I surrender. I don’t understand how you’re so good at that.” I shrug, “It’s just angles.” He laughs and shakes his head. The rest of the squad takes turns trying to beat me. Pheonix is good, Bob is okay, but Jake almost beats me. I sink my final solid and then the 8 and he chuckles, “Back home they’d call you a pool shark, darling.” I laugh, “No, that’s only if I was taking y’all’s money.” He smirks, stirring up an odd feeling inside of me. The night continues on, filled with chatter and laughs. A woman comes over, asking Bradley to dance. He glances at me, “Go! I’ll be fine.” I sit down, checking to see if Amelia has texted. I take a breath, I know he is perfectly fine and probably sleeping like an angel. Jake walks over to the table and holds out his hand, “C’mon, a pretty lady shouldn’t be sitting down when there’s a slow song playing.” I think for a second. He’s Bradley’s friend, so he’s probably just being nice. I would be lying if I didn’t say he is very, very attractive. Guilt gnaws at me and I push it down. I take his hand, “Why not.” He pulls me onto the floor and we two step. It has been so long since I have danced with an adult and I love this song. I hum along and Jake smiles, “Zach Bryan fan?” I nod, “I have his vinyl. Been trying to teach AJ how to dance.” Jake chuckles, “How’s he doing?” “Good, the height difference makes it pretty difficult.” He spins me around and pulls me back in. His cologne surrounds me, earthy and citrus. My focus is on his hand, holding my waist with a calm but steady force. “You liking it here?” “Mhmm. I get to see the beach everyday and it’s nice being closer to Roo.” He raises an eyebrow, “How is it that you know Rooster?” I look in his green eyes and see genuine curiosity. He doesn’t know. I clear my throat, “He was best friends with my husband.” Jake’s eyes are still curious, “Was?” Weirdly enough, the question doesn’t upset me, “Archer, my husband, passed away last year. He went through all of his training with Roo.” His face falls, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” I give him a small smile, “It is okay, you didn’t know.” Jake spins me again and finishes the dance with a dip, “Thank you for the dance, Y/n.” He grins from ear to ear. I blush and head back to the squad. Bradley rejoins the group and nudges my arm, “Saw you dancing.” “Oh hush, it was nothing.” Bradley chuckles, “If it was nothing then why are you smiling like that?” I elbow him, “Drop it.”

The next morning, for the first time in a long time, I wake up in a great mood. I decide to take AJ to the beach. He cheers as I pack things into our car. I drive a few miles, until we reach a spot that isn’t too crowded. I set up a tent and AJ starts building sand castles. “Mommy, look! I made a tower like Tangled!” “Good job baby.” I lay beside him, picking out seashells for his castles. The waves crash on the shore. The smell of the ocean calms my soul. A southern accent brings me back down to Earth, “Y/n?” I look up to see Jake, shirtless and glistening. “Hey, Jake!” AJ looks up, “You were at my Uncle Mav’s house.” Jake leans down and smiles, “Yes sir. I work with Maverick.” AJ hums and keeps building, “Do you want to build sand castles with me?” “Oh honey, Jake is probably busy.” Jake shrugs, “I was just running. I would love to help you, buddy.” He gets down to AJ’s level and starts collecting sand. I smile as I watch him interact with my son. He could’ve kept going about his day, but he didn’t. Instead he is indulging a bossy 4 year old. Jake’s green eyes meet mine, “Funny running into you, I was just thinking about you.” I blush, hoping he doesn’t notice, “You were?” He nods, “I had fun last night.” “I did too.” AJ looks up from his castle, “A fun night? Did you watch a movie?” I chuckle, “No baby, but movies are fun!” Jake nudges him, “What’s your favorite movie?” AJ taps his chin for a moment, “Beauty and the Beast.” Jake raises an eyebrow, “Why’s that?” AJ shrugs, “Because my Mommy is just like Belle.” I smile at my son and Jake glances over at me, “Maybe we should watch it together sometime.” My eyes widen and AJ stands up, “Yes! At my new house! Mommy you need to buy popcorn.” I take a second, analyzing what just happened. Jake wants to spend more time with us? Watching a kids movie? The same odd feeling I had last night happens again. A weird feeling of warmth spreading through me. Jake leans closer, “I don’t want to overstep. You can always say no.” I take a breath, “Of course you can come over for a movie night.” AJ climbs on Jake’s back, “My bedtime is 8 so come over before that.” Jake chuckles, “Yes sir.” I look over at him, “I’m sure you have other plans on a Saturday night. It was already so kind of you to build castles with him.” Jake shrugs, “No other plans, besides what could be as fun as movie night with AJ?” They high-five and AJ starts dancing around, overjoyed by the evening’s new plans.

#glen powell x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #hangman fic #top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader

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come-as-you-are-111 · 16 hours ago

Text

“Left On Read”

Warnings: nothin just angst

You don’t know when it started. The silence. The slow fade of what used to be effortless. One minute, Matt was your best friend—the person who knew you better than anyone. Late-night drives, deep talks, and inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

At first, you tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was busy. That life got in the way sometimes, but he’d come back when he could. It wasn’t until the ignored texts started piling up, until the invites were met with, Sorry, can’t tonight, that you felt the first real crack in your chest.

Then came the moment that shattered everything.

It was late—past midnight, when the weight of missing him became unbearable. You sat in bed, staring at your phone, scrolling through months of old messages. Conversations that used to be filled with excitement, warmth, and care. Messages that now felt like echoes of something long dead.

You tried to ignore the lump in your throat as you typed.

Matt, if you don’t want me in your life anymore, just say it.

I don’t know what I did, but if I hurt you, I’m sorry.

Please just tell me what’s going on.

Your thumb hovered over the send button. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe you were making a big deal out of nothing. But deep down, you already knew the truth.

You sent it. The message turned blue. The seconds ticked by.

And then—

Read 1:14 AM.

Nothing.

Your stomach twisted painfully. Maybe he fell asleep before he could answer. Maybe he needed time to think. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

You turned off your phone, rolled onto your side, and let the weight of it settle over you like a heavy, suffocating fog.

The next morning, you woke up with dry eyes and a hollow chest. You checked your phone once, heart racing despite everything. But the screen was empty. No message. No explanation. No closure.

He wasn’t going to answer.

—

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. The pain didn’t leave, but it changed. It became quieter, duller, slipping into the background of your life. You stopped checking your phone so much. Stopped replaying old conversations in your head, wondering what you could have done differently.

But the reminders were everywhere. Songs that used to be your songs. Places that used to be your spots. People still asking, Hey, what happened between you and Matt?

You never had an answer.

And then, one evening, it happened.

You were halfway up the steps to your front door when something caught your eye. A single envelope, tucked into your mailbox, your name written in familiar, messy handwriting.

Your stomach dropped.

No return address. No indication of who it was from. But you didn’t need one. You knew.

Your hands trembled as you ripped it open.

I know you hate me. You have every right to.

I never meant to leave you like that. I thought I was doing the right thing.

I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left before I could. But I see now that I just hurt you worse.

I miss you. More than I can explain. But I know it’s too late.

Your breath hitched. The words blurred as your eyes stung.

I hope you’re happy. Even if it’s without me.

That was it.

No explanation. No apology that actually mattered. Just a half-hearted attempt at closure that came far too late.

You stood there on your porch for a long time, gripping the letter like it might disappear.

And then, finally, you pulled out your phone. The last message you had ever sent him still sat there, unread since that night. A message that never got a response, because he had decided you didn’t deserve one.

Your fingers hovered over the screen.

You could text him now. You could say something. Anything.

But instead, you folded the letter, walked inside, and tossed it into a drawer without another glance.

This time, you were the one leaving him on read.

A/n: Hi my lil monsters!! How we likey? Just felt like writing some angst today so hope yall liked it!

Love ya, Twilight

Sturniolo taglist:

@sturns-mermaid

#matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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sequinsmile-x · 3 days ago

Text

Growing Pains

Having teenagers, as it turned out, was the most trying part of parenthood so far, and there were times when she almost considered apologising to her mother.

Almost.

AKA - a story about Aaron, Emily, and their teenage daughter who is determined to push boundaries.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi besties,

Sorry for the slight delay on this - I've got a horrible cold and this fic kept getting bigger and bigger (shocking I know) but here we are!!

This is inspired by an ask I got from anon (who I hope enjoys this fic) asking how I think our favs would deal with a rebellious teenager. Because of who I am as a person, this has become a two parter.

Please let me know what you think, and part 2 will be up within the next few days!

-x-

Words: 6.8K (it really got away from me)

Warnings: brief references to past abortion, brief mentions of underage drinking

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Ferme tes jolis yeux

Car les heures sont brèves

Au pays merveilleux

Au doux pays des rêves.”

Emily sings quietly as she paces back and forth, holding her little girl against her chest. She suppresses a yawn and rubs a soothing circle on Lucy’s back, tilting her head to look down at her baby. Lucy was finally asleep, the 2-day-old’s cheek squished against her chest, and Emily sighs in relief, dropping a kiss to her dark hair and breathing her in, the sweet newborn smell the most addictive thing in the world.

The house is quiet, both Aaron and Jack asleep upstairs in the bed, and dark apart from the lamp she switched on when she came downstairs to the living room. It was peaceful, a bubble they’d built around themselves as they got used to the addition to their family. She couldn’t wait for their friends to meet Lucy, but she wanted this to last as long as possible. For the 2 am feeds and the moments like it to not be her only time with her little girl that was just hers.

“Let’s sit down, sweet girl,” she says, clenching her jaw to hold back a wince as she sits on the couch, “Mommy is too tired and too sore to walk around anymore.”

It was Lucy’s first night at home and it felt surreal, strange in some ways that the doctors and nurses had just sent her home with a tiny baby, with a whole new person to look after as if she knew what she was doing. Lucy refused to sleep anywhere but in Emily’s arms, would cry even if Aaron tried to hold her, so Emily knew there was no point in taking her back upstairs and trying to lay her in her bassinet. Even though she was exhausted, more tired than she ever thought possible, she didn’t mind. She knew a day would come when she’d miss this, when she’d look back on the long, seemingly endless, nights when either she or Lucy, or both of them, would cry whilst she tried to nurse her.

She smiles when she hears footsteps on the hardwood floor, her husband’s familiar footfall loud in the otherwise silent house, despite his obvious attempts to be quiet.

“Daddy’s coming to see us, baby,” Emily says, kissing Lucy’s hairline again, and she smiles up at him when he walks into the living room, “Hi honey.”

“There are my girls,” he says, looking as tired as she feels, his hair askew from where he’d been running his fingers through it, and his pyjamas wrinkled from the small amount of sleep he’d had. He walks over and drops a kiss to the top of Emily’s head before he joins her, making sure he’s careful to not jostle either of them as he sits down, “Are you two okay?”

Emily hums and rests her head on his shoulder, “She wouldn’t settle so I brought her down here to feed her,” she replies, tilting her head to look up at him, “I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through her hair before he tucks it behind her ear, “Our bed gets cold without you.”

She chuckles lightly, “Says the walking furnace.”

He watches her as she tries to adjust how she’s sitting, her barely covered wince a dagger at his heart. He’d held it together throughout her labour because he knew she needed him to be her strength when she felt hers start to fade, that she needed to lean on him - literally and mentally - but more than once he’d felt himself holding back tears at seeing her in so much pain. He always thought he couldn’t be any more in love with her, any more proud and in awe of her, but she always proved him wrong, always managed to surpass the expectations she herself had set.

“Want me to take her?” He asks, hiding a smile when she tightens her hold on Lucy as if he was going to take her from her. If he hadn’t been through his before with Haley, if he hadn’t watched the instincts kick in when Jack was a tiny baby and this was all new to him and Haley too, he’d be offended, but he knew they were all adjusting. He knew that Emily was still hesitant to have the baby anywhere other than in her arms, something that their little girl seemed to share with her.

“No, it’s okay,” she replies, an apology in her smile as she realises what she’s done, “I’m just sore, that’s all,” she looks at Lucy, smiles at the slope of her nose, at the rosebud lips and the dimples they’d already playfully argued over - each claiming she’d inherited them from the other, “She’s worth it though,” she chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her chest, and she shakes her head at herself, wiping a tear she’d come to expect from her cheek before she puts her hand back on Lucy’s back, “When will I stop crying when I just look at her?” She asks, even though she knows there’s no answer, “She’s perfect. How did I make something so perfect?”

Aaron wraps his arm around her and kisses her temple before he wipes her tears away for her, “Because you’re perfect, and she’s a mini you.”

Emily chokes on a sound between a laugh and a sob and she leans in to kiss him, barely pulling back to speak, “You’re pretty perfect too.”

____

One thing Emily had learnt over the years, was that each era of parenthood had its positives and negatives.

When the kids were small, when they were tiny little things that needed her for everything, she’d barely had any time to herself, or barely any time for her and Aaron. It made everything feel all the more precious, all the more needed, as she scrambled for 10 minutes in the bath or just an hour of alone time with her husband. But she’d loved it, and missed it when she looked back on it. She missed the night feeds, the snuggles where her babies would sleep curled up on her chest.

She missed being needed.

When they were toddlers, when their quest for knowledge and need to understand the world around them, she barely had time to think. Their constant questions, the repetition of her name that made her wonder how she’d ever been excited to hear them say it for the first time, and their lack of fear or self-preservation, were exhausting. But watching them grow, watching their personalities develop and their eyes go wide when they experienced something for the first time was incredible, the very thing she’d wanted to see her whole life.

“Mom!”

“Emily!”

She sighs as she sits back in her home office chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as she hears her eldest daughter and her husband call out for her at the same time.

Having teenagers, as it turned out, was the most trying part of parenthood so far, and there were times when she almost considered apologising to her mother.

Almost.

She gets up and walks down the hall to the kitchen, her hands on her hips, “What’s happened now?”

She looks over at Samuel and Eleanor, the 13-year-old twins drawing her attention with their barely covered laughter and matching smiles.

“Luce got her nose pierced,” Eleanor says, pressing her lips together as she swallows back a laugh again, always delighting in her older sister’s recent rebellious streak.

“Dad isn’t happy,” Samuel finishes for her, and Emily looks over at her husband and Lucy, her eyes catching on the, slightly too large for her face, nose ring she can see in her daughter’s nose, the sparkle of it catching in the kitchen light. Aaron is standing next to her, his hands on his hips and his expression exasperated, and she knew she’d have to intervene before things escalated into an argument.

“Okay you two,” Emily says, turning to look at the twins, “Can you go to the living room please?” she says, raising her eyebrow when neither of them takes the opportunity to leave, “Now.”

Eleanor huffs out a breath and gets off the stool, “Come on Sammy, that’s Mom-speak for ‘we’re yelling at Lucy and you’re not allowed to watch.’”

“No one is doing any yelling,” Emily says, her eyebrow still raised but her smile soft as they leave the room.

“I might,” Aaron quips and Emily sighs as she looks over at him.

“Honey-”

“She had her nose pierced, Em-”

“I am right here you know,” Lucy says, cutting over her father, her arms crossed over her chest in defiance, “And it’s my face.”

“You’re 16.”

“Okay,” Emily says, walking over to them with her hands up, “Let’s deal with this one thing at a time,” she turns to look at Lucy first, “Sweetie, you’re right - it’s your face and your choice, but you are our kid,” she raises her eyebrow as Lucy scoffs, not carrying on until Lucy’s shoulders loosen and her eyes flash with an apology, as if she hadn’t meant to make the sound outloud, “And as long as you are a minor and live in this house, you run this kind of thing past us first, okay?” She turns to look at Aaron, their conversation silent for a moment as their eyes meet, her just go with me on this obvious to him, “That sounds reasonable, right?”

He clears his throat, his arms crossing over his chest as if he has to physically do so to stop his real feelings about their daughter’s nose ring from escaping, “Right,” he says, looking over at Lucy, “But no tattoo’s until you’re 18.”

Lucy smirks, “Don’t worry, Dad. My fake ID is nowhere near good enough for that.”

Emily sighs and looks at her daughter, “Not helping,” she says, shaking her head and resting her hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face the door, “Go sit with your brother and sister until dinner, okay?”

She nods, “No making out in here whilst we’re gone,” she replies, “This is where we eat.”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, when whatever the twins were watching on TV would drown out the conversation in the kitchen, Emily turns to look at her husband, “Honey, we have to pick our battles.”

He sighs and his arms tighten over his chest, his grip on his triceps tight enough she’s briefly distracted by the way his muscles ripple under his skin, “I know, sweetheart. I think I was just…shocked. She just walked in with it like it had always been there and I reacted,” he shakes his head at himself, “She’s beautiful just as she is.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Of course she is,” she says, “I know that. But she’s just trying to express herself, and if anything I think this says a lot about our parenting skills.”

He furrows his frows at that and tilts his head, “How?”

“Do you know how self-assured she must be to get her nose pierced? To draw attention to it?” She shrugs and smiles sadly, “I would have loved to have done it when I was her age, and not just because it would have annoyed my mother, but because I liked it. But I hated my nose, so I did everything I could to distract from it,” she scrunches her nose up and shudders as she thinks about her own teenage years, “Why do you think I dressed like Siouxsie Sioux?”

He’s still frowning at her, but his crossed arms loosen, his eyes curious, “When did you start to like your nose?”

She smiles shyly, but not because she’s embarrassed. She’d stopped being able to be embarrassed in front of him years ago. He was the person who’d held her hand when she had three of his children. He’d washed vomit from her hair when her morning sickness got the better of her, and he’d helped her on and off from the toilet when she couldn’t bend down after her c-section when having the twins. He was another part of her, the missing half she hadn’t known had been missing until their first kiss. She’s not shy because she’s embarrassed, but because she knows exactly what he’s going to do next, and it somehow makes her love him even more.

She shrugs one of her shoulders, “The first time I saw it on her face.”

He pulls her into a hug as if an autopilot, his smile a mix of sadness and adoration as he leans in to kiss the tip of her nose, just like she knew he would. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiles and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Thank you,” she replies, kissing him again as he places his hands on her hips, “You’re not bad to look at yourself,” she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, “She’s just…figuring out who she is, honey. And we have to let her.”

He sighs and leans forward to press his forehead against hers, “You’re right.”

“I so often am,” she replies, “You’d think after almost 20 years together you’d be used to it.” She leans in to kiss him, her lips barely touching his when she hears a chorus of disgust from the doorway. She smiles as she turns to look at her children, Lucy standing in the middle of Samuel and Eleanor, and she rolls her eyes playfully, “I am allowed to kiss your dad, you know,” she says, shifting so she has her arm around his waist, deciding she was going to have some fun at her children’s expense, “In fact, I’ve done a whole lot more than kiss him-”

“Oh god, Mom.”

“Emily.”

___

She yawns and reaches out for the mug on her desk, idly telling herself a second cup of tea would help wake her up. Before she can step away, before she can even stand up, her phone rings, the number for Lucy’s daycare flashing up on the screen.

“Crap,” she mutters under her breath, worst case scenarios flooding her lungs, her chest cramped so she can’t breathe as she answers, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Lucy’s mom?”

“Yeah, this is her mom. Is everything okay?” She asks, already standing up, the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder as she shoves everything back into her purse.

“She’s thrown up a few times in the last hour and now she has a fever.”

Emily feels her heart clench, her chest hollowed out as she thinks about her baby being sick and her not being there, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She’s never been more grateful that she finally took up Clyde’s persistent offers of a job. After she got married to Aaron, Clyde finally relented and stopped offering the role in London and started telling her there was a role in DC for her if she wanted it. She took it the moment she and Aaron decided to try for a baby. It was a fresh start she’d needed, a job untouched by what Ian had done to her, by people knowing that she’d died and come back a different person. She no longer walked into a room knowing that colleagues had been talking about her, that they’d been gossiping about things she wished they didn’t know. Now she was the boss, had her own office and the respect of everyone around her. She was good at her job, excellent even, and she loved it.

She usually loved it, but as she walks into Lucy’s daycare, as her little girl presses her face against her chest the moment she’s handed to her, her skin warm and clammy, Emily hates her job. Hates herself for taking it, for going back to work and leaving her 6-month-old in the care of other people. She smiles and nods as the daycare worker updates her on Lucy’s temperature and the medicine they’d given her, holding her little girl close as she does her best to not burst into tears.

The moment she gets Lucy home, she sits on the couch with her against her chest, rubbing a circle on her back as she fusses.

“My poor, baby,” she says, resting her cheek against her head, “Mommy is right here.”

She sings to her, keeps her voice low and soft as she does her best to soothe her to sleep. Lucy has just drifted off when Emily’s phone rings, and she answers it quickly, picking it up from where she’d thrown it on the couch, barely registering Aaron’s name and the picture of him with the kids on the screen.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replies, “How is she?”

Emily hums and kisses Lucy’s forehead, grimacing at the warmth of her skin, “She’s got a fever, and she’s very clingy. She just wants to snuggle.”

“She always wants to snuggle with you,” he replies, and she sucks in a breath, dropping another kiss to Lucy’s head, “Are you okay?”

She wonders if she should hate that he knows her so well, that he knows something is wrong without her having to say it. She chokes on a sound she can’t name, “I’m feeling like the worst mother in the world right now,” she says, wiping away tears she thinks she should have expected, “My baby was sick and I wasn’t there.”

“But the moment you were called you were there. You’re the best mom.”

She blows out a breath, “You’re meant to say that, you’re my husband-” she furrows her brow when her phone vibrates, and she pulls it back to see that she is getting a call from Jack’s school, “Oh god, Jack’s school is calling,” she says, “I should take that - he’s probably sick too.”

“Let me know what they say, sweetheart,” he replies, “I’ll go and get him if he needs picking up.”

“Thanks, honey, you’re the best,” she ends the call with Aaron and answers the call from the school, “Hi, Emily speaking.”

“Hi, is this Jack’s mom?”

She sighs, unable to suppress a smile as she replies, “Yeah,” she says, kissing Lucy’s head, “This is his mom.”

___

“You were never like this when Jack wanted to bring his first girlfriend over.”

Emily sighs and pushes her hair out of her face as she blows out a breath so she doesn’t raise her voice, “Luce, Jack didn’t want her to stay overnight when we weren’t here,” she says, and Lucy rolls her eyes, slumping back against the couch, “And we haven’t even met Jacob.”

Lucy sighs, “That’s because I don’t trust you and Dad to not be embarrassing,” she scrunches her nose up, fighting the smile that breaks out across her face, “Or Nora and Sammy. This is a house of embarrassment. The only person I trust to behave is Jack and he’s in New Haven.”

Emily smiles, “He is endlessly sensible, isn’t he?” She says, remembering when he was a teenager. She’d almost had to encourage him to misbehave, to push boundaries that he respected. It was part of what had left her and Aaron so unprepared for Lucy’s teenage years. They’d been lulled into a false sense of security by their eldest.

She saw herself in Lucy. Saw who she could have been if she’d been loved in the way she needed when she was her age, if she’d had the mother she still found herself wishing for even now. Lucy was unashamedly herself, unburdened by expectations that Aaron and Emily had never held her to. All they ever wanted of her, of any of their children, was for them to be kind and to do their best.

She presses her lips together and studies Lucy, watches as she spins her nose ring around, and she wonders when she grew up, when she stopped being the tiny little thing who was always attached to her side. She loved watching her kids get older, loved watching who they were becoming, but it was hard too. It made her ache, an empty space in her chest that she wasn’t used to making her feel hollowed out, another bit of it carved away each time one of her children pulled a little further away.

Aaron struggled with it more, Emily knew that. He wanted to keep the kids safe, everything they’d both seen in their jobs lingering in every shadow, and it had made him extra cautious. Emily did her best to be more realistic, to know that they had to let some things slide, but the casual way that Lucy had announced she had a boyfriend was the first time Emily found herself edging more towards her husband’s point of view. She so desperately wanted to protect Lucy, to make sure she didn’t go through what she went through, to save her little girl from the weight of what had happened when she was even younger than she was.

“Now you have a boyfriend,” she says, trying to stay casual, “I just want to make sure that you know I’m here if you have any questions about sex-”

“Mom,” Lucy exclaims, looking around as if they weren’t home alone, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighs, “I know, honey. I’m just saying, “Make sure that when you are ready to take that step, you use protection.”

Lucy grimaces, scrunching her nose up, the movement drawing attention to her nose ring, “God, Mom.”

“I mean it, Luce. You need to be careful, okay? I’m not under any illusion that you won’t have sex at some point, but you need to promise me you’ll make Jacob use a condom. And I’ll take you to the doctor to get the pill if you need me to,” she swallows thickly, pushing down all the emotions that are rising up her throat, “But you need to be careful.”

Lucy groans, “Okay, jeez,” she says, her eyebrow raised in challenge, a look on her face that Aaron always said was all her, “Do you and Dad use protection?”

Emily chuckles, the ghost of who she was as a teenager finally disappearing, her grip on her throat loosening, “No, baby. Your dad and I haven’t had sex with anyone other than each other in almost 20 years, and at this point, your dad has as much of a chance of getting pregnant as I do.”

“Mom, I’m not going to get pregnant.”

Later, she’ll wonder why she says it. Whether it’s the absolute confidence in her daughter’s voice that she’d once felt herself, or maybe it’s because a small part of her wants her to know, wants her to understand, that her actions have consequences. That choices she made now could have lifelong repercussions.

“I did.”

Lucy finally looks up at her, her eyebrows furrowed in a way that makes her look like Aaron as their eyes meet, “What?”

Emily nods, and she presses her lips together, taking a moment to clear her throat, “Yeah. I was a little younger than you.”

“I…” Lucy trails off, any previous attempt at impertinence gone in an instant, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Emily reaches out and runs her fingers through Lucy’s hair, grateful that for once she doesn’t flinch away. If anything, she leans into the touch, shifting closer to Emily for the first time in a long time, “It’s okay, baby. It was a long time ago now.”

“And you…didn’t have a baby?”

Emily shakes her head, “No, sweetheart. I didn’t.”

“Does Grandma know?” Lucy asks, and Emily chokes on a humourless laugh, triggering the same sound to escape Lucy too, “Sorry, stupid question. She probably would have locked you in a convent somewhere.”

She laughs, for real this time, and she nods, because it was sadly true, “I didn’t really tell anyone, just a friend who helped me. And now only your dad knows,” she runs her fingers through her hair again, “And you.”

Lucy leans against her, wrapping both of her arms around one of hers and resting her head on her shoulder, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Emily kisses the top of her head, “I know you won’t,” she says, pulling back to look down at Lucy, “I know it’s embarrassing to talk about with your mom, but I hope you know that it’s just because I don’t want you going through what I did.”

Lucy nods against her, “I’ll be careful…when the time comes,” she says, her cheeks bright red, “I promise,” she encourages Emily to wrap her arm around her and snuggles into her side, “I’m glad you’re my mom.”

Her eyebrows knit together curiously, “Really? Why’s that?”

Lucy pulls away just enough to look at her, “Because no matter what, I know I can come to you about anything.”

It takes everything in Emily to not burst into tears, and she pulls Lucy closer, hugging her fiercely in a way it felt like she hadn’t in years, “I love you, Luce.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

___

“Mom, can I push Lucy on the swing?”

Emily chuckles at Jack’s excitement and she adjusts her hold on Lucy, making sure she’s comfortably sitting in her lap.

“Yes, sweetie, once we’ve eaten our lunch,” she says, and he smiles widely, making a point of eating his sandwich quickly, “Slow down, Jack. The swings will still be there when we’re done,” she looks at her watch, “And Daddy will be here soon.”

Aaron had been called into work, torn out of their quiet morning as a family by paperwork that supposedly couldn’t wait until Monday. He told her to go ahead with taking the kids to the park, to having the picnic he’d prepared the night before, Tupperware full of sandwiches he’d made and put in the fridge for them, and that he’d meet them as soon as he could. He’d sent her a text half an hour ago saying he was on the way and she was looking forward to seeing him, wondering when she’d become someone who missed a person after only being apart for a few hours.

“Dada!”

Emily smiles at the sound of Lucy’s sweet voice, and she kisses her cheek, tugging gently on one of her pigtails that stuck straight up in the air, “That’s right, baby - Dada will be there soon.”

Lucy had only started speaking a few weeks ago - babbling nonsense that had given way to Mama, Dada and a sound they know means Jack - and it was unlike anything Emily had ever experienced. Hearing her little girl say Mama for the first time was a memory she knew would always be one of her favourites, right up there with the first time Jack had casually called her Mom instead of Emily. She knew Aaron felt the same way about the first time he’d heard Lucy call him Dada. He’d missed the first time she’d ever said it. He’d been away on a case, had been on the other side of the country when Lucy pointed at a picture of him and said it, stopping both Emily and Jack in their tracks as they looked at her, matching expressions of shock and happiness on their faces. Emily had been tempted to not tell Aaron, to let it happen organically when he came home so he thought that the first time he heard Lucy say it was the first time she’d ever said it, but Jack had beat her to it before she’d had a chance to truly think about keeping a secret from her husband. The little boy’s smile wide as he announced that Lucy had said Dada, his excitement drowning out any disappointment Aaron had been unable to keep from his wife.

Lucy lets go of the toy she’d been holding, a ball with Olaf the snowman on it, and it rolls away from them. Lucy grunts, and before Emily can even attempt to get it, Jack is on his feet.

“I’ll get it, Mom.”

“Thanks, baby,” she replies, smiling as he picks it up and hands it to Lucy, “You’re such a good big brother.

“‘Ack,” Lucy says, taking the ball from him, smiling widely at her brother. Then she looks past him, seeing Aaron before Emily and Jack do, and she stands up, her hands grabbing fists of grass as she pushes herself onto her feet, “Dada!”

Emily looks in the direction she’s pointing, her hand reaching out to steady her, but she’s met with nothing but air. She frowns when she sees Lucy several feet away from where she’d been expecting her, her arms stretched outwards as she walks towards Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Emily says, standing up quicker than she thought her knees would allow, “Oh my God she’s-.”

“Mom,” Jack cuts over her, his eyes wide, “Lucy's walking.”

Emily scrambles for her phone, digs it out of her pocket and turns on the camera to start recording. She captures the moment Aaron kneels down just a few paces away from Lucy, his smile wide, the dimples in his cheeks visible from where she was standing, as he encourages their little girl to walk the last few steps. She all but falls against him, her tiny hands against his knees as she collapses into him, and Aaron scoops her up, stamping kisses against her cheeks as he settles her on his hip, drawing out giggles that make Emily’s heart soar. She stops recording and tucks her phone into her pocket as she runs over, her hand around Jack’s as they meet in the middle, her other hand on Lucy’s back as she kisses her temple.

Lucy smiles at the affection, her grass-stained thumb in her mouth before Emily tugs it out, delighted at the attention she’s getting even if she doesn’t understand it.

“Whose my clever little girl?” Emily says, kissing her temple again, “Did you walk to Daddy?” She says, tickling her belly to draw out another giggle, Aaron chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his eyes are shining when Emily looks at him. She cups his cheek and draws him in for a quick kiss, “We’re going to have to baby-proof the shit out of the house now.”

He laughs and kisses her, “I’ll start the moment we get home,” he kisses her again before he reaches for her hand and squeezes, looking down at Jack as they start to head back towards their abandoned picnic, “I think we should get ice cream to celebrate, what do you think, Jack?”

Jack’s excited nod is the only answer they need.

___

She can hear raised voices before she opens the front door. She sighs and puts her key in the lock, taking a deep breath before she pushes it open. As she steps into the house, Lucy’s yelling is no longer muffled, and Emily dumps her purse just inside the door so she can seek them out, her hopes of a quiet Friday night with her family dashed before they even know she’s home.

She finds them in the kitchen, dinner half prepared on the counter, and neither one of them seems to have heard her walk in.

“You’re not going to the party, and that’s final.”

Emily shakes her head, almost admiring her daughter’s attempt to divide and conquer. She’d asked her about the party that morning as they got ready for the day, dutifully dodging questions about whether there was going to be any parental supervision or not, and Emily had told her no. She’d been to those parties herself, hadn’t had a parent who cared enough to be around to say no, and she didn’t want Lucy to go. She did her best to be an understanding parent, to let her kids push boundaries and figure out who they are, but this was a hard line for her.

She’d seen far too many girls Lucy’s age hurt, or worse, in situations just like this.

Lucy scoffs, “But everyone else is going!”

Aaron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and Emily can see that his patience is fraying, the threads of it pull to their limit as he stays calm in the wake of the teenager’s anger, “I don’t care if everyone else is going, you’re not.”

Lucy grumbles, the sound turning into a growl as it catches in her throat, and she throws her arms up in her air, “Dad, you’re being so unreasonable, you’re ruining my life.”

Emily almost interjects, but Aaron replies again, still as calm as he can be, the weight of his father’s anger heavy on his shoulders.

“Lucy, I just want you to be safe - and this doesn’t sound safe,” he sighs, “I know you think you’ve got it all figured out, but you’re 16, princess. You-”

“Don’t call me princess,” she shouts, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m not a kid.”

Aaron’s jaw tightens, but his voice is still even, his expression stern and not one he often used in their home, “You are a kid. You’re my kid. And I am saying no.”

There’s a moment of silence as Lucy shakes her head, her whole body vibrating with anger she can’t control or fully understand.

“I hate you.”

Emily watches as Aaron deflates, his shoulders falling back as if he’s taken a physical hit, and she steps into the kitchen, “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Lucy and Aaron both look at her as if they’d only just realised she’s there, “But, Mom-”

“No, ‘but Mom’, nothing. You don’t speak to him like that,” she replies, as firm as she ever was with the kids, “And even if I didn’t agree with your dad on this, you absolutely wouldn’t be going now.”

Lucy scoffs, “Mom-”

“Go to your room,” she says, “I’ll come and talk to you when you’ve calmed down.”

Lucy looks like she’s going to argue for a moment, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shakes her head and marches past them, throwing one final piece of her anger over her shoulder, one final barb catching in her parent’s skin that Emily knows she’ll regret once she’s calmed down.

“You’re the worst parents ever.”

Emily sucks in a breath as she watches Lucy walk away, stamping her feet on each step before she slams her bedroom door.

“That went well,” Aaron quips, his smile sad as she turns to look at him, and she walks over, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugs her back immediately, a desperation to it that makes her heart ache.

“She didn’t mean it, honey,” she says, rubbing a circle on his back, turning her head to kiss his cheek, “You know she loves you.”

He hums and pulls back, “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier to hear though.”

“I know,” she replies, pushing her fingers through his hair, smiling at the flecks of grey at his temples, “Is it just me who misses when they were small and thought we were the coolest people ever?”

He chuckles and stamps his lips against hers, “It’s not just you, sweetheart,” he kisses her again and then tugs her against him for a hug, “I’m sorry you came home to an argument.”

“That’s okay,” she replies, kissing his jaw before she pulls back to look at him, “You know you’re an excellent dad, right?”

He smiles, a bit more of him shining through in it this time, and she knows it’s exactly what he needed to hear, “Thanks, sweetheart. And you’re an excellent mom.”

“Dad?”

They turn to see Samuel standing in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Everything okay, buddy?”

“I wondered if you needed help with dinner?” Samuel nods and clears his throat, and it’s such an obvious attempt to cheer Aaron up after he’d overheard the argument with Lucy, that Emily feels like she could burst. She unwraps herself from around Aaron and pulls Samuel into a hug, stamping a kiss against his head. “God, Mom. Stop.”

She smiles as she steps away, “You’re sweet.”

He runs his fingers through his hair to straighten it out, “You’re embarrassing.”

Emily and Aaron make eye contact over Samuel’s head, and Aaron winks at her before he replies to their son, “If you don’t mind Sammy, I need some help with the vegetables.”

Samuel nods, muttering under his breath about Sammy being the name for a baby before he walks over to help Aaron.

Lucy stays in her room all evening. Her irritation with her parents still clear when Emily takes her some dinner and tries to talk to her about their point of view. Eleanor asks Emily to braid her hair for the first time in years, another sign that the twins had both heard Lucy’s outburst earlier, and Emily finds herself in awe of her children’s capacity for empathy. They were good kids, all of them, and she was endlessly proud of them and the people they were becoming.

Even if their stubbornness, which they’d inherited from both her and Aaron, was world record worthy.

She sighs contentedly as she settles into bed next to Aaron, pulling the covers over them both. She leans in to kiss him, tasting the sadness that was still lingering on his tongue, made worse by Lucy not even answering him through her door when he’d said goodnight. Emily pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against his.

“You okay?” She asks, and he nods, his forehead knocking against hers, “Want me to be the big spoon?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, kissing her one more time, “You’re too small to be the big spoon,” he replies, encouraging her onto her side, “It’s like wearing a jetpack.”

She rolls her eyes at him and turns her head to stamp her lips against his again, “I’m not that much shorter than you,” she says, resting her head on her pillow and pulling his arm to cuddle it against her chest as he moulds himself against her. She kisses his knuckles before tucking his hand under her chin, “You are a very good big spoon though.”

She couldn’t remember a time in her life before him, and couldn’t believe she’d lived for so much longer without him than she had with him by her side. She couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone else, sure that if she hadn’t kissed him that one night 19 years ago, and if he hadn’t kissed her back, she wouldn’t have any of this - one kid at an Ivy League college and three others asleep just down the hall, a partner she loved more than life itself.

She’s sure she would have been happy in another life, just a different kind of happy that she was glad wasn’t hers.

“Goodnight sweetheart, I love you.”

She hums as he kisses her cheek, “I love you too.”

She isn’t sure how long she’s been asleep when her phone rings. She groans, blindly reaching out for it, knocking her reading glasses from her nightstand as she grabs her phone. She opens her eyes, the bright light of the screen making her wince as she blinks away the bleariness, and she frowns when she sees Lucy’s name on the screen.

“Lucy,” she says as she answers, a bad feeling settling in her gut, the weight of it remaining as she slips out from Aaron’s embrace, ignoring the way he calls after her half asleep. She can hear yelling in the background, the unmistakable sound of a party filtering down the line with her daughter’s voice, and she steps out into the hallway, “Why are you calling?”

“Mom,” she says, her voice slurring, “Can you come get me?”

“Come get you?” She asks, her heart dropping into her stomach as she walks into Lucy’s bedroom and finds it empty, just like she knew she would. It doesn’t make the sight of the unmade bed, the teddy bear Lucy claimed she didn’t need anymore tipped on the floor, and the open window any easier to take. She feels panic rise in her chest, worst case scenarios flooding through her, every bad thing she’d ever seen happen to a person hitting her square in the chest as she puts her daughter on speaker phone. She scrambles to open the Find My Friends app she has on her phone, her worry tipping into desperation when she sees Lucy’s disabled it on her end, only Aaron, Samuel, Eleanor and Jack flashing up on the map, “Where are you?”

Lucy sighs, the hesitation in it clear even though she’s obviously drunk, “I snuck out,” she says, hiccuping, carrying on even though she doesn’t need to, “I’m at the party.”

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron x emily #hotchniss #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic

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kiwii-11 · 1 day ago

Text

it’s a secret!

in which . . . honey and their least favourite roommate don’t have a lot in common that they can talk about, other than the topic of romance, surprisingly.

or . . . kayla questions honey’s love life just in time for guy to come home from work.

cw . . . gn reader, they/them pronouns, second person pov, during the time when the two are roommates with kayla, after the confession, secret dating, honey! reader, set in university, honey is a great cook bc i said so, honey also teases guy as much as he teases them

even though you would rather be caught dead than hanging out with your third roommate, kayla happened to still be in the kitchen when you left your room to make your dinner.

when you put the ad up looking for some new roommates, you weren’t really expecting a miracle. but you were a bit annoyed the first time you opened the fridge to find your lunch taken with a note replacing it saying ‘sorry have morning class’. and then again when your laundry was all pink because she tossed in her red bra with your whites. you weren’t expecting this kind of roommate, and you were lucky when guy saw your ad around campus and hit you up after your shared elective class. he, at least, didn’t miss rent due to his job at the pizza place, and never asked you to cover.

it was better than paying for the whole thing alone, you would tell yourself.

and then you see that you have no more passata sauce and that kayla is eating tomato soup. typical.

“hey,” she calls as she stares at her phone, “you eating now too?”

“looks like it,” you respond as you try to figure out what to cook now, “what are you still doing up? you have classes in the morning.”

“yeah, well, i’m gonna skip,” she claims with shrugged shoulders, “this guy from my econ class asked me out so i’m going out. i won’t be back til late at night, he wants to take me around the city all day.”

you glance at the calendar on the fridge. it says in kayla’s chosen colour ‘DATA ANALYSIS 9:30AM - 12PM’ and right after that, in the same colour, ‘WORK 1:30PM - 7PM’. instead of asking, you just grab the base ingredients you like the look of. “enjoy yourself.”

“i will,” she hums with a smirk, “and what about you? you don’t tend to bring a lotta’ people back to the apartment.”

“all my friends have their own places,” you explain as you take out the chopping board, “we hang out in the study hall or just around campus.”

“huh, to be honest, i thought it was because you were a weird loner,” kayla says as she stirs her soup and you try not make a comment, “well, what about any new people?”

“‘new people’?” you repeat in question as you take our the pan from the cupboard.

“yeah, like…” she begins to think to herself before she leans over the counter, “any cute girls from your classes? or what about that handsome barista from the campus cafe?”

you furrow your brows at her as you gather the rest of your utensils.

“remember when we were there at the same time last month?” she begins to say, “i’m pretty sure he’s into you.”

“i barely know the guy, i’ve talked to him like twice,” you roll your eyes as she purses her lips, “even if i was interested in him, no way would i bring him to our apartment.”

you meant it as to have some decorum. it was a little remark towards her, as if to tell kayla that yes, you had been home on the weekend when her and her boyfriend at the time were getting ‘busy’. but she doesn’t catch your drift.

“yeah, that makes sense,” she speaks as she finishes up her dinner, “there’s always something going on around here.”

you begin to prepare your ingredients as you heat up the pan. kayla sat on the bench across from you, so at least she wasn’t completely in the way.

“that reminds me, your friend still hasn’t contacted me about the latch on our bathroom window,” you say as you raise a brow at her, “if the landord sees that before i can fix it—”

the door opens up and cuts you off short, revealing a dishevelled guy. his shirt was all crinkled, his shoelaces untied and his eyes were droopy. you raise a brow at him as he locks the door behind him and drags himself over.

“hello…” he grumbles out.

“hey, guy.” kayla chuckles as she sees him slump on top of the counter.

“you look like shit,” you point out as garlic goes into the pan, “what happened at work?”

“thank you so much, honey,” he sighs out as he stretches across the bench to tap your hand, “it was like every single family in dahlia decided to order pizza tonight. but it’s okay, i made good tips!”

he waves a wad of cash in the air lazily. you shake your head and continue to cook.

“speaking of ‘tips’—”

“shut it.” you cut kayla off.

“c’mon, you don’t think he’s hot?” she pries as she moves around to put her dishes in the sink, “i would totally go after him.”

“you guys talk about me like i’m not here,” guy suddenly quips, as if he’s been revived from the dead, suddenly so interested in the conversation, “so… who’re we actually referring to, hm?”

you send him a little glare as you grab the wooden spoon. guy gives you his best innocent smile and you roll your eyes.

kayla pipes up, none the wiser, “i’m telling them to go and ask out the hot barista from the campus cafe.”

“oh, the one with the piercings?” guy raises his brows.

“that one, yeah.” kayla smiles.

“ooh, he’s totally your type!” he cheers as you turn back to him and chop some more ingredients up, “why don’t you wanna’ ask him out, honey?”

it had been two weeks since guy had crashed into your room and the two of you confessed to each other. you decided to keep it a secret from kayla, just so it didn’t get awkward until you two could move out together alone.

guy wasn’t too fussed about it, he practically enjoyed sneaking around. he would sneak little letters into your bag before you would leave for work or for classes, and when you’d text him, he’d pretend he had no idea.

this little conversation was only another one of guy’s teasing moments. the glint in his eyes makes you sigh in annoyance.

“he’s not even…” you drawl on, “i don’t know, i’m not really into him.”

“well, is there anyone you are into?” kayla tilts her head.

you could practically hear guy’s little thoughts giggling. he’s probably eating all of this up, you just know it.

guy walks over to the fridge beside you and takes a soda can from the shelf. he hums happily as he opens it and begins to drink.

“i’m into my project partner from software engineering.”

your roommate beside you spits his soda all over the fridge and himself.

“really? oh, he’s really cute too!” kayla gasps as she takes her phone out of her pocket, completely disregarding her dirty dishes in the sink, “i’m mutuals with him, guy, you gotta’ see this man!”

“‘man’?” guy repeats with an offended expression. kayla shoves her phone in his face with your project partner’s instagram on screen. “is this him? he’s… not that good-looking.”

“are you blind?” kayla scoffs as she steps away from the delivery man, “he’s so hot, you’re so lucky he’s your partner, i heard he’s super smart! i bet he’d be such a good boyfriend!”

“you think so?” you hum with a smile as you stir the food, “i’m meeting up with him tomorrow afternoon for the project, maybe i should ask him out.”

“yes!”

“don’t!”

you both look at guy, who has stopped wiping the soda off the fridge. his face is flushed and he looks perplexed.

“i—i mean don’t leave me out of this! i’ve got tons of ideas!” he anxiously chuckles out as he nudges your arm gently with his knuckle, “so, uh, when… do you think you’ll pop the big question?”

“i’m not asking him to marry me, idiot.” you snidely remark.

“might as well.” kayla chortles.

you could hear guy’s thoughts just by glancing to him. he’s crushed the can in his hand by accident and his eyes keep switching between you and your third roommate.

“maybe i’ll ask him out to dinner,” you hum as you shrug, “or i could take him back here and cook for him.”

“ooh, that’ll be the only guy you’ve ever taken home! i was startin’ to think that maybe nobody likes you!” kayla bumps her hip with yours, making you accidentally spill some of your cooking onto the bench next to the stove, “guy, you’d be good friends with him!”

“i highly doubt that,” he grumbles as he puts the can in his hand on the bench, “he’s probably not that cool…”

before she can reply, kayla gets a text on her phone in her pocket. as she’s distracted answering it, guy pinches your side. you elbow him in the stomach. he hunches over with a fist against the bench.

“shit, i forgot i have to stop by my friend’s dorm,” kayla claims, which you know is code for her going out all night and not coming home til the next day, “see you guys later!”

she doesn’t wait for you two to answer as she leaves, shutting the door so harsh that the walls shake. her dishes are still in the sink. you roll your eyes with a sigh and turn back to your cooking.

a second later, you feel hands on your hips.

“guy.” you warn.

“what’s wrong, honey?” he asks with his chin on your shoulder, “is somethin’ on your gorgeous little mind?”

you feel him cuddle closer to your standing position. “yeah.”

“and what is that?”

“how i’m gonna ask out my project partner.”

guy lets out a scoff as he leans back with furrowed brows. “you can’t be serious. honey, you’ve already got all my attention, why do you try irrevocably so to garner it in such a way? i—i’m hurt! wounded! you wound me!”

“well, it’ll get kayla off my back,” you explain as you grab a bowl for your food, “she won’t suspect us if i go out on one date with him.”

he pouts as he pulls away, leaning against the counter across from you. he crosses his arms with a tilt of his head. “you won’t ask him out, right? we could always just… tell kayla.”

“hell no,” you scoff, “she’d find some way to get herself outta’ paying rent. i’m not risking that. and she’d go off and tell everyone every little detail about ourselves.”

he shrugs his shoulders and watches you move your food into the bowl. “you’re right, i guess. perhaps you’ll just have to play single til we move out together.” guy offers, as if it was the only solution, “your project partner, left all alone with no honey to help him. cast aside as if he was nothing more than—than a piece of dirt on your clothes! twas a shame, really.”

“shut up,” you say as you sit down to eat, “go ‘n shower.”

“can i have some?” he asks, trying to nudge himself onto the seat with you.

“did you hear me?” you grumble as he takes your fork, “i could’ve made you some if you asked.”

“ugh, it’s so good,” he mumbles out instead of acknowledging your comment, “honey, if you ever need a husband, i am right here. i’d take such good care of you. i’m also so sexy that you could just stare at me all day and not have to worry about me.”

“could do all that and more with my pro—”

“oh, be quiet,” he chuckles as he lifts himself off your stool, “i’ll go shower, and then we can watch a movie. we don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

you hum in agreement as you watch him round your spot. guy gives you a cheeky grin before leaning into you and kissing your lips.

“don’t miss me too much.” he chimes.

“i—”

the door swings open and kayla comes barrelling through again, saying something about forgetting her car keys. guy is quick to jump away from you, hitting his hip in the process. you watch as kayla rummages around the drawers before she finds them and then leaves again. you blink and turn to guy, who is rubbing his side with a vibrant embarrassed blush covering his face.

“go shower, guy.”

“okay, honey.”

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted audio guy #redacted asmr guy #redacted audio honey #redacted asmr honey #redacted fandom #redactedverse #redacted audio x listener #redacted asmr x listener #guy x honey #kiwii // redacted audio

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ihavemanyhusbands · 16 hours ago

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Arcanum Amoren

ACTUS SECUNDUS: PART II

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 3.5k words

Summary: Part 2 of a request for my beloved mutual @chibipeachu <33 // AU inspired by Romeo and Juliet, where you meet a gladiator on the first night of the Saturnalia, and both of you seem to be immediately struck by Cupid's arrow.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (this fic is 18+), Alternate Universe (no emperor Lucius), deviation from canon, Lucius and Reader are in their 20s, forbidden love, slight power imbalance, fluff, some angst, smut, unprotected p in v, loss of virginity, a little bit of dirty talk, no death at the end, jealousy, alcohol consumption (wine), potentially some historical inaccuracies (SORRY), and I think that's it but lmk if anything else!

You nursed a cup of wine as you stared off into the middle distance, not paying attention to the conversation your father and your suitor, Cassius, were engaged in. The initial introduction had been mercifully brief before the two men began talking politics, but you and Alba had no choice but to politely listen in, not yet dismissed. She seemed much more keen on actually listening to what they were saying, though, subtly nodding along even if she didn’t make any remarks herself.

Cassius was adequately handsome, with dark, kind eyes, sunkissed olive skin, and a mop of dark curls. He was a couple of years older than you, and taller by half a head. He seemed nice enough upon first impression, at the very least, but he hadn’t really tried to ask you anything about yourself. Not that you had expected him to, but it irked you all the same. If he wanted to marry you, shouldn’t he at least attempt to woo you a little bit?

Your mind drifted back to Lucius and his fervent blue eyes, which reminded you of the pale morning sky, the lovely promise of a new day. Those eyes had shown a real interest in you, and not the opportunities you offered, whether you wanted to or not. You didn’t think it had been just lust, either, but it was still too early to tell. Regardless, it was a very rare thing to encounter and you found it to be quite titillating. Then again, most forbidden things were.

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself idealistic, but it was hard not to fantasize, especially when the anticipation of your late night rendezvous was eating at you. Never before had you felt time stretching on so infinitely, and you could only hope that it remained that way while you were actually with him.

Lucius, for his part, had stuck to the shadows at the corners of the garden, keeping watch while remaining mostly unseen. Ravi had quickly caught on to his plans and half-heartedly tried to persuade him against it, but Lucius’s resolve was implacable. Especially after spotting you with Cassius, a bitter taste forming at the back of his throat he could not swallow down. His fists clenched and unclenched slowly at his sides.

“Glowering so openly will only invite unwanted attention, my friend,” Ravi said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The last thing I want to do is bring dishonor to the house of a friend by starting a row, especially during such a holy day.”

Lucius’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once, firmly. “And we will do no such thing, I assure you. Though… I can hardly explain it, Ravi.”

Ravi huffed with amusement, understanding all the same. “I know. We have all been arrested by such beauty at least once in our lives.”

“She goes beyond beauty.”

Ravi looked over at you, trying to see things through Lucius’s eyes. In the time he’d known the fierce gladiator, he had never seen him struck by someone to such a degree. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t succumbed to his baser instincts every now and again with pretty, giggling courtesans, but this was definitely different. He wasn’t sure if he should be more worried because of it, but he was at least sure he would be totally unsuccessful in deterring Lucius. He already knew how stubborn he could be.

Ravi heaved a resigned sigh. “I know that, too.”

Lucius downed his cup of wine in one go and he silently offered to refill it for him, hoping he would stay put until he came back.

All that time, you’d felt a heavy gaze on you, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around for him. There was too much at risk to be that foolish, even if you were burning to meet his gaze once more. Without you realizing it, the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips at the thought of your brief conversation by the portraits.

But then Alba subtly elbowed your side, bringing you back to the present. You blinked, startled, and realized Cassius, your father, and Alba were looking at you expectantly.

“I’m sorry?” You said, figuring Cassius must have asked you something.

He chuckled, perhaps confusing your absentmindedness for meek pining. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.

“I asked if you knew how to play any instruments?” He said, his smile patient. “I’ve always been fond of music.”

“Um, the harp, a little bit. I don’t consider myself to be a very proficient player, really…”

“Oh, don’t be so modest, daughter. You play beautifully,” your father cut in, pride in his voice. “And you have a lovely singing voice, too.”

Your face heated up from embarrassment, but you didn’t exactly want to contradict your father. Cassius raised his eyebrows, both faintly impressed and intrigued.

“Perhaps you will honor me with a demonstration some time,” he said.

“But of course,” you said automatically, bowing your head.

Cassius and your father smiled, well pleased. Alba clocked your discomfort in the tense set of your shoulders and subtly took your hand, squeezing your fingers reassuringly.

“Uncle, it is getting rather late. Perhaps my cousin and I may retire to our chambers for the evening?” She said, making a show of yawning behind her hand. “I would hate for us to collapse from exhaustion right in front of you.”

“Why, yes, of course. There’ll be plenty more time for us to chat in the coming days,” he said, kissing your forehead and then hers. “Get some rest so you’ll look just as lovely in the morning. Nobody likes a haggard looking woman, isn’t that right, Cassius?”

He laughed, setting your teeth on edge. “Rightly so.”

Mentally, you punched him right on the nose, but in reality you stood rigid, your plastered smile more a baring of teeth. Cassius took your hand and kissed your knuckles, but the gesture felt nothing like when Lucius did it. You wanted to recoil as if burnt.

“I’ll be seeing you very soon,” he said, and you suppressed a shiver not of anticipation, but of dread.

—------------------

You tossed and turned for what seemed like a restless eternity, waiting for all the noise outside to dwindle and eventually die down completely. You kept one candle burning on your bedside table, but otherwise, you were plunged in darkness. Every so often, you anxiously glanced towards the balcony, where you’d left the door ajar. Only the breeze slipped in for the longest time, until…

A darker shadow hovered in the threshold for a moment, as if making sure he was in the right place. You sat up in bed, heart rate immediately kicking up. You thought you recognized his broad shoulders and easy gait, but you scarcely dared to believe he was real, that this was actually happening.

“Is it really you?” You whispered, clutching the covers against your chest.

His shoulders slumped with equal relief and you could swear you heard him breathe out a soft laugh.

“Yes, my lady, it’s me…” he whispered. “May I?”

“Yes, please.”

Slowly, he approached, and finally his face was faintly illuminated by the candlelight. He stood there, unmoving, though his eyes roamed, snatching on your trembling lips and the hollow of your throat. You let the covers fall from your grip, clothed in only a thin sleep tunic where he could see the pert outline of your breasts. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then briefly looked away, mentally chastising himself for being improper.

“What is it?” you asked.

His eyes flicked back to your face. “I just… wanted to look at you.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing you. He offered his hand and you took it, looking down at your laced fingers. With his free hand, he caressed your cheek before grasping your chin, making you meet his gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

You smiled lopsidedly, still feeling a flush of warmth at his compliments. “So you’ve said…”

He chuckled softly, realizing he was making a fool of himself. “It bears repeating.”

You scooted closer to him, suddenly feeling like any distance between you was too great. Perhaps it was the urgency of limited time, or the culmination of all your anticipation. Whatever it was, your body seemed to bow towards him out of its own volition, filled with longing.

Your eyes darted to his lips, slowly reaching up to brush them gently with the tips of your fingers. “Will you kiss me?”

He nodded, kissing your fingers before your hand moved to cup his face. He leaned in, hot breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. His lips brushed against yours softly, your eyes slipping closed in bliss. The tip of your tongue touched his upper lip enticingly and he shuddered, clutching you against him.

His lips melded against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. You whimpered wantonly, tightly holding onto his tunic with your free hand. What you really wanted was to feel his warm skin against yours, every hard plane of his muscles deliciously contrasting your softness.

Venus herself must’ve heard your silent pleas, for you felt your shift sliding off one of your shoulders. You pulled back for air, both of you panting, pupils blown wide. Holding his gaze, you slowly pulled the top half of your shift down to your waist.

His breath caught in his throat as he took you in, unsure what to do with his hands. Your chest heaved under his appraisal, fire slowly blooming outward from within you. You reached out for his hand, bringing it to your sternum so he could feel how quickly your heart was beating.

“Touch me,” you said. “However you’d like to do it, just keep touching me.”

Every instinct screamed at him to give in to your wishes, but he hesitated, looking back up at your face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, swallowing hard and bracing himself for whatever your answer might be. “I’m aware of your… courtship.”

You clutched his arm and shook your head desperately, as if you could cast the thought away so simply.

“I’m not his. I could never be his,” you breathed. “I want to be yours.”

There was a sound low in his throat at that, and he dove forward to claim your mouth once more. His fingers danced over your ribcage before slowly trailing up towards your breasts. His mouth moved to your jaw and the slope of your throat, pulling more soft sounds from you. As your collective desperation increased, you slid back and pulled him over you, his body slotting between your legs.

He left open mouth kisses over your clavicles and the ladder of your sternum, but when his tongue dragged over to one of your sensitive nipples, you arched against him. Every part of your body felt hyper aware of him, nerve endings tingling even at the fan of his breath on your skin.

He took his time lavishing your chest, one of his hands roaming lower and lower until it was slipping under your shift. Your legs jerked as he made contact with your inner thigh, your breath hitching. He grinned at you, well pleased that you were responding so keenly to him.

“Have you ever touched yourself here, my lady?” he asked, his lips hovering over yours once more. “Did you imagine a ravagement such as this?”

You shook your head deliriously, trying to kiss him, but he kept himself teasingly out of reach. His fingers moved closer to your center, teasing the junction where it met your thigh. You could feel your heartbeat beating right at your core, intensely warm.

“No? Well… I suppose the real thing is always better, isn’t it?”

With that, his middle finger parted your folds, his brows furrowing wantonly as he realized just how slick you were already. He dragged his finger up, making contact with that bundle of nerves that nearly made you cry out. Was it supposed to feel that intense? It was like a whole new world was opening up for you.

“My, my… There’s my answer,” he said, finally kissing you once more.

You moaned into his mouth as he continued his slow, exploratory ministrations. You bucked against his palm, instinctively searching for more friction. But he was determined to keep an easy pace, wanting to prolong your pleasure as long as he could. He circled your clit maddeningly, drawing out more honey from you, and earning a scratch on his shoulder.

His middle finger teased the entrance of your cunt, pushing inside a little bit, probing. You trembled against him, nodding for him to go on.

“Please, Lucius,” you panted. “Please.”

Painstakingly slow, his finger plunged into you, making you momentarily tense. As he began to move it a little, you felt it curl inside of you, touching another spot you’d also been unaware of. Soon a second finger joined the first, and he fucked you with them at that same maddening pace, opening you up for him. His thumb slotted against your clit for an added layer, and after just a few swipes, you found yourself tumbling headfirst into oblivion.

You felt like one of those mountains of fire during eruption, ripples of heat spreading through you. Your eyes closed and your mouth fell open as your muscles seized, your walls contracting against his finger with every pulse of ecstasy. Lucius moaned throatily as he helped you ride it all the way through, a possessive feeling surging within him.

He was painfully hard, his cock pulsing with need, but he wouldn’t go further if you didn’t wish to. He was content to make it all about you and would take the memory with him to please himself later.

But when you looked at him, starry-eyed and smiling beatifically as you parted your legs even more, he knew it would not be the case. You sat up to help him take his tunic off, mesmerized by the length and girth of him as it was revealed to you. In the dim candlelight, you could see the tip of it glistening with his own arousal.

“Last chance to go back,” he murmured, his hand wrapping around himself.

“Never,” you said without hesitation. “Make me yours, and only yours. I beg you.”

How could he ever deny such sweet words? If that was what you wanted, then he’d happily comply.

You wiggled out of your shift and laid back down, arms extended toward him to pull him in. He happily gave in, your knees drawing up to press against his hips. With one hand, he swiped the head of his cock through your folds, coating it in your slick. Still sensitive from your orgasm, you jerked against him, thighs pressing tighter against his sides.

“This might hurt a little, but I’ll be careful,” he promised, taking your hand to kiss it. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

Though you nodded, you already knew you would be doing no such thing. You felt him line up with your entrance, the head pushing in slightly. It was more of a stretch than his fingers, so you inhaled sharply through your teeth at the slight sting. He paused only to assess your reactions, but then he kept pushing in little by little.

Once he was in to the hilt, he lowered himself so his chest was against yours, his face burying in your neck. He didn’t move at first, letting you get used to the full length of him throbbing inside you. Then he felt you squirming against him, his beard tickling your neck as he kissed it. His hips began to move, barely drawing back before plunging in once again, making you keenly aware of every single inch.

You sighed his name, fingers digging into his soft curls to tug his head so he’d meet your lips. Your tongues tangled sloppily as his thrusts gradually grew in intensity, hips snapping against yours. It was a struggle to keep quiet, especially as he hit spots deep inside you that had your head spinning. He followed every soft plea to go harder, deeper, your desperate mewls spurring him on.

Lucius felt his own pleasure mounting, the muscles of his abdomen bunching. Your warmth and the tight clutch of your cunt had his sack tightening, becoming increasingly harder to keep his orgasm at bay. But he wanted you to come together, this time, meld your bodies for good.

He snaked a hand between your bodies and found your clit once more, rubbing it in frantic circles. You muffled your hitching moans against his shoulder, pressing your face against it. Your cunt clamped down on him as you felt yourself slipping under once more, pulling him along with you. He buried himself to the hilt just as his release began to spill, an animalistic groan escaping his throat with each spurt coating your insides. Now you were well and truly his, and he wouldn’t let anyone take you from him.

The two of you clutched each other tightly as if to anchor yourselves in reality. Gradually, you drifted back to the present and he pulled back to look at you, brushing hair away from your face. You smiled as if drunk, your cheeks flushed brightly. He peppered your face with kisses, not wanting to ever pull away from you.

But outside, birds were just beginning their dawn chorus, reminding you of all the dangers daylight would bring. At most, you had a few more minutes of peace.

“Take me with you,” you said, giving him pause. “Not today but… Someday.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere far away, where no one will know who we are, or what is expected of us.”

He searched your features for any hint of doubt. “Is that what you really want?”

You nodded. “I cannot stay here. I can’t. They’ll hand me over to him as soon as it’s convenient.”

“We won’t let that happen.” He grasped your hand tightly, a look of determination on his face. “I don’t know how, but I promise you I will do what I can to get you out of here.”

“Let it be soon, please,” you said. “Nights aren’t nearly long enough to be at your side.”

“We still have a few days of the Saturnalia, my love,” he said, trying to soothe your anxiety. “Perhaps I may be able to visit you like this so we may… do some planning.”

You chuckled at the insinuation in his tone, rolling your eyes playfully. “How much planning can actually be done with no clothes on?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m at my most effective then.” He grinned mischievously. “I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

————————-

The day of your wedding came, but you were not present for it. In fact, you were leagues away from the Ostia Antica, surrounded by the glittering Tyrrhenian sea. Seagulls circled overhead, squawking among themselves. The salty breeze pushed your hood off your head and tousled your hair. Your eyes were fixed on the horizon, wondering when you would see land next.

Lucius reached over to pull your hood back on and you turned to smile at him. You were aboard a merchant ship, granted safe passage after paying off the captain with what was meant to be your dowry. The ship was headed to Greece, but you weren’t sure if that would be your final destination.

It was both exhilarating and frightening not knowing what would come next in your life. But for the first time, it would all be up to you, with only the Gods to intervene. That couldn’t be helped. So far, though, Fortuna had tipped her scale in your favor, and you had to have trust it would carry you safely to wherever you’d end up.

And with Lucius at your side, nothing really seemed impossible, anyway. You had managed to run away, after all. Though it was sad to leave certain aspects of your life behind, like your family, you kept your gaze ahead. Everything ahead of you, nothing behind you. That was the way of things.

“What are you thinking about?” Lucius prompted, secretly hoping you weren’t having any second thoughts.

You sidled up against him, sighing contentedly. “How grateful I am that fortune sometimes favors fools in love.”

He chuckled, relieved. “So you are saying we are fools?”

“Oh, we are. We really are.” You laughed, kissing his cheek. “But I like that about us.”

He hummed as if considering your words. “Foolish enough to sneak into the captain’s quarters for a moment alone? After all, we’re yet to celebrate the beginning of our new lives…”

Your smile had a mischievous curl to it. “Why, yes, we are. Though not foolish enough to get ourselves caught, I hope.”

His arm wrapped around your waist to pull you even closer. “Hmm, we’ll see about that once I get my hands on you.”

--------

FINIS.

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus smut #lucius verus fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus #x reader #minors dni

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lachesismoonmist · 2 days ago

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JK Drabbles - One Shots

Here's a collection of One-Shot stories involving JK. JK as husband, JK as boyfriend, JK as lover.

Some of them are scenes I wrote which didn't make it into my eventual stories, but were such fun to write I wanted to share them.

Each story is saved as an individual chapter.

Enjoy!

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader

Also posted on AO3

--------------

Chapter 2: Be My Slave - JK as boyfriend

Jungkook had been having a hard on all night at the club. There were three reasons why.

One, your dress was a backless, shimmery red dress with a cowl neck. Your smooth back was on display. The cowl neck draped tantalisingly over your ample breasts. The dress was ankle length but had a thigh high slit up one side.

Two. He knew for a fact you weren’t wearing panties. You’d shimmied into the dress while he was rolling up his sleeves of his long-sleeved back shirt. He’d stopped to gawk at you. Your hair was swept up and pinned. His eyes followed the graceful curve of your neck, down your back. The dress hugged your ass so closely, he could see why you’d forgone wearing panties, or even a thong.

Three. You’d been teasing him all night. Rubbing your ass on his crotch as you danced. Leaning over so he could see down your dress when you passed him a drink. Dancing closely to Tae Hyung, your eyes on Jungkook as Tae Hyung put his hands on your hips and you swayed, talking animatedly. Jealousy burned in his gut, even though Jungkook knew Tae would never make a move on you. Tae was like a brother to him. You’d been his girlfriend for three years now. He saw Tae’s eyes dip when you laughed so hard you were shaking. He quickly looked up at Jungkook, eyes open wide in apology. Jungkook threw a smirk at him and winked. Tae relaxed visibly.

On any normal night, he would have grabbed you, steered you into one of the washroom cubicles and had his way with you. That slit up your dress would make it so easy for him to have his fingers in your pussy. But tonight, you were celebrating you bestie’s birthday and could not disappear for more than ten minutes. He was pretty confident he’d get you off (and himself of course) way under ten minutes, but he didn’t want to risk it. It would be embarrassing if anyone came looking for you.

He reached down to adjust himself to make himself more comfortable. It was okay. He could bide his time. He was already formulating a plan to make you sorry for being such a tease.

You’d had quite a few drinks by the time the club was closing and everyone went their separate ways. You’d hugged your bestie one last time, both of you laughing and crying. She thanked you for being her best friend. You thanked her for always having your back. It was adorable. Your respective boyfriends had to pry you two apart and drag you off to their cars as you and your bestie blew kisses at each other.

Thankfully the drive home was short. You’d leaned over to put your head on his shoulder. Your hand reached down to massage the bulge in his pants. He almost lost control of the car when you squeezed hard.

“Baby, are you trying to kill us?” he asked you sternly, but was smiling.

“Just want your cock, Kook,” you were slurring slightly. Eyes closed. He managed to put the car in park just as you squeezed him again.

In the lift, he caged you in with his hands and kissed you hungrily, pushing you against the wall of the lift. He reached through the slit in your skirt, grabbing your ass. He rubbed his hips against yours. “Want my rock hard cock, Baby?” he growled.

“Yes! Yes!” you nodded eagerly.

He didn’t even remember getting into the apartment but now he sat on the sofa, looking up at you. You smiled at him, then climbed onto the sofa, knees on either side of his hips. You leaned forward to kiss him as you worked on his belt and jeans. He helped by lifting his hips and pushing his jeans and boxers down onto his muscular thighs.

You leaned down to give his beautiful cock a lick, then clambered up on him, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him till you bottomed out. Jungkook closed his eyes at the blissful feeling of your warm walls around him. He opened his eyes to look at you. Your eyes were glazed over with lust. You put her hands on his shoulders and moved up, then slammed down on him. He grunted.

He pulled the dress off you. You dug at his shirt and under shirt frantically till he took them off. He lifted you off the sofa briefly thrusting his hips up so he could remove his jeans and boxers.

You looked so beautiful as you bounced on his cock. He reached up to squeeze your breasts, palms rubbing your nipples. You moaned, moving up and down. When you sat down onto him, you ground her pelvis against his, moving in a circular motion, grinding your clit against his pubic bone. Soon his cock was coated in your arousal.

You looked so beautiful. Breasts bouncing, thighs flexing, head thrown back in ecstasy. He pulled you closer to him by the shoulders, taking a nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked, he licked, he bit. You groaned as you continued riding him. He let go of you breast with a pop, sitting back to watch you. You grabbed your own breasts then, rolling and pinching your nipples. You looked totally fucked out. Your breath coming in gasps.

You were getting close. You picked up the pace. He reached down and pushed one thumb against your clit, rubbing you as you continued bouncing. He felt your pussy throbbing around his cock.

“Yes, fuck yes! Right there! Harder, rub harder! Fuck!” you came, warm liquid gushing onto his hand and his crotch. He put his fingers into his mouth, tasting you. Your face was flushed, chest heaving. You continued moving up and down. “You haven’t come, Kook,” you said, grinding your hips against his. “Come on, take me to bed. Let me fuck you properly. Let me milk you dry,” you said huskily.

Jungkook was desperate to come. His cock was throbbing. Watching you use his cock to pleasure yourself was just too much. He needed to come. He picked you up by gripping beneath your thighs and stood up. You squealed, marveling at his strength. You wrapped your legs around his waist for balance. He strode through his living room and went into his bedroom. He threw you down on the king sized bed roughly. You laughed.

“That’s it, Kook. Use me. Be rough with me. Spank me. Make me your sex slave,” you crooned. He climbed onto the bed and flipped you over so you were face down. He pulled on your hips, making your ass stick up in the air.

“You want to be spanked? You think you can handle being my sex slave?” he asked harshly, “You’ve been a naughty girl, teasing me all night. I’m going to make you my slave now. I’m going to punish you.” He spanked your ass.

You cried out, startled by his sudden move. “I’m going to make you scream,” he said darkly. He slapped you again, this time on your pussy. You cried out in pain, but it was a pleasurable pain. He spanked you, hitting your clit. Again, and again, and again. You lost count of how many times he hit you. You screamed as you came from the onslaught, your body convulsing. Your pussy clenching on nothing.

“I told you I would make you scream,” he smirked. “And that’s only the first of many screams,” he added before he thrust into you roughly. You whimpered. He gripped your hips with a bruising grip, pistoning into you. He was like a man possessed. He pounded into you, your hips making slapping noises. The slip and slide of his cock in and out of your pussy was at just the right angle. Your walls started fluttering again. He continued pounding. You knew you was going to be sore after this. You screamed again when you came, your pussy clenching around his cock. You went limp, but Jungkook did not let up. He needed to come. Hs felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t. He pulled your hips to meet his. Over and over and over. His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, dragging him under water as he spurted warm cum into you. When he was done, he pulled out, while you collapsed on the bed, a blissed-out look on your face.

“So, you want to be my sex slave, huh?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Wait here.” He padded over to his bathroom. When he came back, he flipped you over roughly so that you were facing up. He grabbed your wrist and tied one end of a bath robe belt to it. Your eyes flew open, looking at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a little startled as he secured the other end of the belt to one corner of the bedframe. This left your arm fully stretched out at a forty-five degree angle from your shoulder. He did the same with your other wrist.

“Sex slaves get tied up,” he smirked. “Sex slaves get used. They have to take whatever is dished out like good little slaves.”

You shuddered at the thought of Jungkook tying you up. It made you really excited. Never had you been tied up to a bed, spread open, ready to be ravaged. All the fuzzy alcohol in your brain was now washed away by adrenalin.

He tied another belt around your ankle and tied that to another corner of the bedframe, repeating this on your other ankle. You were now immobilized, spread eagle on his bed.

He paused to admire his handiwork. You were so beautiful. You were panting in anticipation. You looked delectable. Big breasts heaving. Writhing as you tested the bonds on your arms and legs. With your legs spread he could see your pink pussy. It was wet. His cum was still leaking out of you. He picked up his phone and took a picture. “For my eyes only,” he said, putting his phone down.

He came and knelt between your legs. “So, little slave, what shall I do first,” he wondered aloud. He trailed his fingers up your leg, sliding your inner thigh as you squirmed. He stopped right before he reached your core. You whined. He did the same with the other leg. His fingers drawing circles all the way up your inner thigh, then stopping again before he reached your core.

“Anything, Kook, anything! Just touch me, please. Touch me,” you begged.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. Then bent suddenly and latched onto your clit, sucking hard.

“Oh my god!” you screamed as he attacked your clit. He sucked it, rubbing it with his tongue, feeling how swollen it was. He flicked his tongue against it repeatedly, then sucked it hard, making loud slurping noises. He teased your swollen nub with kitten licks. He felt you shuddering. You were close. He pulled off suddenly.

“Noo!” you cried. “I was close!”

“Did I say you could come, my little slave?” Jungkook asked. “You can only come when I allow it,” he said sternly.

He thrust two fingers into you abruptly, making you scream again. He moved up and latched onto your nipple. He pumped his fingers into you hard as he nipped and sucked at your breast, leaving red marks. His fingers pumped faster. Your breath hitched. Your muscles started to tense. He pulled his fingers out.

“Noooo! Nooo, Kook!” you cried. He plunged his fingers back in again, this time, sucking on your clit at the same time. Your whole body arched off the bed as you cried out. He pumped his fingers, his tongue circling your clit. Again, when he felt you tensing up, he stopped.

“Noo, please… noooooo,” you cried real tears this time, rolling down your face. “Let me come please, Kook! Let me come!” you begged.

Jungkook reared up over you. “I like you begging,” he smiled evilly at you. “Tell me what you want, little slave. I want to you to beg me.”

“Please, fuck me. Fuck me, let me come. Pleeeeeaassseeee.”

He put the tip of his cock at your entrance. “I’m going to fuck you now. You must not come until I have come, you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” you agreed, tears still rolling down your face. Your clit was throbbing so badly.

Jungkook leaned his weight down and thrust into you. Your whole body jerked with the force of his thrust. He withdrew till almost the tip, then drove back into you again. The strength of his thrusts made the whole bed rock. The bedframe thumping against the wall. The banging sounds a juxtaposition to his grunts of exertion.

He chased his pleasure, using your body. He spared no thought about whether it was good for you or not. Whether he was being too rough or not. You were his sex slave. He would take what he needed from you. The force of his thrusts pushed you over the edge. He didn’t let up, his hips crashing into yours harder, faster. You cried out from overstimulation, but he was relentless. He finally came with a roar.

He collapsed onto you breathing hard. You lay whimpering, trying to pull your legs close, but you couldn’t. He rolled off to one side, pulling out of you.

“Ah, my little slave. You came before I did,” he reproached, shaking his head. “I will need to punish you now.”

Your eyes were closed, as you tried to catch your breath.

Jungkook grabbed hold of your face, pressing on your jaw. “Open up,” he said in a low voice.

You looked up at him, opening your mouth. He climbed onto you, his knees on either side of your head.

“Suck,” he ordered, pushing his cock into your mouth. You sucked. You licked his semi-hard cock, swirling the tongue around the head, into the slit. You sucked again, harder this time.

“Yeah, baby, suck me off. I’m going to fuck your mouth now.” He moved his hips to thrust into your mouth. You kept up the pressure on his now fully erect cock. He closed his eyes and fucked into your mouth, hard. You gagged but kept sucking.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep sucking.” He moved his hips faster. He was enjoying the sucking noises you were making. As you gagged tears rolled down your face again, but you did not falter. “Fuck, Y/N, yes, fuck!” he came, filling your throat and mouth with his cum.

He pulled out, then bent down to kiss you. Hard. You still had his warm cum in your mouth. He ravished your mouth with his tongue, tasting himself. He bit your lip, hard enough to make you cry out.

He untied the belts around your ankles. He freed your wrists as well. You whimpered, drawing your legs close, curling yourself up. Jungkook rubbed the redness around your wrists, kissing your face softly. He rubbed your ankles as well. He went to the bathroom and came back with a warm towel, which he used to wipe the tear stains off your face. He wiped your mouth and your body, remember to be gentle near your pussy. The adrenalin had worn off. Your eyes were dropping shut. He climbed back into bed and gathered you in his arms.

“Sleep tight, Baby,” he kissed your hair. “I love you.” It didn’t take him long to fall asleep as well, breathing in your scent.

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#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jk fanfic #restrained

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ivelle-serenity · 3 days ago

Text

Skateboard 16

Wind breaker

author's note: hi everyone! i'm sorry for ghosting you for months. school has been so stressful that i didn't even get a chance to read updates from wind breaker. BUT I'm back! thank you all for reading my story!

✧˖° — windbreaker men

✧˖° — mdni, smut, description of not safe for work content.

✧˖° — this is a story not one shot.

I slowly opened my eyes, feeling a strange tightness in my stomach. It was like I was about to throw up. I glanced around, trying to figure out where I was, and then looked down at where I was lying. I was on a soft mattress on the floor, my black shirt lifted slightly, exposing my stomach. My joggers were barely hanging on, the drawstring untied. I held my head and turned to the side.

My eyes widened. "What the—" I quickly covered my mouth, afraid of waking the person next to me. He was lying on his stomach, facing my direction, deep in sleep. His arms were wrapped around a pillow.

Why am I alone with Jay?! Panic surged through me. Even though I was dizzy, I managed to sit up. I frowned when my foot hit something—like a body. I felt a wave of relief when I looked down and saw June sleeping at our feet. Shaking my head, I fixed my hair. My gaze fell on Jay again. He looked so peaceful, fast asleep. Unlike when he’s awake—he’s intimidating, unapproachable.

My heart raced again, and I quickly averted my eyes, rubbing my temples. Did I do something terrible last night while I was drunk? I bit my lower lip, struggling to remember what had happened.

We already know.

I know something they don't.

Can you stay away from me from now on? Please?

"Holy shit. Oh, please don’t tell me—" My eyes went wide, and I scrambled off the mattress, trying to be careful not to wake the two of them. Once I was out of the room, I saw Dom sleeping on the floor, clutching Yuna in his arms. Aria was also fast asleep, mouth open. I scanned the room for Minu and Mia, but when I spotted them, I was surprised to see they were already awake.

Mia was making coffee for herself and Minu. They hadn’t noticed me yet, too busy chatting and smiling. What a lovely couple. When will I ever experience something like that? I sighed and immediately looked for my stuff.

"Demitra, you're awake!" Mia’s sudden voice startled me. I forced a smile and nodded, still searching for my bag, which Dom had apparently slept on. "Come join us. What do you want? Milk? Coffee? Or milked coffee?" she asked cheerfully.

"Water is fine," I said, giving her a small smile.

"Water in the morning? Are you an alien?" Minu joked. I chuckled and shook my head, pointing at my stomach.

"If I drink any of what Mia mentioned, I'll end up in the bathroom," I said, making them both laugh.

When Mia handed me the glass of water, I caught the two of them exchanging glances. It was as if they were communicating silently. These friends really had a habit of doing that, even when it was so obvious. After taking a sip, I set the glass down on the counter and crossed my arms, leaning against the sink.

"I know you two know something. You’re way too obvious," I joked, raising an eyebrow at them.

Mia looked flustered, her eyes darting to her boyfriend, as if silently begging him to speak for her. "W-Well, yesterday, Principal Nick told us something about you. About you being a professional rider—"

I burst out laughing. "Professional? Please, did Nick really say that?" I asked in disbelief. "I’m not. Let’s just say I’m an expert."

"But it's the same thing!" Mia jumped in. I just shrugged.

"It’s not," I said, still chuckling.

Minu suddenly grew serious, putting his glass down. "Why didn’t you tell us you're famous in England? As the underground princess? And that you’re friends with Owen from High Calvary!" he said, catching me off guard. Did Gramps really tell them everything? At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if he also mentioned my favorite food.

"Ew, don’t ever call me that again," I cringed. "And I’m not friends with him. I just know him." I avoided their gazes, just as I noticed Yuna stirring awake, probably overhearing our conversation.

"That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard in my life."

"Minu!"

I laughed as Mia scolded him. She gave me an apologetic look, clearly embarrassed by what her boyfriend had said. "You can ask him if you want." Please don’t.

"You beat him once," Yuna chimed in, despite just waking up.

"I don’t remember that," I replied, playing dumb. She just scoffed at me. "And, going back to what you said earlier, I’m not famous. I was just known in the underground. And that was years ago, so yeah, I’m not relevant there anymore," I said with a laugh, brushing it off.

"Stop being humble, Demitra," Minu said, and I just shot him a glare. "But the main point is, you're stronger than everyone else. I don't even understand how you lost to Jay. No offense to my best friend." He added, but my eyes widened when I saw Jay standing by the now-open sliding door.

"You're overthinking it," I replied, picking up my bag. "Even if you say I’m strong, biking isn’t my thing anymore. I’ve already told you that. I only got back into it to help you guys out." Everyone went silent at my words. "I did have fun helping you, though. Just make sure you explain things to your friend Shelly when she finds out about that video circulating. She's going to freak out seeing her 'clone' on the screen." I glanced over at Jay, who was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, watching me closely.

"Why do you sound like you’re leaving us after this?" We all turned in surprise to see Dom awake, scratching his head and clearly just having woken up.

"We still want you to be our friend, Demitra," June said softly, his eyes gentle, making my heart ache a little. I laughed to mask the emotions stirring inside me.

I knew they wouldn’t understand, but I needed to keep my distance. Nick already knew I was in Korea, and it wouldn’t be long before he told Shelly. The last thing I wanted was to run into her at school. Call me bitter, but I was only trying to protect myself. I couldn’t afford to get hurt again, especially not after being betrayed by my old friends.

"I appreciate it. We’re still friends, you know. And I’m not leaving." At least, not yet.

They made sure I had breakfast before I could even mention going home. As expected, Dom wouldn’t stop pestering me about how it felt to be famous in England, even asking for tips on how to beat international competitors, knowing I had beaten plenty in races before. Mia and the others, on the other hand, kept trying to pry into how I knew Owen, but I kept dodging the topic. The whole time, I could feel Jay’s eyes on me, and it was driving me crazy. Our conversation from last night kept replaying in my mind, making me avoid him even more.

"Last question, how did you learn to ride a bike?" Aria asked, stopping me in my tracks. The face of a man who had been absent from my life for so long immediately flashed in my mind. His earrings were the one thing I always remembered whenever he crossed my thoughts.

"From my dad," I said, half-truth, half-lie.

"Damn, I wish your dad could teach me!" June exclaimed.

"Never again. I’ll never take lessons from dads again. The last time I did, I nearly died from how hard Shelly’s dad pushed me," Dom said, practically on the verge of tears. I feigned surprise, though I knew all too well how strict Mark could be.

"Oh, Jay, where are you going?" Aria asked when she saw him stand up.

"Home," he replied shortly, not even glancing in my direction.

"Why don't you and Demitra leave together? So she has someone to walk with," Yuna suggested, and I nearly choked. Out of all the people who could’ve said that, it had to be her. I quickly shook my head.

"Then let’s go," Jay said coldly, addressing me directly. My mouth fell open in shock before I glared at him.

After saying my goodbyes to everyone, I hopped on my bike. I saw Jay already outside, waiting for me. I sighed before riding over to him. He was adjusting his helmet when he spoke.

"You should have told them you're leaving," he said, catching me off guard.

"What?"

His tired eyes looked straight at me. "You lied to them. Don’t just disappear without saying goodbye," he said before pedaling away.

My jaw dropped as I quickly followed him.

"What makes you think I’m leaving?"

"You literally said it last night."

I clenched my jaw, trying to think of an excuse. Hurry up, Demitra! Think of something. "I have no reason to leave, Jay," I lied, but he didn’t seem to care. His indifference made me even more annoyed. "Maybe you didn’t understand what I said last night. Why would I leave? I don’t have any enemies at Sunny High."

"Do you really want to talk about this?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine. A chill ran down my spine.

"Yes! Tell me, Jay. Why would I leave?" I fired back. If you really don’t know anything, prove it. You’re hiding something. I could tell last night when you tried to act like you didn’t know. I’m not stupid.

He shook his head and sighed. "Stop asking me questions only you can answer," he said coldly. "If anything, I should be asking you that. Why are you leaving? Is there someone you’re scared to run into?"

His words struck a nerve.

"What the hell is your problem?" I snapped, making him stop. "I’ve had enough of your riddles, Jay. Just tell me what your issue is with me. You keep dropping hints about things you think you know, and it’s driving me insane. You keep looking at me like you’re waiting for something, and now this? Agreeing to walk me home after I literally told you to stay away from me?"

His expression shifted into something unreadable. "I don’t have a problem with you—"

"Then stop messing with me. If you know something, just say it. Tell me, what exactly did you hear from Nick?" I demanded, stopping my bike and glaring at him. His jaw tightened as he took a deep breath.

"I only told you what I heard last night, nothing more." He was lying again. What the hell? I nodded slowly, scoffing in disbelief. Ignoring him, I pedaled faster, trying to get away. Why does he keep messing with my head? What does he really know? From the way he talks, it's as if he knows everything about my secret.

I veered off the main route, taking a different path to put more distance between us. Thankfully, he didn’t try to follow. I wasn’t in the mood for another race with him. It took me 30 minutes to reach the park. I parked my bike and dropped myself onto the grass, frustrated. I held my head in my hands, trying to shake off the haunting memories.

"Is it true, Nick? Shelly’s engaged to Owen?"

"Yes, Demitra. Why? Didn’t Owen tell you? Aren’t you two close?" Nick had approached me, but I stepped back, covering my mouth. My body trembled at his words. After all this time, Owen is engaged to my friend? And Shelly knew? They both kept this from me?

Tears, which I had been trying to hold back, finally spilled over. "Demitra, why are you—" Nick began, but I cut him off.

I gripped my hair tightly, burying my face in my knees as the tears streamed down. I couldn’t understand why I still felt so much pain after all these years. I should’ve moved on by now. I should’ve forgotten them, but why was this happening to me? Why do the people I’ve been trying to forget keep coming back? My heart tightened painfully in my chest.

"I didn’t let you go just to see you cry."

I froze at the voice. Lifting my head, I saw Vinny leaning against his motorcycle, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. I quickly looked away, wiping my tears.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the race?" I changed the subject.

"It seems you really don’t care about the Sabbath, huh? The race ended a while ago," he said, lighting a cigarette. He even offered me one, but I shook my head. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised I wasn’t smoking.

"Did they find out?" I asked quietly.

"See this?" He pointed to a bruise on his cheek. "That's your boyfriend’s doing," he said before tossing the cigarette, even though he hadn’t taken a puff.

"I don’t have a boyfriend," I shot back, giving him a glare.

"Wooin is a smart guy. No one can fool him," he muttered, staring straight ahead at the road. "They’re pissed. Not just at me, though."

I sighed. "I’m sorry. You fought because of me," I apologized, feeling guilty.

"We were already fighting long before this, even without you," he said casually, lying down on the grass. "So tell me, why are you here? Did Hummingbird finally kick you out after using you?" He looked at me sharply.

"You know your friends aren’t like that," I said, meeting his gaze with equal intensity.

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